Content warning: Nasty.
Gordon Spokes- District Five
I could sense the fear when the platforms rose. I could see it, written on the faces of everyone around me. I could hear it, from the ragged breathing of Demetria next to me to the merciless chimes of the countdown. I could feel it, in the hot air dense with anxiety. I could smell it, in the earthy sweat emanating from the Tributes. I could even taste it- the coppery taste of a human reduced to the pheromones of an animal.
Fear all around me. But not fear in me. I wasn't afraid, because I was what others were afraid of.
My first target was the boy from Six. I ran at him from behind, though I intended to turn him around so I could look into his eyes when I did it. Then something jerked my collar and I was flying sideways, thrown halfway across the ring of platforms. The boy who threw me grabbed Lyte's arm and they ran off before I was even standing upright. I cursed them before I turned to my next victim.
No one came to save Demetria. I watched her eyes bulge as she tried to breathe, gurgling through the cut across her neck. I held my bottle to the wound and took my trophy. I only wished I had more time. I was so rushed that nearly a tablespoon of blood flowed into the small neck of the bottle. It wasn't the right amount, but it would have to do.
The Careers made everything so difficult. They killed seven Tributes, leaving me seven fewer victims. But I got my own victories. Caleb's blood flowed into my bottle. Then Abigail's, and then Cordin's. I took them with more or less ceremony, depending on how they died. Some went fighting, and I relished their struggles. Others went like lambs, and I relished how easy it had been.
Some of them would have been more difficult to take than others. I would have managed it, it just would have taken more planning. I was disappointed when a war between the Careers and the Wild Cards left Kisarna and Shogo dead. I'd been looking forward to those two, especially Kisarna. What noises I would gather from a girl so strong and sure of herself. I wanted to make her fear like she'd never feared before, and she robbed me of that.
Hunter would be the one I remembered. He was the last one in the Arena with me. He hunted me, and I hunted him. It was easy for me to stay hidden. I liked to keep to myself, and I didn't like others to know anything about me. I hid from store to store, watching and waiting. He had to sleep eventually.
He did, and I was ready. I crept up to him, curled up almost childlike in a mattress store. After I hit him, I collected some blood in a bottle, in case he didn't wake up. I was pleased when he did, and when he struggles against the jump ropes that held his limbs in place against the frame of the bed.
I was glad it was Hunter. He acted so brave, and in the end he was so afraid. It was surprising how fast he turned to pleading, and then to begging. And his screams. They were sublime. High-pitched, wailing things, tapering higher and higher until they cracked.
Welts raised on his wrists as I made the cuts. I dug the knife in under his chin, releasing enough blood to wet the area but not enough that he would die so soon. I worked it all over him, from the palms of his hands to his ribcage. I ran it along his jaw, lifting the thick skin until it was held tight by the yellow flesh underneath. The knife passed through it like silk, letting it free. I thought of how very many nerves were in an inch of skin, and how each one brought its own pain. All around his face I cut the knife, and then I lifted it away. I lifted it away, and brought it up to my own. The eye holes and mouth gaped at me, a mirror image of the wet thing staring up at me from the bed. I opened my bottle and collected a drop of the blood dripping from Hunter's face.