It's pretty obvious that I am a sorry excuse for a survivalist.
Can I hunt? Yes.
Can I fish? Absolutely!
Can I trap? Sure.
But everything else is pretty much left unchecked on the list of necessary traits of making it out here in the great wilderness. Anything you can think of that requires a skill other than the ones said previously, I pretty much suck at. Nesting in trees, making camouflaged shelters, covering my tracks, lighting a campfire. Hell! I nearly died of dehydration because I couldn't find water which is the most important task of them all. It was a rookie's mistake.
It's a miracle I hadn't gotten killed all those years ago when I first arrived in District 12. I grew up in New York, for crying out loud! I was pampered since they brought me to the zoo and I grew up with everything served to me on a silver platter. Having this mindset that I would never have to lift a paw for any sort of manual labor and look at me now. A full-fledged, badass archer who gathered food for the starving people of the Seam and my family.
At first, I didn't know how to track for game. I would scare off prey, and I was still learning how to shoot with the bow and arrow. In all, if it wasn't for the old man and Tigress I wouldn't be here today.
Not sure if that's such a good thing since I'm stuck in a tree with a horde of Careers at the bottom trying to murder me in an arena that contains bloodhungry teenagers on the hunt for the Victor's Crown.
You heard me. I, Alex, am trapped 30 feet in the air with weapon-wielding maniacs catcalling and taunting me from down below.
How did this happen?
Like all things in life except for my own, it's simple. I was so careless that when I settled in for the night the other day, I chose the nearest tree instead of being picky with my options. Not one that would shield me from prying eyes or protect me from oncoming tributes. In fact, I picked a tree that has little to no foliage, leaving me right in the open for the world to see. And I somehow slept in, so I woke up just as I heard their trampling feet racing to me.
Yeah yeah. Lecture me later. I've got a mob of tributes to deal with right now.
I clutch the trunk of my tree, claws digging into the bark. The monster of a man from District 1, who I assume is the leader, tries to climb up the tree. If I were a little more polite with others I would have said that he had the perseverance and integrity of a winner, like those hard-working athletes who compete in the Olympics. The guy looks like he was made by the hands of gods to wrangle crocodiles and wild animals like the prodigal Legend of Tarzan. But I'm not, so I must say that it's hilarious when a branch breaks under his hands and he falls through grove after grove of branches and to the ground with a resonating thwack! A sickening part of me hopes that he had landed with a snapped neck so that I won't have to deal with him in the oncoming future. But unfortunately, he wheezes loudly and staggers to his feet, leaning heavily against my tree as he catches his breath.
So much for not having to deal with him.
A tall girl with short black hair steps forward and attempts to climb much like Tarzan (it's his nickname I just gave him) and she too falls back to the ground.
Let me paint a picture for you: 50' tree with a cluster of tributes at the bottom, each one averaging from 150-220 pounds. When they try to scale said tree, they fall at a certain height I cannot measure. But I do know that they can't get any higher than 15 feet. And yet me, a bigass 400 lb lion, is able to balance my way through the weak limbs without ever nearly plummeting to my death.
How can this be? Do I have some kind of superpower that enables me to stick to surfaces like Spider-Man?
Boy, I wish.
The truth of it is surprisingly straightforward: claws. My claws are like my very own, personal grappling hooks. They are what enable me to get this high without plunging off the thing branches I cautiously step on now.
Huh. Maybe I am like Spider-Man.
Another tribute grabs something from behind his back and before I know it, an arrow comes soaring upwards. I clamp my eyes shut and wait for the sharp arrowhead to strike me, for my body to finally fall out of the tree. And if the arrow doesn't kill me, surely the 30-foot drop will. But it doesn't come. I peak through half-squinted eyelids to see that the arrow never made it up to me. The boy growls in frustration and tries again. This time I watch and the arrow barely makes it up halfway before knocking into a branch or the trunk and falling to the ground. The others try and no improvement shows. Then, as a last resort, they try to throw rocks and daggers. I scamper up a few more feet and out of their reach.
Am I childish? Am I immature? Maybe… okay, you know what. Yeah. I am. So what do you think I do? I blow a raspberry and place my thumb on the tip of my nose, fingers wiggling mockingly. This results in a long ranting spree of colorful curse words from the group, specifically Tarzan. In the far back of said group, Gia watches me from my perch. A spike of hot anger courses through me and I frown at her.
"Get down here and fight like a man," Tarzan calls.
"I don't suppose I could convince you to come up here and fight like a lion, but-oh right!" I yell back. "You can't. Unless you want to fall on your ass in front of your little posé again."
He snarls up at me, flashing pearly white teeth Tooth herself would admire. "Why you goddamn sorry son of a bitch!"
"Whoa whoa whoa!" I wave my arms up to interrupt him. "Lower the profanity there, mister. Keep in mind, there are children watching." I point to a distant spot over the treetops, not exactly indicating to anyone specific but more to the generalization of kids watching the Hunger Games at home.
Gobber ought to be proud of me. I am risking my life here all the while being a comedian just so I can win over a sponsor or two, maybe even make the show a little more enjoyable than bloodbaths and brawls that are the usual sources of entertainment. If this doesn't benefit me in some form or way, then I'll… I don't know what I'll do. Drop the jokes and become a stone-cold killer? Maybe, but most likely not. What can I say? I have a clever, silver tongue and wield it happily.
"Fine!" Tarzan nearly screams. "You can stay up there all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna have to come down here. And I'll be waiting." The others nod in agreement.
"Aw. You'll wait for me?" I say in a faux tone of delight. As if I want him around any longer than he needs to be. "That's so sweet." I glance down at Gia who hasn't said anything since they had arrived. "Hey, Gia! Looks like you got some competition." Even from my high vantage point, I can see all of their eyes widen. They weren't expecting that. "But don't worry. I'll save a kiss for both of you." I blow an air kiss at them and wave cutely much like Disney princesses do to their love interests. Tarzan roars with rage and the others try their best not to snicker. Gia turns away bashfully and I full-on laugh at their reactions. They're just so hilarious!
Eventually, Tarzan cools down and orders his little posse to set up camp. I observe them quietly, contemplating to myself, only speaking up to bark out to Tarzan, "Oh Romeo, Romeo. Where art thou Romeo?" Each time he goes into a fit that includes breaking fallen branches and long speeches of swearing till his face turns maroon. Looks like someone's got a temper. But I leave Gia alone. No way am I going to spend my free time that could be used for a much better cause than on making fun of my enemy, as tempting as it is.
I hate to admit it, but Tarzan is right. I may be safe in the confines of this singular tree, but soon enough I will need to come down. I will run out of food, water, and… what will I do if I have to use the restroom?
Oh no! I have to find a way to get out of this tree. I have to find a way to get around the Careers. But at the moment I am a mouse cornered by a hungry cat, my only refuge being a tiny pocket behind the wall.
The day passes rather quickly and before I know it, the anthem is playing. No one died today. I prepare to go to sleep after a dry dinner of the rest of the fruit and crackers, the sleeping bag crumpling loudly. The girl with short black hair stamps out the fire and they all settle down to hit the hay as well. The boy with the bow and arrow and Tarzan stay up for the first watch. It suddenly dawns on me that there's a way of getting out of here, and that's to jump out of this tree and to the next. If I had thought of it earlier, I wouldn't have been able to do so because the tributes would just follow me. I may be athletic, but I'm not that fast when it comes to running treetop to treetop. All I have to do now is wait for them to either fall asleep or are too drowsy to notice me.
An hour goes by and the sky is an inky dark blue. Flecks of ash fly upwards, drifting softly like snowflakes. Muted snores whistle from down below. Now's my chance. I stand up unsteadily, legs wobbling under the rubbery branches slightly. My sights are set on a tree a full 8 feet away. A bit of a jump, but I think I can make it. The only real obstacles are that I won't have any momentum to propel me forward and that I will most likely not have a quiet landing. If I'm lucky, I can make it from one tree to the next quicker that they can wake up. I take a deep breath through my nostrils and exhale through my mouth and without another thought, I swing my arms back and lunge forward. There's a moment of complete weightlessness as if I am floating, and then I crash right into the hard bark of the trunk, smacking my nose.
"Shit!" I hiss quietly, fumbling to grasp a thin limb of the tree, feet flailing underneath me. The tree rocks greatly, and I'm sure that if I keep this up I'll fall out for sure. I finally find good footing on a branch and hug the tree for dear life. One wrong slip of the paw and I would've been a lion pancake. I look down and see that they haven't stirred. I sigh through my cheeks.
That could've been bad.
Snap!
What was that?!
I swivel my head to and fro for the source of the sound. It definitely wasn't me. And then I spot her cloaked in the drapes of the shadows like a ghost in the night. A small little girl with dark brown skin and glowing green eyes partly hidden behind a curtain of shining curls watches me not just a yard above my head. It's the little girl from District 11, the youngest of us all. I gasp lightly and she jumps at the noise, emerald eyes focused on me. I watch as she gingerly lifts a hand and presses a small finger to her brown lips and then points to something below me. I turn to look. Leaves, bark, the ground, the babbling brook, the giant hornets' nest, more leaves-
HOLY SHIT! A GIANT HORNETS NEST?!
And not just any giant hornets' nest, but a nest of mutated, Capitol-designed buggers who are man-made to kill, steal, and destroy. I've only seen them once, and the mere sight of them sent me running with my tail between my legs. Anything made in the Capitol labs never come out good-natured, except for Mockingjays. And I doubt these are as friendly as a singing bird.
I inhale sharply, claws embedding into the thick bark ever so deeper. I look to the girl only to see that she has vanished.
Where'd she go?
I survey the dark forest around me and witness a flash of a dark figure jumping from tree to tree like a monkey. Is that her? It must be.
Why would she warn me about the giant hornets' nest? Why would she point it out when she could have easily enough left without a sound, leaving me at the hands of the notorious batch of angry, mutated insects?
No time to think about it now. I have to keep moving forward. Unless…
Oh ho ho. I've got an idea.
At this very moment, I feel like the Grinch. Grumpy? Nah. But devious? Absolutely. You know that line in that Dr. Seuss book? Talking about the Grinch plotting to literally steal Christmas? "Then he got an idea. An awful idea. The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea." That's exactly what is happening right now. If I can somehow detach the hive from the tree and drop it right on the pack of Careers, I can make an easy escape and possibly take out a tribute or two. I know it's not the most desirable, the best idea I've ever had, but it's better than being chased by weapon clad teenagers as I nearly plummet to my death over and over again.
I slowly lower myself to the hive. It's quiet; they must be asleep. I pull out a knife from the half-closed zipper of my bag and lower it to the branch holding up the hive. It's as big as my head and smells heavily of something strong. I know it's not honey because it's too sour, almost like spoiled milk. Perhaps it's some kind of poisonous substance that can turn me blue and I'll explode like a zit.
Wow. That was graphic.
I start to saw away at the stem. The knife is jagged and sharp, so in a matter of seconds I've already cut a wedge into the skin and meat of the branch, but with each push and pull of the blade the hive sways to and fro like a dangling Christmas ornament. If I keep this up, I'll wake up every one of those mutated hornets inside and I'll be dead before I can even say "oops". But I'm already halfway done, so the sooner I get this done and over with, the better.
The more I cut, the louder the hive gets. And the louder it gets, the more hornets wake up. The hive hums like a machine, almost purring. A hornet flies out, and another. They are about as long and wide as my finger, brightly black and yellow against the darkness of the night. They zip through the air almost lazily, still drowsy from their slumber. With a final drag of the knife, the hive comes free and I catch it before it falls. And with careful, quick movements, I thrust the ball of insect-crafted handiwork at the small group of tributes snoring away below me. It sails downward, hard and fast, and lands with a crushing splat, exploding with a cloud of acidic scent and a large mass of small black and yellow insects.
The surprised shrieks are just the start of an ongoing chorus of surprise and utter horror of what is now taking place. The hornets (now pissed off) attack anyone remotely close to them with their poisoned stingers and from the yelps of pain, I doubt they're pleasant. The tributes run to and fro, their arms waving around to shoo away the angry bugs. Gia screeches and runs away on all fours with half a dozen hornets on her tail. Tarzan calls for the others and they, too, book it. The boy who was supposed to be on watch staggers after them, sluggishly trekking to his fellow Careers. He had taken the worst hits from the hornets than any of the other tributes; the hive had landed at his feet. Even from where I am, I can see the swelling punctures of the stingers, preferably at his neck and face. He wheezes and falls to his knees, grabbing at his now bloated throat. He falls face-first into the dirt and stays down, motionless.
Now's my chance. I hurriedly climb down the tree, one eye on the speeding tributes running for their lives and the other on the ground coming closer and closer. Once my paws touch the cool moss at the base of the trunk, I shoulder my bag and head down in the opposite direction.
Try as I might, I can't stop looking at the boy-who gasps like a fish out of water, twitching spasms shaking his limbs. Some of the hornets had followed after the Careers, but a majority had stayed behind to take out their anger on the immobile body of the boy who lays helpless to their wrath.
I should leave. I should leave him here to die before I can gain some sympathy for him. I should go before I second guess myself. I cannot help him. No one can help him. As cold as it is, I cannot help him. He cannot be helped. I won't help him.
I am just about to turn on my heel when something catches my attention. A silver glint gleams off of the curve of a bow, the metal smooth and polished as it presses into the boy's back.
My bow?! My bow!
I have to get it.
I dash to his side and hesitate to take the weapon strapped to his torso. One glance at his chestnut brown eyes and I already feel more than guilty for his fate. His once skinny figure is now a bloated mass of flesh that reeks of a pungent fragrance, the hornets now more like buzzards over a dead carcass. I gingerly grasp the length of metal and pull it over his shoulder only for it to stop.
Ugh! It's stuck.
"Dammit." Iwhisper under my breath. "Ow!" Something small, but evidently painful, pricks my cheek like a needle to a finger. A hornet has stung me. And another pinprick of pain shoots up my thigh.
I have to get out of here if I don't want to be the hornet's next victim. I yank harder and it springs free as does a loud crack resonating from the boy's now dislocated shoulder.
Whoops.
Another sting, this time in my bicep. My cheek, leg, and arm throb and start to grow lumps. My eyes start to tear up and my vision suddenly becomes distorted. The sky turns a strange shade of pink, the trees glimmering like glass. The earth spins under my paws much like the day I stepped up as a volunteer of the Hunger Games. I stand to my feet uneasily and run for it. Where I am running to, I don't know. The hornets, or what I think are hornets but look like flying cranberries, don't follow me.
I hear screams, screams of men, women, children. Their shrieks like the howling of a wolfpack. They grow louder and louder and louder. Fog starts to roll from all sides, enveloping the jungle in a blanket of grey. This fog then turns into shapes. Smokey figures dance in front of me, running and crying and screaming. More figures, white in comparison, throw nets, shoot bullets from their guns, yell out orders.
No! No no no no no no no no! This can't be happening. Not again.
I trip and fall right into a tree, the clear glass of the trunk cold and unmistakably smooth, but I cling to it as the scene plays before me as a nightmare come to life. A dark brown figure stands close by and takes the form of a frighteningly familiar figure. My father, Zuba, watches with misty green eyes as a gun goes off and bullet strikes his chest. I witness as I had a million times in my dreams as he collapses to the grown, crimson soiling the light brown fur of his chest. I whimper as he looks up at me, paw outstretched. I leap to grasp it just as he disappears in a puff of smoke. Now on my knees, a sob escapes my muzzle, racking my shoulders. A stream of tears trickles from my eyes. I clutch my aching stomach, a deep hollow sensation overcoming my innards.
Whispers ring in the air. They chant a haunting tune, lulling through the trees, the wind, my ears.
"It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."
"No! It's not. It's not my fault. I-I couldn't help him!" I squeak, my voice breaking. I mount to my feet, trudging forward, crying uncontrollably.
If I walk far enough, maybe they'll leave me alone.
But they don't go away. They sing higher and higher until I clutch my head to block out their singing, but it's as if their voices have traveled from the jungle to the inside of my head, their melody bouncing off of the walls of my conscious.
"It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."
I stumble through the tangle of roots and vines of the jungle floor. They writhe and slither like snakes. The trees tinkle and glisten like windchimes, the leaves crystals. The sky is a blinding hot pink, the stars glittering blue. More singing, more screaming, more gunshots, more more more.
"It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."
"Stop it stop it stop STOP IT!" I scream. I fall into a pit of pooling liquid, flecks of red spraying my body. Some splashes into my mouth and the distinct taste of blood lingers in my mouth.
Blood. It's blood!
I try to swim away, but my legs have turned to wooden stilts. From the tips of my toes to the curve of my knees, they are nothing but carved, sanded wood, much like Pinocchio's. The blood soaks into my clothes and fur, staining me red. It bubbles and fizzes and pops and sizzles. It mingles with the tears leaking from my eyes.
"It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."
"STOP STOP STOP IT! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" A scream again, vocal cords straining.
So much blood, so much singing, so much screaming, so many gunshots…
I scream at the top of my lungs, yanking at the hair of my mane, claws scraping through my scalp. I scream to the pink sky with blue stars, I scream to the glass trees that shine like jewels, I scream to the smoky figures prancing around the ditch of boiling blood, I scream to the singing voices, the bellowing screams, the popping gunshots. I scream till I blackout.
Author's Note: That. Was. Intense. Sorry if that was a little scary for you. I've been getting a bit graphic and I'm sorry. I hope you like this story and if you have a problem with the more graphic parts, please let me know and I'll tone it down a notch. Thank you for your patience and please keep reading.