Chapter 8: Redwood

Thirty seconds.

He stumbles away from the girl and falls to his knees. His body screams as he goes down.

He did it. He actually did it.

Hearing the hovercraft, he drops his sword, hits the ground, and passes out.


Five minutes.

He opens his eyes. Incandescence is gone. He is still in the Arena.

He is still in the Arena.

"Hey." His voice is weak.

"Hey." There's strength to it this time.

"Hey! HEY! LET ME OUT! I WON! LET ME OUT!"

A light breeze is his response.

He starts to panic. Where are they? Why is he still here? What's going on? Did something happen? Is he stuck here?

He starts to cry. Fuck the cameras. He's scared.


Eighteen minutes.

He wills himself to move. The adrenaline is wearing off. The pain is excruciating. He's almost to his knees before his body gives out. He crumbles to the ground, face smashed in the dirt. It hides his sobbing.


Twenty-seven minutes.

A miracle has him standing. With the support of his sword, he moves. To where, he doesn't know. Just anywhere but here. Her blood is still in the grass.

Thoughts invade his mind. They're probably still filming. No. That would be stupid and, more importantly, boring. His parents must think he's gonna die. He can't. He played the Games and won. He has to live. They have to have a Victor.

His shuffle leads him to the Cornucopia, still slick with crimson. Memories come rushing back. How he stood petrified on his plate. How the mines blew the little boy's legs off. How the monsters came. How Echo screamed as they ripped her apart. How he had to kill the Twelve boy who just wouldn't let him go. How a girl tripping saved him from District Four.

He ran to the trees like everyone did. But he was the only one in them. They weren't the ones back home, but dammit did he climb. He watched the Loyalists. They were unstable this year, constantly argued about this, that and the other. Roman's name kept bouncing around, angry at what went down last year. The paranoia was too much and the redhead from One wobbled out of the carnage early into the Games. When the last stragglers died off, he jumped from the trees and followed her.

They adored Incandescence. The year's favorite. He remembers how the audience burst into tears over Thalia's 'do the curtains match the drapes?' schtick. But the fiery girl would win no beauty contests by the time they met. She fought well. Cocky even. But she was near death. He was not.

He leaves when the emotions get too strong. He smiles each time her last blow bites into him. No one even remembers his interview and here he is. The last one standing. Take that bitch.


Forty-two minutes.

He's far, farther than any Tribute has ever gone.

He speeds up when the howling begins. He hobbles away when the stomping starts. He screams when they surround him.

He stands still and closes his eyes. This is it. This is the moment. When that moment doesn't come, he opens them back up. The monsters don't attack. They just growl and peer at him, swaying their oversized bodies back and forth in the wind.

He moves forward. They shout. He moves backwards. They shout.

He lies in the grass, sword tight in his grasp. That seems to settle them. Guess he's here to stay.


One hour and twelve minutes.

He was wrong. Maybe they found a way to save Incandescence. Maybe they'd rather have no Victor at all than a non-Loyalist one.

He resigns himself to death. He swims in and out of consciousness. The blood lost is just too great. Tears fall out of his eyes. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

Darkness surrounds him as the hovercraft finally pulls him out of the Arena.


One hour and thirteen minutes.

He's pulled into a room. He catches Incandescence behind a cracked door. She's on a table, tubes stabbed throughout her body.

They shout questions with no answers, requests with no actions. 'How did you beat her!', 'Are you part of a rebellion?' They beat him when he's right. They beat him when he's wrong. He has no idea what's going on. He's too afraid to ask.


Five hours and seven minutes.

The room is blurry. He makes out a few items. A needle connected to his arm connected to a machine. A bowl of something in his lap. A Peacekeeper standing by the door.

He smashes the bowl to the ground. The Peacekeeper presses a button on the machine. He's under before he can scream.


Five hour and fifty-one minutes.

He makes out only a few of their words.

"...nothing we can do…"

"...tried everything…"

"...too damaged from...can't...her...dead"

"...boy is Victor now…"

"...will...our lives for this..."


One week and six days.

He's sitting in the President's office, distracting himself with the bejeweled armrest.

For awhile, they sit in silence. Amandus sipping his evening tea. Tarpeia looking down in disgust. He too afraid to make eye contact.

"Well," Amandus smiles. He trembles in the seat. "You won the Games fair and square. No point in dillydally. Welcome to the family, Redwood."

"Thank you President Snow." He tries to nod, but it hurts. His whole body hurts. They have not given him the surgeries they promised. Or the house. Or the fortune. Or the food Seven desperately needs.

Something tells him they never will.

I repeated the theme a bit. Oh well. One of my shortest chapters yet. Hope you had as fun reading as I did writing. And yes, I squeezed in the word 'Incandescence' as much as possible.