Hello. Sorry for the delay. I spent a long time plotting out the rest of the story, and am currently flipping between two different victors. I've just been in this slump for the past month or so. I haven't been writing or reading, and therefore I didn't finish this until now.
I'm sure you don't care. I'm a random stranger on the internet- you don't need my life story, so let's just get into today. Except one more thing. Currently, Winstead is completely insane at this point. He feels pretty sane, and everything he thinks seems okay, but just know he's absolutely lost it at this point.
Now, onto the murder of children.
Chapter 35- Day 9
Lin Ru, District 5
I can't stop crying. It's been on and off ever since Drake left. What was even worse was seeing him on screen. I feel miserable all the time now. My baby is nearly here, one of the few good things at this bleak point. It's odd, knowing that another human being is growing inside me. I am creating a new life, right now. It's an incredible sensation, but it's forced me to grow up. Even more so than growing up in a middle class family in a poor district. That is, when I'm not a mess of conflicting emotions. My husband, Henri, is still holding my hand. He hasn't let go since we left the train. I'm pretty sure his hand must have lost feeling at this point, I've been gripping it so hard. The concern on his face hasn't lessened either, and it warms my heart every time I look at his face. One of the thousand reasons I married him. Of course, then I think about Drake again. About how he's all alone in the arena with murderous children, that he could drop dead at any given moment and I'd be forced to watch. I feel the tears well up all over again. It's been on and off all day. Damn pregnancy, completely screwing with me emotionally until I vomit. That's been another great thing about pregnancy. The morning sickness. Sometimes afternoon sickness too. Or very late at night.
Miserable and tired, I try to keep myself calm. Henri does a better job than me at that.
Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, "we're okay. It's okay. He's going to be okay." his hand is on my baby bump. I've found that the space between his head and shoulder in the perfect size for my head, and I feel safe as I rest it there. One hand still in mine, he moves the other one from my stomach to my hair, running them through my long, black hair. The same colour as Drake's. Great. Now I'm thinking about him again.
"It's just so unfair."
"I know," he's quick to answer, "I know. We'll get through this. He will." He knows to not use Drake's name around me. Last time he did, it caused a day-long emotional outbreak.
Pulling back, he takes his hand out of mine. Putting both on my shoulders, he looks me right in the eye, "we'll get through this. It's only a five minute interview. Just five minutes." I nod, clearing my throat and wiping the tears from my eyes.
Perfect timing. It's just as I put a small smile on my face -purely to humour Henri- that I hear the call of Rexa Corsan, sending off Father and calling me on. With Henri. There is no way I could do this without him. Taking his hand again, we walk right by him. He's so strong, so reserved. That is, until he walks off the set. The moment they do, I watch my father's face fall. Of course. He was very close with Drake. I think it's because Drake is so much like Mother was. Drake was only 5 when she died. As the oldest of all my siblings, I have the most memories of her. Drake just gets more and more like her with each day.
I give Father a hug just before stepping out onto the stage. The cameras and people are all hidden behind blinding lights. I nearly stumbled back with the sheer force attacking my retinas. Yet I keep walking. Henri doesn't falter a step. Of course. He's way better at this sort of thing than I am. He is the Mayor, afterall. Which makes it all that weirder that the two of us somehow found each other. Clutching his hand, I walk out beside him. I need help sitting down.
"Well, hello dears," she looks around our age, coming up on maybe 30 years, so it feels weird having her call us dears. That's when I remember she's been doing this job for more than 30 years, and I feel even more unnerved. Every year with the exact same makeup, the exact same hair, the exact same pale blue dress and falsely tanned skin. Everything about her is fake, even the little laugh she gave as Henri helped me sit down.
"Hello, Rexa Corsan. How are you?" Henri puts on the charade for both of us. I still have tears in my eyes, and I'm trying to keep my head as for it not to be noticed by Rexa Corsan.
"I'm very well, though these games have caused some anxiety."
Anxiety. Yeah, sure. Let's pretend that you weren't elated at what's happened in the arena. I want to say something, but I choked on the words before I could get them out.
"Oh, completely," Henri agreed. Rexa leaned in, the fabric of her dress wrinkling around her waist.
"How have you two been feeling? Mr. Darnell, I'm sure you haven't had the most time with Drake, but what did it feel like to see him get reaped?"
Just keep answering for me, please. Henri cleared his throat, the smile back on his face, "I don't know Drake that well, but in the times I have spoken to him, I've found that he's a very smart, kind young man. He's a lot like Lin, actually." he squeezes my hand, looking back into my eyes. Really? Me and Drake? I don't see it. I give him a small smile, quickly wiping the tears off my cheeks. Please say no one noticed.
While trying to compliment me, he turned the attention on me,
"Ah, yes. Lin," her wide eyes turn to me. Readjusting my posture, I sit up straight, "how have you been during all this?" she not only gestured to the people in the audience, but to my stomach as well.
"I- uh-" I try to get rid of the thick tears in my voice by clearing my throat. I try again, "well. I'm very pregnant, as I'm sure you've noticed. I-"
"Yes! How far along are you?"
I look down, "about eight months," she makes a sound of appreciation, mimicked by the audience. I keep looking down as I answer the first question, "so yeah, this entire thing has been very difficult. This is my baby brother, you know? Sometimes I still think he's a child, you know? I mean, I watched him grow up, it's hard to realize that he's still growing up. I just don;t want to see that get cut short." my voice is choked with tears. They start falling soon as I get the words out, rushing the last few so that they run together. I tuck my head back into the alcove between Henri's head and shoulder. I just want this to be over.
…
Henri talks to the Capitolite woman for the next few minutes, the conversation occasionally turning to me. I keep my answers short and to the point. Silently keeping in sobs. The moment I get of stage I do. I finally get to really cry. Violent, body-racking sobs make me collapse into Henri. I love him. I love him so much, "th-thank you," I get it out in between sobs. No one backstage seems to notice, or at least do anything about this 28 year old woman having a freaking meltdown in the arms of the mayor of district 5. It's just Drake. It's everything he's going through right now, everything he's already faced. He's nearly half my age, and yet has done so much more than I ever could have in there. The arena. So I cry. I think he's kissing my forehead, holding me tight. He doesn't say anything, just keeps me close to his chest. I've always been so much smaller than him, even now with a baby on the way. I'm so glad I have him here with me right now. I couldn't have done this on my own.
Winstead Dale, D11M
The sun has been up for only a few minutes, but I'm already up. I have been for hours. I've sat and waited, watching Rusty. She could actually sleep, who knew? Even if it was fitfully. Or maybe she didn't at all. Because the moment I stepped towards her she woke, sitting bolt upright. Even in sleep, there was a dagger clenched tight in each hand. She put both away before wiping the sleep from her eyes,
"Morning, Creep," she said, voice surprisingly clear, "were you watching me sleep?"
"What? I-" I stumble my way through some kind of response, "No. no, I wasn't." she rolled her eyes, turning away from me and standing up. Shaking the sleep from her legs and arms, she walks over to one of our packs, unzipping the bag. The zipper whines as she pulls it back, just far enough to reach in and grab a roll and apple.
"Sleep well?" Amber asks. No, not Amber. Rusty. I need to get that straight. When I sign Asher right away, she sits back down, leaning against a tall tree, she pulls out another knife. How many of those does she have? She can only fit so many in her jacket, or her belt. Maybe one or two in her boots. I just can't know. This one is small and dainty.
She begins peeling the rind off the apple with the knife, the cool crunch in my ears unpleasant and distinctly threatening.
I cough, "fine."
She cocks her head to one side, one strip of the red rind falling to the ground beside her. She keeps going, not saying anything for a second. The only sound in the entire forest is the knife slicing through the apple. Another strip falls to the ground.
"Not very talkative this morning, are we?" seemingly proving her point, I don't answer.
"Hey, I mean just because you murdered some poor girl, that doesn't give you the right to ignore me. I've killed more people in this game than anyone else, but I don't go around all brooding. Seriously, you look like a wolf just ate your family or something."
"I- What? No. Uh-" I can't even say anything. She cut me off before I could stumble through any kind of response.
"Oh, that's right. It wasn't just the girl at the feast. You killed your district partner too, right? What was it? Abilene?" I get to my feet, heart pounding in my throat. Just her name brings it all back,
"How dare you. I-"
She puts her hands up, as if trying to say she won't hurt me. Even as the small knife slides between two of her fingers. Her apple is completely peeled and loosely held in the other hand.
"There's something, at least," she shrugs, going back to her apple, "I'll take what I can get. Just glad to know there's something working up there."
So annoyed, so frustrated, I had to come up with something quick. Distract her and me. If I didn't, I might do something I'll regret, "what about the other careers, huh?" I wanted to know. They were all long dead at this point, at least, as far as I remember.
She looked at me blankly, silently digging through my skull with those dagger eyes, "They're all dead."
"I know," I say, regretting even bringing it up, "I mean, how? How did they die?"
She takes a long time to answer. When she finally does, the words are slow and meticulous, "the boy from 1 died in the bloodbath. Still not sure how. Then there was Wolfe from 4, she died a few days in, thanks to an irritated stomach wound. Then there was the girl from 1, Celestyn Scoles, she was alright. Just got in my way. So I drowned her in a lake. Then there was my district partner. I had no hand in his death, but it was all the better for me- and you, I guess. Then I stuck with Marker from 4 for a while, before he tried to kill me."
She was so calm about all of it, it did all but send a shiver down my spine, "how'd he try and kill you?" My words aren't slurred and mixed up, I get them out so fast. She laughs, long and hard. It's dark, surprisingly low for a girl. It goes on for a while- at least a minute. The noise grates against my eardrums. On and on and on. An eternity or so later, she stops, "Oh, him? He tried to poison me. Earlier that morning, I showed him this stream of poisoned water. It came off that big pool near the cornucopia. Then he came up with the genius idea of putting it in my canteen. So, I stabbed him." just as calm as before. She looks up at me, a devilish smile on her lips.
That seemed to be the end of it, both of us just not saying anything after. I gave her some backhanded comment about the boy from 4, and got on with breakfast. But, as I thought it over, I came to a realization. About Abilene's accident. Not accident. Murder. We weren't alone in that moment. He was there. I had seen him there, as she died in my arms. It had to be him. He must have poisoned Abilene. I need a reason. Her death wasn't accidental. It couldn't be left up to fate. If it was, surely she'd still be here with me. Still breathing. Still living. But no. Her strings were cut far too soon by another monster. She's still dead. And that couldn't be an accident. It was a murder.
I've done my best to block out the memories of that day. I thought that it hadn't worked, but with little prompting I came up with the face of a small boy, watching from a distance. He had clear, dark skin, even brown eyes and crazy black hair. The expression on his face was… fear? No, that was just for being caught. That was just because he had seen me. Even more than that, it was a smirk. It had to be. I can't make this thing up. He killed her. He ripped her away from me. I finally have something to pinpoint all this anger on, all this frustration and mourning could be attested to a single person. A single kill.
All I want to know is why. Actually, that's not all I want. I want vengeance. I need it. A new spirit inside me, the anger and blood rising to the surface. If I don't let this out soon, I think I might die. So he has to.
Dawn Night, D10F
I swear I'm being followed. Not just by cameras either, I've gotten used to those invasive eyes on me. No, it feels like someone inside the arena is watching me. Following me. Sure, what I'm feeling could be chalked up to paranoia. I wasn't expecting it last time, and look what happened to Jovanni. But for the moment, I need to push him out of my mind. I need to focus on me, someone still alive and in the game. The good news is, paranoia never got anyone killed. Even still, I take out my knife, brandishing it out in front of me as I walk. Just in case.
I walk through the woods carefully, not making a sound even as the dead leaves crunch beneath my feet. Making a point of avoiding the dark spaces where the sun didn't shine. Except that no sun was to be seen. Meaning if anyone was watching me, we were both at a disadvantage, distinctly in the dark. I'm both figuratively and literally in the dark at the moment. It's not a good feeling. All I can do right now is hope whoever, if anyone, is following me they don't have good eyes.
Every rustle of leaves or the breaking twigs threatened an enemy. An animal? A competitor? I had made the mistake of leaving my tree earlier this morning, and now I'm too far from the sturdy tree and the ones surrounding it to find my way back to it. All the trees I can see around here are small and brittle, all of them unable to hold my weight, little as it was. Another branch broke behind me, and I spun to see what had caused it. Nothing. With a bit of investigating, I found the little rabbit who had caused the noise, sprinting away from me on all fours. The breath I let out afterwards was loud and filled with relief. Not a threat.
My skin is crawling with heat, cold sweat dripping down my forehead and back. If my shirt wasn't so completely destroyed, I would've taken off my jacket. All the same, I did have the sleeves rolled up past my elbows. I push hair out of my face for the millionth time, only for it to fall back the moment I pull back my hand. I'll have to rebraid it soon.
It's as I take out the braid that I nearly trip and end up face first in a pile of stray rocks. Luckily, I managed to catch myself on a nearby tree. I swear, looking down to see the laces on my right boot undone and loose. The lace itself was frayed and looked about a hundred years old. Of course. Just my luck.
As I bend down, my eyes glancing all around. Laying out the knife so that handle is just an inch from my hand, I begin to retie the knot. The leather of the boot has seen better days. This close to it, I see the leather around the tip is particularly distressed. Scuffed and worn down by the mere week I've spent in them. The stench isn't all that pleasant either.
The commotion that comes from behind me is loud. A violent noise that grated against my ears. Turning around and brandishing the knife in the same instance, I turn to see what had caused it. What I saw was a small boy with dark skin and wild black hair sprinting away. It was short on the sides, and longer in the middle. I just watched, dumb-founded, as he made a mad dash for the trees.
At least I knew I wasn't imagining it. I had felt someone watching me. I wasn't going crazy. That's a definite positive. But now I'm left with what I should do. Follow him? Chase him down and slit his miserable throat? He made the decision for me, getting so far away that there was no way I could follow.
So I settled back down, finishing up with my shoelace. As long as he didn't try to end my life, I had no reason to end his. When I was done, I took the long laces and tucked them into the boot, as to not trip over them again. Just to be safe, I did the same to the other boot., matching it to the other boot.
I walked away as soon as I was done, the opposite direction of the boy I had a near run-in with. I doubt I'll ever see him again. All the better for me.
Lillith Sparks, D6F
I heard the voices first. One low and growling. The second was slightly higher, but still raspy.
"What are you doing?" it's the higher voice. The rustle of leaves and the pounding of feet. They aren't very stealthy, are they?
"I need to find him."
"Yeah, okay. And who is him, again?" Silence answers the higher voice. The heavy feet make their way closer and closer. They're way too close. They feel just behind me. The voices seem to bounce around, one feels like it's coming from behind me, the other from my left and slightly ahead of me. The two voices had to belong to people, and those people had to be together, but where? That's when I heard the third voice. Right behind me.
"Hello, dear." His hand is cold on my arm, clammy and slick with sweat. It pulled me inside, through the door and into another universe. Another hand covers my mouth, quenching the screams coming from my mouth. I bit his hand, but that just makes him pull me harder.
No. Not again. The voices are back, the episodes. He's back. I tell myself over and over again where I am, who I am, what's happening. Grounding myself in this situation. It's only slighter better, the danger less prevalent at the current moment then back then, "I'm Lillith Sparks. I'm from District 6. I have two older brothers, who would do anything for me. I'm in the hunger games. I'm-"
"Did you hear that?" The lower voice again.
"No. What is ithear what?" the second voice was cold and sarcastic, and I could imagine a cruel expression along with it.
"The voice. I-"
"Are you serious? Of course I heard it. It came from over here." even closer. I spot the girl first. Slightly shorter than the boy, she stands with more control and grace in every movement. The way she moves is almost beautiful. Until she takes out two swords. The scrap of metal along the scabbard threatening my mere existence. If she finds me, she'll kill me. Absolutely.
I can't move fast enough. If I stand here out in the open they'll see me. In the split second I have, I dart around the wide trunk of a dead tree. The bark peeled off in chunks, scattered in the ground. I press into myself and the tree. The hilt of the knife digs into my side. I'm too loud as I take it out. I freeze, clenching it in both fists, up against my chest. I don't so much as breathe. They need to get out of here. Or I do.
The monster's right behind me. His hot breath in my ear, hands on my shoulders. Then he's ripping at my hair. At my clothes. I'm being attacked by my own senses, panic turning my brain to mush. I can't do this anymore. I need this to stop.
"You're mine," a snake in my ear, "now, and forever."
The voice doesn't fade, even as I try to keep myself here. In this moment. The one where two enemies are on the verge of discovering me. I don't know which reality is worse. My eyes squeeze out tears, my hands are slick with sweat. I'll drop the knife soon if I'm not careful.
"I don't see anything!" the first voice, the boy, calls out. He's too close. It feels like the only thing separating us is the tree. Big as it is, it can't cover me forever. I need to do something. I get into a wide stance, switching the knife to my right hand. If either one of them comes over to this side, they'll die. I know how to use a knife, I do. I'll kill them. If my hand stops shaking anytime soon, maybe I'll actually do it.
"This won't hurt at all, dear." that's when he pulls out the knife.
The wound in my arm is bleeding. The thick red blood drips down my forearm. The careless letters carved into my arm stinging.
No. no I'm seeing things. I have to be. That was ages ago. I close my eyes, looking away from the wet, sticky blood dripping down my arm, when I look back, I'm for once glad to see the pale whit lines. MINE. yeah right. I still have the image of the bullet lodged in his brain seared into my eyes. I see it almost as often as that dark room. The knife slips from my hand.
It's dull thud against the bushes stops my heart. I can't grab it.
"That came from over there." further away, the girl with the scarred face spoke as she walked, the tailend of her statement louder than the first part. I need to act now. With a quick look around, the only possible option is the tree, just like this one, just a few yards ahead of me. Quietly, I hurry to the tree. It's only when I'm safely behind it that I realize I forgot the knife. I'm about to sneak back and get it, when I hear the crackle of dead leaves. I need to know what's going on. So, I sneak a small look around the tree. The two figures are bent down, kneeling beside the knife. The girl is holding it in one hand, looking it over.
"Where did this come from?" I can't help staring as the two make eye contact. I'm struck by the raised scars crossing the girls face. One of the many all over her face.
Blood is in the air, dripping down my face and into my eyes. It's I'm choking on it. It's everywhere, "Lillith." his whisper is steely, caressing my cuts with his fingers, getting blood on them, under his nails.
It's not real. It's not. The girl looks up, towards me. I whip back around the tree to safety so fast I crack my head against the tree. I silently curse myself and the stupid tree out, using every curse I've learned over the years. I hold my head, just as my heart sinks. At least now I know I have a pulse. That's a positive. That is, until they find the water cooler. I can hear the water sloshing around. Then the crinkling packages of food. I really am an idiot.
"Would you look at that. Someone left us their rations. How sweet. I'm touched." the girl again. This is awful. I can't believe I was so stupid to just leave everthing out in the open. More than that, I have to listen to their taunts, and they don't even know I'm here. And yet they still patronize me. I have to cover my mouth to stop the scream from coming out of my mouth.
"You're mine."
I need this to stop.
"... mine."
I barely hear them as they pack up my stuff -my stuff- and walk away.
"Mine."
I don't move, even hours after the pair left. I'm pretty sure I looked completely comatose. I felt asleep, even as I relived that night a dozen times over. The long hours of the day were spent being dunked into that memory. When the episodes are over, I have maybe a minute of relief before being dragged down again.
Over and over again. Painful tears get out. I cry until I can't anymore. It leaves me dry heaving in the bushes, shaking and feeling like I've gone through hell and back multiple times. I think I might've. I've been doing so good over the past week. The Hunger Games actually helping me get past that. But now? I was triggered all over again. I feel delirious, like I'm hallucinating.
"You're mine." his words sing in my ear. "Stay with me." he'll kill me soon. I know he will, "don't let them take me away." the thick smell of blood suffocating me. Even if it isn't really there, it feels real. It feels so real. Too real.
They took everything I had. My knife, my food. The only safety I had in here. I have nothing. I have to figure something out. Later. Right now I need to calm down.
Drake Ru, D5M
Another close brush with death. Another near escape. That's all this game is at this point. Just getting as close to death as possible without actually finding yourself caught up in it. All things considered, I think I'm doing pretty good. The worst I've got so far is just watching a girl die in this Redhead's arms. She was from district 11. A pretty name, as far as I could remember. Abilene. It was kind of musical. Just thinking about that moment again makes the panic flood back. But it's okay. It's all okay. I've stared death in the face about a dozen times already, and I've only been in here a week.
At the same time, I can't believe my own stupid, dumb luck. In the eye of a storm and still standing, the confidence boost I got from realizing that I was in the final 8, and still going strong.
I've finally started breathing normally again, but something feels off. Well, everything feels off. The hunger games. The people trying to murder me. The millions of cameras on me 24/7. Yeah, that just about covers it. I find another bush of the safe berries from yesterday. I eat as much as I can, grateful for any food I can get. I'll need more than berries if I want to actually survive in here, but for now it's leaps and bounds better than the nothing I had before.
So I eat. The berries are sweet, but after a while they taste bland. Not that I mind, food is food. Maybe if I keep saying that to myself I'll actually start believing it. I know I should be grateful and everything. Like, I know I'm still alive, and doing surprisingly well and all, but I still feel awful. But that's nothing new. I've kind of been going down this rabbit hole of paranoia and anger. I want to do nothing more than scream, but I keep my mouth shut. Not like I have anything to scream at anything. Besides, I doubt a small kid with tired eyes and a terrified expression can threaten people thousands of miles away. Stupid Capitolites.
They're who I'm really angry with. Not anyone in here. We're just a bunch of kids in the same situation. Sure, a few of those kids might be deftly trained in assassination and beating the shit out of people, but they're still kids all the same. No, it's the Capitol that I have an issue with. The entire reason I'm in here after all.
By the time I'm finished, not only am I sick of berries, but I am also distinctly frustrated. I just want to see Freddie again. That's all I want. My best friend. Also known as my only friend. I want to see Lin and Aarong, and Dad. I need them. I don't know if I can do this without them. And that's the exact reason I need to do this. To keep on fighting. For them. And by fighting, I mean avoiding physical contact with every other person in this wretched place. It's kept me pretty alive so far. The thing with Acer was a mistake, but he's dead now. So, no harm no foul. No, I can't even pretend that's true. Thinking about him twists my stomach, almost as much as thinking of that girl from 11 in the moment she died.
The canon shrieked in my ear, interrupting my thoughts. Someone probably fell off the edge. It's about the same time as when it nearly happened to me, if I'm remembering the sun's placement right. My heart goes out to them, truly. But that also means I'm now in the top six. What a time to be alive, I guess. More like, how am I still alive? Either way, I'm pretty okay with that. Now I just need to get to five. Then four. Then three. All until there's just me left.
"… and I can finally see my family again."
Athena Lightes, D3F
I didn't fully understand what was happening until the ground started to collapse underneath me. I was too slow to start running, so when I did it was probably too late to save myself. If i keep running, then maybe I'll actually survive this. I still don't know what this is, exactly. All I know is that if I stop, I'll die.
I'm so close to safety, I'm so close to the ground that isn't shaking. Just a little further. My brain is rattling around in my head as I continue to run, legs shaking with the rocks underneath me. That's the exact moment I tripped. The rubble sliding underneath me. Oh no. no, no, no. If I could, I'd be screaming bloody murder right now. Instead, it's a silent struggle as I try to stumble forward to safe land. If there is any.
The rocks under my legs go first, dropping away and leaving me dangling. I just manage to grab at the air as I should carene to my death. Except I'm not. I'm still here. It's my hands. I grabbed the ledge as I fell. My body banged against the rocks, and the force of it nearly knocked my grip loose. I'm only hanging on by one hand now. No. I'm not going out like this. I refuse to look down, if I do then I'll certainly give up any hope I currently have.
The skin on my palms is torn and bleeding. The open wounds sting like all hell, but what's worse is the tall figure waiting for me when I get up to standing again. With brown hair that hasn't seen a comb in over a week. Her eyes grey and darker than the overcast sky.
I'm not being caught off guard again, not like yesterday. This time I'll fight back. Even if that means starting the fight. I pull out the knife, and do my best not to cringe away from it. It's now or never. I choose now.
Mica Lee, D9F
I saw it all happen from the base of the hill. I saw the ground collapse, the rubble left behind still settling. I also saw the girl, dropping right off the edge. . Just a rush between some trees and over the large rocks, and I was there. I have even less time here than I thought. But I need to make sure she actually fell. There hasn't been a canon, but surely the bottom of the ravine can't be that far down. When I get there, at first I don't see anything. Then I see the hands, just managing to keep the girl up. She hadn't fallen. Damn it.
Her small hands are tightly gripping the cliff face. I just watch as she scrambles to get up, not knowing what to do. Should I help her up? Kick her down? In the time I spent debating the two options, she got up all on her own. Her small frame was racked with shivers, and I don't know if it was from the chill or the fear. But she didn't look afraid. The girl just nearly avoided falling off a cliff to a painful death and she had a smirk on her face. It seems so out of place. From what I'd seen of her interviews, her reaping, and the training days, Athena Lightes was far more likely to start crying than smirking. Yet there she goes. No matter how small she is, I feel distinctly unnerved.
We were in this standoff for a long moment, almost an eternity. I was so focused on that I didn't realize she had taken out the knife until she was running at me with it, edge pointed directly between my eyes, until she was inches away from me. The hilt was a dark leather, clenched between ghostly fingers, and the blade was the length of my forearm. The edge was blunt, and the metal was covered in rust and dried blood. I just managed to avoid her, and she went careening behind me. I can't back up too far, or I'll go over the edge. That's exactly what she wants, an easy fight. Well, I'm not stupid. I'm not dying. Not today. She turns, still viciously brandishing the knife. She clearly doesn't know what she's doing, an amateur in close range fighting. As if I do. I always preferred using a gun. Far less personal. But not in here. The viewers want to see personal. So that's what they get.
I meet her in the middle of the large expanse between us. I'm much better, even if I have had only minimal experience with knives, and in a moment hers is ripped away. We both stop and watch as it goes down. I don't hear it hit the bottom. I look back at her face. The terror slowly inching in. Ah, I've broken her down. I get her with s good punch to her nose. The blood starts gushing immediately. Bright red, it's all over my fist. We're right beside the ravine. While she loses her balance and nearly slides over, I make my move in the split second she looked away.
I dig the fang deep into her chest. She didn't scream. She didn't do anything but writhe in pain, trying to pull it out of her shoulder. I did it first, and was fascinated by the vacant look in her eyes. They lost all life long before I kicked her over the edge.
I didn't hear the canon, I was probably too focused on running to the edge, and watching the small body land on the rocks. Her body was probably destroyed on impact. Kill or be killed. I shouldn't feel this upset. She had it coming. All the same, I stumble back from the edge, still holding the murder weapon in my hand. This should feel different than when I slit Ash's throat, I shouldn't care. I don't know this girl. Didn't. Death changes all the tenses. I didn't know about her, other than a name and a disability. Athena Lightes, the mute from District 3. The dead mute. Kill or be killed.
Kill or be killed. I much prefer being the killer.
There are six of us left. Six. I'm so close to seeing Rhyse again. I just need to keep fighting. I will. I will as long as I have to.
Rusty Steele, D2F
The ghost from yesterday is dead. Her canon was a few hours ago, her face appearing just now. It taints the dark night sky. Then it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. I'll never have to see her again. And thank god for that.
What I wasn't so happy about was the shoulder injury. It's been a few days since Mars inflicted the minor injury. At first, I thought it was nothing, but over the course of the day it seemed to get worse. Sore and stiff, I seemed to reopen the wound, bleeding out into the already blood-stained shirt. I'm surprised Winstead didn't notice the absolutely toxic smell. Too immersed in his own little fantasy.
I felt more like myself today, which was nice. More and more distractions from these… feelings. No, feelings isn't a good enough word for it. It's a weakness, deep inside me. I've tried to shove it down, but it's still there. It's awfully draining. Hard to keep up the smirk and banter. But I have me distractions to keep me sane. At least, more sane than said distractions. Then again, I suppose that isn't too hard.
Like Winstead, for instance. Yeah, he's a real… interesting distraction. He stinks of rust and blood, but I don't mention it. Even now, late into the night, he's still fuming. Muttering something about a murderer and how he'd pay. My first question was who he was. I was apparently the murderer of what should have been the love of his life. I didn't mention it was probably sheer stupidity that got her killed. The narrative Winstead's creatives for himself was something like this:
Winstead and Abilene are in love (insert gag here). This alone should be their saving grace, and at least of them should come out of this alive. Probably Abilene, after Winstead bravely sacrificed himself for the love of his life. Except, that doesn't happen. Another -might I mention evil- tribute was determined to thwart them and their plans. So, as Winstead searches in the early morning a few days into the game, this evil tribute poisoned their completely fine water. So when Abilene drank some in the morning, she died almost immediately. Just in time for Winstead to come back and watch as his lover dies.
Yep. that's what he went with. That's the story he truly believes. At least now I have solid proof. He's definitely crazy. Sanity completely lost on him. He seems to go through phases. Sometimes, he's completely fine, and we can carry on banter and I can feel more at ease. Right now, it's worse than it was yesterday. All things considered, it's pretty funny. I feel like he's closer to a pet then an ally at this point, but who doesn't love to have a great dane around every once in a while? The day I have to kill him will be a sad one. But I will. I'll have to.
He hasn't stopped moving since the idea popped into his head this morning. I humoured him, walking around. We covered so much of the woods, my legs were sore with overuse. I wasn't feeling any of the cold, which was nice. The temperature has been steadily dropping since morning, and it wasn't very warm to begin with. The sun hadn't been seen all day either. But I'm warm, wearing a fleece lined jacket I found in the cornucopia. Perfectly content. Or as content as one can be while their prey is still evading them. Oh well, I'm in no hurry. I have all the time in the world. Everyone else however…
Well, most of them have no clue what's coming for them. Blissful ignorance, if I ever saw it.
Rhyse Lee, District 9
The Peacekeepers searched the entire district for someone to go on air and talk about Mica. miraculously, they didn't find me. No, it's not a miracle, it's Mica. I've done everything she's told me since she left. Since she left, I closed all the windows and triple bolted every door.
Instead of anyone who actually cares about Mica, they found our father. His eyes were bloodshot and red. He staggered onto the stage, laughing raucously. Obviously drunk. Once a drunk always a drunk, I guess. Glad to know he hasn't changed since we ran away. He barely talks. I had to turn off the screen, I couldn't watch him anymore than I had to. I don't want to think about him, about what he put both Mica and I through.
Her friend has come by a few times since she left. Charon. He mostly dropping off food or water, other times just sitting down beside me to talk long into the night. It was nice. No one could replace Mica, but he was there for me. I picture my father is saying something about how completely high he is, right before nose diving off the stage. The image makes me smile, before I remember how his fists broke my skin and all the humor was lost. It was only one night, but I knew he hit Mica on multiple occasions. The first and only time he did was the night Mica whisked us both to safety. One of the thousand reasons I need her.
I want her to come home, be safe. Be with me. It's been too long already. Nearly a fortnight has passed since I said goodbye. At least I still get to see her. Yeah, the moment she slit the throat of that guy from 12 will forever be plastered in my mind. It's seared into my retinas. His blood on her hands. Her knife.
That rabid mutt a few days ago scared me nearly half to death. Charon was with me at that point. We both watched. He seemed almost as relieved as I was. The two were supposedly really close. At least that what he told me.
The silence sudden silence is disturbed by the creak of the window, the pane sliding to make way for the only person that ever comes around here anymore.
"Hey, kid," I looked over to see Charon, climbing through the window. His hair is nearly the same shade as Mica, and I watch as he pushes it out of his eyes. He settles in on the couch beside me. I can barely see him in the dark, ut I feel the sofa shift under both of us as he settles in.
"How are you?" he asks, voice calm and seemingly bored.
"The same as yesterday," I sigh. And the day before that, the one before that. Ever since we ran away. I haven't left this stupid house in what feels like years. Before Mica left, I would occasionally go out with her. See people in the square as we walked together, hand in hand. But since she volunteered, not only do I feel unsafe going outside, but Charon wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. Except that now I want to. I'm sick of this ghost house, and begin careful to be silent during the day, to keep all the lights off at all hours. Always having to be careful that no one knows I'm here. I'm losing my mind here.
But instead of bringing it up, or maybe before I could, Charon asked if I saw the interview yet. He didn't need to clarify. I knew what he was talking about,
"I saw the first bit." I answer, looking away from the screen.
He was laughing to himself, "oh, no. you need to see all of it."
I tried to refuse, but he insisted. In another moment, it was on, and the program picked up where I left off. With Father, already drunk and slurring his words, looking blearily at Rexa Corsan. I watched in silent horror for a moment, my heart beating up in my throat at just the sight of him. His beady, glazed eyes aren't focusing on anything. With each question from the woman, his answer takes an eternity to come, usually incoherent and mumbled under his breath.
As much as I hate seeing him on screen, it was nice to have Charon beside me. He laughed at every dumb thing he said, doing imitations, and making comments to relieve the anxiety he must see clearly written on my face. The highlight of the night was when Charon commented on how he's probably going to throw up on Rexa Corsan. We actually made a bet one that last one. I won, not to brag or anything. He did not throw up on her. He did throw up beside her. I argued my point, and he eventually admitted defeat, handing over a small orange. It was delicious, and I made a point of rubbing it in his face.
We spent the rest of the night playing back the interview. It got to the point where I was crying with laughter, more than once. He did too. For once, I could just laugh.
Eulogies
The fallen of Day 9
7: Athena Lightes, D3F (1 Kill)
Stabbed by Mica, fell off a cliff
She was my little baby. I thought of this character long before I started writing TBITW, just the general backstory and personality, and I'd like to think I wrote her well. I think everyone knew she wouldn't survive. I mean, she was my character, it wouldn't be fair to any of you if she was the victor. Especially considering how damaged she was. Not even in a character development sense, but she was just going down a dark path. I knew it would happen. And it's kind of sad. The moment she felt confident in herself, she literally shut down and then proceeds to be shoved off a cliff and die. Either way, I was happy with her arc and how it ended. Both my babies are now dead. Damn, that's kind of sad. Not really, I still have 6 more characters left to traumatize and kill. So fun, I can't wait.