Day 4: Morning


Mona Tillery
District 9 Female, 13


I run, clutching at my chest as though a pointy knife had slipped under my ribs and into my heart. I run faster, the pitter patter of my close-toed shoes on the shifting gravel reminding me of the sounds the wheat fields used to make, in some distant way.

I have to run … where? Where do I even go from here?

Where could I possibly be welcome?

What could I even offer? I dropped my red shot gun a while ago, as I tripped on the ground some place beyond Scout's body.

It wasn't Scout no more, you have to understand, I plead silently with the skies. I checked and he wasn't breathing, and the cannon rang.

I didn't want to touch anything red right now. I wanted to take the image of Scout lying on the ground like a gutted little unassuming rabbit, the disgusting image that was now lodged in the nooks and crannies of my brain. Shred it to pieces angrily with those expensive shiny paper cutters that I'd catch glimpses of when we did those fancy Capitol-sponsored tours to the high-end field management offices of our district.

All I want now is to storm one of those offices, rip the awful thought out of my head, shred it, get rid of it so it doesn't feel like there's a hole being burned into my mind…

I keep running, only the clothes on my back to keep me company. Nothing left for me in here.

Nothing.

I don't even register the towering rides, game booths and attractions that zoom past me. My feet carry my body through the alleyways and paths that I have seared into my brain over the past few days with Scout. Almost obsessively so, as though it was the only thing separating me from perishing.

I had thought… I had actually believed…deluded myself that maybe I can get some food and company, that I could stop bearing the weight of this whole mess on my shoulders alone.

That's what kept me going… the idea that maybe I'd have some competent allies to share the burden with.

To not have to do everything myself and maybe even get a warm meal for my troubles.

Scout had been so excited about it too, as though it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing while we starved in silence. He was so ready to see his friends, and I was ready too.

I could picture it. His whole alliance, the withdrawn boy from Six, the weird one from Three that I could probably get on board with if he didn't talk so much, the older girl who didn't seem to like that many people.

It seemed so perfect, and I had been stupid to start believing it too. Damn Scout and his infectious optimism. That's what got him killed.

That's what was stabbing me right underneath my ribs.

It wasn't the burn of me sprinting away from the park I had worked so hard to know inside out.

It wasn't the fact that I had no food, no water and no proper shelter in the past few days, which was making my body waste away and eat itself slowly. Nope.

It was the bitter sting of utter and complete disappointment.

I run past the turnstiles, clearing them with a jump as tears flow down my face freely now. As my feet hit the grass outside of the amusement park, flashes of the bloodbath join the awful image of Scout dying as I hid behind a dirty window and couldn't even stop it as he was stabbed.

Another few minutes pass, me running through the clearing faster than I had ever ran.

I make it to the woods.

I keep at it.

I don't even feel scared anymore, just the weight of the unbearable sadness pummelling me into the ground if I stop for even a second. As I pass the first row of trees, my skin registers immediately the shift in my surroundings, but I can't bring myself to stop.

Maybe the more miles I run, the more I could feel in control in this situation where I have absolutely none at all.

My breaths come labored, almost staggered and the air seems to be thicker here. I pay it no mind as I keep sprinting, the little weeds and twigs lashing out at my legs, leaving a mess of flesh and cuts on my knees that start aching from the workout.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I had known the boys ran away just like I was doing right now. If they were still around, they probably coulda' killed me, by the way I just stumbled out into the open and away from the house I was hunkered in when they… when they killed Scout.

When they robbed me of my potential alliance, of the idea of finally sputtering out into something of a semblance of peaceful sleep. It hurts so much to know that these were the people Geoff had trusted with his life, rather than swallowing his pride and asking me to be his ally. I still don't understand.

Every fiber of my body screams betrayal.

The racing trees past me become more convoluted and I trip before regaining balance and resuming my insane pace, arms pumping at my sides, leg muscles being skewered by spikes of pain.

I can keep going until the end, I have to keep going or I'll fall, I'll fall and then I won't ever be able to get -

A root comes seemingly out of nowhere, ensnaring my ankle and I go flying.

I land like a sack of potatoes, and my shoulder hits a particularly spiky branch, puncturing skin as I cry out while shielding my face. The shrill cry pierces the thick air like a scythe cutting through wheat stalks, and is absorbed by the forest.

For the first time since I took off from that cursed park, I take in my surroundings.

The irregular rhythm of my hitching breaths can be seen by the small clouds that escape my lips. They float away and blend together with the impenetrable fog, not meaning anything at all.

I feel so defeated. And as the last bits of pride crack away, I break down because I physically can't get up.

These ain't the sympathy-garnering tears I had released at the Capitol during my interview. Nor are these the tears that I had shed while I cried back on the train, as Momo cared for me as best he could. This was real anguish coming out of me. I cry brokenly, bashing my fists violently on the branches below me.

I want to scream, but my lungs are so tired that all I can do is whimper a little.

"I hate you…" I sob quietly to no one in particular, grinding my teeth so hard it feels like one will inevitably shatter under the pressure. "I hate you."

I feel so powerless, so drained and small and overcome by the difficulties that lie ahead. Like a thirteen-year-old should feel, in a situation like this, I guess. I was kidding myself when I allowed myself to believe I was in any way equipped to handle this world that wasn't meant for people like me.

All the things that I've been holding in come rushing out at once.

My sisters not volunteering for me…

The fact that I really didn't want to die alone…

The only person I befriended in the arena getting killed before my very eyes…

Geoff not even bothering to protect me, instead going off with those bastards that killed Scout…

I guess it took three days, but it all comes out in an incoherent torrent of fury and sobs as I mourn my poor dead district partner, my dead ally and most of all myself for still being alive.

Lying on this cold humid ground, I realize that I want to live so much, but I just don't know why nothing I try in this god-forsaken arena works! I almost start to yell at the sky, at those damned Gamemakers to give me an instruction manual, anything, to tell me how I can succeed. Or to just kill me if the odds were always stacked against me.

But I refrain myself, because I suddenly feel myself being watched.

"Just tell me how to do it," I groan quietly into my cut-riddled hand. "Please, just please."

I shrink into a tiny ball as my eyes roam around, suddenly aware of the ruckus I've been making. I don't want to die… not after everything.

I want to go home.

I repeat this out loud, the sentence coming out pitiful as the trees seem to bend over towards me to hear my words.

It must be dusk, as the fog seems to make everything even darker and more oppressive. My breakdown must have been longer than I have thought, because the rays of sunshine that penetrated the treetops and bathed the forest in a greyish tint have almost disappeared.

I sniffle, wrapping my arms around me, once again so starkly aware of how alone I am.

If anything came out of these trees, I wouldn't even see it coming with how inky black the whole forest has become.

I blink a couple of times, almost owlishly, spinning my head around to get at least a little bit oriented.

It's weird enough… through my tears I see a distorted shiny bulb at the base of the tree I tripped on. I wipe my eyes, squinting down to see not one, but many small bulbs. They're glowing ominously, shimmering almost. It's a cold uninviting glow, but it's the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life.

It clicks almost immediately in my brain.

Mushrooms?

My hands hover over the ground, shaking. I inhale loudly, catching the signature earthy scent mixed with something almost metallic.

Unbidden, a small broken croak escapes my lips as my eyes find more blurry spots a few feet away.

Maybe it's the darkness that finally allows me to the see the surreal and eerie fungus-filled festival before my eyes. Or maybe it's the fact that I am aggressively wiping at my eyes, squinting at the ground around me, my mouth slightly ajar.

Wispy luminous tendrils rise from the earth.

Other large, great caps sprinkled with white or yellowish spots almost create a whimsical trail that disappears underneath one collapsed tree branch, re-emerging on the other side.

It's almost magical.

My mind is racing, mentally flipping through the pages that I had painstakingly peered over throughout training. I could eat some of these. I even close my eyes, willing my sleep-deprived brain to cooperate. I almost start crying again from the exertion.

Come on, give me something.

Opening my eyes slowly, I realize I'm blanking and start panicking almost immediately.

It was all for nothing, that trainer was right about how stupid I was, I forget which ones-

I smack myself hard in the thigh.

"Stop this Mona, you know this."

I know this.

I stumble to my feet, still slightly shaking from the crying and the nerves. My stomach grumbles, punctuating the urgency and I want to hit myself again.

"Chanterelles. Known as Cantharellus cibarius. Convex or vase-shaped caps, with an orange-yellow color. Stem is smooth, with no ring or skirt. Grow with separate stems. Usually found on tree roots."

A little breathless, I start reciting the ones that are starting to come back.

"Not to be confused with Jack o'lanterns. called Omphalotus olearius… Grow in large groups. The stem has little spots. Bad stuff happens if you eat them, but you don't die."

PING.

Innerved at how distorted and unexpected the sounds are in this forest, I jump at the noise, the small parachute almost descending on my head as I catch it and greedily open it.

It's a minuscule flashlight, that flickers pitifully when I turn it on. It'll do just fine. Thanks Momo, ma', Arla or whoever sent it. Thank god I don't have to wait 'til morning.

I smile gratefully at the treetops, stuffing the flashlight into my mouth and getting to work on my knees.

I bend down, going through my list and visualizing them in my brain, slowly but surely. My voice gains a little confidence with each description, my fingers starting to point out what I am assuming to the best capabilities are the correct mushrooms. As though I'm educating an audience, in the middle of the night.

The ones I don't know, I leave in the ground. The ones I do, I put in a pile on a piece of fabric I tore off from my left pant-leg. The dangerous ones I steer clear of, for now.

They ain't making it easy on me either, putting the deceptive poisonous ones that would make me even more dehydrated than I already am next to the edible ones that look similar to the untrained eye.

'But I know the difference, you bastards. I'm not dying today,' I grumble somberly.

Thankfully, the flashlight in my mouth prevents this from being anything but garbled unintelligible mutterings.

The ones that would make me hallucinate bloody dragons and unicorns are stuck together in a small bunch, almost as if the only thing missing is a warning label, and I can't help but smirk a little. They'd be happier to watch me die a painful dysenteric death, but god forbid a thirteen-year-old starts tripping balls.

Thanks a lot, assholes!

It takes me a few hours, but I gather enough mushrooms that their glossy little caps are spilling over the side my makeshift cloth.

"Time for a feast!" I announce tiredly, almost no emotion left in my voice. Eating raw wild mushrooms is certainly not advised, but you know… so is participating in the Hunger Games, so I can deal with a few cramps if it means getting nutrients into my body!

But before I can shove one particularly savory-looking red-capped mushroom into my mouth, something catches my eye.

In a mushroom bed I hadn't disturbed yet, I see something that I've drilled into my mind a thousand times over.

It's almost unassuming, surrounded by translucent and bright mushrooms that look much more impressive and threatening to a regular person. It stands there, so boring and grey under my hovering flashlight's glare, as though it couldn't possibly do any kind of damage.

Standing there on its lone stem is a Death Cap. The infamous Amanita phalloides.

Except… it's not like the ones I saw in the regular deadly poisonous fungi section. As I approach it wearily, I notice a strong stench with a hint of beef stew. I have to scrunch up my nose, even as I involuntarily start giggling like a completely crazed lunatic. I realize I might have hit the jackpot.

It's unmistakable.

From the instruction guide I had consulted, the story goes that pre-Panemian bioengineers worked with the Death Cap to produce a highly-potent toxin which could be administered with higher efficiency than previous iterations of this same toxin.

They had done what scientists do, you know, except the interesting part is that they hadn't disposed of the waste properly and poof! Now, deadly poisonous mushrooms which can now kill people in thirty minutes rather than in multiple hours or days were growing, unbeknownst to the general population.

The conclusion was that you shouldn't touch that shit with a ten-foot pole, unless you wanna be a dead man.

For no particular reason at all, it seemed, the guide had stressed that the one distinguishing feature of this variant of the Death Cap was its strong smell of beef stew, which differentiated it from its equally deadly but slightly slower-acting counterpart.

Fascinating stuff to read before bed, I'm telling you. I grin at no one in particular, looking damn pleased with myself.

A plan starts slowly forming in my head as I crouch back down, inhaling the signature scent and coughing a bit from the acrid richness that assaults my nostrils.

Ripping off a piece of already-tattered material from the bottom of my pants, I carefully make sure to not touch the mushroom as I gently rip it out of the ground.

The smell almost seems to get stronger as I set it in front of me, rocking on my heels in silence.

Maybe this is my instruction manual, now.


Project .M.E.R.A.

Subject CHI07-D4-1001


Target moves back and forth between the floor of the forest. Height: 5' 2'', Weight: 93 pounds, Female.

Risk to self: negligeable to none.

The maw opens, revealing a row of sharp immense teeth. We look at the target from the shadows, muscles warming up to pounce.

Assessing lethality of attack…

Predicted 12% boost in ratings – disembowelment, followed by severing of the cervical spine.

Proceed? Attack confirmation pending.

Negative.

Entertainment value provided disputed. 48% in favor of attack.

Override by Milo Zimmermann. Clearance level 9.

Do not engage.

A pulse-like pattern manifests itself in the brain, and everything relaxes. Default mode initiated.

Confirmation complete. Attack cancelled.

Keep watch.


Mona Tillery
District 9 Female, 13


My deadly treasure secured tightly in the small cloth, I jog with renewed vigor, half-crouching every few minutes. As I'm patrolling the perimeter of the clearing in my haste to find my targets, my braided hair keeps smacking my injured shoulder, and annoyed, I shrug my head.

I'm too close to the clearing to start losing my senses and getting spotted.

Surveying the area for what feels like the millionth time, I see it is barren apart from the Cornucopia in the middle.

I pace back and forth, trying to figure out the next steps.

The end goal is simple enough.

I decided it in the woods last night, and I'm not backing out now. I've announced it in a whisper for the cameras to pick up, so that I could be guided back somehow to the clearing. It worked so far, so I ain't complaining. As ma' used to say, don't go lookin' the gift horse in the mouth, and I intend to follow that advice.

The boys who murdered Scout will pay for what they've done.

I gently pat the makeshift pouch with my lethal weapon enclosed within it, looking on, in what I can imagine is a steely-eyed expression. I want to look brave, even if what I'm doing isn't right.

My ma' always disapproved of petty things like revenge, and Arla always recited to the rest of us younger kids about how we should always try our best to see the best in people. Put ourselves in their shoes and see things from their perspective.

But that's not going to happen out here.

Not when they killed Scout and ruined everything for me.

Ma', I'm sorry you're about to see this, I think regretfully. But it has to be done, because I need to get out of here. And they deserve this. I hope you'll still find it in your heart to love me in some way. I hope you'll be proud that I was brave, even if I wasn't a good person.

As I keep walking to the left, the Cornucopia now obstructing my view of the amusement park's entrance, I hear voices.

As though trained since birth, I immediately crouch down, Peacekeeper-style. Crazy how instinct works.

A surge of excitement and adrenaline courses through my veins, as I bite my lip and squint at the two forms sitting near the wall surrounding the park. One is sitting with his back against the painted bricks, whereas the other is pacing back and forth.

That's the black-haired one, the one who stabbed Scout to death.

Unbidden, the anger arises and makes my blood boil as I clench my fists. He killed a poor innocent boy who never hurt anyone, he deserves whatever's coming for him.

I'm still too far to notice any details, so I jog back to the approximate location where the Cornucopia hides them from view.

Sprinting like my life depends on it, and it most definitely does, I hurriedly make it to the mouth of the Cornucopia and hide inside, my heart racing.

Check my only and most prized possession. Still uncrumpled in the cloth.

Moving one inch at a time, I ease myself down and peer from under the belly of the Cornucopia, where the metal juts upwards.

Much closer now, I can make out the boys' facial expressions. I spot the water bottle that Scout had been carrying, and my heart sinks in my chest, momentarily.

How easy it is to become animals in a place like this, forgetting the awful deeds you've done and for what?

Some water?

My throat closes painfully, and I struggle to keep myself under control. You'd do it in a heartbeat too sweetheart, my conscience sings sweetly in my own head and I shrug my head to get rid of the unpleasant thought.

Scout's mom is probably seeing this, and for some reason this enrages me harder than anything.

It's okay Ms. Trinian, I'll serve justice one way or another.

Despite the pain in my shoulder and my back, I grin before putting my fist towards my heart.

I don't know why I do it, strictly speaking. A sort of remembrance of Scout? The mourning of an alliance dream that won't ever come to be? Or perhaps a reminder that I'm still me, despite the awful act I'm about to commit?

It doesn't matter, because I'm stuck here waiting, and I'll wait as long as I need to.

I don't believe they'll stay here forever, and from the older boy's pacing, I can tell he's ready to run from whatever is plaguing his mind. Hopefully guilt, at what he's done.

And all it'll take then is a bit of tampering with their supplies.

They're all going to see what I'm really made of.


Salamandra Mitch
District 3 Female, 17


"OW, can you be more any more careful?! Would be much appreciated, asshole."

"Can you stop fidgeting around?" Valentino answers quietly, inspecting the bandages on my injured shoulder while I stop myself from glaring at him. He places his hands over my arm, trying to feel out if any damage has been done to the muscle underneath.

I hiss at him, all teeth.

"You're worse than Alessio when he pulls a muscle and acts all melodramatic about it."

He looks up momentarily at the sky and smiles lopsidedly, shielding his eyes. "No offense, dude."

"Mm, so you massage your brother to get all better?" I shoot back, wiggling my eyebrows, rolling my shoulder a little to stifle the ache, "kinky."

"You're annoying," he quips back, just as he has over the past few days. We've really gotten into a familiar pattern.

And y'know what, Val's alright. I certainly could have done worse, as far as allies go.

He gently starts unwrapping the gauze, revealing a gnarly looking but superficial wound. Nothing to really worry about, but I'll suffer the extra attention if it means it calms the arena's resident mother hen over here. His feathers had been really ruffled after yesterday's fight, but he soon calmed down to his usual level-headed self so, I can't really complain all that much.

I mean this shit isn't for everyone.

At least I know he's got my back, for now. I'd be an idiot for thinking he's one hundred percent on board with the shit I came up with, but he didn't try to interfere or stop me. And when I needed help, he was there.

He's proven his worth and that's more than enough for me.

With his overall imposing presence and strength, I have to keep reminding myself that he was reaped just like most of the others. Contrarily to me, he didn't pick this fate. And yet, he's never judged or berated me for my ideas, never openly showed fear, and I genuinely respect the guy.

Even though I can't seem to get a read on him, his actions speak of his loyalty thus far.

I snap my shoulder back on reflex when he tries to manhandle it again with his giant hands.

This excessive care just feels off.

In Three, that shit wouldn't fly. We've all got that personal space bubble extended to the "stay the fuck away from me" setting, so this kind of hovering that Valentino seems to do subconsciously has been odd to say the least.

Not that I hate it, just not used to it. Usually, this kind of proximity was reserved for people who wanted to slap the shit out of me or kick my ass.

"Alright, alright, as much as I'd love to keep getting pampered, I'm getting hungry so we better head out soon," I swat at Valentino's hands impatiently as he secures two small pins that hold the newly applied bandage on.

With only a mocking glance back at me, my ally stands up and shoulders the two backpacks, while I secure my machete behind my back.

I check all of the traps once again, covering the most glaring parts with some unassuming tarp we found on our last haul.

I mean, even if people found our basecamp, they'd be in for some serious ass-whooping, even without us around to blow them to smithereens.

But still, I'd rather not. It's easier when stuff is rolling smoothly. And the whole thing just wouldn't be nearly as cinematic.

Ever since yesterday's failed attack, I've been revamping our explosive-launching systems, verifying our trackers and what not. I'm confident it'll only improve in its efficiency as time goes on.

But both Valentino and I agreed that sitting holed up at our base won't do us any good, during the day.

They've already started shutting things down around our area, so it's only a matter of time before we need to seek out further for supplies and food.

As we exit our camp, I give one last glance to the area before we depart, just to make sure there's no asshole about to try and sneak up on us. The circular area is clear, and so are the alleyways leading away from the ride that we claimed as our base of operations.

We start quickly walking east-ward, away from the large rides and closer to the edges of the park where we spied fewer buildings, rather populated by smaller shacks which might have more tools.

We walk for a bit in silence, just enjoying the wonderful weather. Never had air this clean in Three, even when the school took us on the fieldtrips outside of the main city.

I smile as the sun caresses my face.

"So, you got a boyfriend back home? Girlfriend?" Valentino asks me, somehow managing to look extra-threatening while twirling the spiky baton in his hands absentmindedly.

I guffaw in response. "Nah, ain't had the time nor the opportunity. Didn't have the best kind of life back there, hence the…" I turn around, gesturing the park, "extreme measures that I've undertaken. How about you?"

"Eh," he answers dismissively.

"Aw come on, don't be so modest," I can't stop myself from prying. "Give me the spicy details."

I do find myself enjoying his company just in general.

He knows how to keep it interesting without going soppy and emotional on me. The first day was a little awkward, all "Mitch" and "Ricci" strict professionalism. He knew I was testing him, and every interaction had a veiled intent to it, even though he's the one who initiated the cordial friendliness that now exists between us. In the span of a couple days, we've lapsed into the kind of straight-forward companionship that I didn't necessarily expect. And while I have little to no idea of what's going on behind those big brown eyes of his, it's easy to convince myself that he's on my side.

This reminds me somehow of how Eli and Pulse joked around so easily on the train, and hits a little too close to home with the whole idea that I never really had the chance to experience this kind of easy-going camaraderie.

So instead of focusing on that weird bit of introspection, I do what I do best and that's being an aggressive sarcastic bitch.

"Whose hearts have you captured in District 10? I mean who wouldn't fall for the man whose arena-made chili sweeps girls right off their feet. I mean the potency," I kiss my pinched fingers to add that extra gusto, "the flavor."

Valentino actually snorts, pushing me gently in my non-injured shoulder.

"You know what, I'm genuinely sorry for you that you burnt all your taste buds frying yourself with your scientist experiments. The chili was fine."

"Engineering experiments," I correct him. "Not a scientist per say. And we both know that chili was vile."

"Well, I was just trying to look out for your overall health. As hard as it is to believe, I don't want you dying of heart disease before the games are over because you're only living on gross hot dogs doused in god-knows how many artificial sauces. A home-made meal won't hurt you once in a while."

"You really practiced that speech, haven't you? Urgh, yes, the one thing that will save me is a pot full of ground-up beef we found in what was definitely a malfunctioning fridge and weird conflicting spices." I roll my eyes in response. "You just sound like one of those basic girls from my school."

"A little subtle flavor goes a long way," he makes fun of me. "My grandma always said that people who can't appreciate the different savors in a dish just survive rather than live."

"Oh, what could I ever do without my paprika-infused kale smoothie," I intonate in a faux-high pitched voice, ignoring his grandma's condescending preachings. "No, spinach simply won't do, how will I keep up my three-inch waist? Urgh, those people should feel gross."

"Not as gross as I felt after that chili," he finally relents, quietly.

"Hah I knew it! Hot dog lovers unite!"

"No no, absolutely not, I won't stoop so low. Don't worry nonna, I'll preserve the family honor!"

He's back, talking to the sky, before dropping his mirthful eyes back on me. I noticed he does that a lot. Talking to the sky, I mean.

A lot of tributes do that, I've found. In previous Games that I watched.

I guess it brings them comfort, makes them feel connected to the people they left behind, but I somehow can't really find it in me to do it. Who would I even talk to?

Nambie, but like… she didn't understand why I did this. What could I possibly tell her other than that I'm sorry? I don't even think I could muster the sincerity to do it.

I distract myself by speeding up ahead a little, checking the next alleyways and joining up with Valentino as he strolls casually in the middle of street, without a worry in the world.

"So the plan –" I start, before getting cut off by an exasperated Valentino.

"You know how I feel about plans," my ally groans, dragging his hand on his face. "I would much rather talk about the chili."

"I know I know, but seriously, this is a good one," I try to convince him. "So, like, you know how usually in the games, the underdog alliance always ends up getting ambushed by the Careers or some mutt? Well, this year they've got loads of options. My personal favorite, us, the two wildly attractive orphans ready to fight, which is why I'm thinking they're saving us for the end. The two remaining boys of the trio boy alliance who didn't really strike me as all that flamboyant, and the Five and the Twelve which might be out of the running for a while, not dead, unfortunately, and not forgotten."

I grimace, rolling my shoulder once again.

"The Eight girl with her interdistrict child posse, including your district partner," Val remarks, "and the girls from Six and Twelve."

"They're not underdogs, they're hardly competition so I'm not worried about them," I answer confidently.

"The point is I'm sure the audiences are enthralled watching me build our equipment from scratch and watching you exude serious Chef Pompadour vibes," referring to the wildly nonsensical Capitolian cooking show, just to annoy Valentino, "but that won't keep their attention for much longer, so we need to bring the fight to them."

"What I'm saying," I continue, "is that we need to go after someone before someone goes after us. Set ourselves up as the proactive murderers we were meant to be, and all that."

"You know you've got pretty severe psychopathic tendencies, right?" Val asks me half-joking, half-concerned.

I just smirk in response.

"Hey, I tried back at our base yesterday. Explosives aren't an exact science. More of an art, really, when you're not even out of school."

Valentino shakes his head. "Your confidence never ceases to inspire me."

"I'm just saying it how it is," I shrug, before changing the subject. "I'd say we try to go after Five and Twelve again."

He clearly looks uncomfortable but doesn't say anything out loud.

Valentino doesn't have to agree. He just has to comply. He knows I'm right, and that I'm buying us both more time to see this game until the end.

Again, I probably don't agree with his views on a lot of things. His family's reputation precedes him… I'd be an uneducated fool not to know his parents' rebellion involvements. But he has enough quiet respect not to undermine my plans and I don't plan to either.

Our past is our past alone. It doesn't matter here.

We stop at yet another abandoned cafeteria, still buzzing with energy, lights and small arcade games stuck in the corners of the semi-open terrasse.

Valentino heads straight for the back of the cafeteria while I take my time, passing my hands on the consoles, admiring the bright colors. Crazy how much brighter things are out here.

"Here," Valentino calls me from the small kitchen in the back, "gimme a hand, please?"

I find him standing next to a medium-sized fridge, with the door open.

"That's gonna be a bitch to bring back," I remark, crossing my arms.

"Some wheels woulda been nice," he mutters, rolling his eyes when the fridge doesn't suddenly growing wheels at his request.

With this, we start our slow descent from the cafeteria.

With Valentino bearing the bulk of the weight, I still find my muscles straining, especially with my banged-up shoulder. We both grunt and groan, but finally almost make it down, panting.

"You won't be able to bring it back like this," Valentino huffs, gesturing at my shoulder. "Change of plan, we are looking for something else. I'm not having you rip your upper body open for a stupid fridge."

When I'm about to protest, he stops me. "No offense Sal, but you're already a shitty shooter as we witnessed yesterday, and I can't have you getting even worse because your arm comes out of its socket. That's not the game plan."

"Hey, I practiced," I retort, but I know he's right. Defeated, I start looking around for options. Anything that can allow us to use leverage or momentum to get this fridge back to our base.

Our search turns up nothing, so after a little rest, we start moving again, inch by inch. Valentino trying to drag the refrigerator by the front, with me pushing from the back. It's almost comical, if it didn't feel like we were both on the brink of throwing out our backs.

"Maybe we can call it a day, eh?" Valentino pants breathlessly. "Come back tomorrow… with renewed force and strategy?"

"I am not about to give up my life of luxury because we've got noodles for muscles," I groan in reply, digging my heels into the ground and pushing. "Come on, just a few more steps and then it's flat."

As I'm straining, beads of sweat pouring in small rivulets down my face, I notice something I haven't seen before. I squint at what is very clearly a pond of some sort, in the distance, not very far from the cafeteria. That strikes me as odd, because all we've seen as far as water goes are from the park's facilities.

This is something else.

"Val, I'll be right back," I mutter under my breath. "I need to check something out."

Before Valentino can react, I weasel my way from behind the large and extremely heavy box, only met with a grunt and expletives certainly muttered under his breath, so as to not offend his grandparents surely.

I exit the wooden patio, descending the last set of stairs on the other side, only to fully visualize the body of water a little way to the left. Maybe two hundred feet long and fifty feet across.

Turning my head to the right, I can see many rows of bleachers as well as larger sequestrated boxes with the seats appearing more comfortable. Some kind of loge, no doubt.

Hm. People would come here to watch something… but what?

Valentino catches up to me, eyeing the area with a puzzled look.

"Have you ever seen something like this?" I ask, genuinely confused.

He shakes his head as I walk around the water basin, and we fall silent for a few minutes as we walk. Not entirely sure what I'm seeing, I survey the elongated tubes at the border of the artificial basin.

Some kind of lanterns?

I squint my eyes simultaneously as my feet bring me closer to the row of cylinders.

And then recognition almost instantly hits me like a wave.

Those are some kind of cannon contraption.

"Sal, come here. There's a hangar of sorts, and it's got crates of stuff."

My eyes still on the what I assume are cannons, ideas already whirring in my head, I yell back, "is there anything written? On the crates I mean."

"Uh… can't tell. Come here and help me, the door's heavy."

After a few seconds pause, he uncertainly continues, "Says 'Bang' on the nearest box, so I figure that'll get you pretty excited."

If it's what I think it is, he's damn right I'll be excited. My heart hammers in my ribcage as I sprint to Valentino, as he strains to hold open a metallic door to a dark storage unit.

Rows of wooden crates line the walls. Some colorful, some plain grey or brown. No explanations on the outside, because it's not like the pyrotechnicians would have needed them. Suddenly the bleachers, the precautionary water basin and the cannons make sense.

I can almost hear the crowd cheering as adults gathered here with their children, anticipating the wonderful dancing show in the inky black sky while pushing themselves to get the best lookout spot. The spiralling, twirling greens, reds and blues would reflect in the water as the screaming rockets propelled themselves madly towards their doom, for the enjoyment of the audience.

"Oh my god," I breathe out, only imagining how comically large my eyes must be at this treasure find. "Yes!"

I can feel Valentino cautiously approach, still not entirely understanding.

"I think I'm in love," I beam at him, smiling brightly. "Oh my god, Val."

My hands go to my mouth as I suppress a giggle.

Val crosses him arms, waiting for me to explain. "You know you look like a deranged little kid who just received the best present on Christmas morning?"

"Man, do you even know what this means?"

Testosterone-Einstein over here just stares at me.

"Fireworks? Explosives?"

I'm met with what can be best approximated by a wall's reaction to this momentous discovery.

"My dearest most precious ally," I gesture grandly around the room while barely holding myself together from the excitement that courses through my veins. "I think we've just majorly fuckin' upgraded our threat caliber."


Jean Taylor
District 8 Male, 16


It's the chewing that really gets to me.

The smacking of lips, gnashing of teeth and the churn of ripped up food in my ally's mouth just makes me want to be sick. My stomach lurches at the mental image, but I thankfully keep the contents that I just ingested, by focusing instead on the green blades of grass in front of me.

And I get it, we're hungry. Starving even.

But I couldn't possibly imagine that someone eating could be so aggravating.

Logan smiles when he sees me staring.

Always with that bright smile, probably for the audiences' sake.

Always the goodie-two-shoes charmer.

"Really lucked out, didn't we?" he nods at his empty bowl. He picks at his teeth absentmindedly, his eyes roaming the clearing, and I have to prevent myself from recoiling in disdain.

"Yeah, really did," I muse softly, pushing away my own discarded bowl. It was a true honest-to-god gift in this awful place. I almost started crying when Logan called me over.

After the initial excitement died down, our muted celebration only lasted a few seconds before we decided to walk further out in case someone caught up with us. Can't ever be too careful, in a place like this.

And when we couldn't contain ourselves any longer, we got busy shovelling the delicious warm beef-flavored soup into our mouths without a worry in the universe. As far as soups went, I objectively knew the broth was too thin and the vegetables were from frozen packets, from the way they stuck to my teeth ever so slightly.

But to me in the moment, it was the most flavorful wonderful thing in the entire world.

As I was savoring my meal, I found myself free of the paranoid thoughts and the unbearable anxiety that has dictated my every move since I got into the arena. For a few minutes, there was momentary happiness.

But as unfortunate as it is to say, the idyllic atmosphere dissipated as soon as I regained my bearings. I'm still here, alive and pretending like I'm safe, but for how much longer?

Now, with my belly full, the all-permeating question of who this food was destined for in the first place is assaulting my thoughts full force. Not that I cared about it when I was scarfing it down, my stomach aching for sustenance.

But now it just… it seems fishy to me. If it was meant for us, it would have fallen either near Logan or near me, depending on whose mentor had sent it. I didn't hear a ping and neither did my ally, but the bowl-shaped containers were there, sitting on the ground, sealed with a screw-on cap as tightly as ever, the parachute still attached.

And we were so hungry. We needed this small victory, even if it meant someone else went hungry.

Judging from the portions, I'm probably reading into it too much. All this probably means is that there is a weaker two-person alliance close by. An alliance that decided against trying their luck with us or… maybe even watch our every move right now, plotting against us.

I shudder at the grotesque idea, looking around nervously but am met with the same sway of the trees in the distance, and the solid wall a few feet behind me. I'm overthinking this, that's all.

Too bad they didn't send water too, I think glumly.

The richness of the soup combined with the fact that we're already running on so little water does not bode well. Already, I feel the thirst coming back in full force, as I rub my temples.

I stand up, trying to walk off the sudden feeling of light-headedness.

"Woulda' been nice to have some more water, if you hadn't chugged it all," I force out, feeling out my gums with my tongue. Acutely aware of how suddenly parched I feel, I swivel towards Logan who in response vomits.

I immediately get angry.

I mean the guy can't even keep his food down, when we were able to finally procure ourselves some food, for god's sake. Some food that someone else could have benefited from, but here he was wasting it.

And this means he'll just feel even more dehydrated, down the line. Simply put, I have to get more water because he can't do a single thing without trailing after me like a puppy asking for permission.

My brain hurts from all the inquisitive looks that drill into the side of my head, the "Jean should we really do this?" or "Jean, should we go there?". I'm sick of it.

He doesn't have any idea the kind of burden I carry, for that one bottle of water I managed to get us. I'd just like for him to have the gratitude to act like his own goddamn person for once.

Even two days ago, I would have immediately rushed to his side, offering soothing words. I can only feel disgust towards my ally now, as he retches and heaves.

Pathetic. He'll just have to deal with this on his own.

The dizziness persists, and I find myself needing to sit down, my fingers feeling tingly. As I make fists and release them, I struggle to focus on the palms of my hands, now sleek with sweat. For a second or two, I struggle to attribute all the sudden dizziness and sweating to the fact that I'm probably just not used to having food in my body.

And suddenly, a horrible pain in my gut eclipses everything.

I gasp, thinking first that we somehow are being shot at. That I've been skewered directly thought my stomach. But as I glance down, I see no horrendous wound or arrow sticking out.

The pain is gut-wrenching, unbearable and I moan as I wait for the cramp to pass. I lower myself all the way to the grass, so that my face touches it. Caressing it gently with my fingers, while beads of sweat erupt on my forehead.

Another cramp, even worse than the previous one.

My whole body screams this isn't normal.

It really isn't, because I've never felt such sharp pain before.

Something is definitely not right. A mounting panic makes my heart leap in my chest, as I sit back up abruptly, a puzzling and horrifying realization starting to form.

I clutch at my spasming insides, looking in alarm at Logan.

For the past day, we've only exchanged a few fleeting glances, guiltily averting our eyes whenever our gazes met, but for the first time since the incident with the water bottle and the little boy, I really look into his eyes.

Like, really look.

And I see it.

The satisfaction mixed with relief and something else.

I stare at our discarded bowls and back at him, while he dumbly looks at me. Expecting some kind of outburst, no doubt. Because he's fucking poisoned me?

I've never been surer of something than in that moment.

My world goes red as another spasm rocks my body.

I groan, pushing myself off the ground and towards Logan. As I take a shaky few steps, my imagination runs wild as I start analyzing all of his past behavior, trying to understand when exactly he could have slipped something into my food. To come to think of it, we both scouted the perimeter to make sure no one was in vicinity before we set up camp for the day.

And Logan was the one to find the food.

He could have slipped you anything.

"Logan, what the fuck did you do," I ask, voice eerily quiet yet high-pitched, grabbing him by the collar as he struggles to wipe away the sickness from his lips even when I pull him towards me violently.

"Did you poison me?"

"What? Jean that's insane, I am also feeling sick dude, why would I poison you?" my ally gawks at me, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat as I hiss at him.

"Stop lying, you poisoned me, didn't you?" My voice hitches a little, and I have to breathe harder. Or maybe it's my airways closing off slowly. The panic ratchets up higher than it ever has, at the prospect. My brain starts flying through the different poisons we saw in training, coming up empty.

"You've wanted me off the team ever since Geoff proposed the alliance!"

"NO, Jean, I would never want that. You're my friend, I would never do that. I'm here with you 'til the end, remember?"

I shake him, and groan as another awful cramp makes my stomach feel like it is ripping itself apart.

Even as my face twists in pain, Logan keeps pleading with me, his hands trying to push me away, to calm me down, to get me to think sensibly. But, he's not going to trick me this time with his faux-sympathy and kindness.

If I'm going down, so is he. Ever the stronger man, Logan forces me backwards, and I almost stumble to the ground, involuntarily releasing my grip.

My hatred for Logan in that one singular moment is so fierce that I could almost imagine that that's what's destroying me from the inside out. My eyes bore into his, trying to get any confirmation of what he's done.

"Who finally made you do it? HUH? D'your drunk of a mentor send you a vial of something to put me down for good?!"

I knew he would betray me.

I knew it since the day I met him.

"You piece of shit traitor!" I screech at the top of my lungs, lunging at him with my bare hands. Still weak from vomiting, Logan can only shield his face before I start battering hits down on his face, even as I feel my muscles spasming.

He kicks me in the stomach, hard, disentangling himself from me.

Slippery snake.

I throw the piece of rebar we'd picked up earlier, straight at his head. It misses, but it gives me the opportunity to tackle him straight to the ground. It feels like my insides are on fire, but I punch and rip at him, all while screaming like a banshee.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I realize I've never been in a proper fight before. But I give it my all, making sure to inflict as much damage as possible. Logan only deflects my attacks or tries to pin my arms so I can't keep hurting him. He gets to his knees, finally grabbing my arms and pushing me down as he stumbles back.

He doesn't think you're worth beating up, he probably just wants to watch you die agonizingly form whatever shit he made you ingest earlier. That piece of shit.

"Jean, you're not- you're not thinking straight, Jean please, stop! I don't want to hurt you!"

I get up and with an animalistic scream and reach for his throat, even though he is a few paces away from me. I want to see the life leave his eyes. For betraying me like this.

I launch myself back again even though my pounding head feels like it's about to explode, elbowing him in the chest near the sternum and he does down again. I go with him, falling directly on him.

"You're going to DIE FOR WHAT YOU DID!" I scream louder, no longer feeling my left shoulder and my heart spattering in my chest. I punch again, this time missing Logan entirely, as my vision starts to darken. As my reactions become more and more delayed, my body feels like it has led flowing through my veins. Somehow, my ally – no, my opponent is already on his feet, staying just out of reach.

I roar again, no words to describe the pain and fury. I don't even think I could form words, even if I tried.

Maybe that's how people in those hat manufacturing factories feel like, when they go insane. As my mind falters and misfires due to the mounting pain, memories of my past, of District 8, surge to the forefront. The occupational exposure to mercury warranted dozens of factory workers thrown onto the streets. Industrial hazard, they called it. And the poisoned, the Carroteurs, crawled on the streets whispering of mercury moving under their skin, fraying their nerves and disrupting their movements. As a kid, I was deathly afraid of them. But, as I drag myself back up to fight for my life, I realize that the ugly truth was always staring me in the face.

I've always tried to run towards the beautiful things in life, ignore the monstrous Carroteurs and all the vile dread that comes with them. But the real villains were the ones that poisoned their souls before ruining their minds with the fumes and the vapors.

He poisoned me and left me to crawl until I draw my last breath, spewing madness.

But I can't die like this.

I can't let him get away with this.

"I didn't do anything Jean, seriously I swear, I would never! Please, you need to believe me, you're dehydrated and tired and we probably touched something bad…I promise it wasn't me…"

I crouch down, and I can hear Logan's hesitant footsteps approaching me from behind. My fingers find the knife hidden in my boot, and I grip it tightly, blade protruding from below my pinky finger. Ready to descend on my enemy once and for all.

"Jean you have to believe me." He sounds so sincere. "I'm sure we can fix this…nghhhhurgh, see I'm hurting too. I'm sure we can get a fix for…for this." If I didn't see right through his treacherous lies, I would have almost believed him. What with him clutching at his own stomach oh so convincingly

But he's been stringing me along. Gods, I feel as though my intestines twist and turn, ripping themselves even more as they seemingly disengage from the rest of my body. It hurts so much, and I want to make him hurt too.

"You poisoned me!" I roar, flipping around and slashing my knife at his eyes. He doesn't expect it, of course he doesn't. If there's one thing I got right, it's the fact that I didn't tell the backstabbing asshole about my secret weapon.

The knife connects, blood spurting onto my own face as I cackle. Spittle flies from my mouth, as hysterics at the thought of death overtake my entire body.

My maniacal laughter pursues him as he staggers away, bleeding and clutching at his face.

He screams bloody murder too, and I see through the blur that the knife went through his upper lip, slicing through his nose and going all the way to his forehead.

Nice shot, Jean, Safia's voice echoes in my mind, but it sounds wrong, distorted and almost mean. Wager a button you'll miss next time.

And then I can't laugh anymore, because the right side of my abdomen feels like it is being macerated and I crumple to the ground, still screaming wordlessly and slashing with my knife wildly, as my muscles cramp up and release without any input from me.

I can see Logan's retreating form, and start crawling.

I'll get him. I'll get him for doing this to me.

Maybe I dream it, but I feel a heavy plush blanket made of the softest velour envelop me, as everything turns to black.

The delirium overtakes me before I can do much of anything.


Notes: I am back with an extra-long chapter to make up for the wait! I apologize to everyone for the 2k+ words in italics. But I still hope you enjoyed the relatively action-filled chapter! What did you guys think of the fight?

What about Val and Sal just vibing? I don't know, I'm kinda digging it. Since my last update was in 2020, I'll use this as an opportunity to wish everyone a much-better 2021, and hopefully everyone is staying healthy and safe.

Peace and Love.