.
Breathed so deep I thought I'd drown.
Remo Vanson, 18, District One Male
My mind can't take this.
"We knew this was coming," I hiss to Tamira, ignoring the flickering pain in my hand as I slowly back away from the impending trio of girls. "But did you really have to reinstate Voitsekh as an ally of ours?"
She barely tilts her head toward me in acknowledgement, eyes glued to the three girls. "We need as much help as we can get," she breathes out, barely audible. "It's a hawkish move, not a stupid one. Get that through your thick skull. Now grip your spear like a big boy and stop questioning my decisions."
Tamira straightens her back, never once letting her gaze waver. "Took y'all long enough to find us!" she shouts out cheerily. "I trust the storm made navigation a bit difficult?"
Neither of the three respond – Bronte is stoic, Valyn glares, and Sienna whips her head back and forth between the two, unsure of how to act.
"Quit toying," Voitsekh drawls from our side, and I quiver at just the sound of his voice. My hand flames up in pain once more, as if reliving the very moment that he dragged his blade through it. "We all know why we're here. No need to drag it out."
Nobody moves – we're a frozen force, never once removing our stares from the other group. Finally Bronte lets loose a forced laugh, waving her spear a bit in front of her. "It's silly, isn't it?" she calls out. "The way almost all of us wanted to be here, that we actually volunteered for this exact showdown. It's funny how the universe works."
Valyn snaps her head to Bronte in that moment, muttering something rapidly to her. I hear 'District Twelve' faintly, and am suddenly all too conscious of the tense air that rises between them. Valyn jabs her own spear out at us, engaged in a tousle with Bronte, who shakes her head rapidly.
Beside me, Tamira sucks in a breath, pokes my arm, and surges forward.
I'm left scrambling in her dust, half-heartedly charging the group with Voitsekh lolligagging somewhere behind us. Sienna's first to take notice, emitting a shriek as she bares her knife before her; Valyn and Bronte are slow to snap out of their heated discussion.
Tamira tackles Bronte in an instant, both of the girls coming down hard on the ground with no shortage of pained squeals. Sienna sets eyes on Voitsekh, charging past me rather dumbly, no doubt hoping in some way that she can talk him out of anything he's going to try. For a moment I whip my head behind me, teetering on my feet and wondering if I should try and throw my spear and impale her and be done with it.
No – Arlo Calvert's head circles my mind, similarly young, similarly dumb, similarly all too innocent. He was young and tiny, too. And I killed him. I can't kill Sienna and be the baby killer of these Games. I'm better than that, no matter the fact that I volunteered. With a sigh I turn my head back to the older girl, acknowledging how absolutely stupid pride can be at times.
That leaves me and Valyn.
She and I circle each other cautiously. I've never really parried or sparred with her before – never even had a chat with her before. She's an anomaly to me. I don't know what she's capable of.
Then she lunges.
Not one for small talk, huh? I grit my teeth as I pirouette out of her way, colliding with a tree trunk and releasing a pained cry. Not wasting any time, she jabs out again with her spear, barely missing her shoulder as I duck low again.
"We could make this a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stay still," she grunts, hand and weapon wavering in air as I dip behind the tree. My hand stings as it scrapes against the bark, but I don't release the hilt of my spear.
I hiss in pain, bringing my hand up momentarily to gauge the damage. Voitsekh's knife had gone all the way through; I'm lucky to find all five fingers still intact. My entire wrist feels as if it's pulsating with white-hot flashes of agony every time I move my arm.
But this is no time for weakness, for vulnerability. I've been strong all my life. Now, more than ever, I need to embody that.
With a grunt of exertion I twirl around the tree, taking my spear in my hands not as a pointed weapon but as a blunt object. Using both hands for strength, I swing it forward, barely colliding with Valyn's skull as she twists out of my way. An unamused bellow emerges from her lips.
"Playing the club game? Sick bitch."
With that, she reciprocates; her spear swooshes through the air, and I have barely enough time to surge mine upwards and parry with more strength than I realize, knocking her backwards and sending her directly to the ground.
Now I stand before her, heaving and gasping through swollen lungs as I tower over her crumpled body. A thin stream of blood begins to trail from her temple, air escaping through her parted lips.
This is it; this is my time to make the kill.
My spear clatters in my hands as I raise it above me, hands over my head and spearhead directed toward the ground. I killed Arlo with such ease, such precision. I should have absolutely no hesitation in taking out a stronger competitor, especially not when we're so close to the end of the games. Yet as I loom over her fallen body, chest rising and falling with every panting breath she takes, I can't seem to stab downwards.
Valyn just looks so… vulnerable. Head cocked in an unnatural angle, eyes gazing out lifelessly to the forest beyond, the trickle of blood now meshing with her hair. My motivation falters. My hands waver, unsure of what to do.
Can I kill?
Can I really murder someone by my own discretion?
Don't be stupid, Remo, man up, Remo, you've been working so hard for this moment, Remo. As if my own wretched father is in this arena beside me I can hear his voice, plain as day. Show them all what we're made of – District Two, through and through. Let them know that the old Career lifestyle is worth salvaging. That we're not just ghosts of what we used to be. That we have honor. It's your time, Remo – make us proud. Finally.
Before I know it, her ankle juts out, catching mine and sending me to the ground.
Shit.
Valyn scrambles to her feet, above me now, the roles reversed. One of her feet stomps down on my bad hand, pinning me to the ground. Those same tendrils of fire course through my nerves and I scream out.
My head turns to the side, scanning helplessly for any sort of savior. I can catch Tamira's eye as she banters tirelessly with Bronte, the two of them pacing around, parrying with each other, neither of them quite good enough to outsmart the other. She hears my scream. With wide eyes, her head whips to see me, to see Valyn.
Valyn catches wind of Tamira, screeching and barreling towards us. Without hesitation, she slings her spear from her side, garnering a tight grip, and sends it downwards.
Father, I wonder with tears pricking my eyes, a numbness engulfing my body, the spear protruding from my chest, how can I show the world that our old ways are worth salvaging, if I'm not around to do it?
Valyn Teferi, 17, District Three Random
Remo's head slumps to the side.
Without much care or shakiness I clamber off his body, smoothing my jumpsuit down and collecting his spear from just feet away. Then I turn. What surprises me the most is the fact that rather than getting up in my face, spewing insults and hatred, Tamira Calise is on the ground, slapping Remo's face, her voice ragged and desperate as she calls for him to come back to life.
His eyes flicker open for a split second, and they meet mine instead.
Then they slip shut – his cannon rockets, shaking the arena and ending all hope that Tamira had left.
A sob emerges from her as she shakes on the ground, entire body trembling at the loss of her fallen ally. I watch without urgency, knowing I should do something to off her right now but more so enjoying the fact that she's entirely given up her bad girl persona. So even the meanest girl in the arena has a heart, I muse to myself. Maybe not everyone from District Twelve completely descends from the devil.
Bronte lurks up behind Tamira as she slowly clambers to her feet, a knife clutched in each hand. Her eyes connect with mine, and I give an almost imperceptible nod. She knows what I mean.
We have the upper hand now that Voitsekh is useless and Remo has turned to dust. It's our time to shine.
Shakily Tamira comes to her senses, noticing that she's completely surrounded by both Bronte and I. "You killed Remo," she spits out with red-rimmed eyes. "You shot that spear into his chest like he was fucking nothing."
"Preach to the choir, bitch," I retort. "I'm sure you've been the picture of innocence in this arena."
Tamira turns on her heel to face Bronte. "And you," she seethes. "You have the audacity to roll up here after I made it so very clear to you what would happen if I saw you again."
"You don't scare me, Tamira." I want to applaud at my ally's brave words. "In fact, I almost feel pity for you…" Bronte's eyes flicker to me once more, but before she can signal anything, Tamira's got her pinned her to the ground.
I gasp with how quickly their fight seems to be happening – one moment they were up, the next Tamira's got her rolling around on the forest floor, hands cuffed around Bronte's neck. As Bronte pounds the dirt with a fist, I throw myself in, coming down hard on top of Tamira's back and digging my fingers into her throat, desperately trying to get her to back off.
"Tamira!" I hear from a distance, and I almost want to die with all the useless heroism that seems to surround this girl.
With a grunt, I yank Tamira off of Bronte, and we roll around like bugs on the ground, limbs flailing as each of us tries to get a solid hit on the other. Her thumb comes down hard onto my eyeball – I scream, screwing my eyes shut, blocking out any attempt the bitch has to blind me.
My mistake.
Strong arms envelope me, thrusting me into the air, throwing me against a tree. I screech as my skull comes against the trunk, almost mirroring my fight with Remo, and my eyes snap open to see Voitsekh fucking Nazeryan looming in front of me with a bloody sword. The tip of the blade digs into my chest, drawing blood. My hands scramble frantically for any weapon I might have on my body, but to no avail. My spear's abandoned on the ground, rolling under Tamira's feet.
"Stay up against the tree or I will fucking kill you!" Voitsekh bellows, and for whatever reason, I obey.
The scene in front of me isn't pretty – Bronte and Tamira facing off, glaring each other down, Voitsekh with a sword to my chest, and Sienna cowering somewhere in the distance, unprotected, out of view. Maybe she even ran for it – headed for the hills, convinced that we weren't strong enough to make it out of this intact. So much for sticking together, I think to myself bitterly.
"So much time in the arena," Tamira says shakily, "all that you've volunteered for, to be noble, to be so honorable in whatever you do – and you hide the entire time? Is that the image you want to project back to Eleven? To the Capitol?"
Bronte's shoulders are square, her jaw set resolutely. My chest teems with pride for my ally as she lifts a brow, unaffected. "My definition of honor does not align with yours, and that's okay," she says smoothly. "I'm unsure of how they run things in your district, but back in District Eleven, we know when to pick our battles."
"But hiding," Tamira growls, advancing, her knives clutched in each fist, "does not make for an honorable win. It paints you to be a coward. And that shit stays with you."
"Considering just moments ago you were spitting on Valyn for killing Remo and actually doing something…" Bronte scowls. "I don't take your word to be worth much. I never did. And whatever rivalry you might've had against me in the Capitol for Voitsekh shit-talking me-" Voitsekh's sword presses down on my chest harder, and I wince as the blade is pushed deeper into my flesh, "…well, it ends now."
Tamira squints at Bronte. "But there is a difference between you and me in more ways than one," she says. "You play fair, yeah? Always the hero when someone needs it?"
Bronte looks at her uneasily.
Apparently, that's the answer that Tamira needed. She snorts. "You have things you genuinely care for. Things you'd die to save."
"So I'm human." Bronte shakes her head. "And?"
Tamira's eyes flash dark, and she turns away. "And that's what makes you weak."
She darts to the side, but not to escape; her destination is a nearby bush, and she dives headfirst into it. Voitsekh is doing his best not to turn and look completely, but I can tell that his curiosity is getting the best of him, too. I slide to the side gently, the blade slipping free from my skin and resting against the exterior of my skin instead. Relief comes fast, and I exhale warily.
The sensation of relief might be fast, but it is short-lived as I see Tamira yank Sienna out of the bush.
Brambles and leaves scatter across her hair, hands bound with rope and a gag in her mouth. We lock eyes for the briefest of seconds, hers desperately, silently pleading with me for assistance. I gasp – how did Voitsekh manage to do that unprovoked while Bronte and I took on Tamira and Remo…?
Voitsekh hears my gasp, turns back to me with a sickening smirk. "Don't be too shocked," he says off-handedly. "Bronte learned how to do knots right alongside me back in training."
I ignore him, gawping before me as Tamira raises Sienna to her feet, the poor girl scrambling underneath her grasp. "You are human and you die for others," Tamira yells out to her, presenting a singular knife and holding it up to Sienna's throat. "So show me – show us all what you're capable of."
"Don't do it, Bronte!" Sienna snarls out, squirming in her grip. "Don't give her the satisfaction!"
There's no time for Bronte to think – she stares as Tamira begins drawing the knife across Sienna's throat, mouth agape, spear trembling in her hand as her mind races with what to do. My heart pounds, hating to see her in this situation. She wasn't meant for torture like this. She's never had to endure something so hard as watching one of the people you hold closest to your heart – someone so familiar and homely – get the life sucked out of them.
She's never had to go through this. But I have.
In a brief motion, my arm shoots up and shoves the sword off of my chest, knocking Voitsekh off-balance momentarily. As he staggers backward, I surge forward, allowing Tamira to be distracted by my moving body.
"Hey!" she shouts.
I lunge toward Tamira and Sienna, unsure of what I'm going for, but hoping I can knock either of them to the ground. Tamira's arm shoots out, baring her knife, but it's merely laughable. After dealing with the blade of the sword being shoved into my chest for the past few minutes, I can handle anything. My pace quickens, closing the distance between Tamira and I, hoping that Bronte's figuring something out in her own way. I trust her – I hope she trusts that I'm doing this for us.
Tamira's head whips back and forth between Bronte and I, unsure of her next move. The mood changes. Instead of looking fearful of my incoming presence as I had expected, she seems to stiffen, become calmer. I almost don't believe it when I see it, makes me stop dead in my tracks.
With an evil glint darkening her eye, she draws her arm back into her body and drags the blade across Sienna's throat.
Bronte Tavera, 17, District Eleven Female
"Sienna!" I scream out, watching her body slip to the ground.
My heart clatters against my chest, and before I know it I'm scrambling to her aid. I'm barely conscious of Tamira and Valyn exchanging harsh words somewhere above me, or Voitsekh hightailing it to the hills, getting his sorry ass out of here. I don't blame him. The longer we remain here, the more I wish we hadn't come at all.
"Sienna," I whisper, drawing her into my lap. The wound on her neck is deep, but the way her chest pulsates with breath gives me hope that she might be able to pull through. I reach a hand to her lips and yank the cloth gag out of her mouth.
"B… Br…" She struggles for words even when her mouth is unmarred by the gag, and my own chest sinks. Tears cloud my vision. As she makes an attempt to speak again, I hush her.
"Okay. No talking. Got it."
My heartbeat pumps out a frenzied melody as I hold Sienna tight in my arms, feeling her life dwindle away with each insult that Tamira and Valyn hurl at each other. No matter what the outcome of this is, I realize, I'll be down someone I truly care about. Is that what I had expected when I volunteered for this? To form attachments, actually care for the temporary people around me, and watch as the life dwindled from their eyes?
No, is my resounding reply.
Yet I sit, uncaring of the danger that unfolds around me and focusing only on Sienna – my Sienna, the poor, innocent girl from my district who warned me of an implosion before it had the chance to affect me. The girl who, against all odds, found me in this arena. The girl who's a familiar slice of home, and the only one I truly have left from my district. Sienna was loyal to me, and in turn I'll devote my loyalties to her.
I've never been one to let go of the people I grow truly attached to. Never. But in this moment, as her eyelids flutter to stay open, and she struggles to breathe through the hole in her throat, I realize that sometimes we must endure things that we never thought would ever happen to us.
"Sienna," I murmur out, willing the tears to go back in my eyes, "Can you breathe?"
Her own eyes well with tears as she shakes her head. A shaking hand rises to her neck, fingers dabbling around in her own blood and making my skin crawl.
"Okay," I whisper, head bowed. "Okay."
One of my hands rises to her head, smoothing her hair down, allowing her to relax just a bit longer. My other hand reaches for the knife in my pocket, fingers closing around the blade and solidifying my plan.
I bring it up slowly, as not to startle Sienna. "Think of home," I say gently, trying to keep my voice steady. "Of the orchards, of the vineyards, of the schools. Of your friends, of your family, of your life…"
Sienna's eyes begin to cross and uncross as her mind drifts. I continue beseeching her rest with memories of Eleven, the good and the better. My body is numb when her eyelids finally lie still. I feel even more numb as I plunge my knife into the side of her neck, resulting in nothing but the unnerving sound of a cannon ricocheting throughout the entire arena.
The once extroverted, vibrant, bratty little girl from my district has turned into a lifeless shell of a body. And it's entirely my fault.
I come to my feet, face stony. My back is to Tamira and Valyn, and for a moment I'm surprised that their bickering has stopped. I turn around. Tamira finally looks over at me, holding a thick tree branch slick with blood.
"You've done it," she says simply.
My stomach churns as I look for Valyn. Her crumpled body lies draped across a rock nearby, a gash wound on the side of her face alerting me that she's injured. The lack of a cannon is telling. Tamira wants me to get out of the way before she finishes the job. She's been clubbed. Fuck. I need to get to her. I need to save her the way I couldn't Sienna.
I straighten my back, throw back my shoulders. The knife in my hand hangs heavy. Sienna's body lies below me, too noticeable. "I'm not cowardly as you may think," I say coolly. "Some of us just have morals. Respect. Honor."
"Even if they suck," Tamira whispers. "You think your morals will save you when you've got a knife to the throat? If a deranged tribute flies into your path, out for blood? What then?"
"I never promised that they'd save me," I say. "But they make me a better person. Which I don't believe is something you can say for yourself. At the end of the day it's simple – you're not a good person."
Tamira's eyes flash for a brief moment, though of jealousy or confusion, I can't tell. "I'm not a bad person," she says, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. She takes a step forward.
Unsure of how to reply, I hesitate, taking a step back. She advances towards me again, her eyes clouded with desperation, a sudden and unexpected need to be heard. "I'm not a bad person," she chokes out once more.
"Tamira, I…" I struggle for words. "I…"
"I'm not a bad person!" she wails, standing just feet before me, chest heaving. The tears come, and they come heavy. "I cared for Remo," she spits out. "Stupid as he was, I did. He was a friend. I carried Scout. I respected Custer and Cornelia. I listened to Voitsekh. I couldn't… I couldn't bring myself to kill Arlo. I'm not inhuman, Bronte, I'm not a bad person."
"Tamira," I say uneasily, watching with a hawkeye as the knife trembles around in her hand, stained with the blood of my district partner. My eyes flicker to Valyn, heart beating frantically as I try to come up with a solid plan. "You're not – I didn't mean-"
She scuttles up to me, arm outstretched with her weapon pointed directly at me. "You said it yourself," she howls accusingly. "You think I'm a bad person, Bronte, but there's good in me, there is."
My heart doesn't ache for her; the girl who made this past week of my life complete hell. But emotional girls are dangerous, take it from anyone. And Tamira's sobs are telling me that she's on a verge, and definitely not a good one.
I need the easiest way to defeat her.
"You're a good person." One of the rare lies I've ever told in my life. These falsified words spewing forth make me want to vomit. "You are. Deep down, I know you are. And you know it, too."
Almost on the turn of a dime, Tamira's tears are stemmed. With startling contrast, her stony eyes pierce mine and the corner of her lip upturns into a smirk. "Thanks," she says sardonically, crocodile tears long gone, "I knew that's what you always thought."
Before I have any sort of chance to respond, her hand whips forth, digging a knife into my shoulder.
I stagger backwards, gasping for air, and she shoves me to the ground. "What the fuck?" I scream out.
She towers above me, face scarily devoid of emotion. "Try being less boring next time, Bronte," she drawls. "I can see right through you. That's called not having a personality."
Rage flames up inside me, and I claw anywhere for a grip to cling to. Maybe my hand stretched out for Valyn, hoping that somewhere in her unconscious state she can hear me, come to me. The only tangible thing is the bottom of Tamira's shoe, and the way it comes down hard on my face. I feel my nose crush, a horrible snapping noise, a stream of hot blood descending over the contours of my lips. I open my mouth to wail in pain but find nothing but her shoe once more, stomping down onto my neck.
And then it stops.
My eyes flutter open, watching helplessly as her hulking figure makes her way over to Valyn. I want to cry out, to scream that this can't be happening, but my throat betrays me. Valyn lies unconscious, unaware of anything in the world as Tamira plunges a fist into her neck, sending my trusted, vicious ally into a world of nothingness.
It's only me. I am the only one left.
It can't end like this, my mind tells me desperately, not after everything you've been through, you can't be bested by this demon.
Yet everything seems so out of reach – my eyes are swollen, my vision dancing with stars and tendrils of color. My windpipe doesn't allow for air to seep through. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear my mother calling, yearning, weeping. Relief comes the more and more I allow myself to sink into a state of sleep, a state of dreaming.
It can't end like this.
"But it does," comes Tamira's voice, a million miles away. "This is exactly how it ends, Bronte."
Aston Lamar, 13, District Six Random
"Another cannon," Cedric murmurs, eyebrows knitted with confusion. "That's four in a row."
I shrug, eyes flickering to the grey sky above as if it'll reveal the casualties of the day so readily. "Must've been a big showdown," I say. "I bet we haven't gotten a minute of camera time this entire day."
Cedric snuggles into the concave of the rock, eyes gazing placidly out at the forest beyond. "Not the worst thing in the world. I can do with a little less action on our part."
Somewhere off in the distance, Polo is moaning in tragedy, roaming around in search of fresh fruit and a distraction. Triesse's death was just hours ago, still fresh in his – and my – mind. Since then we've gathered water from the stream and made our way back onto solid ground. It's not the most productive, considering about half our remaining competition was just knifed off somewhere, but it's allowed us a bit of reprieve from the events of the day.
"I agree," I murmur. "It's nice to have a rest."
We sit in silence for a while, ears echoing with the four cannon rumbles. The forest is completely silent, no birds or other animals to muddy our vision with their calls. Even the monkeys who usually seem to be screeching eternally in the distance are quiet for once. Finally Cedric speaks.
"So what do we do about Polo?"
I turn, stomach uneasy. "About Polo?" I repeat.
Cedric frowns. "He's a loose cannon. A risk to us. Not to mention, there's just five of us left, and if the stars aligned, I would like to see us both in the finale."
"Then why not your district partner?"
He shakes his head. "I thought he'd have more to offer when we scooped him up. But the more I look at it, he truly only came to us with the blind hope that we could heal Triesse. He's got nothing to give us further but mourning and trench foot. It'd be better for everyone if he wasn't here with us."
I swallow hard, thickly. The more time passes in the arena, the less human I feel – and I just know, deep down, that Cedric is the main source of this sudden inhumanity. "What do you suggest?"
"Dunno." He clambers to his feet, shrugging. "Wish there was a simple way. I don't think I could very well drive a knife into his throat or stab him in the back. It's not the way I was built. But we'll think of something, you and me."
He turns to go into the forest, to hunt or find fruit, and something makes me call out. "Cedric?"
His eyes find mine. "Yeah, Aston?"
My heart pounds sporadically, a sudden rush of blood to the head. "Swear that you and I are in it together?" I ask. "No lies, all transparency, you and me in the final two?"
A natural smile crosses his face and he gives me a nod. "It's always been this way, ever since the start," he says convivially. "Trust me. Once we figure something out, we'll be able to overcome."
Cedric disappears into the forest, and I let loose a shaky sigh. I'm not used to being like this – so suspicious and untrusting of those closest to me. Frankly, I'm not used to being the protected rather than the protector, either. Back in Six, it was always up to me to be the ringleader, the leader of any group I was in. I have never been a follower. Followers end up dead or worse.
But there's been a power shift, a change in dynamic I never could have predicted. Back in Six we didn't have healers. If we weren't strong enough to weather through an illness then we keeled over and expected our friends to burn our body when the time was right. Death was inevitable, frequent, and never expected.
It's funny how death seems to play an entirely new role in my life now.
Whereas back home I did not fear death – rather considered it an honor to be immortalized as the kid I was – here it is the sole thing I fear. It's what keeps me running, what keeps my blood pumping thick whenever I hear a slight noise in the distance. At just thirteen, two weeks ago I thought I had nothing to live for but the slight off chance of success or the opportunity to provide. I thought I'd accomplished all that I could, and everything beyond that was worthless. I thought that I just wanted to get by and see how far I could get. I didn't want for anything, just the company of my friends and one more day.
But now I desperately just want to live.
That brings me to the topic of Cedric. I gnaw on my bottom lip, watching the forest from my rock, half-expecting him to jump out and stab a knife into my eye. Arden was right, back in training – Cedric is bad news. Should've known it from the start. Everything he has done in this arena, to save his own ass? Admirable. Great. I'd do it myself. But the issue is that it doesn't benefit me.
He's suspicious. Untrustworthy, disloyal. That would have never flown back with my group of ruffians back home. He's an outsider who only saves his own ass, and I'm wary. That is why he must go.
"No lies, all transparency, you and me in the final two…?"
My previous words echo around in my mind and I heave a sigh. Oh, how lovely it would be to not have to deal with Cedric in the final two. But right now I'm teetering on the edge of keeping him on my side versus up and leaving completely, letting nature take its course and not seeing him for the rest of time. But I'm wise enough to realize I'm just thirteen. In an arena full of trained volunteers and gritty, older kids like Polo, I'm dead meat.
If only we had some more of those poison pills and I had a chance to knock out each of my competitors.
Cedric would be first.
A slight breeze descends upon the arena and I shiver, conscious of how the humidity that once stung my wounds has turned into a chill. The claw gashes on my face courtesy of the monkeys still prick my face with little needles of pain, no matter humidity or cold. I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to garner some more warmth.
That's when I hear the tinkling sound of something else descending, almost silent.
My head whips around, eyes flickering from treetop to treetop, searching for any sign of what's to come. I find my answer in the flashing silver of a parachute, drifting down just yards away from me. Eagerly I pounce upon it, fingers working at the knots to get to the box beneath.
In the box lies two orange pill bottles, each containing a singular pill within.
One is dark and shiny, like a thick black slug. It's reminiscent of the pill that I forced Cedric to give to me earlier on – the nightlock pill. I turn it around in my hand for a brief second, feeling the coolness and smoothness of such a deadly little weapon, before carefully encasing it back in its bottle.
The next one is far tinier – a small pale-yellow circle, no doubt chalkier than the other and a big mystery to me. No doubt Cedric would be able to tell me what this one is – but there's no way in hell I'm going to be asking him. If it's some sort of poison, it'll be used against him, not with him. I toss it back into the bottle as well, screwing the tops on and gently slipping them both into my backpack.
That's when the remaining item inside the box catches my eye – a slip of paper, adorned with steady and true writing that must be Garrett's.
Trust but verify.
A/N: Biting Down by Lorde.
9th: Remo Vanson, District One Male.
8th: Sienna Munro, District Eleven Random.
7th: Valyn Teferi, District Three Random.
6th: Bronte Tavera, District Eleven Female.
Apologies to the submitters who lost their tributes this chapter – they truly were some of my favorites to write for and will be very missed!
A bit of a wilder chapter. I'm estimating we have 2-3 chapters left here, so… that's also wild.
Sorry for the wait. Summer school sucks but I only have a week left. Also, shameless plug to myself for my new SYOT! Still set within the Sixverse, but this time around it's a Quell. It's called Ready for War, and all the info is up on my profile currently. The deadline is June 29 and I'd love to see a tribute from you.
Also accepting tributes for their SYOTs currently are Megan (DA Member Hogwarts 2.0) and Austin (mangesboy01)! Go submit to them as well!
Questionzzzzz
Who do you see in the finale?
Who are you rooting for to win?
See ya round! Stay safe, wash your hands, continue signing petitions!