The eleventh day
-Job Markov, 17, District 3-
I start the morning doing something different than usual. Praying.
I'm not sure what brings me to do it. Perhaps the fat snowflakes that lazily fall to the ground on the wind. Perhaps the blanket that sits so perfectly underneath me, glistening in the light of the sun that shines down warmly… Perhaps I've just become so lost and desperate that I don't know where else to go but up. I mean, I was supposed to be dead already! I was never supposed to make it to this point, and the fact that I did just makes me confused. What am I supposed to do? I mean, I shouldn't kill anyone, so it's only a matter of time before something happens. I should have just made it easy and died right there at the beginning… The guilt haunts me like a ghost. No, not a ghost. A monster.
I haven't prayed much since entering the Arena. I've been so wrapped up in my needs being met that I guess I just let it slip. Perhaps I was so sure that I would die that day that I figured I would see Him soon. Now, I realize that I have no idea when it's going to happen. Surely He kept me alive this long for a reason, I just don't know what that reason is. Will my death reach more people so late in the game? I don't know why he would keep the other tributes away from me. And even when they came, my hiding place by some miracle worked. Which is a shock considering it was super obvious, and only a matter of time before someone opened my cabinet. And yet, nobody ever did. Somehow I was able to escape the train before it crashed and burned. Somehow I was able to escape every trial.
Perhaps miracles are real after all. Even in a place like this. They've existed in more unlikely places before.
Something about the way the snow falls feels like a miracle could be on the horizon. I'm not going to run away from God's protection. If that's His will, then I'll try my best to stay out of trouble. I'm still not exactly sure what's going to transpire from all of this, but I can at least try to have a little bit of faith through it all. Sometimes, I like to think that I have more control over the outcome of things than I actually do. I just have to remember who is in control of this whole situation.
But, of course, this is far easier said than done. That's why I need the strength. I need to keep the line of communication open. That way I can keep that strength in my chest… And maybe, I can do something amazing.
Sitting out on the streets, the snow wasn't welcome. It wasn't beautiful. It was cold, and it rarely stuck to the ground. The concrete would just get cold, and the metal benches would freeze, and I would be alone and miserable, shivering, just begging for warmth. It was a particularly terrible winter night that finally inspired me to suck up my pride and go to the orphanage. I'm not sure why, I just felt that gut feeling that can only really come from one place. When I went, I was welcomed into the warm building, handed a bowl of soup, wrapped in blankets… I'll never forget how that soup tasted that night. Bland, yes. But it was what I needed so badly.
Manna.
It was never the kind of life I thought I'd be living as a kid. It's not glamorous by any stretch of the imagination. I got what I needed, nothing more. But also, nothing less. I've always been on a journey, but along the way, I've been sustained. Even here, in the Hunger Games, when I was so sure that I would be dead within a few hours… Somehow, my way has been paved for me here. All I have to do is continue walking it, I suppose. And if that will bring me to death, it shall bring me to death. I… I suppose. It's not up to me. It's not up to my will. As long as I hold that in my heart… I should be alright. Surely. I can have faith in that much, can't I?
Even as the chilling wind hits my face, I feel the warmth of that chicken soup on a bitter night. Perhaps it was more than the soup that filled my body. Suddenly, what was only a thing of books, reading, and rules, became love. That was when I knew what it was to be an apostle. From there, I took the calling like the wings of my dove on my back, and soared with it…
Well, that is, until my name was called on that stage. Then what? Where do I go from there? Everyone has a moment where their faith is put in front of them for all that it is. Something that you can't see. Something you can't know. Then what? Maybe it would be easier to throw it up to the sky and let it fly away. Especially in a time as cold, desolate, and hopeless as this is.
It's a path I've walked before. Sitting on the corner of the street, the elements unleashing on me, rejected. Feeling like there was no way that I, for who I am, could possibly be a child of God. But that's the thing about faith. It never flies far. It's always hovering, waiting to be captured once again as soon as you reach up a hand.
So in these times of trial, I am not letting go once again. I'm digging in my heels.
I'm bearing my cross.
I am not afraid to meditate here. Maybe it leaves me vulnerable, but I'm okay with that. This is one place where vulnerability is taboo. I'm not worried about being taboo.
I take a deep breath, taking in the sounds of the nature around me. Despite being outside in a snowy wonderland, there's been a lack of wild animals. I've heard the sounds of a couple of birds, but haven't seen anything since. Perhaps the chaos from us all unloading on the train scared them away…
Horrible scenes flash in front of my eyes. Seeing my own District partner attacked and killed… Just one second too late, one second behind me, and he paid the price for it. It really should have been me. For some reason, it wasn't. I have no idea why. But that's okay. I don't have to know everything. I can feel at peace with that.
My eyes stay closed. The cold bites at my nose and seeps into my pants, but I try to ignore all of that and take a moment to exist in stillness. It calms my anxieties about being here. My shivers slow. I'm not focused on the cold. I'm focused on something better. I feel calm. I feel-
My silence is suddenly shattered by brute force ramming into me. When I open my eyes, I see a demon- no, wait… Under the thick splatters of blood, there's… A person! A person with eyes that are blank like they're made out of glass, a grotesque smile pushing at the edges of her cheeks, as if at any moment they would rip. She holds my wrists tightly, driving into the snowy ground, her legs pushing on mine like she expects a fight.
So it is a fight she wants. A fight she will not get out of me.
"Gotcha!" she says with a laugh. I don't entertain her with a response. "I said, GOTCHA!" her knee moves to my arm, pressing it down hard into the ground so she can show me her knife.
"Yes. You did."
She looks me in the face, cocking her head slightly to the side. "You're resigned." I don't answer her. I have no need to. "You're telling me you want to die?!"
No. No, I don't want to die at all! Nobody wants to die. It is a fate that we may not want, but we walk into faithfully. I don't answer her.
"Suicidal in the final eight?! How worthless."
"I'm not suicidal," I correct her. Let nobody think that. "I am confident that I am saved."
At that, she lets out another high-pitched laugh, that sounds almost as if she's screaming. "Saved! This one is saved!" Her laughter is like daggers that pierce my chest, but I don't say anything back. This is my cross, and I'm willing to die on it. "Life isn't fair, but death is fair. In death we are all judged. In death we are all where we belong."
"I know that I am saved. I know where I am going."
"You can't figure out death," she says with an eye roll, putting the knife right next to my heart. I can't control the sweat that forms on my brow, the involuntary tensing of my body. At this she laughs again. "Aha. You're a big bluff." Before she says anything else, she drags the knife intensely down my arm. I can't control the scream. I've never felt this terrible of pain before in my life. Tears immediately start pouring down my face and my arms thrash, instinctively trying to pull away from her.
"How confident are you now!?" she asks, burying her knife into my wrist and twisting it. My vision goes white at the searing pain as I feel the blood pouring out of the wound. Her laughs get louder and high pitched as I scream, smiling at me with pure pleasure. I try to ball my fist, but my fingers don't move at my command. "This is how I've suffered!" she yells at me, her voice turning sinister as she brings her knife down on my shoulder and I can't stop the howl.
Please, make this end, I pray, Please don't leave me here to suffer anymore…
"Please," I whisper out loud, my gaze fixed upon the sky, the sun, the clouds. "Please."
"If you hate the pain, imagine how I felt! Suffering through years and years of it!"
"I'm sorry you went through that, but I know there's something better out there," I force out. "I know that I'll be saved." I can't help but grin at her as rage swirls around in my gut for the terrible things she's done. It doesn't matter, because I know where I'm going. As hard as she tries, she knows where she's off to.
"You'll be released from this world soon."
"If that is His will, then it is well."
"There is no he!" she yells out, dragging her knife across my sternum. "I'm the one that holds your fate!" At that, my body tenses up and flushes with heat. An angry heat.
I have run out of tears to cry. "I know who's in control," I manage weakly. I'm starting to feel light-headed. This is what dying's like. I can feel the blood leave my earthly body. My heart pounds, trying to save it, and I am left gasping for air as my body starts to panic. I'm terrified, but I have faith. I don't know exactly how that works, but I'm not really ready to figure that out.
I close my eyes, feeling at peace. Someone else will have the chance to get out of here, and justice will be served. I can see Jesus, I can see the white light. It's brilliant, the angels are singing. I can hear someone calling out to me, a child that has finally returned home. Not to an earthly home, but to a home even more beautiful…
"Where is your God now!?" she asks with another laugh. "There are no gods! Only those who control their fate, and those who are distracted by cults, lies, and bedtime stories."
"My God is not a bedtime story," I say, my eyes snapping open at that.
"You worship a fairytale." I don't worship a fairytale. "You really think your book club is worth dying for. Some fake old guy that's long dead. I feel sorry for you."
"Stop it."
"Aha, so you're not the saint you wish you were after all. Shame that you won't be saved after all." It's her laugh that does it. Before the demon spawn can say another word, my body lurches into action. Serena's thrown off of me, and in her moment of surprise, I pull the knife out of my belt with my good hand.
"You shut the hell up and don't say another word about my God ever again!" the words tear out of my throat before I even know what I'm saying. "Get the fuck out of my sight!"
Serena yells and runs straight at me with a feral scream, throwing her body weight back on top of me and sending me back to the ground. Before she can constrain me again, my body acts without thinking, thrusting the knife upwards and straight into her chest. Serena shrieks and tries to pull my hair, but I throw her off of me and into the snow, which quickly pools up with red blood. She tries to pull herself up again, and my body lurches forward, kicking her back to the ground and sending the knife through her chest with a great crunch. Her eyes immediately glaze over, followed by the sound of a cannon breaking the silence.
I stand over the body, my body heaving for breath, as I stare down at the girl, now covered in her own blood…
I… I killed someone.
Tears start to pour down my cheeks as I turn around, my useless left arm hanging loosely at my side as I trip over my feet, away from the life I took, stumbling away and running, running as fast as I can… Running until my head spins and my lungs burn… I can't even see straight, my vision is covered with tears that freeze in my eyes without coming out. I run until I can't run anymore, until every breath stabs my lungs like the knife I'm still holding in my hand, that's covered in blood…. Covered in blood… The rancid stench fills my lungs, and I collapse on my knees as a howling sob rips out of my throat and I watch my future crashing to the ground in front of me… Fire closing in, surrounding me, after I'd just promised that I was going to live into God's will for me! What the hell was that?!
I don't have enough breath in my lungs for all of the sobs that want to push out of my soul. What's the point? I've failed at the one thing I was supposed to do… I just… I didn't even have control, I just acted. Acted on my own pride. The tears sting my dry, cold skin, but they should. Everything hurts, and it should.
I couldn't even die the right way.
My wails are loud, tearing into the air with piercing screams, apologies, but it's too late. I'm covered in blood and there's nothing I can do to change it. This wasn't my calling. I couldn't carry the cross. I couldn't do the simplest of tasks, all because of my silly human desires.
I can't even show my face. Not to my friends, my family, not to my Father.
"I'm so so-sorry…" I can only manage a coarse croak.
I have blood on my name.
~.~.
-Anders Bonilla Cruz, 17, District 11-
I've never felt snow like this. The most I've ever seen back home is just a couple of flurries here and there, nothing compared to this. And yet, through the bitterness of the weather, I can see the beauty in this place. I've always been able to appreciate the beauty of nature. My grandfather and I would often walk through the orchards together on his days off. Looking back, the work they did there was so toiling and dehumanizing. I'm sure it caused him pain to go back there on the one day he had off. But he did it because he knew how much I loved it. There was always a sense of childish joy when we went there.
My family could only shelter me for so long, though. As I got older, I realized that working in the orchards wasn't as easy as walking around and singing to the mockingjays all day. It was exhausting work for meager pay, and we never got to reap what we sowed. It was always sent straight away. The trees, though they were in our District, were the Capitol's property, and the Peacekeepers could do with them what they pleased. They could destroy them, if they wanted to. We had no control over our work, no control over our homes. They might as well label us as Capitol property too. That's how we are treated. They just don't have the balls to call it what it actually is.
But, even while working so hard in the Capitol-owned orchards, I stopped to think about those days when it would be just me and grandpa, a welcome change with the addition of a baby in the house. Even though we were treated so poorly, I picked out the beauty of the orchards. And even here, in a death trap, I can recognize the beauty, just as I did the beautiful scenes that came to life outside of the windows on the train. It was as if we were all in a snow globe. The sun was especially beautiful as it painted the sky with colors I had never seen before. There's something different about a cold sunset from the warm ones back home. I am glad that I got to see it. I see my Grandpa in everything beautiful, and here is no exception. He would have wanted me to. He always told me that every situation has beauty somewhere within.
Where is the beauty in death?
It's impossible to answer that question. Twyla certainly didn't have a beautiful death… She held on for so long. Long enough that all of her color had drained. Long enough that she already looked like a corpse when she finally released her last breath. She died defeated. She gave it a long fight, but she couldn't overcome the grim reaper. What's beautiful about that? A girl that was fighting for so much, losing her chance to get back home to a family she had been set against. She didn't want to let go. She wasn't ready to let death take her. She was afraid, she had unfinished business. She was the same age as me, seventeen. Nothing I do could ease her pain. Why did I even try? What good could I have possibly done? All I can do is hope that something I did made the process of letting go even just a little bit easier. She was so loyal, she struggled for an impossible amount of time.
At grandpa's funeral, my parents said that there is a beauty that exists after death. We sang songs. We had fellowship. If one didn't know we were together to mourn, they would surely call the love we shared together beautiful. They would call our music beautiful. Perhaps there is a beauty in that way. We can only see it when we step back, from the outside. There is beauty in Twyla reuniting with her sister, the one she loved so much, the one she did everything to protect. There is beauty in her struggle, her loyal fight to stay here with the people that she loved… But that hardly seems worth the mourning, the many hearts that are now missing not one piece, but two.
I let out a sigh that's carried away by the winter wind. There's no trying to figure why we were all thrown into this place with each other. Ultimately, there isn't any good reason. I've been trying to get home to all of the people that care about me… They know how hard I've been trying. But as each day passes by, I become more and more unsure if I will be able to function as a Victor. I thought that my grandpa's advice to find beauty in everything would help me, but it doesn't stop me from having nightmares. It doesn't stop the constant torment of knowing that twenty-three others are dead and I'm not. For… For what reason? For my family? To me, they're far more important than any other family… But everyone feels that way as well. Truth is, no one family is more important than another. So then what? Then what's my purpose, if not that? My home? What is there that's worthwhile except for my family and friends?
A cannon snaps me immediately out of my thoughts. Just like that, we're down to seven. It feels like it's been weeks since the last one, and yet it feels like the Games are moving so fast. When there are so many deaths right next to each other, I want to slow time… But at the same time, each death brings me one step closer to returning to District Eleven, which means they can't come fast enough.
But with each cannon, I become closer and closer to having to confront another tribute myself. The Capitol surely won't let me exist like this forever… That thought makes my heart freeze. I don't know if I can do it. I know that just like me, the other people here are just that: people. What makes me any more deserving of the title than they are? What do I have to contribute to the world that they don't?
Just when I'm eased into relaxing, I hear howls in the forest, carried by the wind, that sound almost inhuman… The misery is carried away by the wind, only to be replaced by another howl. My heart picks up as I start to wonder what possibly could have happened… I get to my feet slowly and start moving towards the sound. Using trees as shelter, I move slowly, carefully, towards the source of the sound, until the figure comes into sight.
Job. Surrounded by a puddle of blood in the snow. Sobs and screams tear from her throat as she punches her hand into the snow, burying her nails in her shoulder and squeezing, creating bright red welts in an arm that is mangled beyond the point of recognition, hanging limply at her side.
"Job?" I ask quietly. Her head flies up, eyes wide and filled with fear before she quickly skitters away from me.
"No!" she yells. "Stay back!" She holds her knife up, staring at me like a scared child.
"I don't want to hurt you," I say, not able to control the concerned frown on my face… What happened to her that made her this way? I take a small step towards her, and she jumps back with another miserable screech.
"STAY AWAY! I'M A KILLER!" Blood drips off the top of her knife as she stares at me with wide, frightened eyes.
"Job, it's okay-"
"NO!" she shrieks, so loud her voice cracks and leaves her with nothing. "STAY AWAY!" Her entire body quivers. Who hurt such a gentle person like this?
"You only did what you had to Job."
"NO!" she shrieks again, stumbling to get away from me and almost falling over. "Get back. Run away. I'm a killer." She collapses into another fit of ugly sobs, practically digging her nails into her eye sockets.
"Job, you need to snap out of this. You're going to destroy yourself, and then what? What will happen to your family and friends then?"
"I'm a killer," she says again, her voice having completely given up on her and reduced to only a raw croak.
"We're all killers."
"You should kill me." She looks at me with pleading, desperate eyes. "Please."
"I can't," I say quietly.
"You're not a killer." Her voice cracks, her body shakes.
"No… I just want a fair fight."
"I don't want to fight anymore."
"You don't have to right now."
Just as I say it, I see the threat upcoming in the distance. Suddenly, an army of tin toy robots has surrounded us… But they're not cute. The robots have glowing red eyes, and each is armed with a painful-looking weapon, all of them whirring.
"They're here for me," Job says quietly.
"No. Come on, let's get out of here."
"NO!" she cries out, curling up into a tiny ball. I can't just run away and leave her like this… I know what I have to do. I run over to where she's lying and grab her by the armpits, dragging Job up to her feet. "I'M A MURDERER!"
"We need to get out of here," I say, ignoring her choked sobs as she drags her feet. I pull her along, through the woods, and the tin toy robots begin the chase. They're much faster than you'd expect for broken robots in the snow… One of them knicks my ankle with a blade and I quickly kick it out of the way with a yelp as I feel blood dripping out of the wound. Job walks with me, but is slow and clumsy from sitting for so long and being so badly beaten up. The toys march forward, the sound of whirring metal growing closer and closer to us. Suddenly, another pain explodes on my calf, and I stumble. My ankle falters as we go, but I can't stop now… Job cries out as she's struck by one of the mutts, then both of us pick up the pace to a run.
We both run, leaning on the other's shoulder, until I feel a pain in my ankle and come crashing down to the snowy ground.
"ABC!" Job calls as one of the mutts drives a blade into my back.
"Go Job! Run!"
"ABC!" she cries out again, still looking behind her shoulder as a white hot pain sears into my shoulder, and another deep into my back.
"Go!" I shout again, kicking a robot off of my ankle and trying to get up on my feet.
Job gives me another look behind the shoulder before she silently turns the other way and takes off running. I prop myself back on my feet to follow, but don't get more than a few steps before I feel another pain on my side and my legs give out on me again.
What is the beauty in death? There is no beauty in pain, which rips open my skin to the bone and draws blood out of my veins. There is no beauty in the evil mutts that were sent after us… no beauty in my intentional murder, my poor heart struggling to keep pumping, my lungs grasping for air that can't reach them. There is no beauty in being consumed by the Capitol's creation, that was meant for someone else.
There's really no beauty in the way that the world is fading to white before my very eyes. It's just, well, white light. There's no beauty about my body giving up on me, all while knowing I won't make it back home to a family that loved me so much and supported me. Where is the beauty now?!
Just as I resign myself to the fact that any breath could be my last, I understand.
The beauty of my death is that someone else has a chance to go out there and change the world.
I breathe my last, close my eyes, and say a prayer that she'll actually take a hold of that chance and use it.
Boom!
Job ran, ran, and ran, until her legs crumbled and crashed to the ground. Another life lost because of her, another innocent swept away. He chose to lose his life for her, a killer, and Job had no idea why. She didn't deserve a sacrifice. She had taken a life, and he was an innocent. She sobbed, but had no voice, she had no breath. She was alive, but for what? She couldn't do anything right.
Job squeezed tears out of her eyes and looked at the dark, clouding sky. With what little voice she had left, she cried out.
"My God, my God, why have You forsaken me!?"
~.~.
A/N: From here, every single chapter is going to hurt me Deeply, so buckle up and prepare for pain. I really like how this turned out, it might be one of my all time favorite pieces of writing. I hope you all enjoyed it as well! Let me know what you thought in the reviews.
Also, on a cheerier note, the SYOT forum I'm an admin of is doing a special month-long event for the month of April to boost the community, so if you like SYOTs come check that out! We're doing some games, asking questions, and working together to write better. Promo over.
CQ: Did you ever think Job had it in them to kill like that? How are they going to cope with the traumatic events of the day?
Eulogies:
7th Place: Serena Merlo, District 8- Stabbed by Job Markov, D3
I think after last chapter, we all knew that she would never be allowed to take it home because of how far off the deep end she went. Well, now she's going to face judgement as everyone does. I had a lot of fun with Serena, I actually knew from the beginning that she was going to completely 180 in personality when the Games started and it's been fun to create a little bit of mystery with her and then finally reveal it. Ultimately, she couldn't stop monologuing and it came back to bite her. Typical villain move right there girl. Anyways, I had a lot of fun with her, but it's time to lay her to rest now. RIP Serena.
6th Place: Anders Bonilla Cruz, District 11- Attacked by Tin Toy Robot Mutts
This was a tough choice to make, but in the scheme of things, this was what I ended up going with. ABC was a good guy and didn't have it in him to let anyone go behind, and that ultimately allowed him to give Job another chance at life in the Games. It was a tough way for him to go for sure, but he was willing to endure it out of the hope that someone would do something bigger than he could. He was very thoughtful and insightful, and it's another hard loss for the Osten family tree. He was really great to use and write with, thank you so much for this thoughtful boy Hope! Always fun to dive into your characters in my partials!
That's all I've got. See you sometime soon for the next update! Bring your tissues.
