What's this? An update only a week after the last chapter was just posted? MADNESS!
I so should have been doing my science lab tonight. But we are so close to the end! So I wrote this instead :) Five more chapters after this everyone, five more! And the winner will be revealed in two! So excited :D
Enjoy!
Janaff Skye, District 8 Male
This place is truly a marvellous depiction of the Capitol's attention to detail. A mess of stone hallways, turrets and towers, wonderfully vivid and graphic tapestries, an enormous, ancient clock ticking away above the huge, oaken double doors that mark the castle's entrance.
I hate it.
The innumerable corridors terrify me, what with the fact that they leave so many hiding places for mutts, traps or Mere- . . . other tributes. The tapestries each depict the gruesome deaths of all eighteen losing tributes and once they catch your horrified gaze, you can't manage to tear yourself away. As for the clock, well, I hadn't originally had a problem with it – until I'd entered the courtyard, looked up and realised the second hand was tinted a nasty, blood-red shade.
And yet, I can't leave. I don't know where Mere- . . . the other tributes are, but I'm sure they're out there and with our numbers suddenly cut down to six, the final battle can't be far off. The faces of the dead have yet to show in the sky, but I already know who they are – those grisly tapestries are nothing if not punctual. I'd been in the armory at the time, and as soon as the cannons had gone off I hadn't been able to stop myself from running to the throne room, just to see if my guess was correct. It was: there they were, already hanging down and filling in two more places on the wall.
There are only five spots left.
At first, when I'd seen the stars of the newest tapestries, I'd felt almost . . . relief? The emotion is so foreign to me now, I don't even remember what it's like. Achilles was one I'd always thought of as a threat – though I had registered his supposed "nobleness" and desire to remain pure and abstain from killing innocents, I'd figured he might bend that rule around me due to my previous status as a Career. And Perrin, well, we'd worked great together as allies. But by not meeting up right after the explosion, we'd effectively severed our alliance. Perrin had reminded me of the District 1 boy in many ways, though there was one path on which he and Achilles differed. Perrin thought ahead; Achilles focused on the present. Both wanted to get home, but Achilles wouldn't be able to conceive a strategy and register that to obtain his victory, he had to kill others. It wasn't in his nature. Perrin knew the costs of winning, and he was fully prepared to pay them. Had we met up again a day or two after the explosion, I have no doubt he would have tried to eliminate me from the competition. He would have felt bad about it, yes. But I'd have died nonetheless.
However, my relief, or whatever you might call it, was incredibly short-lived. Not a moment after I realised whose downfalls the tapestries depicted, I'd decided to look to the cause of the destruction. After all, knowing what had caused the elimination of two major competitors would be useful, I'd reasoned with myself.
And that's when my heart stopped beating.
I couldn't breathe, could barely see – my vision was fading in and out like it had the day my leg was injured. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the logical side of me was trying to make sense of the symptoms. Breathless, blurry eyesight, a desire to puke, the same mad cackle playing itself over and over in my head . . . okay, focus, Janaff, focus. Think, what did you eat in the last little while: anything potentially poisonous? Or maybe the castle is secreting some sort of deadly gas . . .
All my life I'd taken the smart path, refusing to admit to having a fear because fear simply wasn't logical. Death, pain, heights, spiders: at some point, these things will all cross our path and to worry about it doesn't make any sense. But after the events of that day with the bomb, I couldn't kid myself now. I wasn't poisoned, wasn't hallucinating or suffering from exposure to suspicious fumes; I was having a panic attack. And Meredith was the cause.
Which is why I'm now sitting against the rear wall of the armory, letting the coolness of the stone seep into my hot, sweaty back while my hands constantly fiddle with the enormous, double-bladed axe that lies across my lap. I don't know why the thing reassures me; I've never touched a weapon like this in my life, even during training, and I could barely lift it off the rack, let alone ever manage to swing it. No, the only offensive combat skills I have are with throwing knives, and even then my talents pale in comparison to Mere- . . . other tributes. Oh, what am I saying? Meredith. Meredith, Meredith, Meredith. The others don't matter; it's her I'm terrified of and it's her who I'm positive will be the one to kill me.
"No, no, no . . ." The syllables are mere whispers, inaudible to any cameras the Capitol might have stationed nearby, but there are other signs of my panic; my hands are shaking so badly as they slide across one of the axe's blades that my thumb slips accidentally, and soon its surface is coated in blood. Surprisingly, though, the pain actually helps me to focus, and gives me a distraction from my thoughts.
Since the castle is fully furnished, there's no absence of lavish bedrooms, complete with four-poster beds and silk sheets so smooth and fine that even those who don't work with fabric back in District 8 would still know their value. But the bedrooms were too big, too open, with rows of windows punching holes in the solid barrier of the stone walls. It had left me feeling exposed to the point where my nightmares and paranoia were too much to bear; in the end, I'd dragged all the covers I could carry into the armory and made myself a little nest.
One of the sheets, however, I'd kept for medical purposes and had ripped into long strips to better bandage my ankle. I grab one of the spare bandages now, tearing off a tiny piece to tie around my thumb. The cut isn't deep, and will probably stop bleeding in a minute anyways, but I'm looking for a distraction more than anything else.
It takes me a good while to attempt tying a knot on one hand with only the other to work with. Any other time I'd consider the menial task frustrating, what with the bandage always unravelling itself, but now, drawing the task merely gives me more time to clear my head, relax and breathe. In, one, two, three; out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three; out, one, two, three. That's it Janaff; calm down.
Once I'm sufficiently at ease and the bandage is finally staying in place, I close my eyes and make the reluctant decision to sort out my issues. I was so certain when my name was drawn from that reaping bowl that the odds were in my favour, that with my intellect I'd be home in no time. But then I entered the arena, experiencing horrors that the television screens back home just couldn't capture, and my confidence wavered. Now, though, there are six of us left. A twelve-year-old, an average boy from 10, my old ally Rowan's nemesis, a paranoid, sheltered kid from 6 and . . . her. And me. If I deal with my problem, keep my head on straight and come up with a plan to get past the only remaining threat, winning this thing might just be possible.
"So let's deal with this, Janaff," I say aloud. Back home, I'd always speak my thoughts whenever I could. People often dismiss those who talk to themselves as crazy, but I disagree; my brain works so fast, coming up with three new plans at once and dismissing two at the same time, I can't keep track of it. But my mouth can only utter one thought at a time; it keeps me focused.
Not to mention the fact that speaking out loud helps to disperse the aura of loneliness that's been settling around me like a blanket since the day the Careers split.
"Okay, so, you're scared. And that's perfectly natural. Maybe, maybe fear isn't a logical thing, but that's fine. It's like, a method of self-preservation. We worry about things we don't like so that we don't go near them. All right. But in order to get rid of your fear, you might need to go near Meredith. No, no, that's a terrible idea." Groaning, I shove the axe off my lap and rise from the floor, beginning to pace like I always do whenever my brain's working overtime. "Okay, think. Providing those tapestries are correct, she has a dragon. Probably the same one the other Careers originally fought . . . unless there are two in here. Which would be much, much worse." I pause, shuddering slightly at the idea. "Anyways, chasing after her: not a good idea. But letting her come fine me: also not good. She has flight, she has fire, there's no way to take out that mutt with any of . . ."
The castle's weapons. That's what I'm about to say. And it's true; none of the axes, swords or maces in this armory would be of any use against a gigantic, six-ton dragon.
But something I saw yesterday when I'd first entered the castle courtyard might.
Practically leaping through the armory door, I sprint down one of the many hallways, racing back towards the main entrance. This could work, this might just work – at least as a defensive system should Meredith decide to turn her monster my way. Who knows when that could happen though . . . but my rapid pace begins to slow as I realise that a fight might not soon come our way. After all, she just took out both Perrin and Achilles. Surely that's enough to sate the bloodthirsty appetites of both Meredith and the Capitol audience.
I manage to believe that for another thirty seconds. Then, just as I'm about to reach the throne room, the music starts to play.
It freezes me in my tracks, the chilling tune echoing through the cavernous hall and resounding all around me. I-I know this song. It's the one Precious sung on the day of the reapings.
Or is it?
Precious's song, the same one my mother used to sing to me, was titled In the Land of the Sun. Rebels used to sing it back and forth to each other on the battlefield, to reassure themselves that a new day, a day free of the Capitol's iron hold on the districts, would dawn. It was a song of hopes and dreams.
Two things the Capitol loves to destroy.
Throughout the war between districts and Capitol, the Peacekeepers became irritated with hearing this one song over and over again. Perhaps because people used it as an act of defiance; back during the war, the Capitol launched a surprise attack on District 12 with the support of a turn cloak District 1. Those that didn't die in the immediate battle were kept as prisoners and set up to be executed on live television for all of the rebels to see. But instead of crying and begging for mercy like the president at the time, Gregorio Deutschten, had wanted, they'd begun to sing. Not many words got out before the bullets entered their skulls, but it was enough to spark hope throughout the districts.
A hope that had to be squashed. So the Peacekeepers came up with their own song to chant as they marched through the battlefield.
Sleep now my child, don't you rise,
Listen intently to your district's cries,
Soon we shall rest and the day will be stark,
And I will find you in the land of the dark,
We all can hurt you, and pain shall come,
Both from poison, feathered creatures or mutts
And then from the white bringers of death,
So sleep now my child, don't you rise
Just listen intently to your district's cries
Soon we shall rest and the day will be stark
And then I will find you in the land of the dark
My grandmother said my parents had always hated that song, my father especially. He was six when the Capitol had finally beat the rebels, and the night the fighting finally ended, all was quiet throughout our district. Everyone knew what was coming – the announcement had been broadcast on every radio channel, which was all most people had had before the Capitol made TVs mandatory. It had said that the Peacekeepers would be coming around . . . with a list. A list of those they thought to be primary members of the rebellion. That could have meant anyone in the district. And so everyone had sat in their homes in fear, terrified of what might happen if the Peacekeepers chose to knock down their door. And so dead silence enveloped the district – until the Peacekeepers started to sing. The tune was mocking, menacing, my grandmother had said, and each line of the song was punctuated by a gunshot, as yet another man or woman was dragged from their homes and shot right there in the streets. The Capitol hadn't even had the decency to dispose of the bodies with respect; they'd been left on their doorsteps for family members to find the next day.
The melody swells, becoming louder and louder and for some reason, all I can hear is the Capitol's version of what was once meant to be a reassuring lullaby. The song is instrumental, the exact same tune as the one my mother used to hum, but nevertheless, I can't bring the calming lyrics to mind. It's as if death itself is serenading me, beckoning a door which I'll inevitably enter. You can't win, it whispers and I can almost feel the cold fingers of fear claw at me. You could never win. Come to me, there's no point in hiding.
I will always find you in the land of the dark.
I don't even realise I'm running until I nearly slam face-first into a door; my hands shoot out just in time to push it open and I find myself skidding to a stop inside the main hall. But the music, the music's just getting louder; I can feel it shaking the castle, resonating through my very soul and I can't outrun it, I can't outrun it, I can't outrun it. Yet still, my feet keep moving, heading straight for the castle's double-door entrance. A logical part of my brain tries to reason that this must be a Gamemaker trap, that they all have boundaries and if I can just get out of the castle, I'll be safe. But most of my mind is far past using logic now.
The doors burst open as I bolt through them, but even here, in the castle courtyard, I can still hear that chilling song. Only it's not alone anymore. My whole body is shaking, at first from what I believe to be fear at the melody and all that it entails, but the realisation comes quickly that the source of these tremors is the ground. It feels almost as if the entire arena is shaking.
My mind is still occupied with the ever-loudening music, yet this new mystery actually helps me to focus. It's a problem, a puzzle, something to occupy my thoughts. Maybe the whirring of my brain will help drown out the song.
I alter my path, originally heading for wooden gates that marked the edge of the courtyard in the hopes of escaping whatever trap the Gamemakers have planned. Now, though, I reach out to the stone stairs leading up to the battlements. My hands grasp the railing and I nearly fly up the first few steps in anticipation of glimpsing what's causing the rumbling. I won't deny, I'm terrified out of my mind – the idea that Meredith and her pet monster could be behind this new development has already occurred to me and, if it's true, I might be too scared to even do anything about it.
But I have to see.
I reach the top of the battlements and lean out as far over the stone railway as I dare. At first, I can't pinpoint the source of the noise; being high up enables me to see the trees, the tower, the mountains and not much else. Everything that passes beneath the canopy of the forest is a mystery to me.
Slowly, though, the things clear the woods and I realise with widening eyes what's going on. No, no! I figured I'd have more time, figured I'd be able to plan . . .
But I can't. Because the Gamemakers are bringing us all together now.
It takes a few shocked steps backwards before I snap out of my surprise, and when I do, I turn to bolt back into the castle. I don't care if the song is louder in there, I just want the safety only four walls can bring. And of course, the moment I cross the threshold of the fortress, the music swells to an almost deafening intensity.
Then, everything goes silent.
Gwen Watkins, District 7 Female
Pain. Agony. None of these words can possibly describe how I feel. During our trek through the forest, I tried to come up with a better term – then I realised thinking about it only made it worst. And I can't, I can't do that to myself. I have to keep going, for my mother, for my darling pet Niko, for . . . oh, does it matter who it's for?
I don't want to die.
I just . . . I can't. Please, please, I can't. Not because my mother would mourn me, not because the animals might miss me, but because I am terrified of dying. What happens then? Is it bad? Good? Does it hurt?
And after it happens, where do I go? Am I ghost, forever condemned to haunting the arena where I died? Is there some sort of place to go? Or will just simple . . . cease to exist?
That idea scares me most of all.
I've told myself I have to keep it together, at the very least for the benefit of my ally. I wouldn't say my mind is fine now, exactly, but had Taralo not helped to pull me from that hole, I would have gone mad. Taralo, my shy, paranoid ally, who used to fear and respect me as the firm leader of our little trio. What does he think of me now, I wonder? Now that I've gone from Gwen, the fierce fighter to Gwen, the girl who cries when she has to sleep because she's worried she might never wake up.
"D-do you . . . hear that?" The words shock me; we've been travelling in silence since we left the cabin, never stopping once to discuss when to rest, what to eat or even where we're planning on going. I guess neither Taralo nor I are particularly talkative people; before, we only spoke because of . . . Lore.
"G-Gwen?"
The anxiety in my ally's tone has mounted and I slowly try to free myself from pain's iron grasp, at least enough to register Taralo's words. His pale blue eyes are focused on me, wide with terror, but then, that's nothing new. Until I realise what he meant with his question.
"Gwen-?"
"I hear it."
A song. Quiet right now, but is it my imagination or is it growing louder with every passing second? It's not a tune I can say I recognise, though I'm almost certain it's coming from somewhere in front of us. Why, though? For what purpose could it possibly-
Then comes the rumbling.
"Gwen?" Taralo's volume has upped slightly, fear making his voice both louder and higher. Of course, we don't know that something bad is causing this, but when you're in the arena, it's a pretty safe assumption. I suck in a sharp breath, picturing hordes of those murderous dwarves chasing in our wake. Although, from behind us I can also hear . . . squeaking?
Oh, God; what are they sending after us now?
"Taralo, we have to move," I hiss, trying to snap my ally out of his terrified daze. "Taralo, now!" He jumps at the intensity in my tone and starts off and a fast walk, but by the agony that rips through my injuries, I can tell it's a pace we won't be able to maintain. I just . . . I can't manage it.
"G-Gwen?" Taralo stutters out as tears spring to my eyes from the pain. "Are you . . . Are you . . . M-maybe I should slow down."
"No!" I gasp out, desperately trying to keep the suffering out of my voice. "Keep going, please, I'm fine. Just don't . . . don't stop . . ."
But it's not him stopping. It's me.
I can't keep going, I can't outrun whatever kinds of mutts are coming up behind us. And it's not fair to drag Taralo down with me, is it? "Taralo," I begin, and his eyes meet mine, waiting for instruction, but I can't get the rest of the words out. Leave me behind. Save yourself. No! He's my only chance, the only thing keeping me alive; without him I won't be able to walk on my own, I'll be alone in this forest to die, not die, not die, I can't die, I don't want to, I'm not ready, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE, NO!
My whole body's shaking, aggravating my already gruesome wounds, but I can't stop. The right thing . . . the right thing is to save Taralo. But sending him away is sealing my fate and I-I can't. Oh, God, Lore, Lore, how did you do this? How did you close the trapdoor on life just so that Taralo and I might survive? I always called you incompetent, idiotic, irritating beyond belief. And I was fool for it. You were a hero, and always will be.
I-I'm not a hero. But . . . I have to try.
"Go." The words come out as a mere whisper, so quiet I'm positive they were only spoken in my head. Yet Taralo's eyes widen even still. "Go," I say louder. "Taralo, you have to . . . you have to . . ." The words catch in my throat and I choke out a sob. "Taralo, you have to leave me behind."
He just continues to stare at me, his eyes so full of confusion that I can barely stand it. Every second he waits I lose more of my nerve. I open my mouth to tell him so, to shout, to do whatever I can to make him leave, but he cuts me off before I can.
"No," he says quietly, his white hair trembling as he shakes his head.
"Taralo-"
"Let's go home." His words stop me short. "Y-you said "Let's go home". Let's. Let us." He gestures to me with his free hand. "Us is more than one person. Us is . . . is you and me. Because that's all that's left. S-so, we have to stay together. To go home." The next words are barely audible as he whispers, "Please, don't leave me."
I don't know which feeling is more powerful: happiness, utter happiness at my ally's loyalty or shame for being so glad he's throwing his life away to help save mine. Both of these emotions I try to convey in a single, murmured "Thank you", but I'm not sure if he even hears it; the rumbling grows even louder, and seconds later the creatures burst through the bushes behind us.
Taralo Hicken, District 6 Male
Don't be afraid, I tell myself. Don't be afraid. For Gwen. Usually when I talk to myself like that, I try to hear the words in Zephyr's voice. But my long-time friend hasn't shown himself since we entered the cave. Now, I think of Lore.
Maybe it's his bravery that gives me some courage when the animals first appear before us. Or maybe it's because I was expecting so much worse. Funny how me getting scared could actually help sometimes; often the scenarios I pictured were way worse than what would actually end up happening.
When I first heard the rumbling, I was terrified. It was those evil dwarves, I was sure of it; only an army of them this time. But instead, I found rats.
Not normal rats of course; we used to have them at our house and I learned not to be scared of them after a while. These ones are bigger, much bigger; as wide as my head and long as my arm, at least. Then there are their red eyes and huge, pointed teeth. Though the weirdest thing has to be their ears; enormous, as big as my hand and definitely not proportionate to their bodies. Why are they like that?
I can't think of an answer though, and I'm distracted by Gwen's gasp as she sees the creatures. Maybe she's never even seen a rat before. But it doesn't matter; I have, and I'm still terrified as they come closer. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, I chant silently, one hand wrapping around my necklace while the other holds tighter to Gwen. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, don't be afraid . . .
"Taralo . . ."
I tear my gaze away from the rats to stare at Gwen, who's watching the rats with a mixture of shock and confusion. "W-what?" She doesn't answer at first, her eyes focused on the animals as they pace about before us. And then it hits me, what's so off about this; the rats came tearing through the bushes at top speed when we first saw them. Why stop now?
Suddenly, the music still playing through the air grows louder and as one, the creatures' heads shoot up. Their upper lips curl back into snarls and one leaps forwards at us, its gnashing teeth inches from my ankle. I let out a startled yelp and stumble back, Gwen wincing as she's dragged along with me, and the rats all move closer, more and more emerging from the bushes with each passing second. And it dawns on me what's happening, just as Gwen says it out loud.
"They want us to move." She looks over her shoulder. "Towards the music."
I'm trembling so badly now, I'm surprised she's not shaking along with me. "W-why?"
Her brow furrows; not in pain, for once, but concentration. "Six of us left," she whispers to herself. I don't know what that means; is the number six special in this place? "They're bringing us together."
That confuses me too, for a moment, until I see the look of absolute terror on her face. And suddenly, I don't want to know what it means. But for some reason, I can't stop myself from asking. "What's happening?" I ask Gwen as another rat leaps forwards, forcing us back once more. "What's going to happen?"
She bites her lip, her eyes darting from me to distant, unseen place where the music must be coming from. "We . . ." she peters off as the rats push us further through the forest. "We're . . . going home."
I want to believe it. I want so, so bad to believe it. But one look in her eyes tells me I can't. "No," I say, shaking my head. "W-what's going to happen, Gwen?"
Her eyes stare into mine and I think she realises she can't keep secrets to protect me. Because her next words do nothing to make me feel safe.
"We're going to fight."
Catherine Street, District 6 Female
I'm safe. I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe. Rats can't climb trees.
Can they?
My arms cling desperately to the trunk of an old oak as I stare down at the sea of grey below. It's lucky I decided to set up camp early this afternoon; otherwise, I might have been caught down there when the mutts came. But now it's all right, it's all right, I'm all right.
Until my foot shifts on the branch I stand on. A sliver of bark peels off the tree, falling past limb after limb until it lands amidst the animals below. I don't know why I hold my breath on its descent; I mean, it's not like it's going to do anything, right?
Then one rat looks up.
Then another.
And suddenly, they're all staring up at me, eyes like so many red stars shining through a blanket of stormy clouds. Dhara once told me that the stars are people who've died, and are looking down on Earth to protect those of us still living. But the rats' eyes make me feel the exact opposite of safe.
That's all right though, I think, nervously altering my position in the tree. Because you're safe up here. They can't get you; don't wor-
The first rat to look up, the biggest in the pack, approaches the base of the tree. It sniffs the trunk, bares its yellow fangs . . . and sticks out one talon-filled paw to dig into the bark.
It's all I can do not to fall out of the tree in shock as the thing reaches out another paw and somehow manages to get its furry body up a few inches off the ground. It squeaks once, and that's all the signal the others need; soon hundreds of furry bodies are scurrying rapidly up the surface of the tree, all heading straight for me.
I don't bother to conceal the scream that comes from my lips at the sight of all these mutts heading straight for me, and the sound is all I need to snap out of my horror. Do something, I need to do something! My head snaps left and right, but I can't see anything, just branches because like an idiot I climbed a tree, a tree, a tree with nowhere to go but up and down. And down is death. While up is just delaying the inevitable.
So I need . . . I need to go to the side?
A plan starts to form in my head, not a well-thought-through one, but I have no time; the first rat is only a few feet below me, and covering the distance with speed I wouldn't have thought possible for a creature like it. In no time at all, the rat is pulling its body onto my branch, squeaking and snapping with its overlarge fangs. It starts to advance on me, but I give it no time; instead, I close my eyes, utter a silent prayer to Dhara's mother or whoever might be watching over me, and leap for the adjacent tree.
It's not a clean jump and I miss the branch I was intending to grab; arms flailing, I lash out in fear for anything I might be able to grab, and somehow my hands wrap around another, thinner limb. Scrambling and gasping, I just barely manage to pull myself up before my grip slips, and instead of falling once more, I'm leaning against the tree trunk trying to calm my hysterical breathing. But I did it. I did it! I escaped those evil mutts!
Until I look down and scream again; there's way more rats than I thought, and those not frantically trying to race down my old tree are climbing up my new one, quicker even than before. I can't believe this, I can't believe this!
But I can't give up now. We're down to the final six and for the first time since I got here, I've actually considered the possibility that I might actually get home to my family again. I won't let that chance disappear because of some stupid, overlarge rodents.
So I jump to another tree, and another, not realise until I'm about to collapse from exhaustion that the mutts have no intention of killing me. No, they're forcing me out of the forest.
Calican Sareamer, District 10 Male
I was planning on letting them take me. The moment the mutts found me, I thought, why not? I'm a goner anyways. I'm starving, thirsty, injured and crazy. Death by giant rats; there must be worse ways to die.
You could be thrown off a tower, for instance, after saving someone who in no way deserved it. Or you could get caught in a trap that wasn't meant for you at all, but made with disgusting, murderous intent anyways.
But I couldn't even do that properly. The moment those rats came near me, I was up and stumbling through the forest, trying to get away. Even now, I'm still going; though the pain in my ribs is so great that my walk as turned into more of a slow-motion stumble. The rats don't seem to mind though; they follow close behind, nipping at my heels once in a while to keep me moving while never actually doing any physical damage. They want to take me somewhere – they don't want me dead. So is that good or bad?
I thought I'd made my decision. After lying in the forest with nothing but my own thoughts and nightmares to keep me company, I thought I'd decided that ultimately, death was the better option. I just didn't have a weapon to do it with; that was my excuse. I just figured that sooner or later, someone would come along to do the deed. And I'd be happy for it.
But as soon as I thought the rats were there to kill me, I was up and stumbling along as fast as my injuries would allow. I thought there was no worse state, I thought I was as bad as a human could get the moment I killed Malia with my trap; then I realised I don't even have enough courage to die properly. Why? Why can't I just end this?! Wouldn't that be easier?
And yet I let the rats push me through the forest like I'm some sort of sheep to be herded. Or goose. Like the kind Keya told me Devera used to look after, until I murdered her sister in cold blood. Or did Meredith do that? It's all becoming so confusing, I can't even remember anymore.
I stagger forwards and my arms fly out to catch hold of the bushes in front of me, but they're thinner than I first thought and provide no help in keeping my balance. Instead, I go crashing to the ground, crying out as my ribs slam into the solid surface. Tears fill my eyes and I don't bother to hold them in, deciding that I'm just going to lie here for the rest of my pathetic, miserable life and contemplate how badly I've screwed , Poe, Kastler, Devera, Malia, can any of you ever forgive me? Please, please, send me a sign that you do, I can't stand the guilt, I'm losing it, I've lost it, please . . .
Squeak!
One bleary eye opens and slowly a rat sharpens into view, sitting near my head with its nose twitching expectantly. I stare at it for a moment, unable to even comprehend what the creature is doing here, and slowly my eye starts to close once more. Whatever it is, I don't care, I don't care, about anything, actually, nothing that-
"Ahh!"
My hand is on fire, and my eyes shoot open to find the rat's two biggest fangs sunk deep into the space beneath my knuckles. Frantically, I yank my arm back and the beast lets go, though not before digging deeper and nearly managing to dig its teeth all the way through to my palm. It hurts, it hurts, oh, God, it hurts . . . I try to scramble as far from the creature as I possibly can, but there are some on all sides, teeth bared and ready to tear me apart. Maybe I was wrong – maybe they are going to kill me. No, no, no, no, I don't want more pain, please! It hurts, it all hurts too much and I'm done, I'm done, hasn't this all been enough? "Leave me alone," I sob, tears flowing freely down my cheeks to fall on the grass below. "P-please, just leave me alone."
They don't – but they move slightly. To my left, a path forms as the rats run to either side to clear the way for me. And then I see where they were trying to lead me.
I didn't realise I'd reached the edge of the forest when I fell through the bushes. I didn't even remember there was an edge to the forest. But now a vague memory comes to me, of standing on a metal plate atop a tower, so long ago, and staring across a vast woods where a castle's towers were just visible over the tops of the trees. I'd forgotten all about it.
So this is where they want me to go. It's there or . . . or die. I don't- I don't want there. I want home. Yes, yes, I want home. I want my loving, gentle parents to hold me in my arms and tell me they love me no matter what. I want Kastler and Poe and Keya to forgive me and forget and like me no matter what. Please, I just want all that back.
Under the rats' watchful gaze, I slowly, and painfully, begin to rise and walk. Because I've seen death, and it is horrible and hideous and gut-wrenching and final. I-I can't let that be my fate.
Please. Please
Meredith Blade, District 4 Female
I've never seen a rat before. Mind you, I've never eaten one either, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Isn't that right, Darrel?
Originally, I was planning on trying a bit of Perrin's charred corpse. The hovercraft's don't pick people up until everyone else is gone and, well, I'm still here! But then I remembered that cannibalism is a big no-no in Games. It makes people think you're crazy. And then the Capitol kills you. So I didn't eat Perrin. Because, hah, I'm not crazy. I'm a winner. I'm the winner. Of the 37th Hunger Games.
Still, delightful surprise to have the rats appear. I just had Darrel burn them all the crisps, which I realised was gross for cooking. But Darrel doesn't really have a setting other than completely charred. I mean, you're not a stove, Darrel! I can't just twist a knob and set you to the correct temperature!
Wouldn't that be funny if I could, though?
After I'd murdered all the nearby rats and stopped their stupid squeaking, I'd realised something else I'd missed. Music. Hah, music is for wimps. Wimps like Perrin and Achilles and Rhine and Code and Cordelia and all the others! Yes, they do like their music, don't they? Want a pretty funeral dirge, huh, Perrin? Of course you do; you're dead! That's why the joke's so funny.
Still, if music means wimps and wimps means, wells, wimps I can kill, maybe I should follow the music? Oho, this sounds like a plan! Darrel, Darrel, are you listening? I'm coming up with a new plan, Darrel! Excited? Of course you are, you'll get to kill things!
And I will too. Because I the winner. The winner always kills things! That's what Grandfather said at least, before disease killed him. He'd always say, "Meredith, your passion for bloodlust is unquenchable! I love it! Keep that up, don't ever lose it and maybe I'll be able to use you to stick it to those Capitol bastards one day!"
Hehe, don't I do an excellent Grandfather impression?
But silly Grandfather, you got cold feet! You tried and tried and tried so hard to make me love killing, from the very start, and then I did! And then you stopped liking it. You decided it was too much. You decided it was "sick". No, Grandfather, YOU WERE SICK!
And now you're dead. Joke's on you.
So let's go to this little musical meeting, Darrel. After all, you're just aching to stretch your wings, aren't you? And your fire gland . . . pfft, fire gland? Ha, that sounds so stupid! Like Janaff. And all of those other wimps.
Now come on, Darrel, up and at 'em, time to go! Darrel? Daaaaaaarrel!
Oh, silly me, I've been talking to you inside my head all this time. And you can't understand because you don't have . . . whatchamacallit? Telepathy! You don't have telepathy, Darrel. You're telepathetic.
Pfft. Telepathetic. I kill myself!
No I don't. I kill others. Right now. Now, Darrel. Darrel? Oh, right.
"All right," I say out loud, giving my whip a solid crack for good measure. "Let's go kill wimps. And anything else. Everything else. Because, you know, we can. Can't we, Darrel?"
