I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
Arena Day 7 - Morning Part III
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
Birch Styler, District Ten Male
Zeno's mangled corpse streams from the heat of the explosion. Thousands of raindrops pelt his burnt flesh, and rivulets of bloody, soot-filled water pool underneath him. My ears are ringing and I can't believe what I've done.
"You murderer!" Charcoal shrieks, clawing at her hair. Even in the rain, I can tell she's crying.
I look down at my knife. I don't... I didn't... It's not like I wanted to kill the kid. But he had a bomb. Thirteen-year-old or not, he was capable of killing me. It's a life or death situation, us or them, me or him, and I am my own highest priority.
A flash of silver splits across the clouds. Drops of crimson fall from my knife and stain the wet stone below.
As Charcoal devolves into hysterics, screaming over Zeno's lifeless body, Waverly sends me a terrified glare. She looks like she's about to lose her shit, too. Even though she's a Career, she probably doesn't want to kill anyone. No sane human being actually wants to. But murder is in the Career job description, and she simply got in way over her head.
Before Charcoal has a chance to melt down any further, Waverly pushes past her fear, takes the girl by her collar, and throws her against the Cornucopia. Twelve's head strikes the tree with a dull crack, and Four levels the trident with her victim's heart. There's a flicker of hesitation, though. Just enough to allow Charcoal to escape into the Cornucopia, though Waverly follows close behind.
A shrill, muffled scream cuts through the air, but their fight isn't my problem. At least, not yet.
I turn my attention to Trance, standing only a few feet away and staring at me with borderline regret. He looks as exhausted as I feel. But he's a Career, and I refuse to show him any mercy. Regardless of his mental state, I waste no time letting Selene's killer know the full brunt of my anger.
My fist collides with his brow and cheekbone, and a low crack sounds from the side of his face.
His head whips around and he staggers back, reeling from the blow. Clamping his hand over the bruised flesh, he blinks furiously, eyes watering from the pain.
Trance's gaze flickers between me and the dead slab of meat that used to be a boy, the rainwater running down his face in transparent trails. Something very close to disappointment enters his gaze. He smirks and wipes the water from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Time to settle the score," I say, the sharpened metal weighing heavily in my hand.
Trance presses his lips into a somber line, and his shoulders rise with a small shrug. "I never thought the score was unsettled."
I take a step towards him, trying to accomplish the impossible task of readying myself to kill. To murder, once again. "And that's why you're going to die."
He respectfully inclines his head. "We'll see."
I fly at him, my heart pounding violently against my ribcage as the fear surges through my gut. I've already killed two people to ensure my return to District Ten. Trance will be the third.
The knife clashes against his dagger with a spark. The momentum forces Trance back a step, and I jab the heel of my hand into his neck. With a gasp, he slams his eyes shut and wraps his hand around his throat. Taking advantage of his disorientation, I ram my elbow into his collarbone and shove him backwards. He chokes and stumbles.
A white flash of lightning cleaves the sky in two, casting a short-lived, eerily pale glow across the entire arena. The deafening rumble of thunder falls down from above, shaking me to my core.
Trance's blade rushes towards me, but I easily dodge, swing around, and bury my knife in his right shoulder. This warrants a scream from him, low and ragged, which only prompts me to slice the blade deeper. I need to win.
Another flash of lightning burns through the atmosphere. Trance looks up at me with an expression made of stone, his irises contracting under the sheet of intensely bright light, and for a split second, I detect absolutely no humanity within him. He presses the flat side of his dagger against the edge of my knife, forcing it from his shoulder, and smashes the hilt of his dagger against the side of my head.
I stagger to the side, white stars bursting across my mind. His movements are suddenly concise and vicious, the kind I would expect from a trained Career. Trance grips his weapon so hard that his hand turns white, marching toward me with squared shoulders and a face set with unnatural mercilessness.
I swipe at him, but my head is killing me and my aim is slightly off. He grabs my wrist and yanks my arm down, bringing his knee up to meet my jaw. I feel something crack from the impact; probably a tooth.
Staggering back, I fight off the stars that gather at the forefront of my mind. Everything is red.
Trance's eyes go wide and he withdraws, hesitant once again. His mental weakness is infuriating. Even if it gives me an advantage, his actions are nearly impossible to predict.
"Come on, Career!" I cry, throwing my arms wide as the blood spills across my bitten tongue. "That all you got?!"
Trance Berrill, District One Male
The world around me is painfully sharp, bleeding bright colors and stitching pain through every cell in my body. This is the part I dreaded, the end of the Game where everyone has to adopt the visage of a killer and make good on all of those whisper-promises that we so carelessly threw about before setting foot in the arena.
Of course I'll be coming home.
Thousands of broken promises uttered by thousands of lying children.
We only say that because it's impossible to consider the alternative. Kids like us shouldn't have to worry about what color the flowers will be at our own funeral.
Death? What's that?
And yet, here I am. Holding the blade tight, wondering just how many more breaths I'll get to take before the End of All Things welcomes me into eternal darkness. Everyone has to die, I suppose. If the rest of humanity can handle it, so can I.
I'd rather live, though.
"Come on!" Birch cries. His voice is strained, agonized. Like a steel bar ready to snap. "Fight me!"
But I don't want to. I never wanted to. Why can't he see that?
"This is why Selene died," I say, letting my arm fall to my side. "You're always looking for a fight."
Under the great tree, Charcoal squeals as Waverly grabs a handful of hair and throws her down to the ground. With a well-placed heel to the temple, District Twelve's last tribute passes on. Her cannon flies through the arena alongside a roll of thunder.
We're down to three.
Wiping the blood from his mouth, Birch offers me a cold smile. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Trance, and you live in a fucking glass castle." Tilting his head to the side in some sort of taunt, he says, "I'm not the one who volunteered to kill people. At least I didn't drag myself into this mess!"
Shaking my head, unable to find better words, I simply say, "Well, that was my mistake."
All things considered, I probably shouldn't voice my Career-related regrets when all of Panem is watching. It's the truth, though. I really shouldn't have volunteered.
"Too late now," Birch cries, laughing at the sky. "Only one of us can live, and I'm sure hoping it isn't you." Throwing a glance towards Waverly, who stands off to the side, simply watching our fight, he adds, "Or her."
My heart beats fast and deep inside of my chest, and my grip around the dagger starts to weaken. The exhaustion is starting to set in, at the worst possible time. I just... I don't know if I can do this. The alternative is death, though.
And in spite of my curiosity on the matter, I still don't want to die.
Birch rushes at me with bared teeth, and the entire arena flashes white as another stray bolt of lightning shatters the clouds overhead. The cut on my shoulder and bruises on my face bring everything into focus, sharpening the edges of my thoughts and clarifying my objective.
The music keeps playing, and it almost feels like a dance, this macabre kill-or-be-killed waltz we've trapped ourselves in.
I parry his blow and twist out of the way, almost wishing that I couldn't fight, that he'd just kill me now. I don't want to end his life. Killing Mariah was wrong and I want to take it back, but at least I learned from it. Killing Birch, on the other hand, will serve no purpose other than keeping me alive.
Is preserving my life really worth taking his?
He thrusts the blade at my neck, and though I manage to deflect the brunt of the blow, his knife bites into the back of my wrist. I scream and withdraw my hand, cradling the injury close to my chest. Birch apparently takes my reaction as a concession of defeat. He smiles grimly, his gaze harboring a sliver of violence-induced rage, and advances toward me with the knife drawn.
Never underestimate the enemy. Never let down your guard. That's the first thing they teach at the academy. It's literally written on a banner that hangs above the main hallway.
Birch probably could have benefited from the lesson.
I wait until he's in range, still unsuspecting, before I dart to the side and kick the side of his knee. I'm rewarded with an enraged howl as he tries to bury his blade in my neck. Backing out of his attack radius, I notice that the way he favors his damaged leg gives me a huge advantage. When he dips down to keep the weight off of his knee, he swings his dominant arm to the side in order to compensate for the unbalanced momentum.
I'll have to be quick.
As he struggles forward, he raises the blade, obviously aiming for my jugular. Step, dip. Step, sip. Step-
I leap at him, pushing his arm out of the way and forcing the dagger into his carotid artery.
With a strangled gurgle, he takes a few staggering steps as a waterfall of blood gushes from the gaping hole in his neck. His mouth opens and closes, as if he has something to say, but his tongue forms no words. It's just blood, blood, blood.
Another person - friend, child, human - extinguished, all because of me.
I'm a murderer.
Waverly Capri, District Four Female
Birch stumbles back, reeling as the crimson spouts from his mouth. Our gazes meet, and I catch sight of the light in his blue eyes, right before it flickers and dies. One faltering step sends him toppling to the ground, a pool of red expanding underneath him, mingling with the rainwater and and staining the otherwise white stone platform an unsettling shade of death.
The cannon shot rumbles through the desolate arena.
At my feet, Charcoal's unmoving body sits like an ugly accusation, a thin trickle of red leaking from the dent in her skull. My hands are trembling. She's dead. I killed her. I can't ever take it back. I can't undo this.
I turn to Trance, and it suddenly dawns upon me just how close, how incredibly close I am to going home. I'll never hear about Sapphire ever again. I will have my own identity.
And this boy is the only thing standing in my way. One more murder.
My ride home will cost three souls. Charcoal's. Trance's. And mine.
"I'm sorry," I say, jaw tense as shivers run up and down my spine.
He shrugs, the bruise around his eye and cheek growing darker every second. "Don't be. It would have happened eventually." Offering me a sad smile, he says, "That's the point of this whole Game."
This is why I let him leave after Selene's death. Him and his fucking innocence. I'd been hoping that he'd go off and die on his own, because I never wanted it to come down to this.
I didn't want to kill Charcoal. I don't want to kill Trance.
The tears claw at the corners of my eyes, and I blink furiously to fight them back. The time for sadness will come later, when I can sit down and think about my life, about how my only true accomplishment involved the murder of children, and how Sapphire is maybe just really good at hiding her sadness and pain because no human being could go through this and come out happy and poised and normal.
No, this is not the time for tears.
This is the time to fight.
I jab the trident at him and he jumps back, eyes iced over with a combination of determination and acceptance. He sidesteps and barely flicks my neck with the dagger, though the small injury sends shooting pain up and down my entire body. Blood starts pouring from the crook of my jaw, and my heart flutters as black stars dance along the edges of my vision, my lungs seemingly unable to gather enough oxygen from the air. I already feel like I'm dying.
Shit, he isn't kidding. I probably should have ended him when I had the chance.
Stumbling backward, I pull my knife from its sheath and hold it out towards Trance, as if the tiny blade will offer me protection from this near-adult male who wants to kill me. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
He rushes at me, and I respond by swinging the blade down, hoping I'll hit something important. I feel a deep cut open up along my right forearm, but in return, I'm rewarded with Trance's scream. Ducking away from me, he gingerly brushes his hand over his right eye, a river of scarlet pouring from a deep gash that runs from his eyebrow down to the bridge of his nose. I seem to have missed his eye, but the blood blinds him all the same, leaving him vulnerable.
I hook my foot under his knee, he falls to the ground, and his head smacks against the concrete with a sickening crunch. I move to impale him with the trident, but Trance kicks my knee backward. Pain explodes across my leg and I let out a hoarse scream, giving Trance just enough time to roll away and scramble to his feet. Dark red coats the entire right side of his face, drops of watery blood falling from his chin to the platform. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. I have never seen his face so cold, so serious. For once, he's completely present.
Another wave of black stars dances across the back of my mind, and I know that I only have a few minutes left. The remainder of my life can be counted in seconds.
I need to finish this.
Gritting my teeth, ignoring the near-overwhelming pain in my knee, I stagger towards Trance and raise the dagger. He raises his in kind, edging away.
He lunges, once again aiming the blade for my neck, but I manage to deflect his blow with a flick of the trident. I respond by swiping my dagger at him, forcing him to feint to the left. I readjust my aim and stab the blade into his upper arm, deepening the preexisting cut in his shoulder. With a cry of pain, he steps back, and his hand flies up to dislodge the blade.
I wrap my grip around the handle of the trident, and before he can adjust his focus, I use every ounce of my remaining strength to drive the three-pronged weapon into his stomach. He buries his own dagger into my arm, but it's more of a surprised response than a planned attack. I put my foot on his chest, and it takes all of my might to pull the trident out, little bits of meat and skin sticking to the barbed metal tips.
There's so much blood.
Trance looks at me with a terrible combination of amazement and horror, his mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed with confusion and pain. The dagger slips from his hand, clattering on the stone, and he holds his hand over the wound, breathing rapidly, unable to process what just happened.
For a moment, everything is still. He stares at me, and I at him. Something passes between us, something close to forgiveness. But not quite.
How can you forgive your killer?
The single moment seems to last for an eternity. I want it to stay like this, the second before the guilt comes crashing down. I've killed a girl. I've killed a boy. I'm a lousy human being, but maybe I'll get to go home.
Time inevitably rediscovers us, and with a small, surprisingly weak gasp, Trance collapses, crumpled like a dead leaf.
I've lost too much blood, I can tell. The entire world is bright and over-saturated, yet everything looks whitewashed and colorless. Silence roars in my ears, and I can't hear my own heartbeat.
I stumble and find myself kneeling on the ground, shivering from the cold and staring down at the white stone, slicked with diluted blood and shining rainwater. The pain grows with intensity every passing second.
I don't want to die.
My legs tremble and give out, and I fall alongside Trance. His ever-observant eyes are open, trained on me, and he's still very much alive.
"Good game, Waverly," he says, voice nothing more than a weak whisper, teeth stained with blood.
Everything around me continues to dim. I can feel the life slipping through my fingers, impossible to catch, like the smoke that rises from dying embers.
He rolls over onto his back with a sharp breath. He coughs once, sputtering blood, back arching and face contorting with pain. A part of me wants to save him, trade places with him, do anything to keep him from dying because it's my fault and he doesn't deserve it. But the other part of me wants him to just die already so that his suffering will end and we can both go home, him in a casket and me on a train. His gaze grows more and more distant, until I'm sure he sees nothing at all. With barely a whisper, his entire body relaxes, and I let out a broken sob.
It's finally over.
The classical music, so beautiful and elegant, slowly fades as the darkness creeps up around me, pulling my mind down into the bright abyss of death. But I don't want to leave, not yet. I need to win.
Distantly, somewhere past the edge of everything, I feel a single cannon shot ripple through the platform. Maybe… maybe this is the end.
For both of us.
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
This is the end.
The lyrics are from the song, "The End", by The Doors.
"Blood on the Dance Floor" is the name of an American electropop duo. All credit for the chapter title goes to them, I just borrowed it.
Charcoal Paxton, District Twelve Female
Birch Styler, District Ten Male
Charcoal, though likeable, was not a self-contained character. She depended upon interaction in order to advance her own plot, and that enabled her to cling to her fear of violence and death for this long. Unfortunately, that fear, coupled with her physical and psychological weakness, didn't lend itself to victory.
As for Birch... what can I say? He was one of my two favorite tributes in this story. His background was unique, his motivation to win went beyond simple survival, and even though he was an overall badass, he still possessed a softening streak of humanity that the arena couldn't break down. I really enjoyed writing for him, and I did my best to handle his character with the respect he deserved.
Overtly played this chapter for all the drama it was worth. And ended it with a cliffhanger, to boot. No shame.
Questions:
So... who won?
Your thoughts on the finale?
Your thoughts on the story overall?
(ALMOST) ALL WILL BE REVEALED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. It's not going to be the last one, though. Ha ah aha aha a aah. Not even.
***For those of you who are interested, I'm currently launching another SYOT called Sand Castles. Submissions are open as of the posting of this chapter. The tribute submission form and background information are on my profile.