A/N: Thanks to mangesboy01, Mercoorio, butterflygirly99, Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin, Klicker'andKash, coolcattime and Ways for reviewing! :)
This chapter's by Fillius Flickerman. I hope that you all like reading it :)
"Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same."
Marine Reynolds, 1962.
The 111th Annual Hunger Games
Indigo Pyrominia (17), District 8 Male
Marina Reynolds – Little Boxes (1962)
When I step into the tube the heat inside is suffocating, even with the paper-thin jump suit I'm wearing. I turn around to say a final goodbye to my stylist, but she's already gone. Always one for common courtesies, she is.
The platform begins its ascent into the arena, and a warm breeze fills the tube - I'm suddenly very glad for the huge amounts of water that have been forced into me all morning. As the arena comes into view, so does the blinding hot sunlight; I raise an arm to try to block the glare, but for little good it does, I might as well be using a blade of grass.
The seconds tick by and my eyes refuse to see through the blinding sun; I turn around on my platform, but the sun seems to be coming from every direction, and I see nothing. Turning back around the sun still blocks me from seeing what lays ahead, I'm just going to have to run in, grab a backpack and some water, and then get out before anyone too dangerous arrives.
Oh, no - how long do I have left? Five seconds? Ten? Twenty?
The gong must act as a trigger, because the moment it sounds the sunlight loses its glare and I can see. About twenty meters in front of me is a sand dune, and I waste no time in running forward and starting the slow descent up it. The tribute on my left must have run of in the other direction, because I don't see her climbing the sand dune, like me and other tributes at my sides.
The dune must curve around the whole cornucopia, forming a wall between supplies and the tributes - to have it any other way would be completely unfair; but really, when has the Capitol ever been fair?
A scream cuts through the previously silent arena and I reach the top of the sand dune just in time to see Gloria, the girl from District 1, rolling down the sand dune about four tributes to my right. The tribute on my immediate right has stopped running, and only when I'm a few steps down the dune do I realize why.
Surrounding the golden horn in puddles large and small is the thick black substance that you only ever hear about back home - tar. To get to the weapons and supplies, which all appear to be in crates where the tar is thickest, I'm going to have to hop, skip and jump all over the place to avoid landing in what is literally a very sticky situation.
The boy on my right pushes past me and sprints down the dune, sending clouds of sand my way, and breaking my train of thought.
I grit my teeth and follow him, knowing already that any hopes of avoiding too much conflict have to be abandoned. I'm roughly twenty meters from the cornucopia, and a foot behind the boy, when the second scream cuts through the air, followed closely by a third.
I reach out my hand, trying desperately to grab a hold of the boy's green jumpsuit; a few steps and he's in reach - I swing out, grab the back of the hood, and pull him towards me.
He goes down backwards, his hands clawing at his neck; I jump over him, adrenaline pumping through my body - I have to get to a crate and get out quickly - no one can get in my way. I can see the two tributes from District 2 tearing crates open at random, sending the supplies they find useless into the tar.
I stumble around the tar pits, trying to ignore the screams of despair that escape the tributes who fall into the black puddles of death; Gloria screams for someone to help her as she writhes around in the puddle, doing nothing but causing her to get deeper and deeper, and further away from the sand.
Finally, I find myself next to a series of small crates, and I don't hesitate in shoving a few into the large pockets of my mustard coloured jumpsuit- but I need a weapon. I can't go out into the dessert without a weapon.
"Hey, Eight!"
I turn around and see the boy I tripped before sprinting at me, half his face covered in the black tar. I turn and run around a large square crate, and can hear him swearing as he trips over one of the smaller ones. Nothing I did in the training prepared me for this - what did I do for the whole second day? I practiced lighting fires. I was stupid to think I didn't need to pick up a sword; stupid. Completely stupid.
I can hear the boy's loud breathing behind me; he's lagging behind- I can't help but smile, he has no stamina. If I can just keep this up until I reach the tail of the cornucopia, then I can jump out and push his tired body over into the tar.
I have to duck under the swing of an ax from the large boy from District 14 before I reach the tail. Any second now and the boy will turn the corner. I can hear his ragged breaths now. Any second. Now!
I jump out screaming, coming up behind the boy and pushing him face first into perhaps the largest of the tar pits.
He spins around as he falls, his eyes as frightened as my puppy was when we ran out of food one winter and had to go to extreme lengths. Only now do I realise that the boy is from District 7.
I turn around and pick up a thin long crate, trying to block out the screams and splashes that come from all around me, and run as fast as I can towards the sand dune wall. An arrow flies past my shoulder when I'm halfway there, and I almost lose some of the smaller boxes from my pockets. My feet trip over each other, and I fall forwards into the sand on more than one occasion; but I never stop moving, to stop would be to die. And I can't die- not yet.
I finally reach the top of the sand dune, and I risk a look back down into the bloodbath- the fighting has all stopped, but I don't think there was much fighting this year; tributes either fell into the tar or ran the other direction, leaving the bravest to calmly get their crates. Gloria still shrieks from her sticky prison, one of the few tributes in the tar to still do so, "Gabriel! Please help me! Please - Artemis! Please help! HELP ME GOD DAMMIT! GABRIEL!" I watch as Gabriel, her district partner, loads the arrow into his bow, and swallow hard when he sends it flying through her left eye.
The tar seen at the cornucopia was not the only natural danger to appear in this year's arena, there was also plenty of quicksand, storm zones, and mirages that led two tributes into spider nests.
When Indigo went through the crates he had taken he found that he had managed to grab plenty of food and water, a pair of sunglasses, and a pack of fire starters, as well as two spears. He reached the mountains at sunset on the third day, and it was in the caves here that he spent the next week.
During the initial bloodbath eight tributes were killed, and over the next three days four more followed - one of which by the spiders. On the sixth day, the quick sand had taken two more tributes, and Gabriel collapsed from heat stroke - before being left for dead by his two remaining allies. The eighth day saw the mirages claim their second victim, as well as the start of a sandstorm that drew all remaining tributes to the mountains.
The storm ended on the tenth day, when the tributes from District 2 found the remaining tributes from Fourteen and slit their throats in their sleep. Later that day another tribute died from dehydration. Two days later, after Indigo had left his previous hideout, the Gamemakers called a feast a day's walk from the mountains, with promises of ice-cold water and fresh food for all.
The remaining six tributes all raced to the feast, only when they arrived they discovered that, like the cornucopia, all they could see was one long crate, on a table, surrounded by puddles of tar larger and deeper than any they saw at the bloodbath. Indigo watched his five remaining competitors fight, and devised a very simple plan.
He waited until they were by the crate, before he raced forward with his fire starters out, and threw them, lit, into the tar, where the fire spread rapidly, trapping his competitors inside a ring of burning tar.
It was a mere five minutes before the final canon fired, and Indigo was crowned the victor of the 111th Annual Hunger Games.
A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)
P.S. Here's something to think about - this chapter takes place a century after Mags won the Hunger Games. Anybody else think that's gone by quickly?