What rhymes with dead tributes? Err, enjoy.
The morning of day eight passes quickly as the tributes make their way to the starting place of the games. Some travel hours upon hours while others simply ready their gear for the coming bloodshed.
All afternoon long, the tributes move along around all sides of the cornucopia. The snow has stalled - in what seems like anticipation- for the feast. As the daylight wanes and the hour approaches, every citizen of Panem tunes in to root for their favorites and watch the losers fall…
Croix Hail (District 7)
I come to halt at a tangle of prickly bushes, panting as I slip my backpack from my shoulders and place it into the bushes. I do very well to hide my supplies and quadruple check that they can't be seen by any passersby. A heavy pack will only slow me down, and I want to be able to move freely. The only things I take with me are my clothes and the sturdy knife in my belt.
The cornucopia is close now. I wasted no time making the long trek back, a hard journey without a grumbling stomach and a full night's rest. I didn't really have a choice, the Gamemakers made finding other food sources impossible. Everything -fruit, nuts, even sponsor gifts- was gone.
I creep forward for another few minutes, straining my ears. I am all but silent walking on the crisp ground, which is a lot less snowy here than my original campsite. I wait until I'm no more than a stone throw away from the location of the cornucopia and wait, hidden within a cluster of trees.
I wait and wait, counting the notches on the trees around me to pass the time. The night deepens and I estimate that it must be about half an hour until midnight. I slip from my hiding place and stalk forward, knife at the ready until I'm near enough to see the dull glow of the golden cornucopia in the night light. Far past the Cornucopia, I see what must be the charred remains of the career tributes' supplies. On account of the dusting of snow on top of everything, it must have happened a few days ago.
So, they've had to fare on their own too, I think. Good. That levels the playing field somewhat. Time seems to slow down and, finally, something happens.
It's midnight. The ground at the very mouth of the Cornucopia opens up and a large, circular table is lifted into sight. I bolt before it can even be raised to its full height. I see several figures emerge from different sides after me, but I've gotten a head start.
Just grab something and go, I think, halfway there. I focus on the dark shapes and see steaming mounds of meat, bowls of fruit, and other things I have no names for. I focus on a handsome loaf of bread larger than my head and beeline for it.
Then, as I'm maybe twenty feet away, they emerge from the belly of the Cornucopia; dark silhouettes that shift into the Boy from district 4 and girl from 2. Taken by surprise, I make to skid to a stop, but the ground is hard and slick and my momentum propels me forward. I spy several tributes around me doing the same. The boy focuses on someone to my not-so-distant left and charges toward them. The girl, on the other hand, locks her sharp eyes on me. She gathers her speed and jumps on the table of delicious food, knocking over tureens of gravy and a platter of rolls, and pushes off of the edge, sword high above her head to close the distance between us.
I can't stop moving forward and the girl has timed her attack well; I'm helpless. With a primal scream of fury, her sword meets my chest and we both tumble into each other. She recovers quickly and pulls herself up before I can even register what has fully happened. The wound is so great and the sword is shoved so deep that I can't even cry out, just curl around it and shake with uncontrollable spasms. Blood soaks the front of my clothes as she rips her weapon from me, dribbles down my chin as I lie on the ground in my death throes.
The world closes in around me and everything disappears in a gust of wind.
Harkon Jax (District 4)
I hear a canon sound and a distant part of my brain acknowledges the fact that Morgan has killed her target. The rest of my focus is on the thin girl in front of me. I bring my arm back behind me, just like I've done a thousand times, and hurl my spear. Unable to avoid it on the slick ground, she screams as it arcs towards her. It skewers the lower part of her abdomen and she spins out from the impact. Perfect. I hope the sponsors took note of that.
I'm there in a flash, ripping it out in a spray of crimson blood. The girl, from District 10 I think, moans and cries. I leave her on the ground, knowing the blow is fatal, and turn for a new adversary.
Morgan's idea to hide in the Cornucopia was perfect. Let them come to us, she said. I admit, I didn't know how well it would work out, but I know now that no one was expecting us to be so clever. I could almost laugh out loud.
I turn, looking for new prey. Several tributes are stopping, turning around in fear of the bloodshed ahead of them. I spy a pair, a boy and girl seemingly together, and am reminded of the dead friends from District 11. Perfect. I bare my teeth and the girl grabs the boys arm in fear. They turn to flee and I'm hot on their heels.
"Guard our food!" I call to Morgan over my shoulder. Such a good guard dog, the girl from District 2. Listens to everything I say and I don't even need to threaten her.
The duo ahead of me sprints full out into the dark forest. They have a head start on me, but I'm guessing I'll have time to make it back to the feast before all the action is even over. I hop over the underbrush and catch a gleam of metallic silver in the distance.
As it turns out, the two tributes I'm chasing aren't all that fast. I close in on them; but with the wind, now carrying a light snow; the trees; and the lack of ample light, I can't get a clear shot at them. I hear a canon and the thought of the dead girl from District 10 shoots adrenaline through my body. I push my legs harder and they gladly obey.
Trees appear out of nowhere, but I manage to dip around each branch, every patch of slippery ground. I can hear my prey struggling and I nearly split open with laughter. I finally break through a scruffy mess of bushes into a clearing, the dark haired boy and his russet companion halfway across the clear stretch already.
The boy shouts something and pushes her out of the way just in time. My spear clips his left arm, right where the girl's neck had been a second before. She tumbles on the ground and the boy swears violently, stumbling to a stop. I slow to a more even pace and pull my knife as I near them. He turns and I see a still expanding red stain in his left bicep and a beautiful ax in his right. My smile widens.
"Oh good," I say, voice cutting through the quiet woods. "I love a challenge."
"Stay back," the boy says to his partner, now shakily on her feet. I think they must be the boy from District 8 and girl from District 9, but it's hard to tell in the dark. They look more like a pair of starving shadows. I cautiously move forward, willing them to enter my striking distance.
"Yeah, wait a minute, will you?" I say, seeking to distract them more than anything. "You'll get a turn, I promise."
She takes a step forward in response, empty fists clenched and the boy raises his hand in warning.
What a funny couple, I think. They must think they have a chance. I turn my attention back to the starving boy. He seems to be smarter, weighing his slim odds against me.
I don't give him a chance to think.
I jump the last few feet swipe horizontally towards him. He stumbles back, caught off guard and I move in automatically, aiming to separate his eye from his socket.
Wham! The girl hits me with a tremendous right hook before I can deliver a fatal blow. I whip around and aim a vicious kick into her side. I hear the air leave her lungs and at least one rib break. The boy, now behind me, takes advantage of my position and jumps on my back, handle of his axe digging into my throat. Again, I'm unable to deliver any kind of finishing wound. I feel a rage slowly build up in me, the same rage that appears when I'm not given what I want at home. I throw an elbow into his stomach and bring back my head into his face with a brutal crack! He falls to the hard ground.
"No!" screams the girl, charging in again from out of the night. Only this time, I'm ready for it. I bring back my empty hand, knuckles bared and taut against my skin-
And then I fall. Suddenly the world is nothing but pain and misery. I clutch my right calf while screaming my head off. The boy from District 8 chopped off my foot. Well, not totally. It hangs on by about an inch of flesh and tendons, but the rest hangs limp and black blood gushes out of the hole in my pants. I try to move, try to think, but I can't do anything but scream. The ground around is slick with the hot liquid and I feel myself fading.
How long this lasts, a day or a minute, I don't know. All I do know is that sallow-faced District 8 puts his ax in my chest and my suffering ends.
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