Day 8:


Nobody's going to help you

You've just got to stand up alone

And dig in your heels

And see how it feels

To raise a little Hell of your own


Everyone before daylight hits the arena, I'm already awake, watching the sky light up. It seems darker than usual. After all, everyone knows the Games end today. No way it can be dragged out any longer. And after yesterday's big bloodbath, I bet everyone is counting on me to create some sort of thrilling finale. They want me to put on a show.

One would think I'd be nothing but an absolute wreck of nerves today.

And I am. But I can't let it show. I can't let Cindra know that she actually might have several advantages over me. All I have is bluffing, surprise, and luck. Good old-fashioned luck. Luck that's been plaguing me this whole time and keeping me alive.

But maybe it's more than just luck, or being in the right place at the right time. More than just a hunger for survival. I could argue we've all been lucky tributes, whether it's how far we've come or the people we've met. It's the chances that were offered, the ones I took, and the ones I didn't. It's the things I've said, the consequences of my actions, and the sponsors I've appealed to. That couldn't have all been just luck. And maybe there's no such thing as being lucky.

I didn't come to this point just because I was lucky, but because I took that luck and made it my own. And with it, I'll do whatever I damn well please.

"You can do this VR," I say to myself as I clean and polish all my arrows with Ethan's old onesie. They all fit nicely in my quiver. "Just do the best you can. Because you're not giving up. You're not just gonna kneel over and let her kill you like that. You're not going down without a fight."

I wonder what Cindra thinks of me. Actually, I don't care. Everyone know she's the ultimate powerhouse of the arena, the real predicted Victor. And it wouldn't surprise anyone if she wins. But I will not make it easy for her. I will not go out as that meek, sensitive little girl she sees. I'll fight until I die. At least then I can say I tried.

And in this living hell, I'm ready to raise a little hell of my own.

First things first, I better say something. I don't want to die with any regrets. I want to take a clear mind to the grave. I hope my district is listening to me. There's so many people left at home that I want to talk to. I blink back tears (I can't believe I'm crying yet again) as I think of what I want to say. No time left for second chances. My words and my message need to be clear.

"This is really hard to say. Mom, Dad...if I don't make it home, I'm so sorry. Just know that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I know I could be a really difficult daughter to deal with sometimes, and I'm sorry. I wish I could just make things alright. But know that again, I love you. And I'll fight as hard as I can to come back to you. You too Alan, you too. And you better have stayed out of my room! Angie, Jess, Sadie, Manny..."

This is not gonna be easy.

"I wish I had more friends like you."

That might be a total lie. Or it's the wholehearted truth. But they won't have to know. Ever.

"Rhiannon, Cheyenne, even Kanaya and the rest of my prep team, this is for you. Thanks so much for all the support you've given me, all the advice you shared, and all the cool outfits you let me wear. I know I'm our only hope for a Victor, and I promise I will do everything I can. But just know I appreciate all that you people have done for me. I will never forget it."

How much time do I have left? I don't know. Ugh, I wish I slept more last night. I was too paranoid, too worried Cindra might be there to greet me by slitting my throat open when I woke up. But she wasn't. I'm still alone. I haven't been for a while. It's scary. Much scarier than it seems. I wish Troy would say something to calm me down, or Ethan would lighten the mood with a dumb joke.

But neither of them are here. They're gone. And I'm still here.

I change my bandages one last time, tossing the old ones in the nearest lava pool to burn. Instantly, the lava creates a large geyser of fire that could've easily incinerated me if I was too close. I just watch it go up into the air, then the pool is back to is bubbly self as if nothing even happened.

I haven't seen how bad my stomach looks and I have no clue if everything has fully healed. Honestly, all I can hope right now is that it's not infected. But from what I can tell, it won't be too big of a problem. I've gotten used to the occasional pain, the horrible stomach cramps. It's that not hard to put up with, though I do down the last of the painkillers, just in case. There's nothing left but an empty vial.

I take out my machete and slid into my quiver strap over my chest, careful not to accidentally stab myself. Worst case scenario, I can always use it against Cindra. Though I'd like to keep her from getting too close to me.

At this point, I'm just stalling for time and delaying the inevitable. There's nothing left for me to do. I'll have to face her and I can't prepare myself anymore, mentally or physically. Don't even get me started on emotionally. It's a hard truth to accept. But it's been the truth all along and we all know it. Only one of us gets to walk out of here alive.

There's a lot I can say I've done. If I survive, I don't think I'll ever be the same person I was. And I can't go back to being my old self because she doesn't exist anymore. The VR that entered this arena...well...I'm not entirely sure what happened to her. But she's not me. The VR that was chosen for the Hunger Games is long gone. I don't know what happened to her either.

The VR I am now has done way too much shit, seen way too much shit, is on the verge of a mental breakdown, but is braver than I realized. She's stronger. She knows now her potential and she's willing to risk it to live. She's me.

I may be sensitive, I may be emotional, I be a fucking coward at times, but I can also be brave, and I can also be strong. I just have to remember that. I take a look at my reflection in the machete blade. My face is all sweaty and dirty with heavy black bags under my eyes. It's bruised pretty badly too, and don't get me start on my hair. I didn't even notice how cut up I am either, with small jagged lines of blood running across both cheeks, right above my left ear, above the bridge of my nose, under my lips, and down my forehead. There's the faint scars of nails that had scraped across my face. Thanks, Quincy.

"I'm brave. I'm strong. I'm Vera-Ryanna motherfucking Kingsley. And Cindra, I am coming for you."

The arena lights up again, a holographic trail leading me to the battlefield. The Games end now.

I don't have any words left, any thoughts to speak, or any feelings to convey. It's all been said and done. There's just a brutal, bloody fight left, and it's probably gonna end painfully for both sides. But one of us will pull through. I hope, secretly, that it will be me. I really don't want to die. I don't know what it feels like, or how much it will hurt.

But I have to be realistic. What are my odds?

Don't wish me luck. I'm about to make my own.

I follow the trail at a leisurely pace. There's really no need to rush and exhaust myself too soon. I can take in the last of the arena, the gravesite of 22 tributes before me. There's a lot about it I never noticed before, because it's just so...hot. I'm neutral on red and I don't care much for orange. But together, they do look pretty.

We must be heading to that weird clearing where the Feast was held. I thought I'd be going to the Cornucopia instead. After all, that's where the Games starts, so it would be a neat symbolic moment if they ended there. The Gamemakers probably have their reasons, though. Halfway to the site, I stop and slip off all my stuff. All I have is the machete, my bow, and my quiver full of arrows. I hear the sound of Ethan's wine bottle smashing and for a second, I do feel bad. It's shame nobody ever drank it.

I consider it, but no, that's probably a bad idea. I don't need to make a fool out of myself by facing Cindra drunk. And I've tried pressing the button on that remote I have, but it does nothing. Maybe it would've only worked for Ethan. No use against my final challenge, I guess.

But I can see her waiting for me. Even from here does her blood red arena uniform stick out like a sore thumb. Or maybe that's someone's actual blood. A very gory thought, but I hope it's hers. Please be her blood, please be her blood...

"Hey hun. It's nice to see you again."
I don't decide I don't like it when Cindra calls me "hun" the way Rhiannon did. It lacks the warmth and heart. God, she doesn't tower over me the way I thought she did.

Cindra limps slightly; Whyllis's orange jacket has been torn up and wrapped around her right leg just above her knee. Her boots are gone, revealing her swollen and bruised ankles. She's got bags under her eyes too. It's kind of satisfying to know she's has as little sleep as I had. Her ear still hasn't recovered from what I did to it yesterday, revealing a trail of dried blood down the side of her face. She cracks her knuckles against the handle of her sword. They have bits of blood on them. But overall, she doesn't look too beat up. She's clearly in a better position than I am.

Still, it's hard to walk out of this place in one piece.

"I've heard a lot about you."
"You have? I really wish my idiotic district partner wouldn't slander my name like that. But I can't do anything about it now."

"You killed him." My voice cracks slightly. I hope Cindra doesn't notice. "He didn't do anything wrong! And yet, you killed him!"
"Yeah! So!? I'd kill anyone if I have to, just to win this thing! What difference does it make!?"

You're fucking nuts, I think to myself, raising a loaded bow. "I guess it makes no difference at all. Good luck, then. May the best tribute win."
"Thanks. But I don't need luck."
"That's too bad. Because I don't either."

I let the arrow fly, marking the start of the end.

It hits Cindra in her left leg, at the very top of her thigh. She swings her sword, cutting part of its shaft off, and charges at me. I whip out the machete with my free hand, holding it up to block her. But at the very last second, right before she can shove her sword into me chest, I jump down to the ground. Her arm flies over me. Here's my chance. I can stab her now and hopefully-

Cindra cuts into my quiver, sending all these arrows spilling out into my back. Some of them rip through my jacket. I trip over one and fall backwards, a second arrow going right into my hand, slicing open some of my fingers. I don't bother stifling the yelp that follows, because it hurts so much. But I turn back to Cindra and weakly throw a bunch of arrows, as well as a little bit of my own blood, right into her face.

I'm not even thinking about what I'm doing at this point. Everything and anything is a weapon. Even if it is a broken bloodied arrow.

Some of the arrows hit their mark and Cindra's lip begins to bleed. She takes a small step back, rubbing at her mouth with a finger, but that gives me a chance to stand up, grab my bow and machete, and come up with a quick plan. I press the bow against my knee, doing everything I can to bend it. That won't be enough. I need to break it in half.

Cindra lunges at me and I swing the bow at her. The string snaps in her face, opening up more wounds and I cut through my bow with the machete, finally breaking it apart. I stuff one half into my pocket, then arm myself with the other. I know that I need to do next, and it's too much of a risk.

But I can't win by just playing defense. I'll only be able to stop Cindra for so long before she finally gets the better of me. So I run at her.

The piece of the bow, jagged from where I cut into it, is forced into Cindra's stomach. I quickly yank it out as small drops of blood appear on her shirt. It's not gonna be enough. But she pushes me back with the machete, which slice open the back of my hand. It's the same hand already bloody from the arrow, which increases the pain by a thousand percent. I blink back stinging tears. She can't know how much this hurts...

At least it's my right hand, not my dominant one. But now I can only hold a single weapon at once. I still try to pull free the other half of the bow. It's fine...little pain...I can deal with a little bit of pain...I just...I just have to...

My knees knock together, suddenly snapping me to attention. I hold up my weapons to defend myself as I jump backwards from Cindra as she swings at me, again. Her sword cuts through my clothes, through my bandages, and tears apart those day-old wounds Opal had given me once upon a time. There's a sudden squirt of blood.

Aaaaaah!

And if I thought my hand was painful, it's absolutely nothing to how I feel now. It's blinding.

Make it stop! Make it stop!

I can't stop myself from falling over, throwing my hands out to break my fall. My knees scrape up against the rock, but I can hardly feel it. I press my good hand to my stomach. It feels goopy, sticky, and warm. Out of the all the places, all the body parts Cindra could've cut through.

I open my eyes and all I can see is red.

I hear Cindra's feet scrape traverse the rock and she must be standing over me by now. I close my eyes again and try to imagine what she might think and how she'll act. Right now, she's probably raising her sword high, hoping to send it down and stab me right through the back. By then, I'll dead be and victory is hers. I reach up with my hand, if I just time this perfectly right...

I grab the end of her sword with my bad hand and give it a tug. My fingers are stained with my own blood. I don't even feel the blade of the sword, cutting open my palm. My other hand reaches for the machete. Cindra gives out a loud breath, but nothing more. She grabs my wrist. Still holding her sword, I look up and slash her across her lower abdomen with my machete. I finally let her weapon go as I push her backwards and slowly stagger to my feet. This is payback for what she's just done to me.

Somehow, we're not dead. Just staring each down as we both begin to bleed out. I clutch my stomach again as a sudden headache hits me out of nowhere.

"No." Cindra beings to pant heavily. "I...am not losing...to some...outer district scum...I have...to...win!"

I almost see sparks fly as I block her sword with my machete. She swings again and I jump back. As Cindra pulls back for another attempt, I shove my hand into her face, smearing blood all over her eyes as I run my machete into the exact same spot, trying to drag it upwards. Pain explodes in my shoulder as she stabs me, but it's almost bearable in comparison to my stomach. Nothing can compare to that.

But why does it hurt so much...

I ram my machete as hard as I can into Cindra's chest, then fall back, which frees her sword from my shoulder but also leaves a large cut running down my side. Ow! I feel a small trickle of blood run down my arm. Cindra begins to stagger as I kick at her legs as hard as I can. I'll gladly bring her down to my level, especially now that all my weapons are gone. A stray arrow pokes into my gut. I quickly grab it.

A hand grabs at my shirt as Cindra crawls on top of me. I bring up my knees and feel one of them press against the handle of the machete, trying to wedge it further into her. It's stuck. Cindra spits a wad at blood at me and I feel her shove the sword back into my stomach, tearing open every single wound. I can't even stop myself from crying as I try to blindly swing my fists at her. It hurts, it hurts...someone please make it stop!

It's enough to make me wish, for a single moment, that I was dead.

Cindra punches me in the neck. "Augh! You...you bitch! You ruined everything! I was..." she begins to violently cough. "I was...these were my Games! I...cough...I was going to... cough, cough...make something of...myself...I could've had it all...but you...cough...you ruined it!"

I push my knees right up against her body, ramming the machete so hard, Cindra's wound is torn open even further, causing a shower of blood to rain onto my face. Cindra licks her split lip and her tongue cleans away some of the blood, as she tries to punch me again. Her fist is way too easy to dodge. She's getting a bit weaker, I can tell.

But then again, so am I.

I don't know if I can make it any further.

I try to push her off me, her sweaty hands finally letting go on the sword in my stomach and she topples to the side. Her sword falls free, but too exhausted to react to the fire that explodes in my body. Come on VR, get up! It's almost over! Just one final push...

"Unlike you...I didn't want to..."
"It's..." Cindra lets out a small laugh as she tries to yank the machete free. From some reason, she can't pull it out of her. "...not my...fault...cough...you're a...coward...you have to kill...to...cough...win...kill to win..."

So this is how it ends. With the two of us slowly bleeding out side by side until one of us somehow outlasts the other. No big final blow, no shot to the heart, nothing. This isn't a big, dramatic finale. It's quiet, dark, and horrific. What must my family be thinking, watching this happen?

I don't want them to see me die.

I feel faint. Numb. I can't feel my hands. All I can think is blood. That's it. That's all I see. I'm drowning in a tidal wave of my own blood. I can't swim, I can't reach. I'm falling below the waves, sinking, sinking, sinking, deep, deep, deep...

I run a gross mixture of blood and sweat all over the shaft of my final arrow. Cindra groans softly, her hands sliding down the machete handle. She can't pull it free. I see her sword lying between us and I slowly push it away. It's going to end here. Someone is going to be put out of their misery.

I barely have enough energy to crawl over to Cindra, but eventually, she's within arm's reach. I use one of my hands to prop me up. She glances up at me with angry hazel eyes and her hands come flying out at me, right as I stab the arrow into her collarbone.

My hand gives away and I collapse to the ground, slamming my head. Hard. Cindra's nails dig into the back of my neck, but I can hardly notice that she's there. I can't feel a thing. I'm still holding the arrow, and I try to force it as deep as I can. Cindra lets out a mangled gasp and I feel small drops of blood trickle down my neck. I'm aware of the sticky pool that's below as my stomach gives way. Will I survive this? I don't know. We're both pretty fucked up right now.

"I'm sorry..." is all I can tell her. "But I...I wanna...go...home..."

The Victor won't be determined by who was the most popular tribute, or who had the most kills, or who made the finale an absolute spectacle. It all comes back down to luck, damn that word, and a simple will to live. Who's the lucky one? Who will it be?

I can hardly feel the pain my mess of a stomach is in right now. Or Cindra's hands as they slip off me. This can't be good.

I want to make it out of here alive, I really do. But I don't know if I can. It hurts too much. I don't really wanna die. I just wanna go home. I want to live. Will anyone be mad at me? Will anyone miss me? Mom...Dad...I'm sorry. I wish I could be there for you guys, but I might not be. I'm glad I said everything to you when I did. At least I'll die with no regrets...after everything that has happened...after all I've done...whoever is watching me, I hope you'll miss me and you'll be proud that I tried my best.

The truth is, I don't want to just win for me. This would be for Troy, for Ethan, hell maybe for Whyllis and some others too. For everyone I've let die or couldn't save. I want them all to mean something, I don't want all their deaths to be in vain. I promised Troy I'd win for him! I promised!

I hope he won't be disappointed in me. I'm already disappointed in myself.

The bubbling lava slowly fades away and I don't bother fighting the urge to close my eyes. Cindra lets out a small moan. My hands go numb.

VR, please. get up. Get up, get up, get up. It's almost over. You can do this. You just gotta get lucky.

Just one more lucky strike...

Just one more...

I just let my head rest against the surprisingly cool rock, as a peaceful feeling comes over me.