Hello everyone! This chapter is a little shorter than the last one (I think ALL the chapters are shorter than the last one hehe) and it's also one day late. But I think it may actually be for the best, since Friday is a better update day than Thursday with my schedule. Anyway, please enjoy!
And thanks to MaxMan667 for beta-ing!
Flux DuBois (14)- D8F
The morning is still and quiet. A faint smell of death and rot reaches my nose from the tiger corpses that line the forest. If only the Gamemakers would send hovercrafts to pick up those bodies.
In the yellow light of the winter sun, I sit on the beach, twining branches together to make my raft more sturdy. The chilly air makes me shiver, but the sun was bright enough yesterday that some of the snow is starting to melt. Even the ice covering the sea has become a sloshy mess. I sit with my face to the sun so I can take in the light warmth, listening to the sounds of the water churning below the thin layer of ice, struggling to be free. The snow on the island itself is half-melted and dirty, mixed with sand and leaves and dirt. It's disgusting. Nothing like the picture-perfect winter that awaited us a few days ago.
Raven's necklace hangs from my neck as I lean over to pick up another twig. I wrap it carefully around two large branches to get them to stay together. Then I grab a roasted fish beside me and rip off a bite. God, I'm so sick of fish. It's all I've eaten for a week and my turds are massive and yet somehow runny. But I guess it's better than having no food at all.
I grab my hatchet and stand to chop another large branch in half. The pieces will make some nice handles for the raft. The raft that I initially made to get to the island was a small layer of wood that I made out of driftwood on the shore. It served its purpose, but I fear that the sea will be more dangerous to cross with all the ice and slush in the water. I'll need a better fortified raft this time.
As I twine together the handles onto the raft, I gaze out over the sea to the distant shore. It's too far away to see any details other than the hazy golden color of the beach. Soon.
It seems like a bit of a waste to leave the island after creating a safe spot here, but who knows if the Gamemakers will send some other horror to rival the tigers. Besides, I have one thing on my mind that I can't shake away. The image of Sparrow's back split open by an axe, blood spilling from her mouth. A flummoxed expression as I yelled at the top of my lungs. Passion.
I grind my teeth together as I stand, my ankle twinging in protest, holding my completed raft. Beside me is a large stick I plan to use as an oar, as well as my water bag, the medicine from the statue, my flashlight, and the clear thin sheet that I got at the Cornucopia. The only tools I have to assure my victory.
I grab my supplies and wade into the freezing water, the cold chilling me to my bones. I lightly shove my raft into the water and climb atop of it. It takes me a few moments to balance myself on the raft, determined not to fall into the frigid water. I float past several chunks of ice before grabbing my makeshift oar and starting to row myself along. I keep my eyes fixed on the shore ahead. I have at least a few hours of rowing ahead of me, especially with all this ice in my way, and I need to keep my eyes on the prize. I won't forget Raven's parting words to me. I will do right by him.
Passion Mavros (17)- D1F
Was it real?
The thought haunts me as I take one step after weather, trudging through the snow. Its surface is soft and melted from the bright sun, but the temperature is still quite chilly, and I have to wrap my coat around myself to stay warm. The immense expanse of the sea stretches out before me, growing ever closer. Its gray color is so different from the crystal clear blue that Leto and I had seen before.
But… was it real? The sound of Callum's singing voice had been so clear in my head when I killed that boy from Eleven. He had heard it too. And so did Faroud right before he died, torn apart by that savage bear. Yet Marlowe had acted like we were crazy. How could the Gamemakers have planned something like that? They don't have control of our brains or our erase. My arm suddenly itches where my tracker was injected. The Gamemakers have never had such power over the tributes's minds.
A gust of wind from over the icy sea blows back my hair, and I shudder. Another plodding step.
The image of Callum choking on his own blood floods my vision. That was real, for sure. Callum's life was real. His voice was soft and musical, his eyes were piercing blue. His family was real, the family that has served mine for generations, that is now mourning the death of their son.
NO!
I trained my whole life for this! Callum did too, and it's not my fault that he died. I have to keep my head on my shoulders. The Mavros family doesn't bow down to lesser beings.
I hold my head high, taking another step, and suddenly feeling my foot break through a sheet of ice and into freezing water. I wince, lifting my foot up and shaking off the water. I can't be getting frostbite and losing my foot. After drying off my ankle and foot with my coat the best I can, I peer down into the water that my step inadvertently revealed.
It's apparently a small stream of water, covered in ice and a thick layer of snow, but the bright sun has melted enough that it's easy to break through. I brush away the snow from the surface of the ice, then look up at the direction it is headed. I follow it carefully, realizing that it leads to a steep drop off the edge of the coast. The waterfall itself is frozen as well, through a trickling stream of water flowing down the icicles down onto the slushy water below. It's a freezing plunge.
This is an important landmark. Tributes probably know that this is here, or will come around if they're looking for water. It will be a good place to set up camp tonight
Until then, I can spend some time hunting for tributes. I'm yearning for blood, like an itch that can't be scratched. The image of Callum spitting blood, his throat sliced open, floats in front of my face. I swing my backpack off my back and ruffle through it, looking for some food. I grab a handful of crackers. As I crouch down over the snow and munch on my pitiful meal, I recall the lavish foods that I ate back in the Capitol, and even before back in One. The Koches would serve us courses of lobster, roasted vegetables with butter, sugared fruits and desserts. I can hear Pride's tears and Precious' whining as Mom denied her ice cream since she was starting to look 'flubbery'. I smirk a little to myself. If only I could return to those simple times. I never appreciated what I had, always wishing for more, for better. For more power, more money, more attention.
After a moment of contemplation, I search through my pack for something else, something that I nearly forgot about. The training glove that my best friend Annabelle gave me during our last meeting after the Reaping. Its black silk is freezing cold and a little wet, but not ruined like I thought it would be. I haven't thought about Annabelle in weeks. The realization leaves me feeling guilty. Shame washes over me as I realize just how stupid I've been. Not in volunteering for the Hunger Games, of course, not at all. But it was foolish to bring Callum here with me, to cause his death when I could have been just as successful with another trained Career who actually wanted to be in the arena.
My life may have been simple and stupid before this, but it's prefereable to sitting in this arena in the middle of the snow. Winning is the only way to return to the way things were before. I place my food back inside my pack and raise my mace, swinging it around a few times. I have to kill everyone in this arena, and I know I can do it.
Caillou Wight (17)- D3F
The arrow sinks into the tree with a thunk!, wood splintering and flying into the air. I lower my bow, frowning at my target. I missed by a long shot, but at least I still managed to hit the trunk. If it was a person, they would be incapacitated, but not dead. I walk up to my arrow and pull it free from the tree before examining its point. The arrowhead is still wickedly sharp, not at all dulled. Only the Capitol's finest from the feast.
I take my place back in the forest, taking aim again. The bear's guts are piled to my right, steaming with heat, its furry remains to my left. I breathe deeply as my eyes narrow in on my target, a leaf fluttering in front of the tree trunk. I've been too distracted. I need to focus.
I let the arrow fly and it embeds itself into the wood, barely missing the target yet again. I let out a sigh of exasperation, feeling frustration rise in my chest. I grip my crossbow tighter, glancing back at my pile of supplies. I grab my bottle of water and take a drink, trying to keep it all inside. I pace back and forth, bottle in my hand, grimace on my face. The rash on my leg itches. The sound of the winter wind whistles through the trees. My feet dip into frozen slush, its pristine white now stained and mixed with brown dirt. I stare down at my footprints in the snow. They remind me of Blossom's trail that I found yesterday morning.
I know that I was a fool for hoping for something more than a night of peace. True friendship can't happen in the Hunger Games, especially not with so few of us left. If I come across Blossom again, my arrow's destination will be her throat. My fingers tighten around my crossbow and I quickly turn on my heel to grab my arrow from the trunk. I've never been afraid to kill. I won't go soft now.
The little Eleven girl's scream rings in my ears. Her face was in the sky last night. I was the one who got her killed, even if I didn't spill any blood. I got her ally killed, which in turn led to her death. I wonder if it was painful and drawn out, or quick and clean. The thoughts make my breath come quick, my head spinning. I sit down in the snow, holding my head between my legs. I've tried to keep my distance from my emotions for a long time, ever since my grandfather died. It was easy in the arena, when I was alone with only the birds and the trees for company, my only friends, my ever-watching mentors who occasionally sent me gifts. But after speaking to Blossom, actually speaking to another human being for the first time in weeks, I can feel my wall slipping. The wall that I built the moment that the escort read my name on the stage in Three. Numb to the possibilities, numb to the fear, receding into myself.
I stand, spreading out my body for what feels like the first time in years. No more. I breathe in deep, trying to memorize what I feel right now, in this moment. The rash on my leg itching, now spread up to my waist in a bright red scrawl. The hunger in my belly, the grime and blood on my skin, the smell of salt and iron in my nose. Blood. That's why we're all here, and it's how I'm going to get home. Once I do, I'm not going to live behind a wall any longer.
For the first time in a long time, despite being locked in a prison where I'm forced to fight to the death, I actually feel free.
Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F
My nose throbs. I stop in place and gingerly reach up to touch it, wincing as my fingers delicately probe the broken flesh. My knuckles and fingers ache as well. The bruises are just now starting to set in days later. The blood may be partially washed away, but my injuries will continue to pain me for days. With only six of us left, I need to try and nurse my wounds so I can be ready for a battle. It won't be long until it happens. And when it does, I want to be ready.
The trees rise around me ominously, blocking out most of the sunlight. I sigh and spot a fallen tree trunk where I could sit for a while. Brushing off the snow, I wearily take a seat. The glass vial of poison clinks in my pocket as I sit, and I notice the absence of my coin. I wonder how the Capitol is taking Marlowe's death. I can imagine that she was a favorite, and I killed her with my token, something that usually isn't taken too well. I take a drink of water, frowning as I wonder for the first time what the Capitol actually thinks of me. What District Nine thinks of me. Nine probably loves me since I'm their first chance at a victor in years. As for the Capitol, I saw the fascination in their eyes during my interview, and I can only imagine how their admiration has grown as I've continued to survive.
Still, the Gamemakers won't support someone who broke the rules, even if I didn't intend to. It was just a heat of the moment decision, when I was seconds from being speared and suffocated. I had no other choice.
I sigh and get to my feet, reaching up to touch my nose again. The Capitol will likely give me a new one that looks better than the old. I've always wondered what it would be like to live life as a Capitolite; all that food, all the freedom, the looks. There was never any place in the Skull Cult for vanity or individuality. The first step would be to clean my body from all this blood. Even though I left Caillou and that bear carcass two nights ago, the blood has clung to me and my clothes. I feel drenched, almost drowning in the redness.
A snowflake gently touches my forehead. I look up to see a flurry of snow descending from the sky, twirling in the air in beautiful spirals. I let a few land in my red-stained palm and watch as they quickly melt. My lips twitch in a small smile. Up in the sky, gray clouds swirl. A gust of wind blows snow from the ground up into the air. I sense a storm coming, and not a kind one. Still, I have all of the food that I got from Marlowe and my fire-starting kit. I take another drink of water and place my bottle carefully back inside my pack.
A sharp bitter wind blows toward me and I shudder. If only I'd gotten a coat or blanket from that Career. I reach into my pocket and retrieve my little vial, gazing at the golden liquid within. Still filled up halfway. I couldn't bear to poison Caillou, even though I know I should have. She didn't kill me, so at the very least I could spare her as well. It was nice to have a real conversation with someone for the first time in a long time. But I couldn't stay. With so few of us left, it would be a mistake to get attached to someone. I could tell that while Caillou gave me a moment of mercy, she's not weak. She would eventually stab me in the back as the tribute numbers dwindled. If I didn't do it to her first.
No, it's better to stay on my own. And with any luck, she and the Careers will kill one another before I have to face her again.
Leto Larston (18)- D2F
The night sky, usually covered beautifully in twinkling stars, is instead covered with dull clouds, snow falling heavily and coating the arena in a thick layer of white. I'm not looking forward to another blizzard, but I can survive anything that the Gamemakers throw at me. With only six of us left, there will likely be a week left in the games at most. For a moment, I think that I should ask Cyprian, and open my mouth as if he's right next to me, before I remember that he's dead. My whip wrapped tightly around his throat, Marlowe's baton spearing through his neck. Blood spraying all over the green grass. The broken body of his secret ally on the ground, his face beaten to a pulp by my fist.
I flex my fingers as I sit beside my fire, the smoke rising into the sky. Cyprian would know all the statistics about the final six, about how many Games have been won by Careers when the alliance broke up before the final eight. He knew more about the Hunger Games then anyone I'd ever met, including any of the victors back in Two.
The snow threatens to quench the flame in my camp fire. I shiver underneath my blanket, wishing the morning to come quickly. I would never admit it, but I'm exhausted. It's difficult to sleep in this freezing cold. I miss waking up in my warm bed back at home to the smell of my father cooking an omelet for me before he goes to work. I miss my walk to the Academy with Adrienne after school and sparring with Cyprian while Enobaria barks orders at us. I miss the ache in my muscles after a good training session. The low rumble of hunger in my stomach and the cold cutting through my skin to the bone is necessary, but miserable. I munch on some of my food, piteously hunching over the fire. All around me, snow whirls and the wind whistles. My fire sputters out, easily extinguished by the snow. I sigh and gather all my supplies. Maybe I won't be getting any sleep tonight. I need to keep moving anyway.
I stand and squint through the gathering storm, my braid whipping across my face. For a moment, I contemplate whether I should backtrack to the forest or continue through the prairie. I know that the boy from Six is this way, and he's the one who secretly allied with Cyprian and brought down the alliance. My hackles raise at the thought of his smiling face back in training, hiding a ploy to destroy the Careers. I wonder how long he and his little allies had planned our downfall. A snarl rises in my throat.
I draw my knife, keeping it concealed in my fist just in case a tribute tries to sneak up on me in the darkness. There's no way that I can head back into the forest. I have to press on. For Cyprian, and for the reputation of District Two. He's the one who turned Cyprian against his own goals of bringing glory to District Two and himself. He has to pay.
I trudge forth through the blizzard, my anger propelling me forward. The heat in my veins keeps me warm, my eyes zeroed on the horizon. I walk for hours, until my legs are completely numb from the cold and the exertion. I grit my teeth to keep moving forward.
Once the sun starts to rise, it illuminates the glittering white snow on the rolling hills, and I spot something in the distance. It's a large hazy lump of stones, barely visible through the swirling snow. I grit my teeth and take another step in the snow, wondering what else the Gamemakers have in store for me.
Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M
I shiver as I sit hunched amidst the ruins, pulling my coat tighter around me. I can barely see anything aside from the surging snowstorm. Pure white covers my vision. In the middle of the flurries, the giant mutt sits, slumbering with its serpentine tail curled around its body and head tucked underneath its paws. I dip another cracker in peanut butter and sadly chew it, the peanut butter hardening from the cold and sticking to my teeth. Though my mentors sent me enough food to survive a while, I haven't left the mutt's hideaway among the ruins. The marble columns and giant chunks of rock give me a bit of shelter, and I haven't given up hope of solving the riddle and getting that food.
My ears and nose ache from the cold. The biting wind feels like it's eating through my skin, my fingers and toes completely numb. I tuck my feet under my body, trying to warm them up a bit. The only thing that protects me from the raging blizzard is the overhang of marble above me and a collapsed wall beside me. After hours of this deluge of snow, I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever stop. There have been frosty arenas before. Maybe the Capitol is getting bored and they want to kill a few of us off.
The thought sends shivers up my spine more than the cold. I reach up to cover my nose, desperately trying to warm it. After spending a long time yesterday training with my sword, I spent a lot of energy when I should have been conserving body heat. If only I knew what the Gamemakers had in store for us.
The old sweat on my skin is chilled by the winter winds. I grimace and huddle in toward myself. I won't let a simple snowstorm kill me. Not after everything that I've been through.
In my head, I go over the riddle, my lips moving as I silently recite it to myself. I feel like I'm getting close, but I honestly have no idea. It has to either be something related to the mutt or to the Hunger Games in general. I distract myself with thoughts of what will happen if I win. I'll be able to sleep in the warmest beds, with the softest pillows under my head, Natalie beside me and my mom's cooking to wake me in the mornings. And during the times of year when I'll have to visit the Capitol, perhaps Natalie will even come with me. I'll even be able to afford a beautiful wedding dress for her, the kind that the Capitolites always wear on the television. I've seen victor marriages before, and they're the picture of opulence.
All of this will happen after I ask Natalie to marry me, of course. The faint smile on my lips disappears as a sharp gust of wind blows snow into my face. I scrunch my eyes shut, my nose completely numb. I cover it with both hands this time, blowing into my palms. I need to win this so I can give my family the life they deserve. And I'll be able to clean up the streets of Six, stop some of the violence that the gangs constantly perpetuate. Natalie and my parents will never have to work again. Even Natalie's parents will be able to put down the wrench and rest.
I suddenly stand, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My heart pounds in my ears. It can't be. That would be too simple, so simple it completely eluded me.
The wind attempts to blow me backward, but I grab my sword just in case and trudge toward the sound of the mutt's rhythmic breathing. Once I'm close enough that I can see a large dark lump and the scent of food wafts toward my nostrils, I stand still in the snow and stare at the mutt. It raises its head slowly, yellow eyes blinking sleep and snow away, fixing its gaze onto me with that same infuriating acuity. This time, I look it straight in the eyes and say it in a low voice, afraid to give away my eagerness.
What carries a scythe in the morning,
a sword at midday,
And a scepter in the evening?
"A victor."
The mutt blinks once, its gaze softening slightly. It raises both massive wings and I step back, heart pounding through my chest. It gets to its feet and lifts its eyes to the bleak sky and whirling onslaught of snow. Two feathered wings flap loudly, trying to take to the sky. Its clawed paws float above the ground for just a moment before returning to the marble with a plunk!. The creature shakes its giant head, the feathers on its neck showering me in snow. It seems annoyed, still watching the sky and the weather that prevents it from flying away.
It glances back at me dismissively before simply walking away, its paws leaving giant prints in the snow. Its snake tail swishes past me as it reveals the feast of foods to me, still steaming with heat despite the cold. I nearly fall to my knees in joy. That lasts for only a moment of course, until I rush into the ruined room and immediately descend on a platter of ribs. The sauce is the best I've ever tasted, and the hot food fills my stomach and spreads heat through my body.
After gorging myself on meats, fish, buttered vegetables and potatoes, I huddle in the corner of the marble room with a smile on my face. I did it.
Flux DuBois (14)- D8F
Leave it to the Gamemakers to send a blizzard when I'm in the middle of the sea. A journey that should have taken a few hours at most has taken over a day. At one point I had to stop and simply try to keep warm. I even thought of starting a fire on my raft, but it would burn it to a crisp and I would be left in the water to freeze to death. Still, sitting here in the middle of nowhere with white winds blowing snow into my face isn't exactly ideal. I have no idea where I am or if the blizzard is blowing me back toward the island. I can't even tell if I'm moving at all.
My water bag is frozen solid, and if this blizzard will last for much longer, I'll need water to drink. The only way to melt it is to warm it by a fire. And the only way to start a fire is to get to the shore. Great job laying out the dilemma! Now how about some solutions? A voice that sounds suspiciously like Raven's echoes in my head. I smirk a bit, grabbing my hatchet in one hand and swinging my pack and water bag over my shoulders. In my other hand, I grip my wooden stick I was using as an oar before the snowstorm hit.
The saltwater below seems to be partly frozen. If I can hop from glacier to glacier, I might be able to get to the shore. If I don't fall in first and freeze to death. Hypothermia is a quick killer in the Hunger Games, and I've watched countless tributes succumb to it over the years. I grit my teeth, eyes zoning in on the vague shape of a lump of ice before me, barely visible through the downpour of snow.
If I don't do this, then I'll end up dying here anyway. I might as well try it. With a shrug, I leap forward.
The ice is thinner than I expected, and my foot nearly breaks through into the water below. I quickly hop to a different glacier that is thicker, trying to ascertain where I am. Honestly, it doesn't matter at this point. Wherever I end up will be better than here, whether back on the island or my original destination.
I take another large step, this time misjudging the frozen-ness of the ice. My foot cracks the ice and would have ended up in cold water if I didn't step to the side just in time. I nearly lose my balance and fall into the sea, staring at the dark water below. I grit my teeth as I attempt to hold onto all of my supplies. The uneven weight on my back and shoulders is already giving me trouble and my swollen ankle screams with pain. With a few more steps, I realize there's a larger jump ahead of me now. The seawater below is freezing cold and hungry for blood. I swallow my fear and take the jump.
My feet collide with the ice and I fall, clawing at the hard surface to stay out of the water. I stay dry by some miracle and drag myself to my feet. My shoulders suddenly feel light, and I realize that my water bag has slipped from my shoulder and into the water. I watch abject apathy as it sinks into the sea, slowly disappearing.
Well, so much for that. I still need to keep moving.
I lift up my foot to examine my ankle with a hiss. It's still purple and swollen, throbbing with agony. For a moment I feel genuine fear, but squash it immediately. In the Hunger Games, fear does nothing but hold you back.
I take a deep breath, focusing on what I need to do. Raven's tree charm is freezing against the skin of my neck, reminding me of what I'm doing. Holding tight to courage, I take another step. And another. And another.
I have no idea how long I spend there in the middle of the sea, each step possibly my last. I nearly submerge myself into the water on several occasions, the most serious of which ends up wetting my foot. As the chill sets into my toes, I see a vague shape on the horizon that looks like land. Just in time, too- it seems like the storm is getting worse.
I quicken my pace, and soon I'm walking ankle-deep in water onto the shore. I collapse onto the snow-covered sand and quickly try to put together a fire, but the winds and snow make it impossible. Instead, I pull my knees up to my chest and try to warm my feet, willing myself not to give in to frostbite.
The snowy winds show no sign of giving up. The sky darkens with what I suppose is nightfall, though I've seen no sunlight all day. I hold my twisted ankle with a wince, gingerly touching the swollen spots. All the jumping seems to have aggravated it further. I curl up beside the fire, keeping my hatchet close. This journey may be over, but there's still much I have to endure.
Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F
The storm was expected. I saw it coming hours before it started, and I prepared myself by starting a fire and stuffing myself with food to keep my body temperature up. But the winter winds are unrelenting. My fire was snuffed out almost immediately and the sound of howling wind filled my ears. White snow completely fills my vision so that I couldn't move to a new location if I wanted to. I look up, trying to make out any tree branches or leaves, but there is nothing but endless white. I've known the word for this kind of storm my entire life, but this is my first time actually experiencing it.
Whiteout.
After hours of sitting here in the freezing cold, I can no longer feel my toes and fingers, nor my nose, which is actually a welcome respite from the pain from my broken nose. I've given up trying to warm my fingers by breathing on them, but I still keep my treasured hands up close to my face. If I move them too far away from my face, I can barely see them.
My stomach rumbles. I don't bother searching for my food; the wind will blow it out of my hands anyway. Another draft of snow blows into my face and I sputter. I thought the trees would provide me some shelter, but it seems that the Gamemakers really want the cold to reach me. In the back of my mind, I think I know why, but it's too difficult to confront. I haven't felt fear in a long time. It cuts deeper than the sharpest cold.
A cracking sound from overhead catches my attention. I look up just in time to see a large cylindrical object falling right toward me.
With a gasp, I roll to the side and watch as the snapped tree trunk lands with a crash onto the ground. Snow explodes into my face and over my body, burying me beneath its heavy, wet surface. I spit some out of my mouth, digging myself out of the mound with desperation. I emerge back into the storm and gulp in mouthfuls of air. I stare at the fallen tree with mild dismay. It seems the Gamemakers really do want me dead. Or at least out of this area.
I stumble to my feet, then nearly fall right back into the snow. My feet are fully numb. I don't even feel pinpricks as blood flows back through them. Just like before, I know the reason but I can barely stand to acknowledge it. My fingers are hard and waxy as I grab for my backpack, fumbling with the straps. I realize that some of my supplies were crushed under the tree, but it doesn't matter now.
I take a deep breath, inhaling snowflakes and sharp-cold air. Stumbling through the ankle-deep snow, I can barely see a foot ahead of me.
I want to survive.
After more and more steps, the snow seems to get even deeper. I eventually tumble onto the ground, my already frostbitten hands buried in snow. My arms are beginning to feel numb as well, as are my ankles. For a moment, genuine fear floods my mind. I don't want to die here. A small puppet in the Capitol's game, frozen to death and flung aside like a once-treasured toy to be replaced by another.
Another step. I remember Marlowe's terrified eyes as she choked on my ocin, blood spurting from her chest as I pierce it with her own baton. That same fear and dread courses through my veins right now. In an instinctual urge to survive, I plod on with gritted teeth, staunchly refusing to accept my fate.
Another wind blows me over, and my legs are too numb to keep me upright. I land on my back in the snow, watching the white deluge above me. Suddenly I realize something: I can't see the sky. The sun, the moon, whatever is supposed to be in the sky right now is completely invisible. My enemy, the sun, who apparently wants me to burn alive, is completely absent. I'm alone.
A smile spreads over my face. The Skull Cult may have wanted me to die burning amidst holy flames, but instead I got to live for weeks beyond that, and now I will die as far away from their beloved sun as I could be. The Great Flame will never be able to claim me, no matter how much he may want to.
I lay still in the snow; I have no idea how long. The cold slowly crawls up my libs, over my face, my ears, until I eventually start to feel warm. I drift off while thinking of my sisters, the three of us laughing and playing in the snow as children. I can only hope that they will be able to escape the cult in their own ways. Hopefully ways that don't involve the Hunger Games like I did.
6th) Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F- frozen to death. Created by CragmiteBlaster. Oh, Blossom. As I'm sure you all can tell, this is the part in the story where I have to start making really tough decisions. Blossom was an incredibly intriguing and complicated character that I enjoyed writing every step of the way. She had a unique perspective and personality that you don't often see in SYOTs. I just knew that when she was submitted, I had to write her. She was originally for D7, but I switched her to D9 just so I could get the chance to include her in the lineup. It really hurts to let her go. Though freezing to death is a very painful way to die, I tried to give her some peace at the end.
And I also ended up giving her the death that CragmiteBlaster listed as her 'preferred death' in her submission form! Just in case anyone wonders if I actually take your answers into account. I hope that Cragmite isn't too upset, though his tribute did win Born to Die, so I think he'll be fine. Now that we're saying goodbye to one of my favorite tributes (and a fan favorite for sure), we have only five tributes left. Who do you think will win? Who will die next?
We haven't had some good ol' violence in the last couple chapters, but I have lots planned. So stay tuned, dear Capitol citizens! ;)
As always, thanks for reading!