By This, And This Only, We Have Existed

Rain poured.

Only a few paces ahead rested the aircraft that would take her to the arena. She clasped her hands together, the sight alone made her stomach churn. Faraway the sun had barely cracked the horizon. You could smell dawn through the cloudburst. It wasn't like the fragrant sunrises of District 5. Hot on the heels of the rising sun were the smells of rusted metal and dreams.

Meera was modestly clad in a black shift. No adornments decorated her body or hair—even her feet were bare. When she had asked Alida about the lack of clothing her designer arrogantly explained that all tributes prepared and dress in their individual launch rooms before entering the arena. Meera had hoped it would be Glade seeing her off and not Alida. Much to her disappointment this was against protocol. The presence of a mentor would be seen as dishonest odds to others who only had stylists at their sides, or so the designer had so condescendingly described.

It won't matter if I have a mentor or not, was what Meera wanted to growl back, a few tips before the arena aren't going to save me.

Suddenly the hovercraft roared to a start. Instinctually she stepped back only to feel Alida's sharp nails stopping her. Bile and breakfast ebbed and flowed in her stomach. It was hard to subdue the growing nausea.

"Where are the others?"

Alida cocked her eyebrow, disregarding the question entirely. "Come along. There's not much time. The world's waiting."

The world's waiting. It was a grim and foreboding beckoning but Meera followed anyways, silently wondering if there was any world beyond Panem. If there was it doesn't matter. Not for you, not anymore.

Out in the storm her shift spastically licked her knees. Raindrops poured down her shoulders and nose.

"Grab the ladder."

"What?" It was hard to hear anything over the hovercraft's snarls.

Without another word Alida snatched Meera's hand and placed them on the black steel ladder. "Hold on!" She shouted.

Meera furrowed her brow. Faster than a blink of the eye the ladder started pulling her up. In surprise her feet faltered. If it hadn't been for Alida's steady hands she would have dropped. Down and up she looked. Confusion screwed her face up. Somehow the ladder had a life of its own.

Inside a woman in a white uniform was waiting with a syringe in hand.

"Arm please."

It wouldn't have mattered if Meera refused—the scientist grabbed her wrist before she was able to understand the command. The thick needle pressed deep into her skin. Sharp pain made her gasp.

"Ah. What is that?"

"A tracker, Miss Eastwood."

She was expecting to see blood gushing, but when the woman drew back the needle there was only a sliver of scarlet. Below the layers of skin Meera saw a light flashing. Now they would know exactly where she was at all times. She had been tagged like a piece of cattle.

The door was sealed. From somewhere close to the nose of the aircraft she heard the pilots laughing together. In the bowels of the jet a deep and guttural roar trembled the metal grated floor. They were taking off. As the jet lifted Meera's stomach rose to her throat. She clutched the chair in terror as it shook. For the first few seconds of flight she was more concerned with keeping her breakfast down than the games.

"The ride will be a little bumpy because of the storm," Alida explained.

"Why isn't Faron with us?"

"The tributes aren't allowed to see each other until the games begin. Everyone is taken separately. Kye was with Faron."

Meera's palm dampened the armrest. She had millions of questions but apprehension and fear quickly left her tongue-tied.

The air in the jet was sterile and dry. Although an Avox walked by offering food and refreshments she declined. Alida on the other hand ordered a strange tonic the color of blood. Her plump lips slurped it through a straw. The noise coupled with the crimson hue made Meera cringe.

After half an hour had passed the hovercraft started its descent. She nervously wrestled with her seat. Her eyes fearfully turned to the windows only to be blinded. They had blacked them out.

The arena, she thought in dread, we're here.

Soon after landing Alida and Meera traveled to an elevator that took them deep below the surface. The catacombs were hollow and unforgiving. Sound rebounded through each tunnel, and yet there was no way to decipher their origins. Helium lights flickered from above.

Once in the launch room Meera's eyes darted around. There wasn't much inside. A couch and table were the only pieces of furniture.

"Get ready," Alida nodded to a clock, "Time's ticking."

It wasn't until she looked up that she saw the clock. It was set to a countdown. Only one hour until the games began.

The warmth of the shower was hard to appreciate under such circumstances. A few times Meera had to run to the toilet to throw up. She wanted to think it was from the shaky jet ride, but her nerves told a different story.

Alida dried her hair and left it down. Waves of auburn dropped down her naked shoulders, "It will be good to keep it down in the arena. The audience will know you by your beautiful hair."

Meera sourly looked away. She was too tired and scared to fight back.

Next came the outfit. Her breath hitched as she struggled into a pair of black trousers and glanced to the other items. There were three layers for the top. The first was a simply shirt, the second a large grey sweater, and finally a black hooded jacket.

"Looks like you're going somewhere cold."

The boots were ridged and tall. They hugged her feet as Alida helped her into them.

"Here. Drink some water. You'll be wishing you had some when you get up to the arena."

"Do you think it's a desert?" A part of her hoped it was, she knew how to deal with a desert.

"Doubt it with what you're wearing. But you never know. I've seen tributes die of thirst even with drinkable water around. Here—"

She grabbed the glass, quickly taking a few hardy gulps.

"Drink it slow!"

Meera widened her eyes. Obediently she turned the gulps into shy sips. She drank even after the thirst had disappeared. Silence filled the room. Occasionally she would look up to the clock and feel her heart quicken. Time was running out. Second by second the numbers changed. She tried to calmly braid her fingers together but quickly found that she was cutting off her own circulation in worry.

Finally a voice broke through the speakers. A metal plate was implanted at the center of the room, as soon as the anonymous woman spoke its perimeter lit up.

Meera could hear how quivered her breaths were as she stepped forward. The ridged boots gripped the slick metal. She could feel the blood pulling out of her head.

Don't faint, she thought, if you faint right out of the gate you'll certainly be dead.

Suddenly Meera wanted to speak, to say anything. She shifted her eyes to Alida. Her mouth opened, but there was nothing to say. This could be the last person she spoke to before death. Maybe Alida could deliver a message, give a goodbye to Zara that she hadn't been able to give herself. She let out a strained breath and screwed up her face.

"Tell—"

A glass cylinder abruptly swooped down, turning Meera's words into muffled nothings. Alida didn't seem to mind. Her face never changed. Of course she doesn't care, she knows I'm as good as dead.

Her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes lifted. The metal plate started moving, pushing her…guiding her up.

For a moment darkness consumed the tube. In the dark she forgot how to breathe and how to speak, she forgot everything. Terror took hold. It wasn't like anything she had ever felt. Then the darkness lifted, turning into light—bright light. She squinted with a raised and trembled hand.

The musty air from the catacombs transformed.

A thunderous voice boomed.

The countdown, she remembered.

"60…59…58…"

Details started to break through the chaos. In the launch room she had been sweating underneath the layers of clothing, now they were just right. The air was crisp. She had never felt this type of cold. She could smell salt and dirt.

Her blue eyes blinked. Slowly her vision adjusted to the daylight and her lips parted in shock.

"40…39…38…"

The tributes were all in a circle. Surrounding them was a vast region of marshes and tundra. Bogs and low growing green and red vegetation filled the landscape, silver pools of water dominated the area for miles and miles. To the west was an ocean, giant fangs of ice jutted out of the grey waters. To the north were bluffs and mountains. To the east and south a forest and more water.

Meera's mouth turned to ash. She rubbed her finger together. Think Meera…think. Her only hope was to run for the woods. It wouldn't be easy though. The tundra looked immense. It was at least a full day's hike in any direction.

"30…29…28…"

A breeze chilled her blood. Adrenaline was starting to kick in. It was windy here. The skies filled with opaque clouds.

"20…19…18…"

Tributes adjusted their posture. Every eye turned to the center, where the cornucopia waited. It gleamed drearily in the light, overflowing with weapons and packs. Meera's heart rattled. Her best chance of survival was to run but the cornucopia didn't look that far away.

"10…9…8…"

White breath rose from her lips. Somewhere out there the cameras were filming this. Can they see me shaking? Can they tell how petrified I am?

"5…4…"

Her eyes lifted.

"…3…"

Directly across from her the female tribute from District 2 stared. Livia smiled a crooked smile as their eyes met.

Don't think about her. Think about the packs. Think about running. Run, you stupid fool, Run.

The countdown finished. White noise and brittle wind assaulted Meera's ears. All tributes were rushing off their plates and she was no different. She leapt forward and started to sprint. The smart ones immediately ran away, all others dashed towards the cornucopia.

Harsh breaths filled her lungs. It was hard to run. The ground was soggy and dense. Random shallow pools waited underneath moss.

She clutched her hands into fists. Her eyes locked on the nearest pack. Only a few more strides.

Screams rang out. The clap of the canon shook the entire arena. Only a few seconds in and tributes were dropping like flies.

Once she was close enough Meera slid onto her knees and reached for the pack. Her fingertips were less than an inch away when another set of hands snatched it out from under her. She fell to the ground and gasped as a wiry tribute from District 3 starting running. He only got a few steps away before a spear came flying through the air and into his chest. Blood spewed onto Meera as he fell to the ground, soaking her hair in a bath of scarlet. The Careers were already to the weapons.

My hair, was all she thought for a split second, Alida wanted it to make me stand out. She got her wish.

Her glance moved towards a shadow near the cornucopia. She felt her nails sink into the moss and mud. The shadow was Rillian Lewis. He had thrown the spear at District 3, a second one was in his left hand. In a daze she froze. He was staring right at her. His velvet brown eyes were burning like coals, but he wasn't moving.

Why isn't he killing me?

"Rillian!" Someone shouted. He turned away.

When his head was turned Meera finally snapped out of it. Immediately she started crawling towards the fresh corpse. A groan sounded as she pulled the pack away from the tribute's rigid hands and slung it on her back.

Her eyes met the dead boys. They were wide with youth and fright.

"Sorry," she whispered.

The world was spinning and she was spinning with it. With some unknown strength Meera managed to climb to her feet. Her legs burned with urgency as she started running east. There was no way she would make the tree line within the next few hours even if she were running the entire time, but anywhere was better than right here.

Behind her were screams. To her side other tributes were scattering, some were heading in the same direction as her, others were making their way to the mountains.

She gritted her teeth. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Blood was dripping from her chin and hair. She let out a whimper as she waded through a cold bog and dashed across a shallow creek. Her boots crunched under rock and low growth. She ran even when she wanted to stop, trying to match the rhythm of her feet with the beating of her heart.

She was well away from the cornucopia when she peered to the side. Only a few feet away she caught sight of a girl running over what looked like a patch of dirt—but it wasn't dirt, not at all. The girl screamed as she was swallowed. Meera slid to a stop and watched as the tribute tried to struggle out, to no avail. The girl was sinking and she was sinking fast.

Immediately Meera knew what it was, she remembered it from the terrain station during training, "Quicksand."

"Help me!" The girl screamed. By then she was up to her chin.

Meera looked to the far off trees and then back again. Her hands struggled with the straps of the pack. In that moment all she could think about was Zara. This was the Hunger Games but did that make it right for her to standby as the earth devoured a child? Her lips rubbed together. Fight or flight?

"Dammit," she finally hissed.

It wasn't a long sprint. Her gaze twitched around before dropping to the edge of quicksand.

"Help me!" The girl wailed. She was young, Meera knew, she could see it in her face.

"Just stay still!"

"I'm sinking…oh god…help!"

"Listen to me. It's quicksand, okay? You have to stop struggling!"

The girl didn't listen, in panic and helplessness she continued to thrash around. The more she moved the deeper she sunk. Slowly the little girl's mouth filled with quicksand, tears streamed down her face. Meera scrambled for a branch but there was nothing around except lichen, peat and moss.

"Hold on…" she fearfully stammered, "Just—here—here grab my hand! Grab it!"

She stretched her arm out as far as it could go. The little girl's hands barely grazed Meera's fingers. She strained her arm, trying to extend it further, but it wouldn't budge.

"C'mon."

Yells bellowed. Other tributes were moving closer.

"C'mon!" Meera shouted, angrier than before, "Grab my hand!"

But the girl sank deeper. When the quicksand covered her eyes Meera knew that was it. She stared in horror as the girl's red hair turned black with dirt and water. Bubbles were all that was left in the end. Then there were no bubbles. The quicksand stilled as if nothing had happened. A single canon boomed.

In disbelief Meera shuffled back, struggling for air. She felt lightheaded and sick. Her hand cupped over her mouth. If she had it her way she would have collapsed on the ground and given up but something inside was pushing her. Something told her to move, and so she listened.

Her hand lowered to her chest and then to the ground. When she rebounded to her feet she briefly turned back. The cornucopia was a splotch in the distance. Shadows were moving this way and that.

No doubt the Careers would rally together before their first hunt. She gripped the straps of her pack and pulled her hoodie over her bloody hair. Meera was determined to move as far away from them as possible.

Marshes and tundra went on and on. The flatlands changed to rolling hills. Half the time Meera was forced to wade through the water but even still she made sure to keep a trained eye on the ground. If there was one quicksand trap there were more. At a stream she dropped the pack and cleaned her hair and face. Blood turned the water pink before it swirled downstream. Quiet replaced screams. Now was as good a time any to see what she was carrying on her back. With dripping hair she opened the rucksack. Staring back at her was a bottle, purification tablets, an apple, a bundle of tarp, and flares.

She swooshed the items around and turned the pack upside down, hoping that there was a knife or tool inside, but that was it. The tarp could be of use in the rain but without rope or twine there'd be no way to fasten it. Flares were good for drawing attention but not much else. With a sigh she started to fill the bottle with water.

At least I have water, she thought. At least I'm not dead.

Soon the silver skies began to darken. In place of clouds came stars, bigger and brighter than Meera had ever seen—they way they blazed looked unnatural. It was well into the night when she decided to rest again. Without trees there was nowhere to hide. She curled herself between two rocks and shivered. Pain in her stomach urged her to eat but she refused. All she had was one apple and she wasn't about to waste that the first day. Her arms crossed and her eyes peered out over the landscape. On top of the hill she could see campfires springing up. A moment of stupid envy overtook her until she realized how terrible of an idea it was. A fire in the dark was the surest way to get killed.

She rested her head against the cold stone. It could have cut into her cheek and she wouldn't have cared. Noises started to purr through the arena. The sound of the marshes. Croaks, caws, and screeches. From time to time she thought she heard screams, but then the wind would change directions and it would be silent once more.

Weaponless and trembling she laid. When she closed her eyes the anthem delicately trumpeted through those grotesquely large stars. Faces appeared, but none that she recognized. A crane swept down and perched on a nearby boulder. She had never seen a bird like it before.

"Hello," she rawly whispered to the strange creature. The wind ate her voice.

A mask of scarlet traced the bird's face and long black legs gripped the rock. Its black eyes stared down at her. Its head twitched from left to right as if it were trying to figure out what she had said. If she had been more vigilant and less tired the masked crane would have made an excellent meal, but she could barely lift a finger. Rest was more important than food right now. It seemed to sense her hunger though and with a sharp screech it flew away.

Despite adrenaline and fear she started to nod off. Before it got to the final fallen tribute her had slumped into the moss. As her eyes closed she counted the deaths. 13, she thought, 13 and more to come.