Elaine Herring
Placed 2nd
March 14th, A.D.D 7 - July 30th, A.D.D 25
"I live inside my own world of make-believe
Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities
I see the world through eyes covered in ink and bleach
Cross out the ones who heard my cries and watched me weep"
~Cradles
I dream of pink and blue swirls, intermingling, leading away from dry, dense colors. I dream of cinnamon cake, milky coffee, sleeping under huge trees. I dream of love, of romance, of the silk I've told so many is common. And I dream of stars, of being saved from a life of factories and shattered textiles, of a life where my lies- no, stories- can finally be accepted.
Not something that gets me voted in, thrown into a life or death situation.
I have sixty seconds to shift as my plate rises.
It's fitting that they've put us in an insane asylum when so many of us in here are insane.
It's scary, to be honest. I came here with a kleptomaniac, both of us unprepared for this. There's murderers in here, psychopathic, sly killers who've gone out of their minds. The Careers aren't much better.
They all hunger for the smell of blood, and won't care if it's mine.
Thirty seconds.
Past me, the prince from One is lowering himself into a running stance. His district partner is in love with him, I tell myself, but being poor, the prince isn't allowed to marry her.
It's fantasies like this that relax me. Even if fake, they're soothing. Maybe even a reminder of District Eight- my home, no matter how beaten down and lower class it is.
I dream of angelic wings, carrying me through the clear skies.
The gong rings in a brutal strike, and I'm deafened when the suicidal girl on the pedestal next to me explodes.
Chaos erupts around me. The boy with scars all around his neck and arms lets out a deafening shriek and jumps into what we have been told is the Arena.
Perhaps he was a knight who went to war with a dragon.
I see blood already, and things haven't even started. And so I jump in too. What other choice do I have, than to try to survive and come out whole?
I run towards the centre of the building, where the cornucopia is placed. My senses and storyteller brain start working overtime, taking in everything around me. The building smells septic, of medicine and machinery. Wires criss-cross everywhere.
The wires are a rope-ladder to a utopian world.
A blood-curdling scream comes from my left. I turn around to see the small girl from Six, Della, with a knife in her throat and blood covering the hands of the Career Girl from District 2.
Her hands are covered with strawberry milkshake from the rich orchards of District 2. It must taste delicious.
Fourteen cannons go off that night.
It's a record- even if I die, at least I'll have made my mark in history. They can remember me as the one who survived so much.
I dream of fame, of a seat higher than the rest.
I make it out alive with my ally, the boy from Nine, Solis. He killed a Peacekeeper who assaulted his sister and as a result was rigged in. So I'm safe around him, even if this is a product of an imaginative mind.
I was allied with my district partner too, but he got separated from us. He could be bleeding out, blood staining the white walls, or alive and the one with blood on his hands.
I know which I'd prefer.
Even if it's immoral to have such thoughts, I'm close to the Final Eight already.
Solis is shaking as we search for a safe place, his eyes vacant and distant. I'm shaking too, but not in such a way that suggests pure, unharnessed insanity, too broken to heal.
The insane asylum gets dark at night, monsters seeking shelter in the corners where depression hides. They're a good pair, and ensure that only one of us will make it out.
We find an empty room with a lock on the inside door, mirrors lining every side. It's impossible to escape yourself, even in this safe haven.
Should we stay here for the night? I ask, fiddling with the straps on the arena outfit. It's fashioned like a straitjacket, but less confining. Still, it chokes off my air supply in a way that's below the belt. Cowardlike, even.
Solis nods, shivering, but it's perfectly warm in the room of mirrors. Yes, let's stay here, he says, but unease lines his voice.
It'll be fine, I comfort him. We're in the right place, able to be delivered from the evil that surrounds us.
I say my dreams in a fashion too brazen, and he doesn't look convinced.
So I turn away, face flushed, pretending to be fiddling with my pack.
In the mirror, I see Solis examining himself. Not in a vain manner, but in a way where you can't believe what you're seeing. Like how I would when I was back home, when they told me they'd dethrone my palace of lies. But they're not lies, they're dreams, and there's a difference.
Am I the only one who understands that?
I, too, understand why the tension in the room we're locked in is so high. One because the room is so small, that Solis scraped his head when we entered. We're practically pressed up against each other in the space, short breaths coming in gasps. And two, because there's so many of us, moving as we move, talking as we talk. My smiles are mutated into smirks, painting me as a sort of tragic villain by the Capitol's hands, and the slightest tint of red makes me taste blood.
I can barely stay sane myself, what with the guilt surrounding me. It's what makes the air heavy, and Solis is obviously feeling it too. I recall our conversation right after the bloodbath.
I killed someone, he had told me.
Who? I had asked.
The boy from Ten, Solis replied, his voice much too weary.
Looking back, I wasn't empathetic, nor was I appreciative of another threat gone, saying, He probably deserved it. He was voted in, wasn't he?
The conversation had ended there. I'm flawed- I know it, but I'm wishing that I didn't have that self-awareness. It's a burden, clawing at my mind, tearing down my greatest defences. As such, it's something you have to ignore.
To win the Games, you must stoop low, and a guilty conscience interfering does you no favors.
What do you do with that guilt?
Is this the guilt Solis feels?
It must be.
So I'm prepared- and the mirrors help this- when he lunges for me like a rabid animal, club in hand, right when my back is turned.
It's over in a spray of blood as my knife makes contact with his stomach as I dodge from his club.
He goes limp and collapses, red leaking out from the wound and staining the wall he stumbled against.
I can't believe this. I killed him. I killed him.
My ally...
I dream of innocence, a soft sleep and thoughts of peppermint.
I wake up to a shattering thump on the door. I almost scream out of surprise, but manage to clamp my hands over my mouth at the right time. I hear a voice outside, something that I recognise.
Elaine...it's...me…
For a second, I struggle to fathom if the voice is just in my head, an echo of all the people I've told stories to. The same people who voted me in, the greatest act of treachery.
But the thumping gets louder, and so does the voice.
Elaine. It's Ty.
The speed with which I jump and run to the door almost fractures my ankle. I run nevertheless. I pull the door open to see my District partner in front of me, his arena outfit in shreds, a nasty, blistering wound on his forehead.
Did you get away from the bloodbath?
I immediately feel stupid- of course he did, or he wouldn't be in front of me.
Where's Solis? he asks, ignoring my lapse of judgement. He tries to open the door, but I don't let it budge.
Elaine...
The thing about this arena is that they're not taking the bodies out of it. I assume it's meant to test our mental strength, meant to drive us to the brink. So Solis's body is still where he died, his empty eyes staring up at the ceiling. Even before he died, there was no light there.
Elaine, let me in- Ty starts, but I close the door on him.
Or try to, because he forces it open.
No, I plead, you're going to get the wrong idea.
It's too late, because he sees Solis's body, and freezes.
What did you do?
I'm not lying- I'm spinning a story. Creating beautiful threads that connect in a colorful web, too thick to see through.
A Career found us last night, I explain, my voice shaking, but sounding like I'm telling the truth nonetheless, and I hid.
Ty waits for me to go on, his fists clenched.
And, well, Solis realized what was happening too late, and I had to watch through the mirror as the Career stabbed him.
Anger registers on Ty's face. He buys into my story without a second thought, and why shouldn't I as well? It's not far from the truth, after all.
I'm going to kill them, he says darkly.
I nod, my thoughts going haywire. I see rage in Ty's eyes, a fire burning with a flame strong enough to burn everyone and everything down. Even himself. But he doesn't seem to care. His fists haven't unclenched since I told him what happened. He just...stands there. Fiery-eyes, and motionless. He scares me. But then...my dreams scare me sometimes as well.
Who was it? Which Career?
I say, District 1 Female, without a second thought. He moves his head, side to side, as if contemplating which way to kill her will be the most painful. I wait, watching him.
We're going hunting.
BOOM.
I regret staying behind, waiting for Ty to kill her. The truth was, I didn't want to risk it. I've made it so far in these Games, and I'm not going to risk it for revenge that I don't need.
The girl must be dead now, I think numbly. It's my fault, surely, but she volunteered for this, trained to kill. Maybe, even if it is a bit malicious, she deserved this.
BOOM.
The second cannon startles me- could it be Ty? The possibility is high, considering he probably snuck into Career territory. But I'm thrown off that guess a second later-
BOOM.
Then it strikes me that we're in the Final Six.
It's a foreign thought, that the storyteller who was voted in for "telling too many lies" has made it to the end. Perhaps I can truly make it out of here, escape the cell I'm imprisoned in.
I open the door and peek out slowly, clutching my knife.
BOOM.
The canon shocks me- but it must be a mistake. Four gone so quickly isn't possible, can't be possible. There's no way the Games will be over in three days, no way that they could damage so many in a short amount of time.
I dream of survival, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of my allies.
So what if the imagery is morbid?
I step out of the room, saying a fond goodbye to safety, to certainty. I could stay there until the end, but I'm bolder now, and I know how to take a risk. I do now.
They voted me in, but they'll have a victory anyways.
Ironic.
I barely have time to catch the smell of smoke in the air before the ground explodes from beneath me.
I'm saved from the blast as I crumple into a wall, but the boom of a cannon tells me others aren't so lucky. I have a new story that, unlike the others I've gained during my time in this arena, will stay fresh in my mind.
I dream of gentle fires, flames licking hot coals and spreading an exotic warmth.
I'm in the Final Four.
Through the haze, I see a tall shadow making its way toward me, coughing. It's the Career boy from District One, which immediately diminishes my hopes of Ty coming out alive.
Delta? he calls, coughing and swatting smoke away from his face. Then he sees me, and makes his way toward me.
I try to move, but I'm too sore from the explosion tossing me like a rag doll. I scoot away, though, curling into myself vulnerably.
Please, I plead. Don't kill me.
You're from Eight, he says, his voice barely controlled, anger breaking through. You and your district partner blew up Pearl.
My stories have succeeded- they really were in love. If this story is correct, shouldn't all my others be so too?
I see him charge towards me, wanting to kill me for what my partner did. We - no, Ty- broke apart his fairytale. The Prince without the Princess. A love story ravaged to the extent where there is no hope for resurrection; Both in the literal and the metaphorical sense.
His hand clutching a dagger, he runs towards me. I duck, and he stumbles. I use his momentum to my advantage, getting up on his back and pinning him to the ground. He cries out in pain, writhing under me, but I put all my force on him. I take his dagger from him and stab it into his back. Slowly digging it into his skin. Not because I wanted to give him pain, but because I wanted him to stay alive. At least for a little bit more.
Surprisingly, I feel my eyes get dilated. My heart hurts for this lost Prince, another Romeo in another era, someone who deserved more than a death in an insane asylum.
So I figure, the least I can do is give him peace before he leaves. I know I won't be able to mend the entirety of my actions, but I can try.
The two of you are going to re-united, I whisper into his ears. I know he is listening, for I can feel his chest rising and falling in short gasps. Imagine holding her hand, running through lush fields full of sunflowers. Laying under the night sky and searching for constellations together.
His breathing slows down. I know his end is near.
Imagine seeing her in all her glory, both of you having gone through a battle. Imagine sewing back the broken pieces of each other. Imagine a home, a good life.
The tension in his muscles fall. He relaxes under me.
Imagine being able to be with her. Forever.
He closes his eyes, and I get off him. He's gone. But something in me calms me down. Tells me I've done the right thing.
You gave him hope, Elaine.
BOOM.
The cannon sounds.
I walk around, shaking my limbs to get rid of the cramps. My eyes scan the area, looking at the mess, the blood, gore and haunted memories. I hear footsteps behind me, and turn around to see Ty.
He comes close, closer, closer, until his face is almost touching mine.
He whispers, I killed five.
I heard, I say.
You killed one more, didn't you? he asks.
Yes, I did.
Good, is his only response.
We're in the Final Three.
Twenty one are dead.
It's hard to believe, but it's the truth. I've made it to the end, a place I never thought I could reach.
The surgeon from Three is the only one left. He's eighteen, and while Ty and I are just as old, I know what he's seen. His district partner, the suicidal girl who blew up at the very beginning, whispered of purposefully botched surgeries, resulting in murders.
Perhaps he's only showing them the door to a better life.
The fire is still raging, so Ty and I run to the lower floor as it catches up to us. Where it all began, it ends, he says absentmindedly.
I don't want to admit it, but I'm scared. Ty could beat me in a fight, even if I did take a Career down. I'm not strong enough, and all I have is a small knife.
Ty wields a lethal looking rapier, even if it drags at his side as we run.
I dream of a cocoon of safety, nestled comfortably in between soft blankets.
The boy from Three crosses into the cornucopia's room- which is a sort of cage- from the opposite side as us, and, for a minute, it's a waiting game. It's a game of seeing who will blink first, and who will be the last to fall.
Over it all hangs a canopy of uncertainty, intoxicating and misty.
It turns out that Three is the first to move, his figure slinking through the shadows like a demon itself. I shiver, even though the temperature is blazing because of the fire.
Are you really going to trust each other? he jeers, sneering in our direction.
My voice cracks, but I try to stay strong, Of course. Why wouldn't we?
Three laughs. It's a cold, unnatural sound. He gestures toward Ty. He killed five Careers.
Ty smirks.
I don't deny it.
And she, Three continues on, killed your ally.
Ty snaps toward me, an expression of utter contempt forming.
He's lying. My voice sounds frightened, but honest. He just wants to drive us apart so he can win.
Ty looks unsure, so with a burst of hope, I direct my attention towards Three. We're circling each other without even realising, all of us too tense. How would you know, anyways? The… Career killed him in a closed off room. I was even hiding behind a mirror, and the Career got within two feet of me. I almost died myself.
You think I couldn't hear the screams? he taunts, like a bullfighter waving a red flag. Ty's fists clench in a way that's oh so familiar.
Okay, I did, I break too easily. But he went crazy, Ty. He attacked me.
Well, it's obvious that you're both threats to each other. Now what you do with that information is up to you. Three looks much too comfortable for someone going to certain death.
He wants to turn us against each other, but I'm powerless in this. I'm not turning against Ty- I won't. But yet, Ty himself decides my fate. He can go with Three and give his district partner certain death, and himself. Or he can ally with me to take down Three- maybe he'll get injured and I'll have a shot at winning this thing.
In a sea of blood, Three rushes toward us, his sword at the ready. My first instinct is to cower, to hide like I've been doing the whole Game.
And yet, I want to fight.
I don't need to, though, because Ty's rapier is longer than Three's short sword, and with it he has reach. I watch in disbelief as my district partner stabs once, twice, thrice… leaving a moaning corpse.
Ty is hunched over his body, and I take this as my moment to strike. I creep over to his body, and position my knife to backstab him.
At that moment, I feel many things. Pity that he's losing, desperation to win, and sadness that this is the way it had to end. Maybe we could've been good friends back home, in Eight.
But I need to be a Victor. While the factories sew on, monotonous stitches of gray fabric, I can be in the Capitol. I can be delivered to a new life. A better one, where the tales of stallions and silver spoons aren't just the product of an active imagination.
I lower my knife.
He turns toward me at the last second.
With a small, repressed scream, I leap back. But it's too late; Ty realizes what I meant to do when the cannon sounds.
It's scary, because he doesn't get angry. He smirks, eyes filled with madness.
Surely they won't let a madman win? Surely some fire will come and blaze this- this killer down?
He was right, I guess, Ty says eerily. We can't trust each other.
Ty, I say, my air coming in short breaths. I wasn't going to stab you. I just wanted to make sure Three was dead.
He laughs, but his words are filled with venom. Stop lying. You and I both know you were trying to kill me. He inches forward, so I inch back. All of your fucking stories… they've always been fake. I can't believe I fell for them, fell for your lies.
They're not lies, I say hotly.
He laughs again. Lies, lies, lies! His voice is practically singing, and my spine sends chills crawling up it. I'm going to kill you, Elaine.
Ty… I try to make eye contact to resonate with someone insane. But it's not working, and I panic and turn and run.
I feel a blazing pain in my shoulder. Ty catches up to me, twisting the rapier into my shoulder blade. I scream, my voice telling stories again, but in a completely different way.
He takes the rapier out, and I desperately try to scoot away, dragging myself on my uninjured arm. Blood stains the floor, my blood.
Then the rapier is stabbed down again, this time at my neck. It doesn't cut deep enough to kill me, but it leaves me in excruciating pain, my voice too hoarse to scream this time.
Ty… I whisper. I'm rolled up to face the ceiling, and greet his smirk. I'm barely able to hear his words over the pounding in my neck.
You deserve this.
He stabs down at my chest, and I let out one last scream.
No!
I dream of glittering stars and figures cloaked in moonlight.
A/N:
Hey all! It's Trish and Tia. We've been holding onto this project for a bit now, and we're so excited that now it's out in the open. Dear, Desperation is a six-part series, chronicling the journeys of six tributes who came in second place in their respective games. We also have a blog for DD, which can be found at the following link:
deardesperation . weebly . com
Theme songs for this chapter are The Louvre by Lorde, Delicate by Taylor Swift and Cradles by Sub Urban.
That was all, and we really hope you enjoy these stories. Before we end the author's note, a big thank you to all the friends who hyped along with this project, even without knowing what it was or even that it was a collaboration. We love you guys.
See you next time,
Trish and Tia