The gong sounds and I leap forward, drop into a shoulder role and grab the knapsack that lies in front of me. Next to this is a small bottle of iodine and a packet of dried fruit and I scoop that up too. Better not leave it behind, I think. I swing the bag over my shoulder and survey my surroundings. One or two tributes lay dead on the ground, while others engage in what will be fatal fights. These items I've picked up seem to be worth my time. Maybe a weapon would do me good, but I don't know how to use anything save for a slingshot, which I don't see anywhere close by. I'm amazed that no one's bothered me at all. This will be easier than I thought!
I hear the whistle of a blade and I fall back just in time to dodge the slash of a razor tipped sword. The owner of it stands above me, smiling menacingly and giving me a quick wink before raising the blade up again. It's the crazy girl from District 2. I roll out of the way in the nick of time and scrabble to my feet, running as fast as I can towards the open prairie, away from the bloodbath and the danger. I hear her laugh from over my shoulder and I know she's pursing me. Oh god—I'm going to die. I can run fast but I know she's just as good. I'm perfectly defenseless and it's obvious to her now too. Tears begin to pour down my cheeks and all I can think is how could I have been so stupid?
"Come back Keavy! I promise I'll make it quick!" She giggles, gaining on me. I make the mistake of glancing behind and trip, plummeting down into the grass. A cold metal is brought to my throat and before I know it the girl sits on top of me like I'm a cushion or bag of meat, smiling down at me sweetly. "But then again, I've always been a known liar."
I gasp in pain as I feel the tip of the sword drawn across my neck, beginning to cut into my flesh. I continue to cry as blood begins to seep out of the wound and crazy girl's eyes widen as if she's a toddler who's just discovered a little lost puppy. Something inside me urges to fight back, but the pain overtakes it and I close my eyes, so I won't have to look into the monster's eyes. She runs the blade downward on my neck, opening the cut even further and causing me to whimper even louder. The monster laughs. Then, she stops, abruptly cut off. I feel her weight slump down on top of me and a liquid begins to soak my body. I open my eyes and scream.
The monster now lays dead on top of me, her blood oozing out of a fatal stab on her forehead. I push her off me, still screaming when a hand claps over my mouth and another grabs my waist. I struggle, prepared to bite down on the hand when I hear an urgent whisper in my ear. "Shh. Don't alert them any more than you have!"
Relief comes over me first. Then confusion. Then the question why? Why would you save me?
His grip loosens and I pull away and turn around to face Boyd. He stands there a bit red in the face, dressed identically to myself. Soft white jacket with a yellow diagonal band across the front and a blue stripe on each sleeve, rather tight white pants, light-weight blue boots and a blue hat. In his right hand he holds a spear, the tip covered in blood. I stand there speechless, while he raises his eyebrow and then lowers his gaze down to my neck. "Use your hat to stop the blood. We need to get moving." He strides forward flawlessly, picking up the girl's sword that now lays at her side. He cleans some of the blood off both the weapons near the grass around her. I force myself to turn away from him and pull my hat off my head, pushing it to the wound on my neck and grimacing through the pain. At least she didn't get too far. I turn again and manage to make out the bloodbath, which seems to still being going on. I think I can even make out some tributes running through the tall prairie grass, away from the scene of the crime. We do need to move. I clear my throat, but when I speak the word comes out in a whisper. "Ready?"
"Nearly. Wait one second." He answers, not even looking at me. He slides the sword under the yellow band of the uniform, where it sticks in place and then digs around in a knapsack of his own. I wonder how he'd got all this and got away so quickly when he pulls something out of the bag and extends it in his hand, to me.
It's a slingshot and a small little pouch. I open it and find it contains about 40 small steel balls. I look at Boyd and he nods slowly.
"Thank you," I say, louder this time and he nods again, before picking up into a run. I follow him, putting all my energy into it as my brain fades back to a memory. Reaping Day. I hear the escort read the name: "Boyd Henderson". A young man who grew up in the orphanage. A boy who gets into fights at school and can beat anyone his age and older in a race. A loner. He doesn't matter to anyone. I watch him stand on the stage and without knowing it his eyes meet mine. I know what my face looks like, relieved and appeased and I lower my head in shame and embarrassment. He doesn't matter to anyone. And now he's going to die.
Then I hear "Keavy Caufield!" and learn my fate will be the same.
Next is a blur. Practically fainting. A sense of dread. Stepping on to the stage and seeing Boyd's extended hand, an offering of assistance. His cold expression. The crowd gives us an uneasy applause and Boyd leans over and whispers in my ear.
"Good luck."
I know I haven't updated this in quite a while but I've recently come up with a few ideas and have decided to continue. I've also concluded that I'll stop at either 12 or 24 stories, because I just love to throw some symbolism in there (heavy sarcasm). But no, anyway, this story will be the first of four that I'll do about this Hunger Games with these two characters. The second one should be up this week, but then on Friday I'm going away for a week so they'll be a break. Thanks for reading, if you did, and please leave a review! I appreciate them a lot :)