Day Twelve, Night
Sebastian Keating, District 6, 17
Since the new feast had been announced, Trojan had decided it best that we make our way back into the Palace - or the ruins of it. What was once an indoor arena was now a relic that was filled with debris. Grass and flowers already seemed to creep through the ground, the process of nature taking over something that once belonged to humans had already been artificially sped up by the Gamemakers.
I plucked a lone daisy which had sprouted out from between two large chunks of rubble which I think was once a ceiling. I remember when my sister used to play silly games with daisies, plucking a petal and using it to decide if someone crushed on her or not. I glanced up at Trojan, who didn't seem to notice that I was glancing at him. He was desperately trying to light a fire with soggy splinters of wood. A sunny morning had descended into a miserable afternoon, and now we were facing a chilly night. I shook slightly and my hands were pink from the cold.
I felt like the Gamemakers did this on purpose. Gave us the option to lurk within indoor shelter to lull us into false security for a while. Once the roof had been torn off, they made the nights colder and relished in seeing if we could cope with it.
"We need to get to that feast tomorrow," Trojan announced. I noticed Trojan enjoyed repeating sentiments; he'd told me we needed to go to the feast a few times. I wondered if he thought I was dumb or if he was forgetful. Maybe he knew he repeated things a little too much. "I think we'd suffer without it."
A twist hit me in my gut. I resisted whimpering in pain, just so Trojan detect any weakness. If I had anything in my stomach I'd be throwing it up. But I didn't. I had nothing. And I was slowly but surely deteriorating.
"What do you think?"
I blinked through the pain, shocked Trojan even wanted my opinion. "We'd be kind of in danger if we went to the feast," I told Trojan. "I mean, Leein did say that the feast was optional. Maybe we don't need to go, we can try and find food and water some other way... If it's food and water they're even offering..."
"I mean, you have a point," Trojan seemed to ponder for a few seconds. "But we don't know what's there, and it's worth finding out."
I couldn't protest, not against Trojan. I didn't have the energy. All I wanted was that vial. I would die without it. I knew I would die. But if I was too weak to stand up to my ally, how the hell could I expect to go into a brutal feast and leave it alive? I wanted to stay far away from that feast. If I went, it would be nothing more than a death sentence for me. And I wanted to get home...
Silence. I began slowly plucking each petal off the daisy, thinking about my eldest sister. Instead of he loves me, he loves me not I had another question in my mind: he trusts me, he trusts me not. Each time I plucked a delicate petal I recited each option in my head.
"Do you agree with me?" Trojan asked once I had plucked the whole daisy. According to it, Trojan didn't trust me. I knew it wasn't real but I felt a sinking feeling that seemed to mix in with the sickness I already felt. But I also supposed it was okay if Trojan didn't really trust me, because I didn't really trust Trojan. The closer I grew to Trojan, the more I discovered, the more I felt disillusioned with him.
"Have you ever been in love before?" I asked.
The deflection actually seemed to work, but Trojan regarded me with suspicion.
"What makes you ask? Have you?"
Maybe it was fine to be honest with Trojan. Whether I had been in love or not wouldn't alter his opinion on me, surely. And it wasn't like I was revealing any major vulnerabilities or planned strategy.
"Once, I think," I said. Trojan seemed initially interested, until he had managed to light a fire. He declared his inner feelings of joy quite expressively and immediately looked for something to cook deep in our empty backpack. For some reason, I continued ranting: "She was a nice girl. I'm not naming names on national TV, but we never dated. I don't think she knew I existed..."
"And her name is Mirane Saffell," Trojan sniggered. "Or Alexandria Tarsus. Or Honora Flloyd, right?"
"Huh?"
Trojan shook his head. "Pop culture reference."
Oh. I realised my words mirrored Peeta Mellark's well over one-hundred years ago. His moment of declaration had become iconic, because before then romance within Hunger Games never existed (and since, they had become a lot more commonplace, if still rare). I think it was the first time Trojan had ever referenced something that had made me laugh before.
"No, no, no-one in the arena thank god," I moved over to the fire to absorb some of its warmth. "I hope she never goes into an arena. I mean, I don't feel anything for her now, over it. But still. Who deserves what we're going through, right?"
"I can name a few people," Trojan admitted, taking a swig of the little water we had and slipping it back into the backpack. "Trust me, there are some real shits out there in the world. I'm kind of sure some are still in the arena."
"Six sins incarnate are in the arena," I pointed out. "Isn't that a bit of a cocktail for death and destruction?"
Trojan shrugged. "As long as I live, I'm fine with it."
I nodded tentatively and tore my gaze from the flames, letting my hands hover over it in an attempt to heat them up. I still felt super sick and weak. Trojan remained silent after that time and I was allowed to stare out into the horizon until the anthem blared in the distance. I quickly looked up in the clear sky. As no cannons had fired, there were no faces up above, so nothing except the Capitolian logo was displayed.
How peculiar, that it was day twelve and nobody had died. Usually when the final eight hit it was succession after succession of brutal deaths; but then again, the day after the final eight were announced two tributes were quickly offed. Maybe the Gamemakers wanted to save us for something much more menacing. I shivered, from both the cold and the thought of what was to come.
Pullox Shimmers, District 1, 18
I couldn't recall the whole arena by heart. I did have a fairly good memory, though the arena was miles along. Ignoring the once beautiful grounds, the Palace had hundreds of rooms and hundreds of corridors, including an attic and an underground arena. But I knew my way to some of the twenty-four courtyards within the arena. I had memorised those. I immediately knew the courtyard which had been destroyed in the confrontation between Carlie and Honora would not be used for the feast, but once I walked through a courtyard I had in mind I immediately knew I had hit jackpot.
It was easily the most beautiful courtyard in the arena, that hadn't changed after a devastating storm had hit. Fountains lined the walls and cupids shot jets out water out of their arrows. Butterflies and ladybirds danced amongst the flowerbeds. Reddened ivy had strangled the surrounding walls. Silk flags which displayed both the Panemian and the Nystalgian crests had been hung from each side of the wall, the wind carrying them proudly as they draped.
What better? Not only was it beautiful and patriotic, but I had worked out the mechanics the Gamemakers had created solely for the audience's - for my - entertainment. It had two large, wooden doors that could easily trap tributes into a fight to the death. High hedges and gates made good spots to run for cover, and also divided the tributes from the centre of the courtyard that bit more. In the centre of a picturesque gazebo was an altar where the feast's precious objects would be placed.
I approached the first fence, managing to open the gate, slowly navigating myself to the gazebo and ascending its three wooden steps. Despite being the largest courtyard, when I turned three-hundred and sixty degrees and observed it I noticed how suffocating it was. I don't think a feast had ever been so enclosed before. Couple that with the fact some tributes had guns, including myself, this was bound to be some quality Saturday afternoon entertainment.
I rubbed my hands together. The Gamemakers weren't going to get what they bargained for, especially because I found this courtyard earlier than they had intended. This would be so much more intense. The fountains of water I saw would soon be replaced with blood.
My suspicions are confirmed when I approached the altar. The outlines of the objects that the Gamemakers would place onto it had been etched into the intricate, oriental wood. One was large and square, the other small and round and a third object was both small and square. I wondered what the Gamemakers would be presenting us with. Most feasts - whenever they happened - went the traditional route and had one object for each tribute or district, usually one said tribute or district wanted or needed. But there were only three objects, whilst there were six tributes, one alliance and five Districts left in the Games. They could be trying to present us all with important objects that had been left prior in the Games, but I was unsure how they'd go about that. Perhaps they were doing a feast similar to last year's, where they would present us with a gift that we all needed in order to survive?
But would they really repeat that party trick again? And how could they do that when all the objects would be different? And if the objects from the feast would be mandatory for survival, why did they specify that the feast was optional? If a feast was optional, they'd need to give us some attractive things in order for us to attend such a death match (unless, of course, there were Careers like myself and Honora who would go solely for the death match). I certainly knew what I wanted out of the feast. And I was certain the Gamemakers knew what I wanted, too. Tobias was a clever man; very perceptive.
A strong wind blew through the courtyard, ruffling my hair slightly as I leaned on the altar. Dead leaves and blossoms adorned the air, swirling around as I thought about the feast tomorrow afternoon. Rain began to fall lightly, but the thatched roof above shielded me.
I definitely had a strategy and I couldn't wait to employ it. Tomorrow afternoon couldn't come sooner.
River Virtage, Rebel, District 4
"Are you ready?" Kyliena approached me. I was stood in her living room, overlooking rocky cliffs and the vast ocean through the wide windows.
District Thirteen were planning to attack and target the Capitol, and we were swift in planting bombs in multiple transport hubs and ammunition factories within District Four. Sadly, this success hadn't been mirrored by rebel groups in the other Districts: District Three's group had been intercepted and since then our plans had fallen apart. Worms in the Capitol, including Olga - who had saved my life - had been executed. The President had whipped the other Districts into submission. Many of our plans had been leaked to the intelligence agencies.
But yet we carried on.
... All I had to do was press a red button which would give the signal.
District Four's focus was fishing, so even though bombing the few ammunition factories of transport factories wouldn't help much (compared to bombing the likes of District Five, Three or Six), the plan had still commenced. For the attention, bombs were also placed in the District's square and in the most popular beaches.
"Well..." I exhaled. I had a bad feeling about this. "How are the Fauve's taking the news?"
"Coral is still with them at her place," Kyliena went along with the derailing of the topic. She walked slowly over and stood beside me, looking out of the windows. "Naturally they're pretty distraught. They have been for hours, but they're just happy to be alive," she shook her head. "They sent Lia in in a hope that she would switch over with her brother, that both of them could make it home. As soon as she was exposed they knew that all Lia volunteering had done was exchange one kid for another."
"They must have known it would happen," I said, feeling bad for pointing out the obvious. "Especially after their daughter..."
"They did," Kyliena exhaled. "They knew deep inside, no matter how hard they clung onto hope. I think they've secretly been mourning for days. Or mourning since their son's name was called out," she sat on her desk and looked at me firmly. "But they're okay. We made sure of it with Iopian, they're fine."
"It doesn't change anything..." I somehow felt like a failure. Since joining the rebellion a decade ago I watched so many Games go by and I couldn't do anything. All I did was run away from the Capitol once the rebellion began collapsing there. But in the Districts I was just as powerless, especially since Olga had been executed. Now we had no connection to the Capitol. We had no connection to anything. We were reliant on District Thirteen. I hoped to god Delilah Fauve was amongst the last victims of these wretched Games.
Kyliena seemed to read my thoughts. Her eyes, which were as blue as the sea behind her, probed into mine.
"We can change things now, River," she said. "I know how the Fauve's feel. I lost Krindle and it still hurts. Coral lost Blaine. Most of us rebels in District Four are here because of the people we've lost, and right now we can make a difference. If you just press that button."
Before she finished the sentence, my hand slammed down onto it. All of the areas we had rigged were so far away, but I could almost feel the ground shakes. Despite looking out into the sea I could envision the flames. I don't know why I felt torn up inside. I was bringing down the Capitol, or helping District Thirteen bring it down. I had reservations about District Thirteen's leadership - especially with their authoritarianism. But anything was better than this... right?
But I had just done what I hated the Capitol doing. Like the Fauve's, there were people out there, innocent people, who would all lose their lives. Mother's losing children, people losing lovers and friends. All because District Four's rebels had rigged bombs around the District and I had pressed my finger down onto a button. It could possibly save lives in the future... but was possibly enough? And could I ever be forgiven?
It wasn't as dramatic as I had expected. The button had been pressed. The coral shaped clock hung up on the wall continued to tick calmly. Just entering, you wouldn't have expected anything big to happen. You wouldn't think there was a war going on in my head, or a war going on outside my head for that matter. I looked so composed but deep inside I felt awful.
"It is done," I exhaled. Despite the side effects of guilt, I felt relieved. I had done what I had to do to bring down the Capitol. Now hopefully District Thirteen would cut the head off the wounded snake. "For the Fauves."
"For Krindle..."
"For everyone."
A day in the final twelve with no deaths?! What is this witchcraft.
Sorry for the late update, everyone. I've been busy, and I still am busy. Uni is still going on, and I have volunteering projects and Christmas on top of that. I'm also travelling to the states this month, so yeah, busy busy :p
~Toxic
