Talisa Rowland, 18, District Four Female
They've given me more freedom than I know what to do with. I inquired about travel brochures and tourist centers, but as this is the Capital and ninety-nine percent of all citizens have lived here their whole lives, it doesn't seem to have been deemed necessary. I'm strong-willed, adventurous, and bold, and I know it. I pride myself in it, the way that I'm always to first to try a new training method at the Academy or set myself apart by actually giving a damn about people below my standing. But there's something about this foreign place that just makes it seem scary. The flashing lights etch blinking neon spots onto my eyes, and the serene tranquility of the District Four floor is ruined by the cacophonous symphony of the busy roads surrounding us.
I asked any of my allies if they wanted to come with me—all of them but Imperia were infuriatingly vague—since having a friend would be more enjoyable than going alone, but even though I've been waiting for a solid twenty minutes, nobody seems to have come since me, and so I've been forced to resort to standing awkwardly to the side as Aquatico and Turquesa ramble on about something insignificant, waiting on Mystic, while our three mentors socialize across the plaza. I'm not awkward. I'm never awkward, always cool, calm, and composed, full of charisma, the center of attention. But now, it feels like the reality of where I am is truly setting in and I feel like a fish out of water.
For a moment, I crave to be back home, to be with Dad and Serena and maybe get a little closer to Finn, to be dropped from my gaudy fishbowl back into the ocean. Everything had been so perfect, had slid into such a routine, comforting, rhythmic state of tranquil excellence, where friends surrounded me, and Dad was always there for me, whether he needed to be sagacious or humorous or anything, and refreshing, fulfilling days were spent giving back to the poor community or taking a swim in the warm, tireless waves that almost seemed to have a mind of their own. That's just what I have to get back to. In District Four, I was important, or at least, I felt important. But here, I'm just a small minnow trying with all of her might to swim upstream. I need to be important, and there is only one way to do that now. I need to be able to take my stand and doing something rewarding and worthwhile with my life, to captivate more than just a small friend group.
It felt like I was making progress until now. Imperia is as transparent as glass and unmatched in her egotism; in other words, an easy puppet to manipulate. I had a good read on Marvel and his manipulative tactics, I was guessing, and still am, that Arlo and Scylla would follow under my lead when I inevitably rebel, and I would be able to use them as pawns and meat shields until I would eventually have to terminate them. But against my reluctance and the advice of everyone around me, even if I don't know the two of them well at all, it feels wrong to regard them as pawns to do my bidding with when they're real and seemingly decent people. Even conniving Marvel and irredeemable Imperia, who are complete jerks, are still people.
But I can't let myself think like that. I volunteered to play this game. Now, all that I have to do is win it.
I was hoping I would see at least one of the four arrive by now, but none of them have shown themselves. It's disappointing.
Oh, well. I might as well give myself something to talk about with someone to talk to, and Aquatico and Turquesa are the opposite of hostile. I can pick up snippets of dialogue:
"Well, I think we should just go without her if she's making us wait too long." Turquesa, whose back is to me as I prop myself up on a silver column diagonally opposite to Aquatico, put her hands on her hips crossly, cutting a petite, exasperated figure.
"Come on, let's just give her a little bit longer, chica," Aquatico says in a merry and poking manner, in contrast to Turquesa impatient, vexed one. "Then again, there are a bunch of things I want to do today, and we are losing time."
"Two things: What did I tell you about calling me Spanish words? Also, I would have thought you would be more excited about the agility course, you sure you don't want to double back to make sure that the training center is closed?" Turquesa's posture lightens.
"Oh, shove it," Aquatico says, rolling his eyes as he chuckles. "It's time to let that go."
I take that as my cue to enter in, while they are both in a jovial mood and are still inviting. Aquatico is my friend already, and Turquesa was a charming acquaintance last night, when she and Mystic passed through the sitting room to Aquatico's bedroom. Even though we aren't allies, there has never been much tension between us, and what tension there was Aquatico eased with charisma and humor. So why do I feel so unreasonably nervous as I approach them?
I'm Talisa Rowland. Making friends has always been something that I pride myself on my ability to do. I'm brave and fierce, people say when they observe me fighting or see me in the distance jump from a tall cliff or sail out as far as the fishing boats. It's been years since I felt this clammy feeling. Not even when I first met Finn, or when I cross the mangiest and least welcoming of homeless people.
To spite all of my preparation and all of the encouragement that I have given myself, I can sense those insidious nerves commencing their deadly creep in, and I won't have it. I have the expectations of everyone back at home riding on me to win, and to do them proud. I'm already in the best place of any of us twenty-four tributes. I'm in by far the strongest alliance, where I hold all of the power behind the scenes. The sponsors like me, and I know it. I scored a ten, only matched by Arlo and Imperia!
This is all going to play out like a breeze for me. I shouldn't be nervous. I don't know if I'm soothing myself about the upcoming social interaction or deathmatch.
I take a deep breath, one that seems to rattle in my throat despite the warm air outside. I'm not going to second guess myself anymore and let that toxic ailment, self-doubt, inside my head.
As I walk up to meet them, Aquatico sees me approach and nods amiably to me ("Hey!"), at which point I wave back and Turquesa turns, not looking surprised to see me.
"Oh, hi," she greets, her face keeping its rigid semi-annoyed grin, the same one that she used just a minute ago talking with Aquatico, though her eyes do not meet mine.
"Hi," I say in return, coaxing on my winningest smile and putting up a hand to do a slight wave to her as well. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bust up the conversation or anything, but I was just getting so bored waiting for my allies. Sometimes, having them is just a bitch."
My remark hangs flatly in the air for one second as I can feel Turquesa's reproachful eyes behind me, pointing into my neck, scrutinizing me in a way she didn't before. Is she wary of me? Aquatico takes the initiative like I was internally praying that he would, spinning something funnier out of my desperate attempt to just have somebody to talk to.
"Oh, don't get me started, Talisa." He takes a step towards me, pushing himself up from the cylindrical metal pillar he was resting on, and throws his left arm high in the air in an effeminate, Capital-esque manner that conjures up a laugh from the both of us, me and Turquesa. "Sometimes, they are just so annoying—making dumb jokes, rolling their eyes at you, scoring better than you, even! Just unbelievable."
"He's talking about himself," Turquesa snorts, inching closer into the two of us to form a triangle.
It feels now like she is warming up to me, like maybe I could actually have some fun with these two instead of my allies, the careers. I know that I shouldn't be doing this but spending time with Aquatico feels so refreshing compared to the careers, a break from the tense, focused mood, replacing it with a relaxed, jovial, friendly one.
"So, your allies no-showed too?" Aquatico asks, not pressingly, but I can sense a hint of teasing. Teasing at what? Something invalid, maybe nothing at all. It's just his way.
"No, none of them did. Some of them told me that they may come, one of them even said he probably would, but… I'm guessing that they all bailed on me." My mind flashes to Marvel, probably languidly reclining on the District One floor with a smirk as he analyzes us or gets tips from his mentor, delighting in my letdown. I don't even know why I wanted him to come of all people, I can't stand him and the way he saunters around with perpetual arrogance and deceit, it's so clear to my eyes.
I know why Aquatico is teasing me, and why Turquesa laughs along with him, and why I chuckle despite myself, maybe even to spite my four allies above me. They aren't true friends, the kind of friends that Aquatico and Turquesa are. They're greedy and selfish. But then, how am I not? I've given what must have amounted to months of time in dedication to the poor, in an effort of philanthropy. I care about my friends, and I defend them, keep their secrets, and am loyal to them.
"That's fine by us, you can come with me and Turquesa out into the town if you want, and Mystic if she ever drags her ass down from her landing."
With Aquatico's invitation, I detect something more, a grander invitation into the alliance of three that they have now. I'm taken aback not by his surface ultimatum but by the subtle hints under it.
"Thanks for the offer! Let me think on it for a second, please."
Aquatico agrees to, and he and Turquesa continue their one-on-one chat.
"I'm telling you Aquatico, we've already lost a half hour, and we only have one day to do anything we want."
"Let's give it until twelve thirty, and then we'll head out. Just be a bit more patient and ease up a bit, Turquesa, you don't want to spend today stressed out."
Aquatico doesn't look at me, instead continuing his talk with Turquesa as they pass the time and making some wisecrack that gives him a playful punch in the shoulder and still more giggling from Turquesa before she regains her composure, looking embarrassed. They seem so tightly bonded and intimately adjoined already, a connection I could never have with anyone here. I signed up to kill these people. People like Aquatico, and Turquesa, and the Fives, and that only truly dawns on me now. It makes me question how truly valid this whole idea of heroism is, whether or not I've just been blinded by society into thinking that this is just the next step to glory for myself and for my district. My tongue feels bitter and dry, a sour, implacable coagulation of air and saliva, and as my conscience zooms outward and into the realm of objectivity, my whole life and purpose seems the epitome of pride.
This is wrong, and I know it, but there isn't anything that I can do now. Aquatico knows it's wrong, and so do Mystic and Turquesa, but they've sealed their places as protagonists. I'm stuck where I am now. I'm on the train, and if I jump off, I'll smash into the rocks and die. But my destiny isn't rigid like theirs are yet. I can still rectify it all, can still prove to myself and those wiser than me that I am a hero, that I am a good person. I've known all along that I was better than all of the rest of them, at the Academy and in my alliance, saw the ways they looked upon their television screens and their competition during Hunger Games season and now in person, like they're nothing more than thoughtless hunks of meat.
This friendship, even with death looming over their heads, between Aquatico, Turquesa, and Mystic is beautifully poignant. That's what deserves to be celebrated during a time like this, not a high score or good odds or proficiency with a whip. That's something that only I understand out of the five of us. That's what I will use to win. I'll always be able to play the hero and manipulate behind the scenes using human vulnerability. That's what I've always intended to do in this very moment. It seems dastardly to me now but doing what you have to do to survive the shitty situation you've thrown yourself into isn't heelish, it's only natural. I can still be a role model after I win.
"Snow alive, what took you so long!" Aquatico exclaims as Turquesa rushes over to Mystic, who seems to be only slightly apologetic and more energized about doing whatever she wants for a few hours.
"Sorry," she says unabashedly. "Cassius needed some advice but didn't want to come with—you know how he is—and he literally begged me to stay later with him. I didn't want to discourage him by leaving. I felt bad for the kid."
"You two are the same age," Turquesa says, to which Mystic rolls her eyes and brushes an unruly strand of black hair out of her line of sight and into accordance with the similarly wild rest of her mane.
"Touché."
"Well," Aquatico whispers at a volume I never would have expected he could descend to, so that only I can hear him, "do you want to come with us, or go with your ally?"
He puts a certain emphasis of detest upon his final word, which I only comprehend when he raises his finger to Marvel stepping out from behind Mystic's wake and smiling his fakest, happy-go-luckiest smile. He walks towards me with all of the urgency of a tortoise, a betrayal of his inner smugness, as his mentor coldly follows behind him, holding a notepad up to her face over which her icy blue eyes peer at me, unimpressed and menacing.
I knew the answer before he asked the question. Discreetly, I look over to him and shake my head. He nods his, anticipating the answer.
"Go cuddle up with the copperhead, then," he jokes glumly, before turning to join in the conversation of his allies.
"I will." I don't take the initiative to stride out to the middle of the square to meet Marvel. I let him come to me. I won't fall to his game of deception.
"Sorry," he says with a forced veneer of shame, "Glamour wanted to spend some time analyzing.
Glamour clicks her tongue disapprovingly, watching my mentor, Sebastian, break away from Jasper and Pearl as they go to meet Mystic's mentor, whose name I think is Chiffon.
"It's cool, I got to hang out with Aquatico and Turquesa." I let my assurance sink in. I know he'll isolate Imperia sometime and whisper my disobedience into her ear, but he also knows now that I have friends to come to my aid if he tries to start something.
"Excellent. I was wondering if we could go to the aquarium, I knew you would like that. And I've never seen a live fish before, only on a plate in front of me."
Marvel laughs at his own joke, and I go along with him. I'm certain he's just as clued in on my strategy as I am his and that he knows I know this, but this is a game we must play. Neither one of us will let the other win.
"Good thinking."
I've seen enough fish to last a lifetime, but a taste of home is always nice.
"Let's get two limos, then, sir," he says to an Avox holding a phone dial standing at the impressive, intricate fountain feet in front of the gravel. "Talisa," Marvel starts, "you must forgive me, but I was wondering if we could have a private conversation, just us. Would you mind?"
"Not one bit." I smile as if this please me.
The limos pull around the curb and into the cul-de-sac, and Marvel intercepts and ignores the Avox going for the backseat door to open it himself for me before getting in and waiting for the same Avox to close it. The driver, most likely a Peacekeeper, is obscured from us by an opaque, reflective black partition. Marvel reclines in the couch, made of black leather that crinkles under him, to try and portray an image of complete ease, though I can see in the way that he drums his fingers on the underbelly of the couch that he is not.
"Talisa, let me get straight to the point," he says, and suddenly rises quickly to sit straight and look me in the face, mirroring me from the other tinted, murky window. "Me and you are the two smartest people in our alliance, and if you notice, there's an odd number of us."
"Yes, I know." I lean forward some. I'm genuinely curious as to what he is about to propose to me.
"You and I can both see how close the Twos are. I think an early secession is quite likely. So, if they do, what happens if it's two against one against one against Imperia. In short, me and you are fucked. When it's time, we can gang up on the rest of them by joining in with Imperia to kill the Twos and then overwhelming her. We can ally and become unstoppable until the very end. None of the others would see it coming."
"That's interesting. See, it was looking to me like you were trying to suck up to Imperia, and, if I'm being totally honest, I was attempting to do the same. What's to say you won't turn on me and side with her in this scenario of yours?"
Marvel recites his next paragraph, just as rehearsed as the first one. He knew this question would be thrown his way.
"Imperia is the biggest threat. There's no way either of us can take her alone with her whip, and she's getting to be pretty unbearable too. If we let her think she's on top and we're both loyal drones, she'll underestimate us, and that's the easiest way to eliminate her. It's the best thing to do. Wouldn't you rather see me win than Imperia?"
The answer is yes, I would, but not by much. I can see where Marvel's thought process is coming from, but I still don't trust him, and he knows it, but I might as well let him think I'm warming up to him and the idea.
"I like it. My brain was actually on that same wavelength, and I was about to suggest something similar. We will make a good team."
Those words are painful to spit out with fake sweetness, but he accepts them and reclines once again, the only sound now the beeping of car-horns and the smooth tires gliding across the pavement. He clearly omitted one important part: What happens after?
I know he's planning to kill me, and this whole idea is morbid in a way I could never have comprehended until now. It's disgusting. But even if I follow through with it, even if I shove a knife into his chest before he can mine, I know I'll always be a better person than Marvel Silver.
Rooker Hilt, 13, District Twelve Male
I started to panic the minute the knock resounded through the sitting room and the Head Peacekeeper was revealed, and of-course made the necessary objections, but now, as they shove me down into the confining, painfully unbearable, almost box-like chair. The ropes tightly binding me to the back of it are restricting my breathing, four beige belts extending down my body, colorless in the dim lighting of the room. I can't stand it any longer; I couldn't from the moment I was strapped in.
"Will you let me out already?!" I scream, shaking my chair futilely in a thoughtless effort to rid myself of my constrictors.
They aren't listening to me. Instead, the man who introduced himself as the Head Peacekeeper cuts an imposing figure, his shadow cast impossibly long on the obsidian walls of the square room. He talks with two other people in full uniform while padding his balding head with a glove taken from his left hand, staring nervously at the wall beside me. He hasn't even looked at me once, not even when he introduced me, instead pointing his eyes maddeningly close to the top of my head as he seized me and held up a hand to everyone in the room, slamming the door in their faces before dragging me down a million flights of stairs, beyond and below the lobby to our destination. None of them pay attention.
"Look at me!" I scream angrily.
I'm confused. I know that they've detained me because of what I heard—that obnoxious fill-in television guy, Apollo, must have told them that they saw me—but I don't understand any of what is going on. What is the purpose of the reflective wall to my right? Why did they alter the scores? How did the man get murdered? Am I in trouble? Do they think that I did it?
A young woman with turquoise blue hair, dressed in an embroidered pastel pink dress and overcoat, knee-high matching boots clacking on the floor vexingly, comes from a previously camouflaged door beside a mirror spanning the width of the cramped room to mutter something urgently into the interrogator's ear and hand him a sheet before clopping away almost giddily. Even as I yell again, the man in white armor ignores me stoically.
I can feel the anger bubbling up in my, boiling and rising through my veins up to my head, where it feels like it is so pressurized, it could pop any second into a thousand little pieces. I can't breathe any longer; the ropes chafing against my skin, tearing open wounds and leaving red bands stretched across my body are unbearable. I'm so confused! I don't know what to do.
Out of reflex, I angrily slam my chair down onto the flat, emotionless cement floor, an incensing contrast to the bundle of emotions that I can't control. Before I really what is happening, a wailing moan escapes my leaves and disrupts the resounding echo, and I feel wetness, some gross mixture of tears and snot, pour onto my face. I've lost everything; my dignity and any chance that I ever had of winning are gone with my shitty score and even shittier luck, and now they want to rub it in, demean me and dehumanize me like they have all of my worthless, miserable life. What am I to do to stop them?
Yelling will accomplish nothing, and yet I still repeat my questions over and over again as the turquoise-haired woman and others talk with the man in intervals. They have ultimate power over me, but the least that I can do is give them a big "fuck you" with all of my remaining energy. It feels like hours have gone by since I woke up bound to the chair, and more and more time goes by as my voice gets hoarser and hoarser and my words get more and more exhausted, and finally I have nothing else left to say: "Fuck you!"
Shockingly, that is the thing that gets their attention.
"Now, listen here, you little piece of shit!" the Head Peacekeeper says in a gruff outburst, taking three massive strides to meet me and hoist me by my hair. I can feel the hind legs of my chair leave the ground, and I scream in agony. "Don't you know to respect those above your station? You don't say another word unless it's the answer to one of our questions."
His face, inches from mine, is dripping with sweat and harried, his eyes somehow sending a shiver down my spine but not meeting mine at the same time. He is formidable, posing menacingly over me, but I can't back down now.
Before I even know what I am going to say, possibly even just indistinct yelling, I utter a guttural, unhuman noise in defiance: "Aaaiiighh—"
My whole world is sent spinning as I see a black force zooming towards my face and then nothing at all, neon spots dancing around the corners of my eyes from the fluorescent lights above and the metallic crumpling noise that coincides with a blow to the back of my head. Tears trickle in streams out of my eyes as I try to stop their flow. Something pungent coats my tongue, and I feel a hardened object floating around in my mouth. With a gasp, I realize a tooth has been chipped and spit it out onto the floor, where it skids to the man's feet. I can't let him see that he hurt me. I can't lose just one more time. But this time I stay silent.
The man doesn't seem to know whether or not he wants to laugh, keep on going, or run away. There's some sort of haughtiness that never leaves his face. Maybe it's in his impossibly high eyebrows or permanently flaring nostrils, something detestable.
"We might as well get started," he says to the people behind him, and the guards shuffle to their corners as the undisguised officials run out of the room.
Did my ploy actually work? I got his attention eventually, but now I don't know if that was a good thing. I think for a moment of saying something again, something to piss him off more than anything, but he takes out a horrifying looking blade like nothing I have ever seen before with a thin, curved end and grins. We make eye contact, and my words crawl back down my throat.
"Rooker Hilt, let me introduce myself to you," the man says, taking a lecherous step towards me. "I am Titus Sentinum, Head Peacekeeper of Panem. I'm sure you know why we've summoned you, don't we?"
The man—Sentinum—seems to be in his element know, and a comforted smirk settles over him. I don't bother playing dumb.
"Yes. I do."
"We would like for you to tell us precisely what you heard and exactly what you did after you heard it directly after your Private Session."
A dreadful silence fills the room, and he looks at me expectantly.
"You didn't ask me a question," I say triumphantly.
"Boy, you listen to me!" He screams, crusading towards me on his wave of fury to grasp the back of my chair and pull me so closer I can see every little gelled hair on his balding scalp, every little droplet of saliva on his chin. "This is your last warning." He nods his head back, reverting to his state of calmness as he strolls towards the stand of weapons in the corner of the room. "What did you hear?"
I would never dare to talk back to him now. Everything hurts, and a permanent ache seems to have decided to live inside of me. I have nothing left to lose, not my dignity or my well-being or anyone back home who loves me. Why don't I just throw everything I have at Titus Sentinum just to spite him? That's what you do when you have nothing left to lose. That's what you do when you want to take control of your own destiny. Because that isn't really what taking control of your own destiny is, isn't it?
I decide in this moment to tell him the untainted truth.
"I was angry. I stormed out because I did bad, and I didn't want to go up to my floor, so I just hid in the lobby. But then after a while I heard voices. One of them was the Head Trainer guy who got killed, and the other was the replacement Master of Ceremonies, whatever their names were. They laughed and talked about the way they changed the scores. It made me angry. I looked up to see what the scores were, but they saw me and the one who died told me to scram, so I ran away, into the elevator. That's it."
My heart begins to thump, pounding on my chest and shaking me to my core. Any fake veneer of bravery melts away, and I know that I must look so satisfyingly afraid to Sentinum. He paces around the room one time, a long, drawn-out lap, and then approaches me for another time.
"Well, did you know that you were one of the two last people to see Cornelius Avery alive before he was stabbed by a weapon somehow smuggled out of the Training Center? You and Apollo Vanahara, who went immediately to President Nero's Office for a meeting after their conversation and has an airtight alibi for the estimated time of death. You, on the other hand, mysteriously disappear from the security feeds in the elevator. We all know that know ignorant thirteen-year-old from Twelve of all places such as yourself would have the mental or technological capacity to hack into the Capital's mainframe, but we're concerned that outside forces could have taken advantage of and assisted in your rage-fueled efforts, predicting you would get a bad score."
"Huh?" This all seems so perplexing. I didn't understand any of what he said to me, and a feeling of overwhelming terror is creeping over me.
My mind flashes back to that awful memory of my disappointment, my anger, how I couldn't decide how to feel before the elevator doors opened on a random floor I can't even remember and I ran into the nearest closet door I could find since nobody was in the lobby. And then I cried some more, but this time with some sort of hope that maybe my score wouldn't be so terrible, maybe they would realize that I just had a bad day and that I really am strong. But no. They took every bit of my façade of strength away from me and left me weak and helpless.
They gave me a fucking three!
My memory is blurry, but I can hear the worried voices and then no voices at all with the slam of the elevator door before I got up and ran out through the stairs. I wanted to get out of there.
"I didn't do it!" I scream at the top of my lungs. I'm beginning to panic. Does he think that I did it?
"Are you sure?" The officer tilts his head malevolently, and I finally realize that he's toying with me. "Tell me what else happened."
I do.
"Are you sure that's the whole truth?" he asks coyly, taunting me.
"Yes! Yes, it is, it is, it is!"
I've lost any piece of self-worth and admirability that I had previously. Now I'm begging before this man, pleading to him not to hurt me, the same way I used to time after time on the creaky wooden floor at home when my father hit me, looking up desperately into the opaque visors of the Peacekeepers, cruelly tilting their heads back and looking away the same way that my mother did.
I look down, refusing to meet the eyes of the evil man standing before me. All of a sudden, in the brief silence I hear a whooshing sound and feel a pang all along the left side of my face. In the pain and dizziness that follows, I see Sentinum's hand withdraw.
"Look at me!" he bellows.
Breathing heavily, I meet his eyes. I have nothing left. I'm stuck broken at his feet. He could kill me right now if he wanted so without using anything but his fists. A part of me has already died.
His eyes are wide and dark brown, almost black, so that the iris is hardly distinguishable from his pupil. They are lit up with glee.
"You won't say a word of this," he says. A few seconds pass. "Yes sir?!"
My eyes meet his gaze, and I direct nothing but weak hatred at him, as much as I can muster up.
"You say 'yes sir' to me, boy!"
I won't do it. I can't give into him one final time. I have to hold my ground.
Titus Sentinum brandishes his fist, ready for another hit.
"I think that's enough, Head Peacekeeper Sentinum," says a languid female voice from the door.
His hand drops as a woman with hair dyed the whitest of blonde and lipstick as red as blood steps gracefully through the door in the things that they call high heels up here and a flowing black dress with red accents, complete with a silvery gray cardigan. A string of pearls on her neck catches the overhead light, and so does a glinting jewel ring. She is smiling, coldly and yet warmly at the same time, and it feels as though some heat and hope has been put back into the air. The faceless guards bow for her.
"Yes, Madame Rose-Nero."
"Thank you for your cooperation," she says, smirking and giving him a confusing, meaningful look as she passes him, something that is supposed to be secretive. "We've gotten about as much as we need out of Mister Hilt. We might as well send him on his merry way." She places her hand condescendingly on my shoulder, and I feel a warm tingling where her fingers meet my skin. "Wouldn't you like that?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Untie the ropes."
She turns her head the other way as Peacekeepers roughly untie me, uncaringly brushing my countless bruises. They fall loosely to the floor. I don't stand out of fear, so one of them hoists me up limply to my feet. I walk out without any prompting, run out, as fast as I can, passing everyone is my sight. I feel a silky cloth on my arm and hear an indignant gasp, turning around to see the woman glaring at me.
"Is that any way to treat your first lady?!" she screeches, losing any poise in her voice.
"You son of a bitch!"
The Head Peacekeeper burst out of the door and sprints at me, face horrifically contorted with rage. I'm frozen to the spot.
"Titus, no." A gloved hand brushes his chest gently, and Titus stops in place behind the woman.
"We should punish him, Meda," he growls.
"Not yet." She turns to me. "Go," she orders, a command.
Not wanting to stick around, I begin to run out of the building before slowing to a walk, something I can handle. I don't turn back to look at them. I don't want them to know that I'm worried that they will sneak up on me and jump me any second. I don't want them to see that I'm afraid. They know that I'm in pain, but I can't let them know that I'm weakened from it.
I unexpectedly reach the elevator. It has no buttons, only one automatic switch. I step in, and I can feel myself being jostled sideways along with up. It suddenly stops moving and the door slides open for me to step out into the lobby. I look back to see the elevator, but only find a small strip slowly closing to nothing. The door is invisible. I would be surprised if I hadn't seen so much already today.
My body is beaten, broken, and tired. I can't bear anything much longer. I stop myself from plopping down on the couch, remembering what happened last time, and make the decision to go upstirs for a nap.
A clock on the wall says it is already four o'clock in the afternoon. I may sleep through dinner, but I can't let myself lose this one final day. Sitting in my room sulking and refusing to accept any pleasure that they hand to me seems stupid now. I'm going to let myself enjoy this one final day and take what they give me. I'm going to make my own choices and make it out of the arena my way. And I'm going to try hard today, as hard as I can in my current state, both to not take this afternoon for granted and to not just moan and complain about my bad luck. I was never going to win the old way, and I probably still won't now, but I'm going to give myself a shot and try to win my way.
Rhiannon Castor, 15, District Ten Female
The conservatory is a nice place.
It's fairly isolated on a day like this, and the people here don't approach me. The skylight in the translucent, paneled ceiling towering over the miles of flora and fauna has a wide skylight sending a cylindrical beam of sunlight down to the earth, and the glass refracts and reflects the light to create a beautiful scene of dazzling lights and rainbows. I never thought that something manmade could be beautiful. However, it pales in comparison to the stretch of land beyond me, sliced with ugly boardwalks that only serve as a reminder that all of it is fake and false, the plants watered by the day and the animals fed meticulously crafted feed from Ten. At least the food goes to the animals and not the humans. This whole building is nothing but a lie, a tacky and halfhearted effort at being some sort of green city so the rare environmentalist can appease their guilt.
The cows are pleasant to watch. An occasional rough, slobbery tongue slides across my arm, but they are otherwise docile and blissfully, tragically unaware, grazing along innocent and letting me pet them as if I am but one of their number. They remind me of my animals back home, the only things I really, truly love. I hope Dew is alright without me. I feel a wistful pang in my chest as I see a piglet far off in the distance being corralled by a sow. I miss him.
The conservatory isn't much, but it's the best this wretched city has to offer, far better than the overcrowded and noisy zoo. My location is remote, since most tourists want to see the flashiest and most exotic animals, and those who venture to the farm animal sanctuary aren't necessarily the most talkative. It feels nothing like home, not the barn but those precious days spent with no one but my friends exploring through the wilderness. This is as close as I'm ever going to get to that again if I die. Then again, if the arena is something natural, I may be able to succeed. The mutts the Capital makes aren't truly animals, just hideous, pitiful manmade creations, monsters of our species' own creation, but they are still sympathetic, and I could use them.
I don't want to get too distracted by preparations for the Hunger Games today. It should be spent in private tranquility, one final day of refuge. It's already halfway over, and I don't intend to waste what time I have left. Even then, thoughts still cloud my head. I guess it's the disgusting human in me, my breeds cursed obsession with death. I don't want to play the sponsor game. I don't care about training or my interview or anything of that sort. I'm never touching that. But I can't handle the thought of never going back to my friends, of what Uncle Troilus would do to them if I were to die. I might as well try and take down as many of them as I can before I go anyway, even if I don't win.
A low mooing sound comes from below me by my dangling feet, and I feel a head playfully knock my shin. I chuckle, looking down from the vast expanse of greenery to the cow at me feet.
"What is it?" I ask sweetly.
I know she won't respond to me. It's impossible. I can see such gorgeous, bittersweet obliviousness in her big black eyes spaced so widely apart. The people here consume her and consume her and consume her over and over again, not out of need but out of lust and gluttony and selfishness. They stuff their faces unfeelingly, cackling as they rush to the vomitorium to throw it all back up, a waste. The slaughter of life is necessary to survive, but I wish in my heart that humanity would just die out rather than trying to fulfill their own needs. It would be better that way. We've done far more than enough already.
"Don't be silly, you know I would gladly be with you," I say to the cow. She hears me.
I hear a loud clopping sound that is unmistakably shoes but don't look up. Just an obnoxious Capitolite, irritatingly attempting to disturb my peace.
The noise gets nearer and nearer, but I don't both to look up. It's just someone trying to take a picture or passing by. They aren't worth my time.
Somebody beside me clears his throat.
"Um…" he begins awkwardly. "Hi." The voice sounds familiar.
Instead of turning my head upwards to take a look at him, I continue to pet the cows. I wish this person would go away already.
"Hi," I respond.
He doesn't get the message and continues: "Yes, uh—hi. I was wondering if I could propose an alliance between the two of us."
I'm not curious as to whom the boy is. I don't care. It wouldn't matter anyway; the answer would always be a no. I wouldn't be able to stand one more day filled to the brim with human contact. If I'm looking forward to one thing about the Hunger Games, it's that freeing sensation in my future once I'm finally truly unhampered by the presence of another human. Such a horrible thought to be bound to one.
"No."
"No?! But—but you can't say no!"
I bother glancing up at the boy speaking. He looks to be my age, maybe a year or two older, the chubby one with the curly blonde hair and baby-like face from District Eight. I don't give him a glare, such things are dirty, reprehensible expressions only people can make. Instead, I just look. He meets my eyes and pants heavily, out of breath, before fanning himself with his hand.
"I said no."
"Why?!"
His face contorts into a repulsive expression of petulance, shiny tears sliding down his slick, reddening face.
"I don't want allies."
"W—w—" His mouth continues to form a question. "But we would be stronger together! We're perfect for each other!"
"You're wrong."
I look back down to the cows, unbothered by the boy, before looking back out to the trees in the distance of the humongous glass dome. This boy isn't worth any of our time, and he really is getting quite frustratingly annoying. I wish he would just go away and stop ruining my one moment of peace.
"That's not what's supposed to happen! I spent three hours looking for you! I even went to ask your escort where you would be! I worked hard trying to find you. You can't just say no to me!"
"No."
This stupid boy isn't worth my time. Even through my indifference and intentional blocking out of my competitors to the best of my ability, his arrogance still shines through. He's nothing better than the common trash, probably far worse, just some lazy brat who thinks everything should be handed to him on a silver platter and consumes the fruits of others suffering while they get nothing. I can't stand him. I can't stand any of them.
"Why?! We need each other for protection!" His voice warbles and the breaks.
I feel a thud in the wood beside me and two clammy, pudgy hands grasping my shoulders, pulling me into his face. The instant we make eye contact, he knows he has made a mistake. His small, watery blue eyes widen to normal size and his bottom lip begins to quiver in fear, revealing a weak chin and a curtain of blubber underneath it. He scoots away, falling onto his butt.
"S—sorry, I—I—"
Nobody touches me, no person who ever thinks of spreading their evil to me should ever get that far. Only the animals. The rough but comforting feeling of the bristly fur and slick cow tongues are gone now, and it's this boy's fault. He's ruined my one final escape. He deserves to be punished.
"Don't ever touch me again," I say to him, steely and cold, my eyes intently trained upon him now. "I don't need your protection, and I don't want it. You would be nothing but a hindrance. You just like the rest of them. Go away."
I leave it at that, letting blonde strands of hair fall back into my face and staring outwards back to where the cows are now shuffling back off into the distance. That one treasured moment is unsalvageable because of him.
"No! I can't! You can't just leave me all on my own like this! I'm scared." He shuffles frantically on his knees closer to me. "Mystic said I needed allies. Without them, I won't know what to do, I won't have a chance. Please, help me, be a good person."
"Like you know what a good person is. You deserve to be scared."
He deserves to die in pain and in a ditch with the barrel of the gun brought to his head just long enough to relish sufficiently in his agonized squeals, deserves to have his head chopped off as he squirms with his face forced onto a log in wait, deserves to be slit and sliced open the way I see them do in the butcheries and have all of his intestines and blood spill out into the open air and pollute the earth with its impurity. They all do.
"You don't understand. You're my last chance, everyone else already said no. Please, save me." He falls down ungracefully in front of me, his hands grasped in a prayer.
"I said go away."
He takes in a rattling breath. "Mystic was wrong! She said that I would have a shot if I got an ally and that I could get one if I tried, but she was wrong! Nothing I do matters, nothing! If I'm going to die anyway, I might as well go the way I want to."
I can hear his slow, pouting exit, the annoying noise his shoes make, slapping against the walkway as he storms off. Good. He's finally gone.
I can still picture it in my head, seeing all of them die so gorily and painfully, the same way that they've killed billions of animals since the beginning of history. I can feel myself licking my lips, and for a second I'm concerned that I feel such bloodlust before brushing it off. Oh, well, I'm just as bad as the rest of them, the only difference that separates me from them is that I know it and they refuse to accept their inner vileness.
Whatever my path is, it always ends in death. Whether it's brought about by outside factors or by myself is yet to be seen, but the idea of going entirely vigilante is enthralling. I can't tear myself away from it. It's been lurking in the corners of my brain for years, and now is the perfect opportunity to give all of them their comeuppance. It's always there, gnawing at my thoughts. Why not indulge in it?
It isn't like the world would be experiencing some great loss. Life would go on however dreary and toxic it may be. The only truly innocent ones left here are the animals. I would be doing them a service. This fantasy is so tangible, I can feel it with my fingers, drool over it now, see it as if it is being laid out right in front of my eyes. The animals have left me now, and their purity has gone with them. There's no one but me here now at my middling standstill, and I know which way my heart is telling me to go.
There's no point in not killing anyone. This is the Hunger Games, after all.
Bonita approaches me at precisely nine in the evening and orders me to come with her back to the Tribute Center. I don't resist.
"Goodbye, my darlings," I say to the animals, some blissfully unaware of our parting, some affronted and betrayed as they don't find my hand petting them on my leg to nuzzle on any longer.
I can't bear to part from them this final time, this one invaluable afternoon of peace and delight. It feels like as I wave goodbye to them and walk away from this tiny but nostalgic façade of nature back into the ugly real world, I'm saying goodbye for the last time, even if I make it back, because even if I make it back I will never be the same. It wouldn't be right for me to so closely intertwine myself with such righteous creatures. I've made my decision, though. To scar humanity the way they scarred the earth, the way that they scarred my friends, and the way that they scarred me is nothing but just.
I elegantly get to my feet and follow Bonita. She doesn't meet my eyes directly, hasn't since last night, and I'm perfectly delighted by that.
"I know it's hard to say goodbye, but we need to get back by ten o'clock, or we'll be in big trouble. I'm sure you wouldn't want the Peacekeepers' escorting you back instead of me, but I guess that isn't saying much."
I choose to ignore her awkward, forced attempt at humor, and it dies in the humid air of the conservatory.
"Have you eaten anything since breakfast? I never saw you eat anything at lunch, and you look like you haven't moved one spot since you sat down there nine hours ago."
The concern in her voice is halfhearted and acrid.
"No."
"Rhiannon, do you just want to fade away and die? Are you not hungry? I can't think of any way to convince you, but you need to eat. We'll get something into you back on our floor."
"No."
"When you say that, do you mean no you don't want to fade away and die or you don't want to eat? Were you even answering my question?"
The vagueness of my answer crosses my mind. It always does, but it doesn't bother me at all, and it's satisfying to watch Bovina squirm. I don't understand why maddens her so much. Why should she care for me and not the bacon she practically shoved down my throat this morning? She's just as fowl as the rest of society, even if she tries to pretend to herself that she isn't by expending feeble interest in my well-being.
Bovina doesn't get the chance to squeeze another response out of me, as we arrive at the uncrowded front door and I blow one final internal kiss goodbye to my favorite place in this sickening, revolting city. She goes over to a familiar older woman standing alone by a streetlight in the thin-aired darkness, and I'm forced in between them and a boy who also seems familiar, with curly brown hair, caramel-colored skin, and the same slightly chubby figure. Then I realize that he's a tribute, one from District Nine, and I scoot away, wanting to distance myself further from what could be my future prey.
There's nothing to do now but wait in hopefully unobtrusive silence as the drivers pull the limos around from the eyesore that is the parking garage across the street.
Out of the blue, after a minute of nothing but the wordless and meaningless background chatter of the scattered pedestrians around me, the boy, quietly shuffles over to me. I decide to pretend like he isn't there, per usual, but he unfortunately begins to speak.
"You like the conservatory, too?" he asks. He continues when I don't follow up. "The plants are my favorite, but I can tell you like the animals more."
"Hmm."
"The boy from Eight try and get you to ally with him, too? I saw him over by you before he came to try and chat me up."
It slowly dawns on me that this boy has been observing me sneakily for a good portion of the day, which is unnerving. I look to him and see an awkward fear pointed towards me, shifty eyes looking anywhere but my face.
"Sorry, you must not be much of a talker. Kind of silly of me, trying to get better at socializing right before a deathmatch. It's just something I'd like to do, you know. Anyways, I'll stop bothering you."
He's a strange one, but at his core just as rotten as the rest. I can picture him dead at my hands, groveling for mercy at my feet. That feeling of superiority and revenge is insatiable. Sure, he may not be as exciting of a kill as the boy from Eight, but I can't untangle this fever dream fantasy from my thoughts. I'm going to murder them, and I know who I'll start with. That ugly brat has to go.
Then, I'll get to the rest of them. The concept of some being worse than others is something I'm only truly having to come to terms with now, as I perceive that the boy from Nine would probably take a bit more coaxing to bring down the axe the way Uncle Troilus did and never do it with such glee, but he would do it all the same. They all would, and I can't wait to do it to them.
Bolt Dattery, 15, District Three Male
As we all teeter off of the ride, I'm in a daze-like state of excitement and dizziness, and it doesn't seem to be going away. We're all laughing, one five-person, unruly cavalcade of euphoria. I don't want for it to go away.
Night has fallen by now, and with it comes the further illumination of lights of all colors bombarding us from every side, leaving shaky neon spots in my vision. All around us, gaudy Capitalites swarm all around us, elbowing past all those in their way of a spot on the next ride (the blurred letters say something like "tilt-a-whirl"). Here, they've all lost every bit of civility and haughtiness they used to have, and it's glorious to see. We all gather into one big heap, Sierra falling to her knees, Nerissa chuckling and brushing herself off, Raihan dumbstruck with awe at what he just experienced, and even Tabitha giggling unrestrained like I've never seen her do before.
"I can't breathe," Sierra wheezes out, throwing a strong hand out to lean on my back. I nearly crumble under her weight.
A smaller, gentler hand tugs on my shirt, and I look to my left to see Raihan staring up at me.
"That was crazy!" he yells, his high-pitched voice barely audible over the buzz surrounding us. "Can we do it again?!"
"Yes! Yes, we are doing that again!" I answer, matching Raihan in volume as adrenaline courses through me and my legs tremble from some unknown mixture of exhaustion and intense exhilaration.
"This is the best day of my life," Tabitha says at regular noise level, a tremendous feat for her, and I glance at her and see her eyes twinkling as she stands benignly at Sierra's side.
"Mine too!" I yell back.
Every minute of today is all coalescing into one brilliant flash of temporary greatness, but right now it is infinite, right now we are immortals living in our own fantasies and heavenly splendor in a timeless state. My energy is being channeled like lightning to a metal rod, and I can't stop jumping up and down to truly take in the moment. For one timeless moment, any inkling of a though about the impending deathmatch that we're all about to be sprung into leaves my head. I'm just having a blast with my friend, without a care in the world. All that I feel is pure joy.
"Don't lose your money with the high-end betting scams! Place your bucks on the 157th Hunger Games right here, right now!"
"Who do you think will die first? I'm so excited to see what they do to the Twelve boy!"
"Real, authentic tribute tokens from Games past! They need a home!"
"Submit your own mutt designs here! Winner gets a free lunch with the victor!"
"Step right up to the Hunger Games Haunted House! An experienced so vivid, you'll think you're really about to get murdered!"
I can't let my thoughts be clouded by this. I can't let what's about to happen ruin my one final day before my unavoidable death. This is the last chance I'll ever get to have a night out on the town with true friends.
I can see on Raihan's face that as we unknowingly walk straight into the metropolis of seasonal and unseasonal Hunger Games stalls and booths, the reality and finality of our situation crashes down upon him in an icy wave as well.
I need something to distract him. I can't let our day end like this, not when we only have two hours left at the most. I need to defend my allies—my friends. I can't let Raihan and Tabitha revert back to their shared state of fear and instability.
Glancing around for a distraction before any of the rest of the catch on, maybe an intriguing ride or beguiling shop, I spot Nerissa, fascinated, smiling as happily as she ever would as she takes in all of the sociopathic attractions around us. I don't know how she does it, but I need to be like her. I need to keep my wits about myself and be happy in the face of danger when it counts the most. Raihan's aura of overwhelmed fear is in the air, and I reach a hand up and grasp his shoulder as tightly as I can without causing pain, steering us around to the opposite direction for me to scour to prospects in the distance. It feels like the lockdown has increased his jumpiness by a hundred-fold, and I'm doing all that I can to assuage his perpetual unease. His timid eye is unavoidable, however, and he raise his voice over the cacophonous crowd only enough for me to hear him:
"I wanna get out of here."
Out of nowhere, I spot two familiar faces in the crowd, unembellished and unadorned by typical Capital trademarks, one pulling the other to a stand where Avoxes serve fluffy pink, blue, and purple balls on white cones.
"Guys, it's Rowan and Tessa! Ooh, let's go see what they're trying!"
"Yeah, let's go!" Sierra says, her bearings fully regained. "I could try and see if they want to make it back into the alliance."
I empathize and sympathize with Sierra, but her urge to protect others is giving her tunnel vision. I identify with that compelling bravery and need to defend others, but Rowan and Tessa so clearly want to do their own thing. I know it must be eating her up inside, but there are still others to protect and give your life for. I don't think I would be able to take being the only survivor, having to live with the guilt of letting all of my friends die in my place. I want to make an impact on the world somehow. I want to do something good and meaningful with my life. I want to live on… but not in the literal context. I want to go the right way, not suffer and linger for agonizing year after agonizing year. As my allies push up against me and we all collectively surge forward as one, I'm reminded of who I'm fighting to save.
"Fancy meeting you all here," Nerissa says, stepping in from of us to walk towards Rowan and Tessa and slowing us down considerably in the process.
Tessa's face flashes alight with glee to see us all, while Rowan grins at each of us in turn and waves. It seems like he skips Nerissa somehow. Maybe it was just a trick of the dusk.
"Are you guys having fun, too!" squeals Tessa with childish giddiness, talking while she closes the distance between herself and the long line awaiting food.
"Totally," Raihan pipes up.
"What is this food you guys are waiting in line for?" I ask them, genuinely curious.
"Cotton candy," Rowan answers. "I came up with it myself."
"No, Lindsay told us that," Tessa counters playfully, pointing to the elderly Victor, now socializing with our alliance's collection of mentors.
"Mind if we get in line with you?" Sierra asks.
Tessa hesitates and lets Rowan answer. "Not at all."
"The question was really kind of pointless, seeing as we were already right behind you," Nerissa jokes. "I was wondering if you two had possibly rethought your withdrawal from our alliance. Have you?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Sierra adds.
"Not to pressure your or anything," Nerissa says hastily, still with that alluring, permanent smile on her face. I wonder how she does it, and yet she is still so enrapturing.
"Umm… we'd love to spend the rest of the day with you guys, but we think we just want to stick with the two of us. It isn't anything personal," Rowan says.
It's about what I was expecting, and yet I'm still disappointed. Maybe Sierra is rubbing off on me. There's an indescribable strength within her that I don't feel in myself, the same one that is so lacking in Raihan and Tabitha, both so lacking in courage and charisma, at least on the surface. Some sort of actual fighting spirit. I want more than anything for one of my friends to win, and I wouldn't exclude the Sevens from that label, but just as much as that, I want to make a difference. All of this just seems to innately wretched and immoral, judge death for the sake of death. My parents died fighting for something important, even if they spent their final minutes chained to a post being whipped to death.
"That's cool, too," I say, stepping up in line again and suddenly conscious of Raihan behind me.
"What did your mentor say the pink swirly stuff tastes like?" Raihan asks.
I can feel a calm anticipation radiating off of him, a much-needed step up from his nerves. His fear is palpable, and something in his fragility and purity and them both being twelve years old reminds me so much of Bug back home. I know that I've taken under my wing, and it's something that I'm proud of, because even though I know deep down that Raihan has a feeble chance of making it out alive even with me, Nerissa, and Sierra to aid him. If I play my cards right, I could change that and get him out alive and maybe finally feel fulfilled with my life after years and years of quiet meandering and being trapped aimlessly in uninteresting, unchallenging schoolwork.
"Sugar juice," Rowan snorts. "To be precise, fluff that turns into sugar juice in your mouth."
It sounds mouthwatering, and I can see all of my allies licking their lips as well. As we all ponder the science behind the mystical creation that is nearing us with celerity, Nerissa echoes her laugh over the noises surrounding and our own cachinnation.
"It's a shame we won't be able to hang out like this in the arena, we could really help each other out. Besides, aren't we friends? Well, I guess we can just be frenemies."
Nerissa giggles, coaxing chortling out of the rest of us with her beguiling voice to mask the passive aggressiveness of her statement. She gives Rowan an animatedly combatant nudge to the elbow, one meant to be jovial, and backs into our crowd of five. What is she playing at? She must just be offended by their constant declines and repentance from the alliance. This seems out of character. Maybe it hurt her self-esteem or something.
"Maybe not frenemies, come on! We're all still friends! We don't have to hurt each other." Tessa grabs Nerissa's hand pacifistically.
Nerissa snatches her hand away out of reflex, mellowly saying, "Tessa, you know I'm just kidding. We're all friends until the end!"
Her words hang dreadfully in the air, deadening and ambiguous. She doesn't seem to catch onto the vague foreboding of her statement, the question of whether or not she means until the metaphorical end of the rainbow or something much closer and darker. It goes unanswered and we converge on the pastel pink cotton candy counter. Nerissa steps forward and orders seven cones, one for each of us, unperturbed and yet agitated at the same time in a way only I can pick up on.
I watch as the youngest treasure their sugary treats. Raihan and Tessa spiritedly jump around in a circle, prizing their cones as if they are their dance partners. Tabitha's jaw drops, and tears glisten through the beams of the streetlights and she sits down on the ground to take in the splendor of her situation. It's invaluable to watch.
"This is priceless," Sierra says, already halfway done with her own stick.
"Technically, it is," Rowan says. "All on the dime of the Capital!" he booms.
Nerissa interrupts the preceding whooping that follows with, "Drinks on the Capital, then! Come on, Bolt, let's go get some while they stay here to enjoy their food."
Her skinny arm locks my elbow into a vice-like hold, cold in the thin night air of the mountains rather than warm with liveliness and cheer. On her heel we turn as one on the slick pavement of the ground and turn away from our friends.
"What are you getting?" Sierra calls after us.
"Umm… lemonade?!" I yell back over my shoulder.
The crowds then block even Sierra's tall head from view, and for a heartbeat I can make out Raihan's uncomfortable, longing features, locking eyes with me for an instant before the gaudily dressed citizens around us block him from view.
Something is unnerving me about the way she's behaving. It's concerning, seeing her veneer of happiness futilely covering up her distress. I need to get to the bottom of it and quell whatever worries are manipulating her, but it seems like she has the same idea. Nerissa requires help, and help is what I do best.
"Are you alright, Nerissa?" I ask as she pulls me along, huffing indignantly with her omnipresent smile still plastered insincerely across her face. "What's wrong? I want to help."
"We need to talk, Bolt," she says tugging me abruptly to the left as we pass an alley in between thoroughfares and strips of stalls extending into a faraway blur. She throws her cotton candy into an unattended trash can that we pass on our way.
"About what? I'm all ears."
She hushes her voice, and her gaze suddenly softens into something anxious, paranoid but almost erratic.
"I'm scared, Bolt," she says, as tears catch the lights surrounding us and well up in her eyes. "I'm scared, and you're the only one that I trust."
I can't stand to watch her like this! I need to comfort her, because that's the only respectable thing to do. That's the only way that I'm going to make some sort of difference and brighten up this world.
"It's okay, it's okay. Everything is going to be fine. Just take a breather."
I place my hands on her shoulders in what is supposed to be a calming manner, but she flinches, if only for a moment.
"I'm afraid that everyone is going to betray me, betray us," she says, beginning to ramble on, almost ranting. "We all say that we're friends on the surface, but I can't read them at all and we're such a big group that somewhere down the line someone is obviously going to stab both of us in the back! I volunteered to make friends because I had none at home, and I have, but it feels like everything underneath all of our talks and the days that we spend together is waiting to tear us all to pieces. I need your help, Bolt. I need you to protect me. I am putting all of my faith in you. Are you going to trust me?"
I begin rambling on the same way as her without control over my voice, acting on sheer impulse.
"What are you talking about, Nerissa?!"
"Shhh-quiet, or they'll hear us and ask for autographs or something."
"Sorry, sorry. I trust you, Nerissa. I trust you wholeheartedly, but I trust the other three as well. We're friends, Nerissa, friends like none of us have ever had before, and we'd be complete fools to renounce that. You have to be optimistic, Nerissa, because if you never see the light in things then you're going to drown in the darkness."
It's true what I blurt out, all of it. I trust Nerissa with my heart, and I can't stand to see her so insecure and mistrustful. I don't understand how someone even as outgoing and welcoming as she can be so unfoundedly frenzied.
"But Bolt, you saw the way that Rowan acted! They won't befriend us in the arena for longer than our guard is down, and then they'll slit our throats!"
"Nerissa, you're wrong! We're all friends, why can't we just all stay friends? Don't ruin our bond with distrust!"
This can't be happening! Everything can't be falling apart at the seams, because Nerissa is my one most vital ally, most vital friend, most vital rock, all throughout this dire experience, and if she materializes a rift out of nothing, my entire plan, my entire world could implode!
"Just tell me, Bolt! Tell me you'll stay loyal to me!"
"I will! I will! I'll stay loyal to everyone!"
"But me first?"
I take a step away from her. This can't be happening.
"Nerissa, why make me choose—"
"Me first! Please, Bolt!" Nerissa sinks down to her knees, drooping down against the sheet of cloth protecting us from the stares of the Capital.
"Okay—you first."
She looks up at me, eyes wide with praise and gratitude.
"Do you mean it?" she asks softly.
"Of-course I do. Now let's get you brushed off and go get some lemonades."
I extend a genial hand down to her that she takes, pulling her up to her feet. She gives me a hug, a flustered, nervous hug, overpowered by those still present emotions and her shaking.
"Not so fast, kid."
We both look up in fear simultaneously, jumping from the shocking, menacing sound of the raspy, gravelly voice modifier of the Peacekeeper standing formidably in front of us.
"Don't disappear like that again, or there will be consequences."
"Oh, no worries, Officer," Nerissa says charmingly, breaking away from our embrace to approach the man fearlessly. "We're sorry, we probably should have alerted you and our mentors before we walked off like that. We were just having a little chat."
She smiles and twirls her hair enticingly, and once again I am amazed at how she can mask her inner turmoil so effectively. I feel lucky to be the only one that she has shown her true fears too.
Nerissa, Sierra, Tabitha, Raihan… even Rowan and Tessa. They're all my friends, and I would do anything to protect them, to help them, in a heartbeat. There's something in me that won't rest until I feel like I've done something good, and it feels sated as of now. I can make a difference by helping my friends and showing them how to truly see the light. I think of Nerissa from only seconds ago, at my feet in tears, and Raihan, clutching me, afraid, during the siege and lockdown. This is meaningful. This is what I was meant to do.
Alliances:
Three Nice Kids, Marvel, and the Bane of Paradigm's Existence: Marvel Silver (D1), Arlo Maddox (D2), Scylla Frigard (D2), Talisa Rowland (D4), Imperia Crimson (D9)
"How Do You Pronounce That?": Turquesa Miracelest (D1), Aquatico Espovera (D4), Mystic Archeron (D8)
Nerissa's Band of Merry and Manipulatable Misfits: Bolt Dattery (D3), Nerissa Doppler (D3), Raihan Everstow (D10), Sierra Hay-Fields (D11), Tabitha Declan (D12)
Awkward Teen Romance: Elior Gobel (D5), Konani Sowka (D5)
Good Cop and Bad Cop: Carroll Heinback (D6), Keeley Axel (D6)
"Don't Hurt Them, Please!": Rowan Hunter (D7), Tessa Oakhart (D7)
Those Other Sad Children (aka Loners): Cassius Heart (D8), Coleus Yarrow (D9), Rhiannon Castor (D10), Aleyn Garsow (D11), Rooker Hilt (D12)
So, we finally got to experience Free Day! Yay! I must make an apology to everyone reading this, first of all. I don't even know how this took nearly a month to squeeze out, but it did, and I finally did it. I got most of the chapter done over Thanksgiving Break and managed to have Rhiannon's POV done by the time midterms rolled around but studying hit me hard. I also must issue a specific apology to some people who I promised the chapter much sooner than this with three POVs down. I experienced a very sudden, very devastating loss in the family, and I just felt burnt out for a bit, which I hope is not too evident in the beginning of Bolt's POV. With all of that being said, I totally felt like I hit my stride with his POV, and I finished it in only two sittings, so I'm hopefully back on track to have another chapter or two cranked out by the time Christmas Break comes to a close.
What did you guys think of the chapter? Talisa saw greener grass on the other side of the metaphorical fence, Rooker faced an interrogation where we were introduced to some important individuals, Rhiannon contemplated measures of revenge against humanity, and Bolt was his saintly self, per usual. Please leave all of your comments down in the reviews, I love to hear them! I must also thank you all for helping me reach 100 reviews, this means so much to me, and I never dreamed of getting this much support from this awesome community. I must give a shoutout to some select submitters and non-submitters who've stuck with this story for the long haul and provided their support in the form of reviews all of the way: thank you to Nautics, Paradigm of Writing, Juud108, Bribooks13, and Very New to This, and also to Juud for giving me review #100! You guys will have some big power come sponsor time.
Questions:
How closely are you following the subplot, and did Rooker's POV intrigue you any? Be honest if you aren't, I want to know how much focus to put on it.
What ride did the NBoM&MM alliance get off of at the beginning of Bolt's POV?
I'll try and have next chapter out soon. It will be the long-awaited interviews, with POVs from Scylla, Aquatico, Elior, and Tabitha! Oh, and since I haven't mentioned it already, I'm posting this on my birthday, so happy birthday to me! I'll se yiu guys next time.
-Mills