Fistful of Tears by Maxwell
We gon fight the war,
We gon fight our fears,
The only thing I wanna throw is a fistful of tears.
Arena Day Nine
Venice Durante, 18, District Four
No matter the amount of time that has passed, I just cannot seem to get the scene out of my mind.
Connor was wrong to threaten me, but I knew in my gut that he never would have done it. We'd spent a week or so with each other, there is no way that someone could throw that all away because of a few high nerves. I was never exactly scared of Connor shooting me because it was simply surreal to me that anyone I considered my friend could be capable of such a thing.
I've started to wonder if maybe he would have, despite all evidence against it. I mean Santana, one of the only people that I have been able to put nearly all my trust in, was able to abandon herself so easily. Logically, it makes sense that Connor could have done it as well.
The only thing that matters to me is that he didn't. Connor never hurt anyone and Santana took his life away without a second of hesitation. The girl I met in training and got to know in the first few nights in this arena would never have done such a thing. The only explanation I can come up with to explain the horrible action was that I never knew her at all.
I hate her. I hate that she wiped away all of the security I was able to create in our little campsite. I hate that I liked someone based on a blissful facade they created for me. I hate how stupid she has made me feel for ever trusting anyone.
I've lived a mostly solitary life for a long time, a life that I preferred over something that might be more exciting for most people. My father's library was my first home and the place I spent most of my childhood and even recent years in. There were so few people that I let into my sanctuary- not just the library, but my own mind really. I can count only one person from home that I would have chosen to be around rather than be alone, and that's Ivanna.
In a lot of ways, at least in the early days of our alliance, Santana reminded me a lot of Ivanna. Both are rather more on the quiet side, but the words they choose to say are carefully constructed for the situation. Especially in a district that valued a physical career on the water over anything intellectually stimulating, Ivanna was one of the only people who understood my desire for knowledge.
I used to feel like the three of us, Ivanna, Santana, and I, would have gotten along if we had all been born to the same district. In a situation where I would have ordinarily chosen to go out on my own, Santana made me consider the benefits of being around other people. I even allowed myself to enjoy the company of my alliance members. After leaving behind my best and only friend, that was something I never expected to find here.
And it was all a lie.
Santana is nothing like the person I credited her for being. Ivanna would never have hurt anyone, and the Santana I thought I knew never would have either. All of us understood the implications of why we were here and what the Capitol expected from us, but I thought it was an easy decision for all of us to try and survive at the cost of no one else's life.
After talking with Santana a while I had even begun to agree that it might be necessary to hurt someone defensively. Say if we were attacked or if we come across someone hostile. It was her that reminded me that it might have to happen, and I can see now that was when things began to change.
I can understand harming someone that was going to harm you, that is a simply case of self-preservation which I've seen mentioned in a few of the locked-away-novels in the library. What is completely unthinkable to me is hurting someone that was a friend. Connor was our friend, and Santana killed him. He's dead, our alliance is broken, I'm alone again all because of her.
Everything I have become comfortable with, and both the people that I was able to find a safe place with, are gone. There is no apology in the world that is going to put any of this back together and it's unfair. It's unfair of her to even ask me to forgive her for shooting our friend right in front of me. She doesn't even seem to understand what she's done and that's how I know I was fooled.
The girl I thought I knew was smarter than that.
I have tried to get her out of my mind entirely, but how could I? Connor and her were everything that mattered to me for such a long time. Am I expected to simply let go of all of that? It's impossible to expect that of myself, but still it would be so much easier.
I need to let go and forgive in order to heal, my father taught me that. He was good at putting things into perspective, but my thoughts have always been much clearer cut. He could just sit down and think about things, and that would make things better for him. I've tried doing that several times throughout my life but it's never worked. The more I think about things the more my emotions begin to heighten, which is the exact reason that I would choose to distract myself with a novel. Books have always had a calming, distracting capacity for me, but here in the middle of nowhere all by myself there is nothing to take my attention away from my frustrations.
I've always considered myself level-headed, but I can slowly feel myself straying from that. I've never given myself the opportunity to explore this part of me before, and I think that may be the worst part. Not knowing what to expect anymore, not even from yourself.
Eileen Garreti, 17, District Eleven
It takes a certain kind of concentration to be on alert for such a long time, and my mind is exhausted there is no other word for it. Still, though, my body seems to have memorized the actions I need to take to ensure I am not surprised. That's why, thankfully, when I see the small splash of yellow out of the corner of my eye I am able to act immediately.
I throw my back up against a thick tree trunk, my heel hitting it hard enough to make me cringe. One hand secures the bow in position, the other is at my back and pulling an arrow from my dwindling supply. It only takes seconds before I am still again, my arrow aimed at the spot of yellow and my arms holding the bow back.
I hear a sharp intake of breath, then finally my eyes wearily focus on what's in front of me. The splash of yellow that I spotted is a shirt worn by a boy that looks around my age. His face and all other exposed skin are blotted with dirt, and his short hair is greased down against his head. He wears a very similar outfit to mine, but his is a lot cleaner.
He is sitting at the base of a much larger tree, his puffy eyes staring up at me in surprise. I stare at him for a couple seconds as he puts both hands in front of him, showing me his empty palms. He is not armed, good that will make this much easier for me.
I tell myself twice to let the arrow fly but something keeps my, now aching, arm in position. I can't help but feel a twinge of familiarity in this situation.
I flinch when the memory hits me. That boy, holding August by the throat with a knife. This isn't the same thing, I remind myself. August is dead, and this boy is not your ally. That monster that killed August is nowhere to be seen, and you are not in danger. It's just another tribute that has to die so that you can make it home. You've done it before, you can do it again I remind myself.
"Go ahead," the boy whispers, his voice cracking on the second word. He's giving up?
That's the similarity. The look on his face, I can see now, is exactly the expression that August wore in his last moments. Of course there is fear, but more so than that there is defeat and an understanding. August knew he wasn't going to make it away from the boy in time. He knew I wasn't going to be able to save him.
Just like this boy knows that he will not be able to make it away from me in time to save himself.
I feel sick with the idea that my presence can create the same fear for this boy that was created for August. For a second, my bow begins to lower. Then I catch myself, tightening my grip again and forcing myself to take aim. I can't allow him to get away, not if I want to make it out of this place. I have no choice, I have to kill him.
Still my hand will not release the arrow. I cannot stand the thought of him giving up. I don't want him to be like August. I want him to have a chance even if he doesn't. I cannot make myself shoot him when he is doing nothing but stare at me. He's done nothing to deserve this and I just can't do it no matter how many times I tell myself that I have to.
"W-what are you waiting for?" He asks through closed eyes.
I blink back the tears, only the thought of August enough to bring back the grief. "Fight back."
He opens his eyes and looks at me with a strange look. "W-what?"
"Fight back!" I yell, frustration leaking into my voice. I don't want to be a monster. I don't want to be like that boy who took August away from me without even giving him a chance. The boy doesn't move so I yell again. "I said I fight back!"
"No," he replies. "I've done horrible things. I deserve to die. Please just do it."
There it is, but even the boy telling me directly to do it doesn't seem to be enough. He isn't August, I tell myself again. This is just another difference. This boy says he has done awful things, but August never has and never would have. He isn't August, August is gone and dead and I still have to find that boy who did it.
The thought of August's killer is enough that my grip finally loosens and the arrow flies out of my hand. I realize that my eyes have been closed, and when I open them I see the boy still sitting in front of me with my arrow sticking out of the middle of his chest.
I cover my mouth with both hands and collapse to my knees. My eyes don't leave the boy, whose trembling hands grip the arrow and wide eyes stare back at me. It must be only a few seconds that we hold eye contact, but it feels to me like decades. Then, just as if he has suddenly fallen asleep his body slumps against the tree.
I crawl towards him, blinking back the tears that threaten to run down my cheeks. I touch my fingers to the place where my arrow has entered his body. I ignore the blood that washes my hands, knowing that I should pull the arrow out. I only have three left, and losing this one would mean that I only have two. Still, I cannot bring myself to do it. I have already taken enough, this can be his to keep.
Jalissa Kessey, 18, District Three
It's been two days and I haven't eaten.
That's the only thing that is on my mind as I trudge my way through the trees, blindly putting one foot in front of the other. It's far past night time but I have already slept most of the day. There is nothing else for me to do but pick my way through the forest and hope to stumble upon something. At this point I've considered eating the leaves off of the ground, but I know that I cannot trust them.
I did not have the time to grab anything before I left Hollis, not that we had a whole lot of food to begin with. I have been wracking my brain as I pick through the few herbs and berries that I have come across in this place. I'm not sure if it's the exhaustion or if I truly haven't been able to recognize any of them. I should know at least some of them from my school books, but I never much paid attention during those classes.
Is it better to risk eating something I can't name, or risk starving to death altogether?
I know the answer to that question easily, but if there is one thing I remember from the botany classes it's that choosing the wrong plants can bring about a whole slew of side effects some that would result in death. In a place that is hell bent on killing us I don't think it's a stretch to think that a lot of these plants could be lethal.
My breath catches in my throat when I see something unusual in the pattern of the forest shapes. I tiptoe to get a closer look, not entirely trusting my vision especially in such dim moonlight. Closer inspection tells me that my eyes are not playing tricks on me. There is someone there.
The first thing that comes to mind is food. If they're still out here there has to be a chance that they have food unless they've recently been as unlucky as I have. I shake my head slightly, telling myself no. I cannot go near whoever it is. That would be certain death if they saw me, and even in my desperation I should not be this willing to take the chance.
Whoever it is they're sleeping. I could go in there, grab whatever supplies they have and be gone long before they even wake up. As long as I'm quiet they won't even have to wake up. They won't know what happened, maybe they'll even think an animal snagged it.
It would be so easy.
The desperation convinces me, and I sit myself down on the ground to unlace my boots. It will be easier to move around them without them hearing me if I take my shoes off. As soon as I stand up and my feet sink half an inch into the mucky ground I regret the choice, but I know it will be necessary to do this as stealthily as possible.
It's easier than I thought it would be. With no more than a look down at the sleeping girl, her dark hair covering most of her face, I am slipping as far away from her as possible. It's not long before I am unable to stand the wait any longer. I throw the bag down along with my shoes and root through it, looking for anything the even resembles something edible.
I almost start crying when I pull out a plastic bag and, after holding it up to the moonlight, see that it is half-filled with oats and dried berries. Without even bothering to gather a handful I simply pour a good amount of it into my mouth. The bitter taste is nothing like I expected, but I hardly dwell on it. I swallow and yearn to finish it off, but force myself to reseal the plastic and put it back in the bag.
The second I stand up I feel like something is wrong. My head pounds with every tentative step, but even that I am able to ignore for a minute or so. Then, it feels as if someone had dropped a cement block into my stomach. I am forced to my knees, my arms wrapping around my chest and my eyes closing as everything begins to blur.
I'm not sure how I manage to cut through the physical suffering to come to the conclusion I do so quickly, but the word just pops out in my mind as if it were a flashing red siren. There was something in whatever I just ate. I jam my fingers into my throat, instincts completely taking over my body through the fog in my brain.
My body begins to twitch, and just as suddenly as the awareness had broken through it seems to disintegrate. I feel like a stranger in my own body, hardly even feeling anything except the overwhelming pain that radiates from every inch of my insides. One second I feel like I am on fire, the next my body shakes with the nonexistent cold.
I wrap my arms around myself, one hand going to wipe the sweat from my face. I realize as soon as I do it isn't sweat at all, it's blood. My jaw trembles and at this point I don't think I would be able to say whether I am crying or not. I couldn't even say which way is up, my vision is spotted in blurs of green and red that I cannot even try to place.
My stomach lurches upwards and I can feel something running down my chin. I pray that it is whatever I ate, but the pain that wracks my body won't even allow me to hope that I am going to be alright.
I'm not sure why but my mind begins to travel back to District Three, back to my home and family. I can't stand the thought that they're watching me right now. I want to tell Aleah to look away. This isn't how she is supposed to remember me, her big sister. I want to say how sorry I am for putting them through this.
If only I could speak I would say all of these things, but as my body begins to numb I can do nothing but cover my face and hope that the pain will end.
Danican Tobin, District Three
Jalissa Kessey, District Three
Song: Fistful of Tears by Maxwell.
A/N: Well it's here, the final four. Only one more will have to fall before the finale will begin. It's been a fast ride, but hopefully as rocky, emotional, and suspenseful as I tried to make it.
A big apology and thanks to Meg and Ace, who sent me the District Three sweethearts. Honestly neither of these two should have even been in the Hunger Games, they're just too cute. They were both a joy to write for fairly similar reasons, but they were just too kind-hearted in the end. Even with Danican's big 'betrayal' and Jalissa's escape from Verden. I couldn't live with writing either of them as a Victor, but may they rest in peace.
Reviews have heavily lacked which is expected but unfortunate. I'm going to try and power through these last couple arena chapters and then the epilogue in the next couple of weeks. Anyone that is still reading and/or reviewing, you're beautiful and I love you.
Out of our four remaining tributes, who do you think will not make it to the finale?
Who do you see as Victor? Who would you like as Victor?
Pretty much that's it for this chapter. Next one shouldn't be too long, though I do have quite a bit of work to do (school never quits...). Eh, I write best under procrastination anyway.
Another mention, just in case there is anyone that still hasn't seen. My next story, All Eyes, is now accepting tributes! It's a bit (a lot) AU, but I hope you'll all give it a chance and at least think about submitting!