Chapter Nineteen.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Aedan Vidar
District Nine, 18 Years Old
"Get up."
"Hm?" Aedan uttered, jutting awake. His eyes shot open and he kicked out his legs, startled by the sight of Cara looming over him. Strands of her black hair dangled in front of her expressionless face. Aedan missed Avena's warm tone in the mornings. "Huh?"
"It's morning," Cara said. "Feast time."
Aedan sat up, carefully watching Cara pack up her belongings as Aedan did the same. Their fleeting arrangement was transactional – Aedan wouldn't attack Cara, Cara wouldn't attack Aedan, they would chaperon each other to the feast and then say their goodbyes – and although Aedan would've been skeptical about this situation in District Nine, he just let it happen in the arena.
It put his mind at ease. Partnering with Cara meant one less person in the arena that might hurt him. Avena, too. For the time being, at least.
Aedan and Cara walked to the feast in complete silence. Aedan rubbed his eyes, tilting his neck side-to-side, mentally and physically preparing himself for the feast. Aedan followed Cara as she led the way, seemingly knowing the arena like the back of her hand already. Aedan looked her up and down, tensing up at the splotches of dried blood staining her clothes and the knife by her side. It had a longer blade than Aedan's knife, and from the tip covered in blood and random pieces of fur or hair stuck onto the edge, it seemed to have seen more action than Aedan's too.
Aedan thought of Amias. Of Caspian. Of the two boys he killed for more so Avena's protection than his own. Aedan wasn't sure what he felt; it wasn't guilt or remorse, Aedan was more practical than to feel bad about killing two boys that would've killed him.
"Be quiet," Cara whispered, crouching down. Cara and Aedan peered through the trees, looking at the frozen lake, now with jagged ice caps sporadically floating in the water, and the large, metallic structure, in their line of sight. "We're here."
Overnight, the ice caps floating in the lake and the Cornucopia were miraculously replenished. If any of the tributes wanted to reach the Cornucopia, they had to first make their way through the lake, with some of the ice caps larger than others, and in the center, the white metallic Cornucopia was slightly submerged in the water. The shiny, clean weapons, backpacks, and metal crates floated in the water.
The girl from District Two, Georgia, sat atop the Cornucopia, legs dangling off the edge, leaning back on the spiraling metal.
Aedan wasn't sure what his plan was, but Cara wasted no time.
"I hope I don't see you again."
Aedan pressed his lips together, watching Cara leap from tree to tree, walking along the perimeter of the lake. She ducked as Georgia scanned the area, trying to stay out of her line of sight, and Aedan did the same. He crouched down, watching Cara retreat as the girl from District Three and the boy from District Seven appeared. Instead of revealing herself as well, Cara retreated deeper into the forest.
Aedan kept an eye on Cara as she disappeared behind the trees, her black hair distinctly popping out here and there among the snow-capped trees and white scenery. In the distance, Aedan saw Cara suddenly freeze, but he could only see her back, and from the way she was reaching for her backpack, the way she positioned her legs, he knew someone else was there with her.
It could be Avena.
For a moment, he hesitated, looking at the Cornucopia, at all of the supplies surrounding it, and then back at Cara and whoever was in front of her. He groaned, stepping to the side, watching Georgia taunt Cassia and Orion as they hopped from ice cap to ice cap. Just a few nights before, he contemplated if not worrying about Avena anymore, about what happens to her, was better for him.
Yet, there he was, feeling something pulling him towards Cara.
She'll have to die eventually, right? If she died now…
Aedan abruptly shook his head; he couldn't believe he was thinking like that. Avena was a child, just like his sisters. She didn't have a childhood like Aedan did that forced him to grow up, to mature, at such a young age. If he let her die, he would look like a coward to District Nine. If he did win, he'd be ashamed to leave the Victors' Village knowing that he was a bystander in his District partner's death.
Aedan's legs moved before he could fully process what he was doing. He slowly approached Cara, and when he got closer, he heard her speaking to someone. His heart started to beat faster and the palms of his hand moistened as he hid behind a tree.
"You know I don't want to do this, right?" Cara said. "I'd let you live if I could, but I can't. I can't."
A girl whimpered, snow crunching under her boots as she stepped backwards, and when her back collided with a tree, she wrapped her hands around the tree trunk. Aedan poked his head out from behind the tree to see Cara, knife in her hand, standing in front of…
Avena.
"Don't cry," Cara pleaded. "Please, don't cry."
Aedan had a split second to make up his mind. Was he going to let his long-term ally, his District partner, be killed by a girl who he had just met? Their agreement was that they would walk to the feast together. Nothing more, nothing less. That's exactly what they did. Aedan owed Cara nothing.
But, he owed Avena. They were District partners. Allies. He had a moral obligation to save her. He wasn't a weak coward that would idly watch her die.
Aedan ran out from behind the trees, rushing towards Cara as she raised her weapon in the air. Cara heard him coming, and before she could fully spin around, he thrusted his arm forwards, lodging the blade deep into Cara's back. Aedan stumbled backwards as Cara swung her knife, throwing his arms in front of him, the blade slicing through his jacket and skin.
Cara recoiled, swaying side-to-side, uttering sounds, but no coherent words came out. She regained her composure, hands shaking as she gripped the knife tightly, and she prepared for another attack, but before she could execute it, Avena – with all of her might – pushed Cara. Aedan rolled to the side so that Cara didn't fall on top of him, and Avena and him locked eyes, and as Cara rolled around in the snow, mumbling to herself, Avena tossed Aedan her backpack.
Aedan reached for the knife clipped onto it. He scrambled to slip it out of the sleeve, and for a moment, Aedan looked straight into Cara's eyes. This wasn't like Amias or Caspian. This felt different for him. Aedan flipped over, bringing the blade down into Cara's upper back. Her body flailed, and her head collapsed, resting limp in the snow.
"You…," Avena said. Aedan couldn't look away from Cara. He hoisted himself up, panting as he slowly stood up, and when he looked at Avena, she stepped backwards. He wrapped his hand tightly around the wound, the blood slipping between his fingers. "You didn't have to do that."
"She almost killed you," Aedan replied. Of course I had to do that.
"I…," Avena uttered. "I could've…. You didn't have to."
Aedan gritted his teeth from the throbbing pain, perking up when he remembered what he had for Avena. He was briefly distracted from the pain by the sense of normalcy between them. He slipped his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out the blue ribbon that Avena left with him the night she abandoned him. The ribbon that was now covered in Aedan's blood.
"I want you to have this back," Aedan said, putting it on top of Avena's backpack. Aedan placed it on the ground and pushed it forward with his foot. When Avena didn't reach for it, Aedan raised his eyebrow. "That's for you."
Avena firmly shook her head. "No."
"Why?"
"Aedan," Avena replied, taking a step behind the tree. "We shouldn't be talking right now."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry, Aedan," Avena mumbled. "We aren't allies anymore."
With that, Avena quickly scooped up her backpack, intentionally letting the blue ribbon slide off of it. Avena pressed her lips together, spun on her heels, and darted through the trees. Aedan stared longingly after her, and he looked down at his arm, the blood dripping down his arm and into the snow below.
Avena didn't need him anymore.
Aedan realized he didn't need her either, but he was trying to do the right thing. Avena wouldn't have been able to fend off Cara – or would she? Had Aedan underestimated her the whole time? Was she no longer the docile, immature girl that would flirt with him in District Nine's apartment?
The realization that Avena was more competent than Aedan thought was hard for Aedan to process. He didn't let her die – Cara could've killed her, right? Or was he just telling himself that to see her again? To return to that sense of normalcy he grew accustomed to? – and now, there was a chance him and Avena could be the final two. Aedan wouldn't dare hope that Avena would die before then, but if he wanted to win, that would have to happen.
She had to die, even if he didn't want her to.
Avena set her mind on reaching the end and Aedan did the same.
Georgia Aurello
District Two, 18 Years Old
Georgia's ears perked up at the sound of rustling of trees, the crunching of snow, and murmuring voices. At the sight of two tributes emerging from the trees – the girls from, what? Three? Six? Ten? The boy from… Five? Three? It doesn't matter – Georgia hopped down from her throne, water splashing as her feet implanted onto the ice.
"Welcome to my feast!" Georgia shouted, raising her sword. Playing the lunatic, the deranged, bloodthirsty Career, was easy. It intimidated her opponents – correction, it scared the other tributes shitless – and Georgia used that to her advantage. "I hope you're hungry!"
Georgia cackled at her own farce. It didn't take much for the pair of tributes to gawk at her, whispering to each other as they kept their eyes on Georgia, watching her every moment. Georgia gestured at all of the supplies surrounding here, and the girl from Three and the boy from District Seven stared back at her, eying her assortment of weapons.
"It's first come, first serve."
"We're not scared of you," Orion called out from across the water. Georgia tensed up, wanting to rush towards him, but there were patches of ice caps and water to get through before she could get her hands around his throat. "We just want some food."
Georgia, too, was ravenous. For the title. For the money, the fame, the glory. For the chance to do something with her life, to be someone new. Whether she would become District Two's next poster child for the Hunger Games or if she'd be a recluse, locking herself in her new mansion in the Victors' Village, she couldn't decide. The options as victor were endless.
Anything would be better than the sad excuse of a life she was living.
Orion and Cassia leaped across the water, landing on two different ice caps. They stood there, and Georgia watched them both shuffling across the ice cap, trying not to tip it over or slip off of it. Georgia looked down at the water, rolling her eyes at wherever Cleo was; if only the bimbo was there to help her. She'd be shooting that bow and arrow she grew so attached to, giggling with every pew! Pew! Pew!
At the sound of metal clanging against the Cornucopia, Georgia dropped to her stomach, spinning around on the ice cap to see where the noise came from. On the opposite side of the Cornucopia, Renour and Denali approached the lake, dipping their boots into the water. It sent a ripple through the water, disturbing the creatures below, and Denali squinted her eyes, looking at the illuminating light that rose to the top.
"Did you just try to throw a knife at me?" Georgia sneered. "Try again, Renour. I dare you."
"I'm all out," Renour replied. "Do you have any I could borrow?"
"No," Georgia deadpanned, redirecting her gaze to the girl from District Eight. "Hi, Denali."
"Hi, Georgia."
The charming sound of Denali's voice made Georgia tingle in all the wrong places. It was sweet like candy, but unfortunately, Georgia hated candy. When her father was alive, she'd get scolded if she reached for the candy jar, vying for the sweet, sticky balls of pure sugar. It was fitting that her father died from something that involved both balls and sticky substances – an untreated STD. Go figure.
Back on the other side of the lake, Orion and Cassia were jumping across the water from ice cap-to-ice cap, grabbing any random backpack they could reach, and while Renour and Georgia continued to banter, Denali started to walk along the edges of the lake, sussing out the situation. When Cassia and Orion noticed her, they fled in separate directions, but as Orion was about to jump onto another ice cap, he backtracked, reaching for a knife on top of a crate. When Orion set foot on the ground, he looked at Cassia from across the lake, and they stared at each other.
Orion waved his hand and Cassia did the same.
Denali and Orion were only a few feet from each other, and Denali slouched her shoulders, slowly turning her head to look at Renour. It was as if she knew what words were about to come out of Renour's mouth. Renour nodded his head towards the boy from District Seven.
"Don't let him get away this time."
Orion fled the scene, and surprisingly, Denali followed him – sluggishly and hesitantly, sure, but she followed him. While Renour watched the two of them disappear into the trees, he looked back at Georgia who hopped onto an ice cap, inching closer and closer to him.
"Everyone else is gone," Georgia called out, the ice cap tilting into the water. She hopped off of it, and as she was in the air, the ice cracked, the newly formed pieces drifting apart. "Don't run away from me, Renour."
"I'm not going anywhere," Renour replied. The simplicity of his response, the calmness in his voice, irked Georgia. "I'm here to stay."
How self-righteously corny.
Georgia planted her feet onto the ground, digging her boots into the snow, and Renour braced himself for a fight. Georgia noted his sword, as well as the knives slipped into each of his boots. Georgia waved her own sword and knife in the air, showing that her confidence, her hawkishness, was unwavering.
Georgia wasn't scared of Renour.
He should've been scared of her, though. She would be terrified if she encountered someone like herself; someone so… menacing. So wicked. She was a bad person through-and-through, but Renour recognized that. He was one of her first victims. Three strikes, Renour. Three strikes.
Georgia would never admit that there was anything wrong with her approach to the Hunger Games and to the Career alliance. She would never admit that she did something wrong in the first place, whether that was with Renour or Nereida or Cleo. Georgia was an outright bitch and she was proud of it.
Georgia didn't deserve a redemption arc, nor did she want one. She would never change for anyone. She'd only change if she wanted to.
But, she didn't. Not in the arena. Not in District Two, either. Georgia had to be the person she was in Panem. In the country that hardened her, the one where she grew up as a child with absolutely nothing. No parents, no money. No future.
Deep down, she thought that the life of a victor would change her. She doubted it, but she remained hopeful.
Somewhat hopeful.
Renour Malvigne
District Two, 18 Years Old
"Looks like it's just the two of us left."
"How will you fair with no audience?" Renour retorted.
"Panem is my audience," Georgia replied. "Think of all the eyes glued to their television screens right now, holding their breaths at the District Two showdown they've all been waiting for."
"Correction," Renour replied. "The showdown you've been waiting for. No one cares about us as much as you think they do."
"Doubt it," Georgia replied, shrugging. "I've made quite a name for myself in the arena, Renour."
"Once again," Renour said. "No one cares as much as you think they do."
"Once again," Georgia repeated mockingly. "You're wrong. People do care about me. People do not care about frauds like you, though. What have you done in the arena?"
"Killing isn't what this competition is about," Renour replied. "It's about surviving."
"Sounds like an excuse for your inability to kill," Georgia snapped. "I've single-handedly wiped out half of the Careers."
Renour cocked his head, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Georgia took a step forward. He raised his weapon, holding it out in front of him, thinking of the different scenarios where Georgia could've killed her own allies. It had to be betrayal; it wasn't the only explanation that made sense.
Renour couldn't understand why they didn't kill her sooner, though. She was a threat from the get-go. If he had the chance to kill her early on, he would've done it – but, like Georgia said, that was also an excuse. Technically, he did have the chance to kill her at the bloodbath. He could've gone hunting for her, since she was cooped up at the Cornucopia the whole time. There were ample opportunities for Renour to fight Georgia but he waited until the feast.
He let her survive, just like the other Careers. They were all too intimidated by her to admit it. They were too scared to act on it because of her retaliation.
While Renour was distracted by his own thoughts, Georgia swung her sword, the sound of metal clanging snapping him out of it. They sparred with each other, their swords lightly tapping, the sound of their weapons smacking against one another ringing in Renour's ears. From the way Georgia was swinging her sword carelessly, from the way she was snarling her upper-lip, it looked like a game to her.
This wasn't a game to Renour. His life was on the line. His future.
Renour thrusted his sword upwards, hitting near the hilt of her sword, and she raised her arm, bringing her weapon down on his. Renour's sword almost slipped out of his hand, and his fingers scrambled to regain his grip, and Georgia swiped at him, but Renour ducked under it, crouching backwards. While his body was lowered, he sipped one of the knives out of his boots, wielding both weapons.
"You're not special," Georgia sneered, reaching for the knife in her boot. "You're not special, Renour."
As she stood up, Renour ran towards her, swinging the sword while keeping the knife to his side. Georgia crossed her blades, shielding her from his attack, and while their weapons collided, with a swift motion, Renour dug the knife into Georgia's side.
Georgia barked, mumbling a curse to herself, and she flailed her sword and knife, and Renour swung his sword upwards, attempting to deflect any attack. Georgia's knife sliced Renour's arm, and reactively, he swung his sword again, knocking the knife out of her hand. Georgia recoiled, hunching over from the knife lodged inside of her, and before Renour could execute another attack, Georgia lunged her arm forwards, digging the sword into Renour's foot.
Renour let out a pained grunt and stumbled backwards, kicking his foot, trying to shake the sword out of his foot. Renour reached to grab its hilt, and as he yanked it out, Georgia lunged, wrapping her arms around his waist. They both collapsed onto the ground, the knife still in Georgia, and Renour threw several punches at her, his fist connecting with her neck, and then her jaw, and then her nose.
"Fuck," Georgia groaned, her legs shaking as she tried to straddle him. Renour was physically too big for her to pin down, and he shoved her off of him, quickly jumping to his feet. "Fuck you, Renour."
"Fuck you, Georgia," Renour snapped, caught off guard by his own tone. He never spoke to her like that, he never stooped to her level, but with a bleeding foot and a sore body, he meant it. Fuck her.
Renour approached Georgia, looking down at her as tears built up in the corners of her eyes. Renour shook his head. He didn't feel bad for her. She did this to herself.
"You're a fucked up person," Renour said. "Stop crying. No one's going to pity you."
"Am I crying?" Georgia choked out as she writhed on the ground. Georgia's lips twisted into a sinister smirk while the tears streamed down her face; she wasn't crying from the unbearable pain. She wasn't crying that she lost, that she died at the hands of the boy she ridiculed since the reaping day in District Two. She had no idea why she was crying.
Georgia was a fucked up person. A fucked up person with a fucked up family in a fucked up District. Her entire life was fucked. She internalized everything – every fucked up thing that fucked her up – and that's how she became the Georgia Aurello she was.
She wasn't a cry baby, so why was she crying?
As she stared into the depths of the lake, she envisioned Cleo. Her petite, delicate frame, her strands of pinstraight hair. The way she would completely ignore Georgia and flirt with Caspian and strategize with Nereida. She thought of Nereida who ignored her, too. She thought of the girls who ignored her in the Capitol, but also the girls that ignored her in District Two. She thought of everyone that ignored, that disregarded, Georgia-fucking-Aurello.
"Cleo's somewhere down there," Georgia said, her voice quiet. She wrapped her around her stomach, poking the knife. Georgia was bleeding out, her head resting on the ground, staring at the Cornucopia. "Where do you think her body went?"
"Go find out."
Renour dug his foot under her body, forcefully scooping her up and lifting her into the lake. Her body floated for a few seconds, her back to the sky, but as the illuminating fish swam towards her, biting her and pulling her down, her body was slowly submerged, sinking to the bottom.
Renour stared at the water until Georgia was no longer visible.
He dropped his weapons and dropped to his knees.
He wasn't satisfied.
Renour was never seeking revenge. Georgia was a misunderstood, misguided, girl. District Two – the Mayor, the trainers, the victors, the Peacekeepers – preyed on girls like Georgia. Vulnerable, susceptible. Georgia was a product of her environment – she was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with District Two, everything that Renour broke free from once he volunteered. She represented the ways the Capitol and District Two twist and manipulate young children into thinking that the Hunger Games is the only thing they will ever amount to.
Renour wanted to win for people like her.
To help people like her.
Denali Felder
District Eight, 16 Years Old
As Renour and Georgia's fight ensued at the center of the arena, Denali trailed the boy from District Seven deep into the forest.
Denali sensed how serious Renour was from his solemn voice. Renour wanted to see if this time, Denali would actually do something, but what did Renour expect from her? To run after him, to kill him? Denali wasn't what Renour was used to. She wasn't a Career. She wasn't Georgia Aurello.
But, she had to something. Denali let the boy from Three escape without even an ounce of regret. She didn't even flinch when he ran away from her; she only stared at him, feeling Renour staring daggers at her back. If she didn't do something, Renour was going to dispose of her – and Denali was not something to toss to the side. She was useful and valuable; to herself, that is. She wasn't in the arena to help anyone else survive.
Anything she did was to ensure her own survival.
Denali's stint with Everett was a slip-up, exposing just how useless she was. This was her fault and she was going to fix it. She couldn't let Renour slip out of her fingers just yet. Denali turned around, her pace gradually turning from a stroll into a light jog to a sprint.
Denali gripped the knife in her hand. This wasn't the bloodbath; she couldn't fake an injury, she couldn't use the chaos around her to lurk in the shadows, avoiding any conflict. She couldn't repeat what she did with Everett. So, Denali ran after the boy from District Seven, unsure of what she was going to do if – when – she caught up to him. She couldn't let him escape, not this time, and Denali had never run so fast in her life.
In front of her, Orion slid on ice hidden under snow, falling to his knees, throwing his hands out in front of him to cushion the impact. When he hit the ground, he flipped onto his back, and by then, Denali's pace slowed down. She was a few feet in front of him, and when he stood up, he gripped the knife in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
"Do you even know my name?" Orion shouted, and Denali raised her eyebrow, stopping in her tracks. Now what am I supposed to do? "I don't know who you are."
"I'm Denali," Denali replied, but she quickly pressed her lips shut. "We don't need to know each other. That'll make this more difficult."
"Make what more difficult?"
"I didn't follow you to play tag," Denali snapped. "Use your brain."
Use your brain, she thought to herself. She needed to use her own brain to figure out what her grand plan with Orion was. She made it this far – the sweat on her forehead, the cramps in her stomach – and Denali wasn't going to waste this golden opportunity to prove herself. She shuffled in the snow, hesitantly walking towards Orion, but she froze when Orion pointed the knife at her.
"You can't kill me, Denali," Orion said, shaking his head and raising his knife, bringing it closer to his neck. The blade lightly pressed on his skin. "I won't let you."
Is he… No. No.
"Don't –"
With a quick, swift motion, Orion dragged the blade across his own neck, blood spurting out of the gash. His body collapsed, and Denali hunched over, burning acidic bile churning inside of her, and she opened her mouth, releasing the putrid, chunky liquid. Orion's cannon immediately followed. Denali let out a high-pitched shriek, and at the sound, owls in the nearby trees flapped their wings, ascending from the branches they were perched on. The scream lasted for several seconds as Denali gawked at Orion's body, the blood pouring out of his neck. Her skin blanched and her vision got blurry, legs shaking from the light-headedness.
Denali slapped herself across the face.
Denali allowed herself a few moments of vulnerability, but enough was enough. She repressed it, shutting her eyes, inhaling a deep breath, and slowly exhaling.
People are watching. Get over it.
She regained her composure and wiped the crusted vomit on her lips with her sleeve and ran her hands through her hair, detangling the mess atop her head. She scooped up Orion's bloody knife, holding it in the air with her pointer finger and thumb, and as blood dripped off of it, Denali looked away, swallowing the rising bile in her throat. Not again.
Objectively, the scene in front of her didn't make sense. How could Denali have slit Orion's throat? Renour knew Denali wasn't physically capable of overpowering someone like that. Denali approached Orion's body, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she grabbed his arms and flipped him over. She needed to make it more realistic, more believable, just in case Renour found them.
Denali bent down, and with her eyes still shut, she patted her hand on his body, trying to find his stomach. Or his chest. Or even his shoulder. Denali didn't care. When she felt his rib cage, Denali raised her knife in the air, and stabbed him in the stomach. She felt the blade dig through the bones, cracking and tearing through whatever it came into contact with. She turned around and then opened her eyes, leaving the knife in his stomach.
I pinned him down. It was a struggle, Denali rehearsed in her head. I stabbed him in the stomach and then I slit his throat. No, I stabbed him in the stomach first.
"That doesn't make sense," Denali mumbled, flustered. "Why would I stab him in the stomach, then slit his throat, and then put the knife back in his stomach?"
Shut up and figure it out.
Denali wasn't concerned with what it looked like Panem. Panem knew that she didn't kill Orion, that she stabbed an already lifeless body, but the country wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand how much this meant to Denali – Orion meant nothing to Denali, but this was a turning point for her. He was another pawn in her own game. A dead pawn, but valuable, nonetheless.
Denali worked hard to be who she was, and if she needed to be Denali the killer, then so be it. If it made him see Denali as a capable and competent competitor, then so be it. This was her kill – that's what she would tell Renour, anyway. The details weren't important. What Renour didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
A white lie never hurt anyone.
Everett Landry
District Three, 18 Years Old
There were three faces in the sky that night.
Everett assumed all of them were stupid enough to venture to the feast.
Unlike those tributes, Everett vowed to never make another mistake – another reckless, stupid error – in the arena. The Gamemakers tested him by setting up the feast at the Cornucopia. They wanted him to go there. The other tributes expected him to be there. Even his non-existent sponsors probably expected him to be there.
But, Everett wasn't stupid. Not like Kit. Gunnar. Even Cassia, wherever she was.
He avoided the feast like the plague – like the one that ravaged Panem in a far away alternate universe, where only six Districts were salvaged – and, from the looks of the three deceased tributes, it worked out in his favor. As the faces of the girl from District Eleven, the girl from District Two, and the boy from District Seven vanished, Everett felt a hint of confidence ignite somewhere deep inside of him. He was a survivor. A smart survivor.
He chuckled. Everett, the up-standing citizen of District Three, was no more. His actions thus far were the complete opposite of the morals he abided by in District Three. He attacked Beau in self-defense. He abandoned Kit in self-defense. Everett felt he had a moral obligation to preserve his own life; he card about it too much. He cared about the potential of his life too much. In the Hunger Games, he learned that his morals could only apply to him.
There was no right versus wrong.
There was only what would keep him alive versus what would kill him.
There was only what was stupid versus what was smart.
In reality, Everett should've gone to the feast – his backpack was empty, he had no water, no food, no medical supplies – but that's what everyone expected of him, so he didn't. The Gamemakers set up feasts to trick tributes into acting like animals as they clawed at each other to get... what? A backpack full of dried fruit and nuts? He wasn't going to risk his life over something so trivial. He had virtually nothing, but at least he was alive. The faces in the sky couldn't say the same, which, in turn, made them stupid.
While Everett made the smart decision – the right decision, according to Everett's archaic set of morals – to avoid the feast, the other tributes made a mistake and they suffered the consequences. If the smart thing to do was hiding out for the rest of his time in the arena, then that's exactly what Everett would do.
He wasn't stupid.
Victors couldn't afford to be stupid.
Cara Waycrest, District Eleven – Placed 9th
Georgia Aurello, District Two – Placed 8th
Orion Adarna, District Seven – Placed 7th
Author's Note:
Six tributes left: Renour, Everett, Cassia, Denali, Aedan, and Avena. What an eclectic mix.
If anyone caught my nevergone4ever reference in Everett's POV, she has a new SYOT, Ready for War. Go submit to that. DA Member Hogwarts 2.0 and mangesboy01 are still accepting submissions too!
See y'all soon? Hopefully not in another week LOL