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Chapter 14: The Feast

The Arena - Day 12

There are four Tributes left.

Four.

We started with twenty-four of us, two from each District, and now there are only four. That's twenty canons. Twenty faces in the sky.

I try and shove the thoughts from my mind as I walk along through the evergreen forest near the base of the mountain range. It's beautiful, the trees fresh-smelling and minty. I had never smelled it before the arena. Now it's starting to make me forget the smell of reeds and the ocean. I move the branches of large green needles away with my gloved hand, hearing the arrows in the quiver on my back rattle around.

Breathing in the frosty air, I push on further, trudging through deep snow. I was right, it had snowed generously last night. I'd taken refuge in a grove of trees near the bottom of the mountain, huddled there for the night. There was no chance anyone would be wandering in the snow looking for Tributes - I could barely see three feet in front of me.

Then it was calm, and I was able to fall asleep in my sleeping bag. I started walking this morning when the sun woke me up to a clear sky. Clouds have been gathering again throughout the day, though. Flakes started falling about thirty minutes ago, the Gamemakers not letting up on us that easily.

Not that four is that many Tributes left anyways.

My former ally is probably the Capitol favorite of the Games and the most dangerous too - Porcelain. Not only has she been trained her whole life, she wants to personally kill me and Bale.

Just thinking his name sends a pang of guilt through me. I decide to just dub him that person.

That person. He's next. Hopefully he won't get hurt. He's smart. He won't immediately put himself in the way of danger after I just left our alliance like that - or, I guess, really betrayed our alliance.

Then there's the guy from District 9 whose name I don't even know. He hasn't been a problem throughout the Games at all - in fact, the Gamemakers are probably just keeping him in the hopes that one of us will hunt him down personally. Or they'll take him out if things get too boring.

The thought sends a little shiver down my spine that has nothing do with the freezing temperature.

A snapping branch a little ways away makes me freeze. My heart picks up speed, all my attention focusing on the underbrush a few feet away. I start to take out a throwing knife. If it's Porcelain-

A snowshoe hare hops out instead, notices me, and flees to the north. I sigh, lowering my arm. I don't put away my knife. The hare reminds me of the tripwires Amarella and I set up. I never did check them last night, what with Amarella...

I take a sharp breath through my cold nose, shaking my head. I can't think about her either.

Hopefully Bale will have checked the traps and will be able to eat anything they caught. The day has been uneventful, giving me time to just walk around and look for a new camp. I have no clue where Porcelain is, though I don't she'd have stayed near our Cornucopia camp with me and Bale knowing where to find her.

I find a mostly snowless hideout under one tree, and set my supplies around the giant bark-covered roots, sitting on the hard ground. I try to arrange my supplies, getting out my sleeping bag. I get a handful of snow, packing it into my water bottle and stuffing that into my sleeping bag to melt. Food is going to be a bit scarce. Bale was the one who could start a fire, not me.

A flash of silver above catches my attention. I frown, looking up. My heart skips a beat.

Floating towards me amid the snow is a parachute, a small silver container attached. I leap up from my place on my sleeping bag, reaching my arms up to catch the parachute. My gloves brush the container, the parachute deflating onto my arms like a silky cloud. It's the first sponsor gift I've received these whole Games.

I brush aside the parachute, scanning the container. It's round with a silver lid. I try prying it off. Nothing. I then try unscrewing the lid, and the top comes off easily. Curls of steam float into the air, the scent of meat and potatoes meeting my nose. I sigh, feeling the warm steam on my cheeks, my mouth watering. In the lid is a small silver spoon, which I take and eagerly eat the stew, sitting back down.

It's the most delicious thing I've had in nearly two weeks. It's the first real meal I've had in nearly two weeks.

Thank you, Emma, I think as I eat the stew. It's as if she'd read my mind.

As I eat, the gray clouds become colored by the beautiful, orange sun of the arena, plunging me into darkness with just the navy and silver moon for anything to see.

The stars emerge, bright like brilliant, glittering mica under the sea waves. I find a little row of them through the tree branches, smiling faintly as I remember what constellation it is, astronomy Tide had shown me when I was five.

Tide. My siblings. I can picture each and every one of them, even if I don't close my eyes - which I wouldn't do right now because that wouldn't be extremely smart out here, when I haven't been around this part of the forest too much. I heard the bears the second day in the arena, and there are probably wolves in the mountains. Besides, maybe people are so angry that I left Bale, the Gamemakers might make a branch or something fall on me just to bring up ratings in the Capitol.

I take a bite of a potato, trying to shove the Gamemakers out of my mind.

I turn my thoughts back to all my siblings: Wave is calm, cautious, and intelligent in a way I never was. His voice comes back to me from the Justice Building on Reaping Day when this all began. When you're in the arena, join the other Tributes from One and Two. Join the boy from our District. You can kill them off near the end to win. That's how it usually goes with the Careers. They team up, the other Tributes get picked off, and then it becomes a battle royale between the Careers for Victor. That didn't happen this year. Still, I wonder if Wave is annoyed I didn't kill Ba- that person.

Shelly probably is relieved I didn't do things like Wave would've. She and i have never been particularly close, though now I wish I'd spent more time talking with her than arguing. She's my only older sister... not to mention the most determined person I've met... and if - when - I get back to District 4, I can tell her that.

Riptide is my favorite brother. The one with the mischievous smile and cocky attitude that nearly annoy someone until he picks up Anemone and they see his caring, older brother side. He's only a year older than me, but it seems like more. Shelly and him used to fight nearly as much as her and I. Riptide has the habit of flirting with too many girls at school, which used to earn him lectures from our sister. His humor earns him some talking-to's as well. Shelly didn't like his sarcastic wit, but there's innocent humor there she just can't hear.

After me, it's Coral. Her laugh sounds in my mind, my sister sitting on our front step, flicking a lock of her red hair over her shoulder. After her is Captain, who is beginning to look like a tiny Wave. He's cautious like our brother, but so much more empathetic and fun. He and Riptide have gotten into plenty of schemes, including once bringing an octopus home as a pet. The memory brings a smile to my lips. Mama was livid and insisted they put it back in the ocean, which they reluctantly did.

Then there are the twins: Seagrass and Oceanis. Seagrass is my favorite sister, but I may be biased because I'm her favorite. She's so carefree and happy, which is different from Oceanis who's more timid and thoughtful.

Tying it all up are the youngest four: Sunfish, who turns nine in a few months, and if quiet and loves books. Skipper, who likes to follow Captain around, admiring his older brother. After him, Sandy, who is very talkative or completely quiet and still sucks her thumb. She has Papa's big brown eyes, the same ones as Wave. Finally, the youngest, Anemone, who always has wide eyes open and watching for something exciting, hair the same color as Coral.

My thoughts stop, slowly down as I think about Mama and Papa. Missing my family has turned into a numbness within the past day. It's not even homesickness anymore. It's like feeling like I could get home and also feeling like I never will. There are only four Tributes left, this is the closest I've been to winning. And yet it's like I've never been further.

Maybe it was Amarella dying. My throat constricts as the memories of her last moments play in my mind. The vomiting, the convulsions, the way she just laid in the snow before the cannon pronounced her dead. It's so senseless. And over those wretched mushrooms. How can a death be worth mushrooms? It seems like such a ridiculous thing. She ate mushrooms and then a few hours later she was dead.

And Bale and I were so close to eating them too. We could have all died up there last night, leaving Porcelain and the boy from 9 to fight to the death.

I imagine Bale sitting alone in the cave. The thought makes me feel guilty, so I eat more stew and try to think of District 4. The feel of water around me, the sound of feet running on sand, the taste of the salt-

I jump when Claudius Templesmith's voice suddenly booms in the Arena, his tone enthusiastic.

"Congratulations, to the final contestants of the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games. In honor your achievement, a Feast has been planned for tomorrow at sunrise, at the site of the Cornucopia. But be warned if you think about not showing up - supplies are limited. Your time may be as well."

His voice leaves, the arena returning to the normal sounds of birds and snow fluttering through the trees. Part of me is relieved to not have to hear his Capitol accent anymore.

I tug on my elbow. Warmth. That's what we're all after now. I can survive for a little while in my sleeping bag... but if I'm going to live and see my siblings and Mama, and District 4 again, I need the lantern or blankets or whatever they'll put there to keep myself alive.

Then again, it might just be a trap so that they can finally have a winner. Going is almost like waving a giant flag and yelling, "here I am, here I am!" Porcelain isn't going to miss out on it, though I'm not sure about Bale or the boy from Nine.

But if I don't go, I might not live to see another sunrise after tomorrow.

I sigh, finishing my stew. I take off my gloves, pressing them against the warm silver bowl to my fingers. The Games are winding down. I hadn't exactly imagined the ending to the Games. So far, it's just been surviving each day. I wouldn't have made it this far without Bale.

Bale.

I give up on not thinking his name. That stopped a bit ago. I curl my knees up closer to my chest, hugging the empty bowl. I miss him. I miss his smile and feeling him beside me when we walk and the sound of his voice. I miss having him around. The arena seems so much lonelier without him.

It hasn't really occurred to me until now that both of us can't win. Only one person can be the Victor.

The thought of Bale lying dead in the snow makes me tense up. I don't want to imagine seeing his face in the sky. I didn't look at Amarella's picture last night as I walked down the mountain, hearing the Panem anthem playing. I knew her face was above me, looking out across the arena as the hovercraft was probably going to pick up her body. She's back in District 6 now.

Maybe by tomorrow night I'll be back in District 4.

The thought makes me sick. But I don't move, sitting there unmoving, staring at the snow a little ways away from me.

I need to live. I need to see Mama. I need to see Seagrass and the rest of my family. Wave's words from the Justice Hall come back to me: You're going to come back, okay?

For some reason, the girl I volunteered for comes back to my mind. Emma Rinnell, that small girl with the brown eyes. The way she'd hugged me and how people cried from the parents' section.

I've wondered since that day if it was worth it. If I would do it all over again. Thinking about her slender face, her green eyes - I know, deep in my heart, that I would. It's such a deep conviction, it seems unquestionable now. I would volunteer again if I had the choice.

I set the bowl aside, pulling on my gloves. I snuggle into my sleeping bag, taking a deep breath. I'm going to the Feast tomorrow.

And I'll try to survive.

The Arena - Day 13

When I wake up, the sky is that dull gray with tons of clouds. I almost cheer when I see that the sun hasn't risen yet - I have time to get to the Cornucopia site. I take a little time to rinse my face with snow, use the bathroom, and return to my campsite to pack up my supplies. I didn't take much out of my backpack last night, but I wash out my sponsor gift with snow and tuck the little bowl into my backpack. Once my sleeping bag is packed up, I take a deep, steadying breath.

My hands are shaking. It's not from the cold.

Every Feast I've ever seen in the Hunger Games has had fatalities. Usually multiple Tributes get killed. Porcelain will probably consider Bale her most serious threat if he goes.

I take another breath. Most Feasts don't lead immediately to a Victor. I can get in, get out, and keep myself alive.

Is this the right choice?

I shake off the voice in the back of my head. I don't have a choice. I have to go and get whatever supplies they're offering. A few times, the Feasts have been traps with just a bit of food. It becomes a second bloodbath watching the Tributes fight each other.

A memory surfaces of a Tribute getting his head beaten against the Feast table until a cannon fired.

But the Gamemakers can't afford that this year. Not with only four of us left. Can they?

You do have a choice, that reasonable part of my brain argues. Go back to Bale. Team up again.

I shove the thoughts from my brain for good. I can't go back to Bale. I can't let the Games continue and have it be me and him in the end.

I ignore what the suggestions of that are.

I pick up my supplies, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. It seems heavier today. I check for my throwing knives, taking one out for good measure, and then put the bow and quiver around my torso, heading out.

Cautiously, I make my way down to the Cornucopia, or as close to the genesis of our Games as I dare. In reality, I stay by the trees at the edges of the open, snowy plain, carefully keeping my distance. I crouch in the brush, turning the small throwing knife over in my hand. The point of the knife doesn't even pierce through the tough gloves.

It looks like Bale and I left it: in complete ruins. The remains of the camp look like old bones, strewn about the place and high covered with snow. The orange tents are mostly frozen over and snow piled, abandoned. It doesn't look like anyone's lived in it for days. Porcelain must have gone off and hidden somewhere else in the Arena. She could be anywhere. Well. Anywhere but the mountains.

Absently, I look up at the mountains, wondering if Bale is still up there. The fleeting thought of going up there and apologizing makes me frown. I quickly decide against it. I don't want to ever go back into those mountains.

I wait for what must be twenty minutes, adjusting my position so my feet don't fall asleep. I snack on some dried fruit, drinking half my water. At least water is one thing the Gamemakers gave us plenty of this year.

A squirrel hurries up the tree next to me, startling me at first. Hopefully there aren't any Tributes nearby. If Amarella was right and that boy from District 9 was in the mountains, then he most likely will be near the river instead of further from the base of the mountains.

Before I have time to think anymore, sunrise arrives.

The sun crests up over the icy arena suddenly, lighting things up in a hazy orange hue. The golden cornucopia glitters, icicles hanging from the top of the mouth.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the round Feast table rises from a platform, pushed up into the arena. The table has a snow-white cloth over it, the edges fluttering. On top of it is a little pile of perfectly stacked matches in clear, waterproof packs.

Matches. Of course! I was right, in a way. We all need warmth right now.

Nothing moves. No Tribute emerges. The branches around me sway and whisper, a couple dark birds flying off in the distance. But the rest of the arena is silent as if no Tributes are here at all. Did no one else come? Either way, I want to hurry and get this over with. My heart jolts as I brace myself to run.

Without thinking, I take off the bow and quiver, setting them down. I can pick them up when I get back. Otherwise they'll just impede my running. I've never been the fastest runner anyways, swimming is my strong suit, so the less things getting in my way the better. The knives are better for me in this situation. I consider leaving my backpack, but in the case that I can't stop and need to keep running, I can't afford to leave it behind.

I take a breath, watching the air swirl out in front of me.

And then I start to stand.

bright sunlight on snow

Without warning, the boy from District 9 suddenly sprints out to the table from some trees far to my left, dark, spiky hair glinting in the morning light. He swipes up half the matches - half!

He glances right where I am, making me freeze. He doesn't seem to notice me, but I can clearly see his face. His entire nose and the apples of his cheeks are black, other places of his face visibly red and scabbed from here. For a moment I'm horrified by the frostbite. He doesn't seem armed - no wonder he put his life at risk to come here and get the supplies. The boy from 9 dashes off towards the valley. That'll lead back to the mountains.

I look back at the Feast table.

That's it, if Porcelain goes and gets the rest, or if he decides to come back, I will have come here for nothing. I need those matches.

I sprint, my feet pounding against the snow as they are sucked down into the fluff. I stumble a few times, almost melting into the snow before I pull my feet free and continue running. Suddenly, more footsteps sound near me.

I gasp, whipping around, knowing exactly who'll be running at me before my eyes even reach her. Porcelain sprints towards me, spear in hand, her eyes glinting. Her face has frostbite as well, her nose turning black, giving her a skeletal look.

Within two seconds, the Career Tribute is ten feet away. She's a faster rather than me, no doubt, even with her injuries. I don't even think as I throw my knife at her arm. I'm not perfect at them, and the running makes my aim worse. Instead of sinking the blade into her arm like I'd wanted, it flips to hit her in the temple with the blade's hilt. It's enough to make her scream, clutching her head as she stumbles.

I pull out two more knives, trying to get to the table. Porcelain starts running again. I reach the table, my hands shaking from adrenaline as I grab at the matches. I manage to get three of the remaining ten with one hand. As I turn, a packet falls to the ground. I don't have time to pick it up.

Porcelain reaches me in seconds. I scream as she aims a punch at my head, smaller her than enough to duck under arms. My arms seem to work without me telling them to as I stab her in the side with one of my knives. She screams again as I dart away.

But she doesn't stop.

I skip out of the way as she gets closer, but she reaches with her free hand, pulling on my backpack.

Fear washes over me and I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I turn, slashing as hard as possible at her wrist with my other knife, never looking her in the eyes. She doesn't let go as the blood starts running from her wrist, but her grip loosens enough for me to rip myself free. I try to run faster, my lungs burning. The sun gets brighter, light flaring across the snow so bright it burns. My eyes water as I run.

I can hear her screaming swears at me as I try to escape, her footsteps following. My foot suddenly sinks into a hole, yanking me to a stop.

I jerk my leg, whimpering as I try to pull my boot out of the hole, and just as I manage, a snarl makes me turn around in time for Porcelain's fist to hit me square in the jaw. I yelp, clutching my cheek, nearly dropping my knife. My teeth hurt the punch was so strong.

She raises her first again, but I swipe at the air with my knife again, catching her wrist once again. The blade digs into the wound I can't see beneath the sliced sleeves. She gasps, clutching it in pain unignorable this time, and I turn, pulling my leg so hard I nearly trip. Just as I go to run, Porcelain grabs my backpack. The air leaves my lungs as I'm wrenched backwards. The trees a few feet away blur. I hit the snow harder than it seems possible, my teeth slamming together, making them hurt more.

I watch as Porcelain stands over me, her green eyes meeting mine. I finally get a chance to really look at her, frozen on the ground in shock. Her eyes lack the calculating nature they used to have. They're just as cold, but now they have an unstable edge. Porcelain's hair is still smooth and pulled back into a high ponytail, pieces of it having fallen out during our struggle. Her face is partially covered in blood blisters. I internally wince. They look so painful.

Porcelain leans towards me. On gut reaction, I pull up my good leg and slam my foot as hard as I can into her frostbitten, dead nose.

She almost falls, stumbling back a few steps. Clutching her nose with her free hand, she blinks a few times, checking her hand for blood. Porcelain looks back at me, staring, and shakes her head. "I should've killed you in the beginning." And then she smiles.

In that short little moment, I realize just how crazy my fellow Tribute has become. Without warning, her head jerks up and she looks at something to the side. I immediately move, trying to sit up to run.

Porcelain turns and stabs me.

I freeze, her spear stuck in my chest. My eyes widen. Words fail me as I try to make a sound. I lift my hands, grabbing weakly at the part of the silver spear impaling me.

Porcelain rips the spear out, her boots turning and running off unevenly in my line of sight.

I don't move, my backpack propping me up. My fingers touch at my ripped jacket and shirt, warm blood soaking the gloves as I look at my fingertips.

My vision blacks out at the edges, and a dull ringing seems familiar. Back in the Justice Hall, this was me screaming. But now I know I'm not making any noise. The wind howls.

My mind moves slowly, sluggishly, trying to process what just happened. How did this happen in just a few seconds? She stabbed me. Porcelain stabbed me.

Without looking down at my chest, I can feel the warm blood soaking my clothes, flowing down my body. It pools in my lap, seeping into the snow around me. I shut my eyes, trying to take deep breaths. This is it then. Porcelain won.

I'm going to die.

I'm dying.

The tears are gone, frozen, running down the sides of my face.

A faint noise makes me open my eyes - when had I closed my eyes? - only the effort seems so difficult. My vision focuses, and I see Bale. His face is horror-stricken as he falls to his knees next to me, placing a sword in the snow. When did he get a sword? He places a gloved hand on my face, distracting me.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, something glistening in his eyes - tears. He hasn't cried before. I don't grimace, even though I want to. I press my hand on top of his. I lift my other hand, pressing it against his cheek, just staring at the face that I won't see again inside this arena. I wish we weren't wearing gloves. I wish we weren't in the Games.

"I should have been faster, I didn't even see... I'm so sorry..." he whispers.

"Bale," I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. "This isn't your fault."

I wince, trying to face him, ignoring the giant pool of red that his knees are almost touching. My eyes droop. I'm tired. It's cold. The sun is so bright, was it always this bright?

I close my eyes. The hand on his face drops to fall in the snow. His other hand catches mine as it falls from his hand, intertwining our fingers.

Then, ignoring the arena, the cold, I open my eyes a moment to see through my lashes. I move my other arm just enough to move my sleeve up, relief flooding me as I see the bracelet on my wrist with those pearls.

For a moment, my mind panics. I'm dying. The memories, the awful memories from these past weeks flood my thoughts, clear amidst the muddy panic. Volunteering. The fight in the Justice Hall. Training and falling from the climbing wall. The bloodbath. Watching the boy from District 8 get killed. Luna's body getting dragged from her tent. The fight with Grainelle, Elegance, and Porcelain. Elegance's corpse crumpling to the ground. Grainelle crying as Porcelain threatened her. Running back to the camp, to Bale, crying. Amarella picking those mushrooms. Amarella vomiting and convulsing at the top of the mountain. Saying goodbye to Bale.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "I'm sorry for leaving."

Bale tightens our hands holding. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have let you leave."

I look at my bracelet again, wishing I could lie down. Don't people usually die lying down? I'd like to fall asleep. But my backpack keeps me propped up.

As I watch the pearls gleam beneath the morning sun, my thoughts calm. The better memories show through the cracks of the panic, soothing me until they're all I can see. Being little and going to the market with Mama. Fishing with Tide. Playing tag with Captain and Oceanis. Wave walking me to school. Days spent on the beach. Moments laughing at dinner. Mama's laugh. Papa's smile. The feeling of him holding me when I was little, tossing me in the air as I giggled and squealed before he'd catch me safely again.

I look back at Bale once, slowly, focusing on his eyes. "Beautiful," I murmur out loud. I can see him. I can see the ocean in his eyes.

My head feels light. I look back at my bracelet, and the three pearls. The memory of swimming with Seagrass that day, and her wide grin as she swam with me, makes me nearly smile. I decide it's my favorite memory. Right ahead of kissing Bale that night in the cave.

Three pearls.

One, for Bale. My ally. I'd have died a while ago if it weren't for him.

I look at another pearl, for my District, with the ocean and the seagulls.

The last pearl, for my family: all my siblings, my mother, my father, all my love for them.

I stare at the pearls, focusing on Bale's hand holding mine. I'm glad I won't die alone. I'm glad I have someone with me. I'm glad it's him.

The pearl bracelet shines in the sun again. How funny. Those little wonders started from sand, something so common, and yet turned into something irreplaceable and beautiful.

Love.

Pearls.

That's it.

I think some of this chapter was inspired by the original "Hunger Games" like with Foxface running, getting there first, and Clove trying to kill Katniss.

Did I make you guys cry? Sorry if I did. It feels wrong, leading you guys on in this romance. But, we all knew that only one person could win.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END! I am going to write an epilogue from the winners' point of view. Who do you guys want to win?

It is between Porcelain, Bale, and the guy from District 9 whose name we do not know!

Tell me what you all thought. What do you want to see in the next chapter? This is one of your last chances to review and tell me about your opinion for this story: what you liked, hated, who you want to win, too.

So please review!

Thanks for our reviews! Thanks to:

outside the crayon box

The only mary potter

Radio Free Death

Thanks for reading!

-Loveableheart