A/N: I really appreciate all your feedback, critique or just general "Hunger Games is the shiz" banter. Nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks fights to the death are extremely entertaining.
The Trial Games.
As my vision restores itself from the sudden blinding sunlight, I am too frightened to be relieved upon seeing everyone. We are all standing in a circle, all of us on our little starting plates, each about ten metres apart. I'm quickly taking in my surroundings, noting that we are in fact- standing in the middle of a large playing field, perhaps football or soccer.
In running distance, I can see several school buildings. Four blocks, a canteen and what looks like a performance hall.
I return my gaze to the field. Here I can see a large golden horn shaped structure right in the middle. Piling around it and on top of its being is all manners of things; from backpacks, lunchboxes to baseball bats, flutes and a long, strangely deadly looking metal ruler.
It doesn't take me long to realise that the game makers were going to have fun with their "school themed" massacre. All of us are even dressed in identical uniforms.
An anthem begins playing. Panem's anthem. Usually it's customary to hold your hand over your heart and sing, but we're too busy panicking. No one dares to move, probably remembering the President's advice to remain still until the signal.
I want to see Holden. My eyes dart from contestant to contestant, recognising and moving on from each and every one. I can see red headed Cisqua biting her lip, tugging down on her skirt as she eyes the packs in the middle. Fifteen year old Xander, a boy in Holden's class is grinning and nodding to someone across the field. One of the youngest, Lola; thirteen, is silently crying.
I keep looking. However I stop when my eyes land on Crux. His head is faced towards me, and though I can't see his eyes from the distance, he turns away- fists curling by his sides. Though my eyesight wasn't perfect- I could see the skin turn white from the tension.
Was he angry at me, or was he just as paranoid as I was now that the anthem as drawing to an end?
Shit. I begin staring wildly around once more, remembering my task. I haven't found Holden yet, and the anthem is about two lines away from finishing. My heart pounds in my throat and I feel like vomiting as the last notes of the song fades into silence.
No one moves. Valuable seconds tick past as we begin to look around at one another in confusion, all our faces showing the suspense.
Had the games been stopped? Someone had come to rescue us before any blood could be shed out of fear? My chest swells with a faint feeling of hope as I can hear one of our number laugh. We were saved.
Just as I gather the courage to step off my plate- the explosion almost knocks me off my feet. I snap my head left as a small cloud of dirt and flesh splatter across several contestants' faces to the left of the ring. I am horrified as I see several limbs scattering across the ground and shreds of a stained, tattered tartan skirt flutter to the wind.
"PROSE!"
My body jerks as I catch a glimpse of the fleshy remains of the girl's head. Though I can't see her face, I can scarcely remember the gentle blue eyes and heart shaped face, framed with curled brown hair. Now it lay smouldering on the football field as a girl from her grade screams her name.
A school bell rings out, two short blasts. Without evening thinking of what I'm doing I turn and run for my life before anyone else even flinches. I don't even feel relief as the metal plate clicks harmlessly as it loses my weight upon it. I want to be sick, cry and mourn the death of an underclassman who I barely knew, but I realise that these games are real.
This is no place for sentimentality. I swallow the bile rising in my throat, try to ignore the screams behind me and focus on reaching the shelter of one of the blocks.
Prose's death was no accident. We had been told to wait for a signal- but it seemed reasonable to assume the signal was the end of the anthem. But it wasn't. It was the school bell; which had conveniently, coincidentally waited for us to let down our guards and try to leave our starting plates.
No. It wasn't coincidence. I suddenly remember the word 'Trial' and realise that the Gamemakers had made us let down our guards on purpose, to test out the "starting plate" mechanism. And Prose had been the guinea pig.
A pang of guilt strikes me. Prose's family were dead too then, because she had been killed. My pace slows as I remember that Prose didn't have parents, just a grandmother and two younger brothers.
Though the sadness is immense, it wears off so quickly I know I should feel guilty. I don't have time to feel sad for others. I have my own family to fight for; and even though I have a snowball's chance in the River Styx- I can't lose sight of what I'm doing, not even for an instant.
I duck inside the entrance to the first block I reach. I can't hear anyone's footsteps nearby- but the siren rings out two more times as I stare around the inside of the quadrangle in wonder. I try not to think of who might have just died or the possibility of it being Holden as I catch my breath and think of my next move.
The inside of the block is open air, with a total of six classrooms on the bottom floor, and another six on the upper level. In the middle is a garden, for decoration I guess.
Though it was tempting to move to higher ground, I know climbing the staircase will take me at least ten or so seconds, and sound travels. The classrooms seemed inviting, but there was a high probability they were all locked, or worse- empty of hiding places.
My eyes fall onto the centrepiece garden. It's small, only about four by two metres- filled with sharp looking ferns with blooming white flowers surrounding a healthy tree. The tree was covering all that lay beneath it from those who might walk along the top of the block, but give the appearance of weak shade. Also remembering the President's words of "the best things being hidden"- I decide that it is my best option.
I quickly lie flat on my stomach amongst the ferns that scratch my skin and breathe quietly as I wait for the rest to pass through. I can feel my hands rest upon something cold and most likely tin, but I'm too frightened to move my head lest someone notice the black hair amongst the brown dirt.
Then the footsteps echo into the block, and I stop breathing as I realise that I am now certainly not alone.