.
I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade might be too sharp
Soren Valen, District One
Breathing hot air onto my frozen hands, I rub them together vigorously in an attempt to stay warm. I'm ninety percent sure that the arena's temperature is not nippy, that it's just me, psyching myself out and feeling cold and blunt for leaving Halcyon behind.
Why did I leave him behind?
I glare at my feet, buried inside of the gummy blue shoes. I know I don't do well on my own. Well, that would be a lie. I can operate just fine on my own, but without somebody to keep me company, I'm trapped by my own formless thoughts.
A sigh emerges from my parted lips, and I flex my fingers in the freedom of the sickly sweet air. I've shed the white gloves a while back, vaguely tossing them into my small knapsack, in which I've found contains a tin of biscuits, a water bottle, and a pacifier. What a joke.
I don't have a weapon, but I mean, that's fine. I've always done well with the bare minimum. The only thing I really needed was a friend, but I've gone and left him, so what's the use now?
I mean, without Halcyon, I can barely tell where I am.
Rising to my feet, I squint at the silhouettes of the moving figures in the distance. Not very long ago, I saw some tribute try to battle them. It ended with their eventual cannon, so I'm assuming that they're mutts, given to us tributes and are not to be provoked unless one seeks death. The mutts look like dolls, actually, tall, creepy dolls.
Did Halcyon like dolls?
I shake the silly thought out of my head, instantly berating myself. Of course he didn't, you idiot, I silently scold myself. First off, he's a guy, and secondly, he's only a year or so younger than yourself. And you don't like dolls or toys of the sort, now do you?
A vague smile drifts across my chin. Cary always liked dolls but never played with them. She preferred to arrange them and stare at their pretty outfits or pristine hairdos. Sometimes she'd ask me to pose them with her, and I always would.
Sigh. Those days are gone now.
I grab my knapsack and, shuffling away from the small bench I was just sitting on, I start making my way to the Cornucopia. I'm not even sure what for. Maybe to pluck some new supplies from the outskirts? Maybe to see if Halcyon's stone-cold body litters the ground with all the rest?
Within about twenty minutes of brisk striding, I can see the curved horn, and the chantings of "Daddy, Daddy" are considerably louder. But something is off. There are no bodies, and I don't think they'd have collected them that quickly. The pillowy ground has spilled blood on it, tainting the pale pink color a crimson-brown shade.
Lovely.
But the people milling around on top of the ground – they're even weirder. There's freckly Juno, munching happily on some dried meat, Wraith, who's stalking after her, Eidra, rummaging through a backpack, Brux and Merritt, discussing stuff at the outskirts as they hack away at some lollipop tree trunks not too far away from here, and Carisa, talking to somebody.
Not just somebody.
There, talking to Carisa, is my ally – or, rather, ex-ally.
Halcyon joined them? My head spins and I drop to my knees briefly, concealing myself behind some fallen lollipop brush. It doesn't make sense! He always talked about how the powerful people in the Games were actually the weakest within, how they had to build up a case to prove themselves. And now he's one of them?
His eyes flicker lifelessly over Carisa as she talks animatedly, obviously trying to show off for Eidra, who's picking through some bags behind her. Halcyon looks bored as hell, but he's not showing any signs of being fearful.
What happened?
My lip quivers.
I wrap my arms around my legs, huddling closer into myself, grateful for the concealment that the tangled, gargantuan lollipop sticks offer. I need some time to allow any battling emotions run free and to think. While I'm doing that, I may as well consider my next move.
I need some time alone.
And yet, I can't fight the feeling of hopelessness and abandonment. I left Halcyon – so why am I the one who feels so betrayed?
Halcyon Chae, District Six
"You're so funny, Halcyon!"
Carisa's overbearing smile is poisonous and laced with underlying tones of malice. Her eyes sparkle a little too brightly. Her hand movements are overly exaggerated. She's all fake.
"Thanks," I say dully.
If she's put off by this, she doesn't show it. Instead, she runs a hand through her hair and cocks her head slightly, glaring at Brux and Merritt on the outskirts. For some reason, they're taking axes and hacking away at the treelike lollipops that hover above them.
"What are you two idiots doing?" she yells.
Brux looks at her, brow thickening into a scowl, and he slowly moves closer, slinking forward in an ominous way, until he quickly straightens out with a self-satisfied smirk and shrugs. "We're seeing if there's anything valuable about the suckers, of course."
"Why would you do that?" I ask.
Brux looks at me, twisting his mouth into something unpleasant-looking. He'd made it clear how he didn't like my joining the alliance. At least he's making an attempt to be civil. "We don't exactly know."
"Without a will, there's no way," I quip.
He stares at me. "Okay."
Jogging back to join Merritt, Carisa offers me a water bottle, which I promptly decline. Who knows what sorts of poisons she's tipped into that water? She certainly seems capable of being a villain.
But, for now, at least, it's not her I should worry about. It's my ex-ally.
"Hey, Carisa?"
Her glittering eyes find mine and she smiles. "What do you need?"
"I don't mean to sound bloodthirsty or even eager or anything like that…" I lace my fingers together. "but I'd sort of like to know when you plan on finding Soren."
"As soon as possible, of course."
"So aren't we going to go out and, well, maybe look for him?" I run a hand through my platinum hair, enhanced by the Capitol's multiple versions of hair dyes and all that.
"We can if you like," she says lazily. "Or, rather, you can. I'm going to stay here by Eidra for now, and-"
A guttural holler from behind me makes my blood freeze and my heart stop. It takes one look at Carisa's shell-shocked eyes to make me whip my head around, painfully cricking my neck in the process.
"Look who we found!" screams out Brux, his feral eyes staring at a squirming figure on the ground.
My hands stiffen into fists as I see the face of the figure, frightened and gawping at Brux and Merritt, scrambling to his feet as he simultaneously tries to grab his small backpack from the ground – Soren.
His eyes meet mine, and they're guilty.
Without thinking, I lurch forward.
He shrieks, hands slapping mine away, and I roll onto the ground, which is just as soft as it looks. It cushions my fall and I spring back to my feet easily, ready to throw a punch if needed.
Everybody sort of backs away.
It's fight or flee, and the desperation and drive in Soren's eyes makes it evident that he's not planning to run anytime soon. I glance back quickly, expecting Carisa to be joining into the fight, maybe with a spear or something to knock him over the head, but she's quiet, mouth puckered and eyebrows drawn together.
Soren's fist rams into my jaw and I growl, locking eyes with him. The fury of what he's done comes back to me – abandoning me at the bloodbath, only to later pop back into my life and attack me?
You can't mess with a person like that!
Anger seizing control of my mind and body, I clutch his throat and squeeze as tightly as I can, eyes screwed shut as my hands work with effort.
But when I open my eyes, expecting a limp body in my grasp, there's Soren, smirking and gazing at me with half-lidded eyes. "You guys will never get it, will you?" He whispers, almost incoherently. Slipping out of my clutch, he scrambles to his feet smoothly and, with a foot, kicks my chest, forcing me onto my back.
One sickening stomp to my throat is all it takes. I hear – and feel – a crackling noise, before the pain consumes me, but I can't scream. I can only watch with misty eyes as Soren's eyes fly to the tributes behind me, at the tittering given off by Eidra and Carisa.
They chase after him, and my eyes slip shut. My breathing grows ragged, made very difficult with my all-but-smashed trachea. My mind, however, whirls.
I'm sorry for pushing you in front of that train.
I'm sorry for failing the family.
I'm sorry for dwelling on your very existence, brother.
I'm sorry for pushing you out of my mind.
I'm sorry for dying and leaving no legacy to your incredible life.
I'm so, so sorry.
Haven Faye, District Twelve
I scowl as I bite into the orange wedge, a sticky saccharine flavor invading my mouth. It tastes revoltingly gross when I allow the overly sweet air to rush into my mouth, too.
"This is disgusting," I declare, swallowing the orange. "The air just tastes gross in here."
"But at least you know that there's some sort of food inside it, however small," Kinton perks up, sucking some of the foggy air into his mouth. He smacks his lips dramatically, waggling his eyebrows at me.
I shake my head, mashing my forehead into my palm. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah, I know." He shrugs, rolling my knife over and over in his hands. "I'm fine with that."
Even after we abandoned Kiera at the bloodbath to fend for ourselves, terrified by what Grey had told us, we've been lying low. Settling down in a respectable wooded area under the cover of tangled lollipop sticks, we've made a makeshift shelter to protect us from weather – of course, if there is any.
Our supplies have also been rather great. Finding a sack with a few handfuls of assorted fruits, a couple granola bars, a giant thermos filled with fresh water, some bubblegum pink blades, and oddly enough, a baby pacifier, we're set for now.
It all seems perfect, too perfect.
"Do you think we should keep moving on?" I ask, piercing the silence that's quickly consumed us. Kinton glances over at me, eyebrows knitting themselves together, but I continue. "I mean, our area is nice and all, but we should set out and explore the area more. It might tell us where any other tributes are, you know."
"Ah, you're right!" Kinton grins, easily adapting to my plan. He tucks the wrapper of his granola bar neatly inside an outlier pocket of the backpack and, with the knife in hand, slings it over his shoulder. "Where to first, Haven?"
I glance out across the lollipop forest, through trunks and trunks of white poles. "Let's try to go straight and see what develops."
Grabbing a blade from the backpack, I set off in front, hair swinging in a ponytail and legs strong with some sort of muscle. I'm energized, trekking with a purpose.
And then I trip.
Hissing in pain, I roll to the side and before I know it, Kinton's toppled down on top of me. Trying to avoid slicing him open with my blade, I swish upwards to avoid any conflict, but in the scramble, I cut through the fabric of the backpack and up into the bag.
"Crap!"
Kinton rolls off of me, groaning a little. He rubs his head and furrows his brow at me. "Are you okay? I didn't want to have hurt you or anything."
"I cut open the bag," I say, fully frustrated with myself. Kinton whirls around and half of the supplies contained inside the backpack tumble out.
A closer inspection proves that there's nothing we can do about it, pretty much, except tie the shoulder straps of the bag together and trying to make a different sort of bag, but it's obviously precarious. Not much use, but Kinton promises me he'll be more careful from now on.
And then we start walking again.
For the first ten or so minutes, there's nothing but the sounds of our gummy, rubbery shoes against the soft ground. The pinkish fog swirls about our heads, the sickly sweet scent creeping up my nasal passages and tickling my nose. And who could ever forget the repetitive background track that they've forced us to listen to? Even repeating one of the words is torture.
"Daddy, Daddy, D-D-D-D-Daddy."
It's always the same pattern. Two words, a stammer that occurs four times, and then a repetition of the first word. It alternates between 'Daddy', 'Mummy', and I've even heard 'Sissy' in there a couple times, but it's definitely not the norm.
I scowl at the ground, wishing for something to plug my ears with, when a small gasp from behind me makes me glance up.
"Kin-"
"Tributes!" Kinton gawks, drawing me close to his chest and staring in front of us with his mouth hanging open. Grunting, I worm out of his embrace to take a peek at the tributes myself.
It's obvious that they're not tributes. They are too tall and perfectly built to be tributes – plus, the majority of them are wearing dresses, and I didn't see a single tribute with a dress on. We all have these stupid, baggy jumpsuits.
"They aren't-" I begin, but Kinton cuts me off.
"They look like dolls!" he says in a hushed tone, his eyes wide like coins.
I frown, walking a little closer to the shadowy silhouettes. It looks like there's around twenty, just milling around and quietly chanting. I widen my eyes a little, craning my neck to the side of a lollipop pole so I can try and get a better look. Are they the ones causing the constant noise? But the noise here seems to be quieter, more peaceful than the frenzied words that were jabbered at the Cornucopia.
"Maybe they are," I say solemnly. I lace my fingers together, observing the dolls milling about as my ally gapes at me. I merely shrug. "But you know what, Kin?"
"Huh?"
"We're gonna match 'em." My eyes narrow and I smile. "We're gonna be those dolls' biggest enemies."
Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three
Carefully rolling up my sleeves, I nibble delicately on the edge of the biscuit. Man, I'm famished.
It's been rather tranquil for me so far. I actually made it out of the bloodbath alive, which was definitely a plus, and then I managed to snag a little pack. I don't have a weapon – for now. I must have dropped the machete I was carrying, because one minute it was there, and the next, gone.
But it's not like I'm not set on supplies. I have loads; a first aid kit, a roll of biscuits, some dried fruit strips, a water skin, and even some little baby binky that I found tucked into the fabric of the bag. It's tiny, really, the size of my pinky, but who knows? It could be useful.
Looks can be deceiving.
I sigh slightly, leaning out of my perch on the balcony. I've taken up residence in one of the larger gingerbread houses that I found. The rooms were mainly empty with the exception of some giant furniture pieces made out of what I assume is candy, but not the sort of candy that you'd want to eat.
But there were also staircases in some, rickety old – and long, they took me more than a while to climb – flights of stairs that led to a second floor. And up there, it was great. The same types of rooms, but what a view they offered!
In the house I'm currently in, there's even a little balcony that overlooks the lollipop forest – for a while, anyways. It's harder to look at the tributes inside it, since the giant round heads conceal most of it.
That doesn't mean that I can't see anybody, though. I can actually see quite well Kinton and Haven from Twelve, both of them tripping over their own feet. They go down in a flurry of limbs.
I smirk slightly, turning away to glance over at the clearing where the Cornucopia is. I can just barely see the top of it, the metallic silver tip shimmering in the light emitted from the darkening sky, now a smoldering shade of charcoal violet, streaked with glinting stars.
I sigh, my small smile sliding off my face quickly. So far, it's day one and how many tributes have been knocked off? Six? If my math is right – which I honestly doubt that it is – then I think that's about a fourth of the tributes.
Six faces that will never return to their home district to see their families ever again.
I'm not quite sure who died; what I know for sure is that there was a lot of chaos and not too many bodies littering the ground. They all seemed to disappear, faceless. Or maybe I just wasn't being very observant.
I twist a lock of hair around my finger wistfully, watching the perfectly round moon as it soars into the air, with the pace of a snail but the looks of a miracle. It looks great against the purples and blacks of the night sky, the hues combining gloriously.
Back in Three, it wasn't like that. If we were lucky enough for the smog to clear out, to allow us a day with sunshine, nobody went outside. We'd heard enough about sunburns and the other unfortunate things that happen when pale people go out into the sunlight.
Another sigh escapes my lips, this one whistling out like wind through a forest. It's the third time I've sighed in, what, a minute?
Maybe this arena's depressing me more than I depress myself.
What a depressing thought.
No. I shake my head resolutely. I need to keep a positive outlook on this. If I play my cards right, I can win this thing.
A sudden pause in the chorus of chanting makes me glance to the outside. The Capitol seal flashes briefly across the sky, thus beginning instrumental sounds and the patriotic anthem.
Then the first face appears.
It's Griff.
I let out a surprised squeak and muffle any other sounds by slapping my hand across my mouth. My eyes flicker across the sky, taking in his sunny smile, bright eyes, and overall positive expression. How could a kid as innocent as him bite the dust?
I might not have shown it much in the Capitol, but, well… I grew attached to him. If even a little. And it pains me to say that.
Tears well up in my eyes as the next face pops up. It's the lanky boy from Five with the big eyes and sheepish smile.
After him comes the Asian guy from Six, with the pale hair and pale skin. He frowns down at me, as if he knew his death was a mistake.
The girl from Seven, Aspen or something, is next to appear. There's not much to say about her, since I didn't really pay much attention to her. But even her face, offering a saddened smile, makes my heart twitch.
Little Cade comes next, and this time I look away. I can't look at him without thinking of Griff, poor Griff, who never deserved any of this.
The last two faces in the sky are the duo from Eleven – first the girl, with her sunken, jaundiced expression and dull red hair, and then the guy, smiling quietly as if he knew a secret that nobody else did.
And then it's over.
And I can't force back in the tears that leak from my eyes.
Cayley Torelli, District Eight
"Well, that was nice!"
I clap my hands animatedly, hoping to sway the stricken expression on Aria's face as the sky fades to black. Her mouth's quivering and her eyes are welling up in tears for her fallen district partner.
Me, however. I can be the one to lift up her chin if I really try.
"Six tributes down already," I babble, grinning and toying with the end of one of my braids. "We're that much closer to going home, aren't we?"
Aria, clutching her red scarf – the only token she could bring with her in the arena, considering a notebook and pencil would be two items – nods mournfully, her eyelashes clumping together with crystalline teardrops that teeter on the edges. It's not a good look.
I try a new tactic.
"Wanna play a game?"
She looks at me, intrigued. Sniffling, she nods her head, causing her high ponytail to jounce merrily.
"Well, it's sort of like eye spy." I lace my fingers together, looking around the dark room. A shadowy, empty gingerbread house probably isn't the best place to play a game where you have to use your sense of sight. "Um, actually, let's try something else."
Aria considers me with sullen eyes.
"Or maybe just get some rest?"
She shrugs, staring hollowly at the crumbly floor. Maybe she just needs some time to think about Halcyon. Or maybe she wants to talk her feelings out!
"Do you wanna talk to me about Halcyon?" I bat my eyelashes sweetly, graciously.
She shakes her head, her tearful eyes wide. She swallows thickly and stares down at the ground.
I sigh impatiently, tapping my fingers against the pink fabric of my jumpsuit. I've never done well with being bored. Aria's not making it any easier, what with her being so quiet.
"I'm gonna go out and explore," I announce.
Aria looks up, lip quivering, and shakes her head briefly. I smile, merely patting her head and rising to my feet. "Don't fear, Aria. I'll be back in the blink of an eye."
Her eyes follow me as I jog down the stairs, our dagger – the only weapon we have – clenched tightly in my fist. I shut the frail gingerbread door behind me gently, and am immediately immersed by darkness.
It's nice. It's soothing.
Briefly closing my eyes and inhaling the sweet-scented air in the form of thick, humid fog that swirls around me, I stride out, a small smile painted across my face and my eyes vivid with wonder at the starry night.
Tiny crystalline stars, so tiny that you nearly can't see them. They look like teardrops on a bed of navy-violet, twinkling in the most glorious way.
Breath-taking.
Smiling up at the sky, I almost don't realize the two tributes slinking up behind me.
But the heavy footsteps make it evident, and I'm snapped out of my stargazing trance. My heartbeat grows cold, like tendrils of ice hardening in my veins instead of blood. Eyes growing wider and wider, neck stiff, I slowly turn to face the two.
Haven and Kinton. District Twelve.
Inhaling sharply, I lock eyes with Haven, the brown irises penetrating me in a fiercer glare than I expected from a girl her age. "What do you two want?" I demand immediately, my fear overtaken by quick anger. How dare they sneak up on me! Aren't outlier districts supposed to stick together and all that?!
Kinton, shorter than me by a bit, carefully treads up to me, making sure to show off his own curved knife. It's almost careless, in the way that he's holding it. "We've come to make a proposal."
"God, don't be so formal and get on with it," I snap.
Haven narrows her eyes. "You're not in the position to yell at us, when we clearly have the upper hand," she growls.
"Haven," Kinton says soothingly, shooting her a look.
The girl folds her arms across her skeletal torso and scowls.
Kinton inches forward, cautious and tentative. "So, well, I know that this is a little abrupt," he begins, his voice wavering. "But, um, we took notice of your alliance during training. And, well, we didn't think to ask you two for an alliance – and I know that you still have your ally, Aria, since I saw you two run out of the bloodbath – but, um…"
"What the fool means to say," Haven bursts in, "is that we want to ask you two to merge with us."
I blink. This was unexpected. Are they trustworthy? "You mean… as one giant alliance? Me, Aria, and you two?"
"Exactly!" says Kinton happily. His features soften. "Would you two be up to it?"
"I know that I would be, for sure," I say quickly, trying to convince the duo, "but Aria's upstairs in the gingerbread house. I'd have to consult her."
But even as I say it, I know that it's a weak argument. Aria never talks. She can barely squeak out a "yes" without going into a bout of heavy breathing. And plus, she's submissive. She'd agree to anything I asked of her.
"I'll be right back," I add, holding up my hand and darting into the house.
Once I'm inside, my hands shaking and rattling against the knife, I make my way into the room where Aria was, and still is. She's braiding her hair, almost invisible in the dark.
"Aria, Aria," I say, my heart hammering against my chest. "Grab the bag. We need to flee."
A/N: Elastic Heart by Sia.
18th- Halcyon Chae, District Six. A foot to the throat.
Minho, I loved Halcyon and you knew it. He was so cool to write for. I'm being completely honest. The one thing that I didn't like? He was difficult to write for. I struggled to write his personality and his backstory. At least he got a bit of a plot in there, yes? :)
Alright, guys, so seven down on the first day. Not too bad, huh? I think it's pretty good.
I'm repeating myself. Yaaaaaaay. It's been a long day. Teen Idle's tribute list and blog went up, and, well, there was a heck lot of stress that accompanied that. Nothing that some Hershey's Kisses, purified bottle water, a cozy sweatshirt, and a lot of Marina music can't solve, right? Right.
Well, aside from the usual, nothing much more to say. Have fun reading the chapter, and dropping a review wouldn't go unnoticed, for sure!
Question time, yea :o
Thoughts on each POV?
Thoughts on the death?
Who will be next to go?