Chapter I, Capitol: Welcome to Purgatory
- Six Feet Under -
The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games
The Eternal Train Rides
Elika Rosales, District Five Female
A loud crash didn't even seem to faze Elika. She was unflinching, perpetually lost, staring into the abyss. She felt cold. She felt… detached. Her eyes gently drifted towards the pain seeping up her arm. Rivulets of blood poured from her palm, dripping onto the worn, mint carpet at her feet, forming into a river that moved…
She followed it. Transfixed on the crimson red stream that gushed.
A body was laying in front of her.
Elika's eyes snapped open as she launched herself upright. It took a few moments of her looking around the room she was in to fully remember where she was or what had happened: a train.
The Hunger Games, Elika's thought somberly.
She slowly pulled herself from the sheets wrapped around her body. The soft, linen dress seemed foreign on her skin as she crept across the floor to the window, just to check. The picturesque view of the forest only confirmed it.
She was finally away from District Five. A place of grief and misery, a tortured life, a wicked future that laid ahead. She was away, but was the alternative any better?
Elika left her room, walking into the empty carriage. Everything was clean, prim and proper — but no sign of life.
"Hello?"
The door at the other end opened, revealing a short boy with curly hair and a gentle face. His white satin pyjamas seemed to match Elika's perfectly.
"Oh. Hello."
Elika just stared at him for a few moments. She didn't recognise him at all — but his age suggested he was her district partner. She was dumbfounded, but smiled, hoping to be reassuring to her junior.
"I guess we're the tributes," Elika shrugged, "I… I don't remember your name."
"I'm Thiago," the boy answered. His smile was hesitant but bright, immediately making Elika feel at ease.
"Well hi again, Thiago," Elika smiled, "Are we the only ones on this train?"
"I just woke up so I dunno."
That's weird. "So did I…"
The coincidence wasn't lost on Elika. She wasn't the brightest bulb, but even she knew that it was not only weird that neither of them remembered meeting the other, but that they also both had just woken up… despite it being probably midday.
"Let's go look around," Elika said, walking towards Thiago, "What's this way?"
"It's just more of the train, I think."
"Maybe there are other tributes on it?"
Elika walked ahead without a second thought, Thiago on her heel. The rest of the train was empty. Each cabin was an exact replica of the last and Elika couldn't help but wonder if she was still dreaming, lost in a nightmare.
Eventually, the two tributes gave up, resigning themselves to a booth. Thiago sat opposite Elika, and that's when she realised that he had a nasty scar on his face.
"What happened to your face?" Elika couldn't help but ask, more blunt than she intended.
Thiago's fingers reached up to it, "…I don't remember."
Elika's brow furrowed, "That's weird. It's pretty big."
She watched as Thiago traced his finger along the curve, confusion written across his youthful face. His eyes grew teary and he pulled his hand away, as if touching fire. Elika's heart tore for the boy.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to upset you," Elika felt guilty, "I'm just… confused."
"I—It's okay," Thiago nodded, swallowing his tears, "My head feels all foggy."
Elika understood that. She tried desperately to search her memories for something. She remembered her super early years, a fraction of her early teens, and then… the train. Her memory was fragmented and she didn't know why.
"Maybe we're just that exhausted—"
Elika's words died on her tongue as the door behind them opened. Both of the tributes looked eagerly as two people walked in. The man and woman stopped dead in their tracks, staring blankly at them.
Elika rose immediately, "Are you our mentors?"
The man looked frazzled as his eyes rested upon Elika. "I can't do this, I can't do this."
The woman stopped him as he attempted to leave. They shared some quiet, harsh whispers that only made Elika's insecurities flare up out of nowhere. Did we do something wrong already? What's his deal?
"Is it because we walked through the train?" Elika said steadily, "We… we just couldn't find anyone and—"
"It's fine," the woman cut her off, "Just sit down for a second."
Elika quickly fell back into her seat, emotions building. She could feel her head and heart thump in unison, distracting her momentarily as the woman pushed the man back through the door they came from.
Are they talking about you?
Elika was suddenly hit with an immense amount of longing. Something stirred inside of her like she had to know what was happening. She jumped up again, moving to the door.
"I don't think you should do that…" Thiago whispered.
Elika didn't care. I have to know what they're saying. She pressed her ear against the door, desperate to hear something. Their voices were low, husky — the man seemed in pain as he argued with the woman.
"This is so wrong! I can't do this, Astrid, I really can't—"
"—You need to snap out of it. We have to do this. You taught me that… we focus on her over him, right?"
Elika's eyes widened. Her over him?
"What are they saying?" Thiago asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
She knew she couldn't be honest with him. She looked over her shoulder, seeing the innocence in his eyes, and something struck a chord inside. "They're just discussing some things about us, I think, like who teaches who."
The door opened again, right on Elika's body. The woman stared at her with a blank, sardonic expression.
"I like you… but sit down, Elika."
Elika saw a glimpse of the man — scrubbing at raw red eyes — and quickly took her seat again. Something about the woman was firm but fair, and as she loomed over the table, her presence was almost… familiar.
"I'm Astrid, one of your mentors," Astrid nodded, "I'm not gonna lie, it's all a bit shit. The Hunger Games are shit. Your odds are not great. Heck, I won on a technicality, so I can only prepare you so much."
Elika's eyes longed at the man in the doorway. He seemed so broken, so destroyed, that she felt inclined to just get up and hug him, despite not knowing who he was. "Is your friend okay?" Elika asked, genuine.
"I'll be mentoring you, Elika," Astrid ignored her, "Wyatt will mentor Thiago."
"He looks sad—"
"You need to focus on yourself," Astrid cut her off, "Walk with me and let's talk. I need a cigarette."
Elika quickly obeyed, realising that this woman was now her best bet at possible survival, and maybe even some answers. Astrid walked ahead with such confidence, head high, fingers fumbling in her pocket. She pulled forth a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep puff.
"As much as you want to help Thiago, you can't," Astrid made a point of acknowledging what Elika heard, "You have to think of yourself. He's a sweet boy, but trust me… sweet boys aren't made to survive."
Elika just stared as Astrid exhaled the smoke in a cloud of grey. It seemed so similar — something deep in Elika stirred. A memory.
"Do you want a drag?"
Lazarus Mirzan, District Eight Male
If there was one thing that Lazarus hated a lot, it was being left with his own thoughts. The sinking, constricting feeling of trying to piece together memories, opinions or answers unnaturally.
He lived in the moment. He lived for the present — the here, the now, in that very second.
"What's your favourite colour?"
"Purple," Alanis answered with a cautious smile, "Yours?"
"I like them all," Lazarus' smile was organic, "I could never be biased towards colour. They all play their part."
Alanis let out a breathy laugh, "That's very… sage of you."
Lazarus had found Alanis almost immediately after waking up from his strange dream. She was in the kitchenette area, pouring a glass of water, white linen dress elegantly swathed to her ankles. He thought it was an illusion — but then he realised that he wasn't that creative.
"I'd like to think that I'm pretty smart," Lazarus teased.
"What are your thoughts on this then?" Alanis probed, "The whole waking up on a train… going to the Hunger Games. It's pretty bizarre, right?"
"It isn't the first time that this religion has royally screwed me over," Lazarus shrugged, "I'm not putting much thought into it."
Alanis nodded, "That's very valid. I guess it's a weird conundrum."
Lazarus glanced briefly at the window, realising that the train was starting to slow down. The landscape of trees started to shift into fields and mountains, before metallic buildings appeared on the horizon.
"We must be nearing the Capitol," Lazarus took a deep breath.
Neither had seen their supposed mentor. The train was void of life besides the pair of them. They had walked through a few carriages after, in the hopes of finding someone, but it never amounted to anything.
"What do we do now?" Alanis asked, leaning on her new compadre.
"I guess… we wait?—" Lazarus said, despite standing up, "—or we just jump off and run when the train stops."
The pair of them laughed, though the sentiment was all they both wanted. Lazarus had always dreamed of just running away and never looking back, a kindred adventurer that desired more than what Panem offered. But responsibility and, sadly, commitment grounded the thrillseeker.
The train grinded to a slow pace as they entered the city. Alanis stood up at Lazarus' side, both staring out of the window. Lazarus smiled. The city is pretty… shame it's trying to kill me. The train soon went into a tunnel, snuffing out the sun. The windows blacked out and Lazarus and Alanis stepped back.
"I guess we're here," Lazarus gulped, feeling a knot of nerves in his chest. He turned to Alanis, realising she mirrored his own anxiety. "Are you nervous?"
Alanis laughed, "What gave you that impression?"
"Sorry, stupid question," Lazarus' smiled wryly, "At least we have each other, right?"
"Yeah," Alanis nodded, "It seems we have nobody else."
On cue, as the train pulled to a heavy halt, the door opened. A woman with short, blonde curls walked in. She looked stressed with dark bags under her eyes, concealed by sloppy make-up as if she was in a rush.
"Lazarus, Alanis."
Neither responded. They didn't know her. Alanis made the first move. "Are you our mentor?"
"I'm Monet," Monet answered, voice strained, "We're here. Sorry… I've been a little preoccupied."
"It's okay," Alanis responded. Lazarus stared at their mentor and then at Alanis, trying to work out what the subtle tension in the air was.
"Hey, Monet?" Lazarus wanted to ease that tension, whatever it was. He wasn't about to let a somber mood hang over his head. "What's your favourite colour?"
Monet's brow furrowed, "I don't have one."
"That's because every colour is as important as the other," Lazarus nodded with a smile, "I respect that."
"You're kinda weird," Monet said quietly, "I respect that."
"What happens now?" Alanis asked.
Monet's face fell, "You'll be baptised. This year is… different. Just try to keep up with it and, when I can, I'll always help and support you."
Lazarus knew nothing about the Hunger Games. Nobody did except that twenty-three teenagers died. His own parents didn't necessarily believe in the slaughter of innocent teenagers, but they never actively went against it, either. He remembered that they would have a hearty meal when the tributes were chosen and his Mom would pray for their safety and journey to the light—
His mind went blank. He couldn't remember what came next.
"Where have you been anyway?" Lazarus couldn't help but ask, wanting to distract himself, "We've been on this train for hours. We walked all over and we couldn't find you."
Monet didn't answer. She glanced up at the ceiling and walls, as if searching for something, before simply shrugging. "I've been around. I guess you've missed me."
Why is everything so secretive?
I want to know!
"Follow me," Monet guided the pair through a few cabins, before they reached a large door. "I won't be seeing you until a little later. Just try and keep your heads up, stick together, don't stand out."
The door opened, letting in a blast of artificial light. Lazarus stepped out first, annoyingly eager to find answers to the riddle. The whole tunnel was streamed with hanging lights and busy people moving around. It was less of a station and more of an underground platform, mid-construction.
That's when he noticed it. A few doors down, another door opened, and two teenagers draped in blistering white clothing stepped out. They were confused, lost, and Lazarus' eyes connected with the soft eyes of another.
Behind them, another pair and another, all the way down the train that Lazarus could've sworn they walked every inch of. It took a few moments for him to realise that they were the other tributes, coincidentally dressed the exact same…
"You need to be safe," Monet reminded them, "Remember… stick together. Try to remember as much as you can."
The ominous words fell on deaf ears though as a sister — dressed in virginal white, only her face and hands revealed — approached them both.
"Come this way, tributes."
Eustolia Gi, District Seven Female
A foggy, grey mess…
Eustolia couldn't find the lost fragments in time. She knew it had happened. She knew that, somehow, her memory no longer held the moments that led up to her waking up on the train, dressed in white, lost.
She had asked Odell — a tall, thin boy with calloused hands and a stern jaw — if he felt the same, but he was less than talkative. Eustolia had tried to read what little expression he wore, but came up as empty as her memories.
"Come this way, tributes."
"Where are we going?" Eustolia couldn't help but ask.
The sister stared at her, a kind smile on her face, "We are heading into church."
Odell visibly tensed at her side, shoulders tightened. Eustolia could sense that it was bad for him. Her sheltered upbringing meant that she knew that Limos — and in turn, her religion — was interpreted differently everywhere.
"You'll be fine," Enzo said behind them, "Just keep your head up."
Her mentor was right: Eustolia would be fine. The Hunger Games were a mystery, with twists at every turn, but religion was something that Eustolia found a morbid comfort in. It made her feel something.
"Will we?" Odell asked, a little angrily.
"Yes," Enzo replied.
There was some tension in the air that Eustolia couldn't quite pin down.
"Sure."
"No point moaning about it," Boone chipped in, "We're on your side."
"I didn't say you weren't," Odell continued.
The sister began to walk away in tandem with the other sisters along the train, followed by their tributes. Eustolia obediently followed, and after a short while, she looked over her shoulder to see that Odell had finally relented.
"What is gonna happen?" Eustolia was curious.
The tributes and sisters eventually merged together at a singular door. The brown, stone hallway was lined with candles, eerily glowing in the dark. People muttered as they were guided along, and at some point, Odell ended up right behind Eustolia.
"Keep your head up," Odell mumbled, towering over his district partner.
Eustolia didn't answer him but nodded. She didn't know what to say. Was he being helpful? Sarcastic? She tried to read the tone of his voice, but found herself lost in the other voices around them.
Eventually, the line stopped, and the tributes paused.
What's happening? Eustolia tried to peek through the line. Nobody was moving, stuck in time.
"Female tributes, please enter the room to your right. Male tributes, please enter the room to your left."
The sea of tributes in front of Eustolia began to part. Hesitantly, she drifted from Odell, sparing him a final glance before she was ferried into a large, cold room with the other girls. She didn't know Odell, but she found a small piece of comfort in him.
It was a strange sensation. A pit in her stomach that seemingly filled. Stripped away from everything she knew, with complete strangers, Eustolia felt… odd. She could feel it in her bones.
The door behind them slammed shut. The singular lantern on the wall swung slowly, causing the shadows on the floor to arch and distort.
"Where are we?"
"What is happening?"
Eustolia just stood lifelessly in the middle of the room. The atmosphere had noticeably darkened. Fear, concern and anxiety was suddenly on everyone's faces. Eustolia took her time to look at each girl — from the tall, statuesque girl with curly hair, or the petite, small girl that sat on the bench with flaming hair that almost hid her face.
"Why are we all dressed the same?"
Eustolia's eyes widened. She knew they were all in white — everyone was in white — but their dresses were identical.
"I… I had a weird dream."
"I don't remember how I got here."
One by one, the girls began to speak up, and Eustolia's heart began to hammer in her chest. It was a strange feeling — one that made her feel giddy, blood pumping too fast. She gently walked to the nearest bench against the wall and sat down.
What is this feeling?
It struck a memory in her. The clinic. A rainy, dewy morning. A staircase that descended into darkness…
She noticed someone next to her. The dress was bunched in her fists, a harsh, stressed tone on her face. Eustolia steadied her erratic breathing and focused on the girl's short hair, prominent jawline, the colour of her knuckles as they gripped the dress harder and harder.
"Are you okay?" Eustolia asked.
The girl stared at her. "I'm fine, thank you."
"Your knuckles are turning white," Eustolia mumbled, offering a candid smile to show as much effort as possible to be warm and inviting.
The girl eased her fists, instead pushing her arms around her. "Sorry…"
"Why?" Eustolia asked again, "Why are you sorry? Did I say something bad…?"
"No, no! Of course not. I—I'm just very uncomfortable right now."
Am I making her uncomfortable? Eustolia made a point of looking around the room. She didn't want the other girl to feel that way, and if Eustolia was causing it, she regretted it.
"What's your name?"
Eustolia could hear the whispers in the room rising. People were becoming panicky and stressed. "I'm Eustolia."
The girl smiled, though it wasn't as bright as Eustolia believed it could be. Something about her seemed very welcoming and warm. The polar opposite of what Eustolia put into the world. "I'm Tay."
Eustolia smiled, trying not to look at Tay for too long. "So why are you holding onto your dress so much?"
"I hate it," Tay replied, "I hate dresses."
Eustolia looked down at her own, "I've never really thought about it."
"I guess everyone is different," Tay laughed, though there was little jest in it, "Did you have a weird dream like all the others are saying?"
Eustolia looked at the sea of girls. Everyone was talking, voices concerned, but Eustolia didn't know if it was that big of a deal. It bothered her — she knew that — but she just couldn't relate to the same level of panic that was being displayed.
"Not really," Eustolia lied, "I don't remember my dreams much."
Ludwin Auric, District Two Male
"We just need to calm down!"
Ludwin was standing against the back wall of the room, shoulders eased against the cold stone. In the midst of the chaos, a tall, tanned boy had taken command of the group. Ludwin watched as he held his head with such confidence, voice level and fair.
"Who made you boss?"
"Nobody did. I'm saying that multiple voices being shouted across the room doesn't help anyone. We need to calm down and work this through—"
"—I agree," Ludwin couldn't help but speak up. All eyes drifted on him and he pushed himself up from the wall, "I think that this guy has a point. We're all just shouting at each other and nobody even has any answers."
The tall, tanned boy smiled in gratitude, "We have to work together."
The room fell quiet, before the conversations broke off into miniature ones across the group. Ludwin approached the boy closer, curiosity and admiration both equally appealing.
"What's your name, anyway?" Ludwin asked, smiling.
"Sanjay," Sanjay answered, "Yours?"
"Ludwin."
"I'm glad somebody is as equally rational as me," Sanjay responded, "What tell you, then? Did you have a weird dream too?"
Ludwin hoped Sanjay didn't notice his jaw clench. The dark room. The raised voices. The fear that caused ice to swim through his veins until—
"Nope," Ludwin lied, "Can't say I did. I guess I was one of the lucky ones."
Sanjay nodded, "I guess so."
Neither boy wanted to reveal their darkest, most heinous dreams. Why would I tell a stranger? Ludwin rationalised. He wasn't always the brightest bulb in the room — but he had fantastic gut instincts.
The door to the room soon opened once more. All twelve boys seemed to flinch, nerves completely shot to pieces. The more time they all spent together — the more they realised that their stories aligned almost perfectly.
A sister appeared in the doorway, features delicate. Ludwin didn't find any fear in her face. She reminded him of the woman that helped out at his Father's church back in District Two. Serene, sweet, gentle.
"Gentleman. It is time."
"Time for what?" Sanjay asked, taking the lead.
She simply walked off into the hallway, leaving the door wide open. Nobody moved until Ludwin eventually took the first step. She's definitely trustworthy, Ludwin had already decided, perhaps naively.
The hallway was still just as cold and eerie, but much more empty. The sister was walking ahead in the candlelight, back to them. At the end, Ludwin watched her ascend some stairs.
The other boys appeared behind him. Confidently, head held high, Ludwin took his moment to lead. He walked down the hallway, passing the door that the girls had gone into. He could hear them talking rather heatedly, no doubt mirroring their own conversations.
Did everyone really have the same dream?
Not me.
Sanjay was behind Ludwin, as if his right-hand man.
"What do you think it is?"
Ludwin didn't know. He shrugged, "It could be anything. But we're here for the Hunger Games, right? It must be some event before then."
Sanjay nodded, "You're right. My mentor didn't say much. Just to keep my chin up and pay attention."
Ludwin tensed again. Aleric said the same thing…
They reached the end of the hallway. Ludwin mounted the steps first, reassured by the resounding, multiple footsteps behind him. He didn't know any of them personally, but it was no different to the boys at school that slid on his coattails. Their presence seemed to bolster his ego and cause him to act braver than he knew he was, deep down.
At the very top, the same sister was waiting for them.
"Let's proceed."
The door behind her opened. Light streamed into the darkened hallway and Ludwin squinted, stepping through the threshold.
He recognised the smell immediately before he even saw his surroundings.
The familiar musk of his Father's church assaulted his nostrils and he smiled. Fragmented, warm memories seemed to seep into his mind as he looked around the large, spacious room. Dozens of glittering, coloured windows poured in light that made the ground sparkle.
In the centre of the room was a large bowl with steps that led into it.
"Tributes! Gather around, please!"
A few sisters appeared from the sidelines and that's when Ludwin realised there were other people in the room. Sisters, Fathers, a handful of religiously clothed individuals that sat with blank expressions or soft smiles.
Ludwin stopped at the front of the group, Sanjay to his side. They shared a smile — Ludwin's of ease, Sanjay's of anticipation.
"Gentleman. Today is a very big day indeed… a big day for all of us! Today, we start the events leading up to the Hunger Games. Limos has chosen you all specifically to receive her love and to give thanks for all that she has done for Panem."
Ludwin couldn't find the voice. A man was standing at the bottom of the steps to the bowl, but his lips didn't move. Another man was up in the bowl, standing with his arms in prayer, looking directly at the group of boys.
"First, we must prepare you for Her."
A sister suddenly appeared at Ludwin's side, taking him by the hand. He didn't resist or fight — Ludwin had the ultimate faith in Limos and Her design. His Father had taught him that.
The sister guided him to the stairs, leaving him with the man.
"What is your name, son?"
"Ludwin Auric, Father," Ludwin bowed his head respectfully, "I'm from District Two."
"Ludwin. Limos' Son. Please climb into the pool."
Pool? Ludwin realised immediately as he climbed the steps. When he saw the pool, however, he froze for a split second. The water wasn't normal — it was blood red, dark, up at the Father's knees as Ludwin tentatively edged himself into it.
"Ludwin Auric…" The Father dipped his hand in the water, dabbing his thumb on Ludwin's forehead, chin and then over his heart. "Do you accept Limos into your life?"
"She already is," Ludwin answered honestly.
"Please turn around."
Ludwin spun on the spot, staring back out at the boys. He saw each face — confusion, annoyance, fear, anticipation — before his eyes settled on Sanjay and he smiled confidently, wanting to appear strong.
I've got this—
Ludwin was pushed under before he realised. The water scorched his nostrils, filled his lungs, burned his eyes.
He panicked. He thrashed under the red water, held by steely arms, unable to resurface.
The images hit him in tandem. Horrid, vicious flashes of his previous dream that continued to torment him. The darkness. The loud voices that rose into feverish jeering and taunting. The sound of a pendulum clock swinging back and forth…
Ludwin was released and he launched out of the water, gasping for air. He choked, spluttered, coughed. He was dyed red — his satin, white pyjamas now permanently stained, his head matted to his forehead, skin a raw pink.
"Ludwin Auric! You have been born again!"
w w w. sixfeetunderhg. blogspot. c o m.
Questions!
Ask me a question and I'll reply with an honest answer, cause I dunno.
Well, it's been a minute. Elika and Lazarus, it's been a while. Eustolia and Ludwin, it's been a chapter.
I've not only been slacking, but I have been gaming. I'm still sus. I did not kill Em in weapons. Momo is lying.
Anyway, the Capitol is gonna be a bit hefty. I have decided (I will most likely regret it) that, in order to showcase these tributes and worldbuild, everyone deserves plenty of screentime. So whilst the chapters will be a little shorter, we will be seeing everyone a lot more. That's right! Two POVs each, plus their intro. Ludicrous. I know.
I enjoy the constant déjà vu.
(Tay is non-binary, as we know, but to the other tributes, for realism, they are identified as a female. We will be sorting this as the plot thickens.)
~Corey.