CAREER PATH
A HUNGER GAMES STORY
PART 3
CAPTIVE
12 Years ago
Bread, cheese, meat, water. The boy could taste them all. His young eyes watched longingly as his fellow first years devoured their lunch time meals. Slouching low to the table as a five year old does, he wrapped his arms around his stomach where no one could see, and endured the pains of hunger.
"No lunch again Coonboy?" asked a boy with blond hair across the table with a gleeful smile.
The boy swallowed and turned away, hiding the bruise around his left eye.
"Coonboy never has a lunch," says another boy with dark hair. The rest of the first years erupted. Pointing, laughing, sneering, all except the girl with dark hair sitting at the end of the table.
"His family spent all their money getting him in here," said a boy with red hair. "They can only afford to give his brother lunch."
The boy with the bruised eye and messy hair glanced over their shoulders at the third years table where his brother ate. The boy with the messy hair clenched his jaw as their laughter rolled through his ears. But soon, even that hurt, as the rest of his body was scraped, bruised, and aching after the first three weeks of training.
"Well, here have some of mine," said a boy with brown hair. Holding out a red apple, the boy with the messy hair stared with wide eyes. Shifting between the boy and the apple, he slowly reached out his hand, his mouth salivating as his fingers closed over the apple. Yet the boy with the brown hair jerked back his hand just as the boy with the messy hair's fingers closed. The table erupted once more.
"Guess you'll just have to win today," says the boy with blond hair. "Or you'll be a real coon tomorrow."
The boy with the messy hair recoiled against his chair and dropped his eyes. Fighting the moisture which blurred his vision, and the knot forming in his throat, he clenched his fists and imagined striking each of them over and over. However, the vision faded as reality set in. He would never beat them, he would always be too weak.
He kept his eyes down for the rest of lunch. His family was poor, and had spent most of their money on his application to the Hunger Games Career program. This made food scarce, so the boy's father began withholding meals if his sons performed poorly. If you had a good day, you got to eat dinner, and have a lunch the next day. If you didn't, all you got was a measly bowl of grain in the morning. Every morning the boy didn't receive a lunch, his father told him it was for his own good, that it should motivate him, and if he couldn't compete hungry, he wouldn't stand a chance anyway.
A bell rang and the trainees filed to the garbage bins. His brother passed by, and gave the boy with the messy hair a sympathetic glance. Each morning his brother tried to give him some of his lunch, but the boy always refused. If their father found out, he would beat them both. The boy with the messy hair remained seated, having nothing to throw away The girl with dark hair was the last to rise.
Waiting until the cafeteria was almost empty, the boy rose and made his way to the exit. The girl with the dark hair, which was braided in two pigtails watched him closely as she stood at the end of the line. After throwing away her garbage, she took a brisk pace towards the exit. The boy with the bruised eye walked slowly, his hunger making him slow and weak. He wasn't even aware the girl with the pig tails was approaching him from behind until her shoulder bumped against his as she passed. The boy with the messy hair lifted his head to apologize, but stopped as he realized their was something in his palm. Stopping, he opened his palm and saw half a sandwich resting there. Meanwhile, the girl with the pigtails walked out the exit without ever looking back. Alone, the boy with the bruised eye devoured the sandwich so quickly, he didn't even notice what variety of meat it had. If fell into his stomach and his body strengthen. His legs became sturdy, his stomach settled, and the dizzy feeling in his head melted away. With the clarity, came a sense of urgency, and he dashed out the cafeteria.
Not far ahead, the girl with the pigtails was walking across the yard towards the barracks.
"Wait," the boy said as he ran towards her.
The girl with the pigtails never looked back.
"Wait, please," the boy said again.
He came upon her and put a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, and slowly turned to him.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She shook her head.
"Don't tell anyone," she said.
The boy shook his head.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Porsche," she responded.
"I'm Slade," he said.
She smirked a hello.
"Just don't tell anyone," she said.
"I won't."
"Promise?" she asked.
"I promise," he replied.
"Why though?" Slade asked.
Porsche looked at him sadly. Staring into his eyes for a brief moment, she lifted her hand, and pointed to his bruised eye.
Present Day
"I saved her for you," Krillan says with a wicked smile. "Just like I said I would."
Porsche puts the point of her spear in front of Lyra's neck while Krillan stands over her clenching her hair tightly and holding his axe above her neck. Selena stands off a bit with three throwing stars between her fingers. I stare at her, my shoulder tensed and my fingers clenching my blades tightly. Lyra stares coldly at me, her gaze unwavering. Impressive, she appears to be very brave.
"Get it over with," Selena says. "Kill her and lets go after our supplies. The longer we wait the colder the trail will get."
"Let them have it," Krillan says. "They still don't stand a chance against us. Come on Slade, for your brother."
Lyra's nostrils flare at the mention of Saber. I keep my eyes on her, but my mind is spinning. I can't kill her now, it's too soon. Celedien's warning was very specific, I have to wait. I try to think of any reason to keep her alive, and how to convince the other's it's the best thing to do, all for the character.
"She could tell us where they're hiding," Porsche says.
I glance at her, and she at me. She gives me a look that tells me to trust her, and agree with whatever she's about to say.
"You lead that other alliance don't you," Porsche says slapping Lyra's face with the flat end of her spear point.
Lyra sits perfectly still, her lips tightly pressed together. I see where Porsche's going, brilliant.
"She leads them alright," Krillan says. "I caught her as she helped the other one get away, the one Selena caught with her stars. Probably didn't expected me to take her alive," he adds laughing.
"Well maybe you actually did something intelligent for once, even if its by accident," Porsche says. Krillan glares at her. "But anyway, there could be value in keeping her alive, for now.
"Hmm," Selena says. "That is a good idea." She kneels down and runs the sharp end of one of her stars against Lyra's face. Lyra closes her eyes as a line of blood appears on her cheek. "Think we can get her to talk?"
"No, no," Krillan says. "They're probably all scattered now. Just let Slade kill her and we can move on."
"They'll never scatter until you're all dead!" Lyra snaps.
We all act a little surprised by her sudden shout. It's the first time I've heard her voice, and it's steady and strong. Her eyes never left me though, and I quickly narrow my eyes.
"Oooh, she's feisty," Krillan says. "Slade, make her wish she never volunteered."
My eyebrow shoots up, and it takes a great effort to lower it again. I exchange another quick glance with Porsche, who raises an eyebrow of her own. Lyra volunteered? That almost never happens outside Districts one and two. The only time I've ever heard of it happening is if an older sibling volunteer's in place of a younger. But Lyra doesn't have any siblings, that much we were told from Selena. This feeds my uneasy feeling about these games, its just keeps getting stranger, not just because Lyra is a volunteer, but that Krillan and Selena knew, and we didn't.
"Do whatever you want to me," Lyra says shaking her head defiantly. "They have weapons now, and looks like you four already had a tough time fending them off in the woods."
"Umm we killed three of them," Krillan says.
"Even if you kill all of us, what happens then?" Lyra asks. "You're gonna have to kill each other. Whose gonna kill who first?"
"Shut up!" I shout.
Everyone stops and looks to me. Good, less she talks the better, especially if she's going to ramble on like that. Krillan keep turning his axes in his hands, looking for any reason to use them.
"Alright then," Krillan says. "Kill her, we're wasting time."
"She's more useful alive," Porsche counters.
"No way," Krillan says. "We keep her alive, she could slip a knife in our ribs. Can't do that dead."
"Can't tell us where her alliance is hiding dead either," Selena counters.
Krillan clenches his jaw tightly, yellow teeth showing, and glares at both girls, eyes shifting between them. Then he looks to me.
"Well I say its Slade's decision," he says. "She killed his brother."
"I didn't kill his broth…"
"Shut up!" Porsche snaps slapping her with the shaft of her spear.
As Lyra steadies herself, Porsche gives me another glance. She understands Lyra needs to stay alive, Celedien probably warned her as well. But we have to make this convincing, at least I have to make this convincing.
Keeping my eyes trained on Lyra, I take a slow step forward, and lift her chin with the flat side of my sword. The point presses into her throat with her fiery red hair falling around it. My face is still, my eyelids relaxed but my lips pressed together.
"Killing her now would be to good for her," I say darkly.
With a quick flip of my wrist I slap her with the flat end of my other sword across the cheek. Lyra gasps and falls on her side. I jump in front of her and slam a knee in to her chest, pinning her to the ground. She struggles for a moment, but then stops and resumes her glare at me.
"You stabbed my brother in the back," I growl.
"You stupid brute, I had nothi…"
I hit her with the hilt of my sword in the jaw. She gasps and tiny drops of blood spray from her lips.
"Since you stabbed him in the back, you're gonna do the same to your friends," I continue. "You will tell us where they're hiding, and what they're planning."
"I won't tell you anything!" she shouts.
I rise and slap her with the flat end of my sword again, followed by a kick her to her gut. She coughs and blood sprays everywhere, but quickly clenches her teeth. She's brave. Very brave. If I was watching the games, I'd be rooting for her. Coming in she didn't stand a chance against us. Yet she's rallied the other tributes, gotten them to work together, and made a few bold moves that have given them some advantages. On top of all that, she was captured trying to help another tribute escape. Those kinds of actions earn you a lot of fans. It's probably why my stomach is twisted in knots.
"Oh you will," I say narrowing my eyes. "Maybe not now, but after a few days without food or water I think you will. We'll wait as long as it takes, we don't have to hurry as long as we have you. Then, when you tell us where we can find them. We'll hunt them, capture them, bring them here, and have you watch as we kill them. You'll watch, and you'll know it was because of you. You're weakness. Then it'll be you and me, and I'll kill you with the same regard my brother was given."
Lyra rises to her knees. Her eyes are on fire with hatred, and her fists are clenched so tight they're quivering. I'm not sure if it would be easier if she were scared, but it doesn't matter. This gets me what I need. Gathering information will satisfy Selena, promising to make her watch as part of my revenge satisfies Krillan, keeping her alive until the end satisfies the Capital.
It's strange, I actually feel bad for her. She's just another pawn in the Capital's scheme, like Porsche and I. Yet she's still acting so brave. It's hard to remember I'm suppose to play the villain.
Whack
I slap her with the flat end of my sword again. She collapses, and I kick her in the gut. I kick her again, and again, allow her self to rise to all fours, and slam her to the ground with the hilt of my sword again. Krillan starts laughing and Selena mutters something about getting rope.
Lyra rises again, her arms shaking and blood flowing several gashes in her face. Yet once again, she stares at me, eyes to eyes. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to still herself, trying to hide her pain. I lower myself to a knee so we're on an even level.
"Of course, if you tell us now, it will save yourself a lot of pain," I say.
Silence.
"That all you have to say?" I ask a moment later.
She draws her lips in, licks them slightly, takes a sharp breath, and hurls a glob of water, blood, and spit at my face. My eyes snap shut as her spit lands in my right eye.
"Ahh!" I shout.
My arms shoots out and hits her across the temple with the hilt of my sword. She collapses to the ground motionless. Quickly wiping the spit from my eyes, I take a quick look to make sure she's still breathing. She's lucky, if she had spit in Krillan's face, she'd be dead.
"Tie her up," I say to Selena and Krillan.
"Damn," Krillan says as they drag her body to the cornucopia. "Make sure you give her an extra cut just for that."
This has been a long night, and there's a lot to think over. First chance I get I have to talk to Porsche.
Krillan and Selena finish tying up the unconscious Lyra and start going through the supplies again. Looking for Porsche I see her standing off by the fire. She's poking it absentmindedly with her spear. Taking a step towards her she quickly lifts her head and I pause.
Her expression is stone cold, almost empty. Blinking several times, I open my mouth to speak, but she quickly turns and walks away.
Nine Years Ago
"Jab, jab, hook, jab!" shouted an instructor at Slade as he spared with a boy with red hair.
The rest of the trainees looked on a the mock fight progressed. The instructor continued yelling instructions rapidly, and Slade followed them quickly, while his partner defended.
"Hook, Jab, Uppercut!" the instructor yelled. "BREAK."
Slade stopped, and they bowed to each other.
"Line up," the instructor shouted.
The eight year olds, in their third year of training, arranged themselves in two lines. The boys in one, the girls across from them in another. The third year of training introduced the boys and the girls to limited co-ed training. Twice a week they would spar together, one boy against one girl. Today was the first day they would spar against each other.
Each day ended with mock sparing, and victories and defeats were recorded. In the three years since beginning training, Slade lost a lot more than he had won. Each year, he barely made it past the cut, usually finishing just second to elimination. Meanwhile, his brother Saber had continued to excel, and was expected by many to win his classes nomination the following year.
After they had lined up, the instructor told them to turn and face the girls. Who ever was across from them would be their opponent for the day. The boys all turned to face their opponents, and Slade's head cocked in surprise as he saw his opponent.
Porsche.
She was taller now, and her pigtails hung to her shoulders. Unlike the other girls, she wore long sleeves and her shirt covered her stomach. Slade noticed she was leaner than the other girls, but also seemed tired, worn out, exhausted. Seeing him, she took a deep breath and slouched her shoulders. Slade swallowed as he remembered the sandwich she had given him three years before.
The instructor commanded them to take their places, and Slade and Porsche squared off against each other.
"You'll be facing both genders in the arena, best get used to fighting both, so fight each other as you would fight anyone else," the instructor said.
Slade swallowed.
"One, two, three, may the odds be ever in your favor!" he shouted.
The training room fills with the sounds of fists flying, legs kicking, guts being punched, and bodies tumbling over each other. Porsche and Slade begin circling around each other, eyes locked. Making the first move, Slade lunges at her with his knee. Porsche deflects it easily, and lands a jab in his ribs.
They continued exchanging jabs, punches, hooks, and kicks. One by one, the other pairings end their duels. Slade and Porsche continued there's, their focus completely on each other. At one point, Porsche lunged towards Slade with a hook aiming for his neck. Dropping to one knee, her fist sailed over his head, while his leg swept under hers. Falling to her back, Slade quickly trapped her arm by grasping her wrist.
Struggling to get free, Porsche wiggled her wrist furiously. As she did, her long sleeved shirt began to roll up her arm. Slade focused on keeping her wrist pinned, and trying wrestle her shoulder to the ground. However, he stopped and stared at her forearm. His eyes went wide and his strength lapsed for a moment as he saw Porsche's arm covered with scrapes, bruises, and even scars.
Feeling his strength wane, Porsche kicked her legs furiously and tossed Slade off her. Standing once more, she rolled down her sleeve, staring at Slade coldly, and they began circling each other once more.
Slade swallowed as he ran a hand through his messy hair, and absentmindedly over his often bruised face. Lunging at her, Slade threw a massive hook towards her throat. Porsche juked to her left, and swept her legs under his. Slade toppled over to his face, where Porsche was on him a moment later, pinning his shoulders to the mat.
"Out!" the instructor shouted.
Porsche stood up and Slade turned over to his back. Rising to his elbows, he look towards Porsche, expecting her to offer a hand. However, her face was still, eyes blank, and chest heaving softly. A moment later, she turned and walked away.
"You rushed in too early and kept yourself open," the instructor said as Slade rose to his feet. "You know better than that."
"I know," Slade said softly, his eyes following Porsche.
Later, when the rest of the tributes retired to the changing rooms, Slade left without changing. No sooner had he stepped outside the gym when two hands grabbed by the neck of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.
"Why would you do that?" Porsche hissed.
"Whoa, do what?" Slade said holding his hands up defensively.
"Don't play stupid with me," Porsche said, her eyes bearing into him. "I hate that, I hate that so much! You let me win. Why?"
They stared at each other for several long moments. Porsche's gaze never wavering, waiting for him to answer. Slade catching his breath, running through everything he might say. Finally, he sighed and pointed to her arms. Porsche stepped back, her face softening.
"Me too," he said moving his finger from her arms to his eye.
Porsche's eyes fell and she nodded.
"But why?" she asked.
Slade swallowed and shrugged.
"I haven't had any new bruises in a few days," he said.
Porsche began rubbing her right wrist, and stepped close to him again. With her head bowed, she nodded.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"No problem," Slade responded. "Just don't tell anyone."
"I won't," she said.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Present Day
The air is still, and the only sounds are the crackle of the fire, and the snoring of Krillan. Lyra and Selena are asleep, and it's Porsche's turn for watch. It's been one hour already, and in another hour it will be Selena's turn. Creeping slowly through the camp, I make my way silently towards Porsche, whose circling the Cornucopia.
Staying close the shadows, and being quiet as a mouse, I kneel next to a crate and wait for her to come. A few moments later she's in sight, and I whisper softly.
"Porsche!"
She turns in my direction, sighs, and makes her way towards me.
"What?" she asks.
"We need to talk," I reply.
"We do?," she asks.
I pause and narrow my eyes. She narrows hers in response.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Nothing, just come on," she says.
I follow her to a small clearing with a boulder resting the grass. We sit behind it, back to back, one watching the camp, the other watching the forest. We sit silently for a few moments, the only sound we hear is the wind rustling through the leaves.
"How are you doing?" I ask.
I feel her shrug.
"Almost over I guess," she says.
"Yeah," I reply. "We just have to figure out what to do with Lyra."
"They warned me not to kill her until the very end," Porsche says.
"Celedien told me that too," I reply.
"All part of the roles," Porsche says angrily.
I nod and sigh.
"Is that what's bothering you?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
"Not exactly," she says.
"Then what?" I ask.
She doesn't answer at first, just bows her head and wraps her arms around herself.
"I guess I just hate what you've become," she says.
Six Years Ago
"Come on, fast as you can for a minute," Slade says.
"You're on!" Porsche shouts.
They begin sprinting down the dirt path leading through the woods in a capital approved jogging course outside District one. At twelve years of age, conditioning had taken a more prominent role in their training. Everyday, the tributes would take five mile jogs. Every year, a mile would be added until they were jogging ten miles daily. At twelve, the tributes were also paired with partners. Having evaluated and trained the tributes for almost seven years now, the instructors paired off each male and female tribute so to train together. From now on, they would compete as a pair, move on as a pair, and fail as a pair. Slade and Porsche had always seemed to find their paths crossed, and their paring came as no surprise to either, and secretly exciting to both.
Pushing each other to the limit, they ran as fast as they could. Often glancing at each other, smiling and taunting the other until they reached the end of their minute and slowed. Returning to a jog, and breathing heavily. The two laughed and argued.
"I beat you that time," Porsche said.
"No way, I could have kept going for another minute easily," Slade responded.
"Sure you could," Porsche replied smiling. "Just like you could always land those punches whenever you want too."
Slade smiled, and felt his stomach churn as she smiled at him. She only smiled during their jogs, and he looked forward to them everyday. Ahead was a little clearing off the path which contained a large boulder overlooking a river running in a shallow valley below. Each day, they paused to rest at the boulder, and took some time to themselves before returning to the training center for the evening sparing sessions.
They reached the boulder, and Slade rested his hands against a tree while stretching his legs and catching his breath. Porsche reached her hands high into the sky, arching her back, and standing on her toes while taking deep breaths.
Slade eyes became drawn to her as she faced the river away from him. Everyday Porsche was becoming less a young girl, and more a woman. Her voice becoming lighter, her hair now in a single braid, and her body maturing. Slade was experiencing his own changes as well, physical and emotional.
"So is Saber excited?" Porsche asked as her toes and arms lowered.
Slade turned his head quickly and continued stretching his legs, hoping she wouldn't notice how red his cheeks were.
"Uh, yeah, very much so," he said.
Saber had just completed the final cut, and would be representing District one in the Hunger Games in three years. From now until then, he and his partner would be receiving personal training as the only trainees from their original class.
"Everyone is very eager to watch him compete," Porsche continued. She leaned against the boulder and watched the river flowing beneath them. A moment later, Slade joined her, but kept plenty of space between them. "Some say he's the best we've ever had."
"I've heard that too," Slade said. "Its funny though, I told Saber that, and he just laughed and said it was charming personality."
Porsche laughed loudly, and Slade smiled.
"The man knows how to talk," she said. "Too bad Cesar Flinkman isn't a woman, he'd probably convince her to go on a date with him."
Slade smiled, and stared out at the river too. A few moments passed, and the sweat on their skin began to dry, as their pulse and lungs settled.
"Are you worried about him?" Porsche asked a moment later. Slade's eyes lowered, but he kept silent. Turning to him, Porsche watched him closely. "You don't have to be," she said. "Everyone is sure he'll win."
"Uh huh," Slade replies, his eyes staying forward.
Porsche tilted her head, and took a step towards him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Slade shook his head.
"Nothing," he said. "Maybe we should go back."
He turned to leave, but Porsche grabbed him by the wrist.
"Slade," she said softly. "What's wrong?"
Taking a deep breath, and looking into her dark eyes, he sighed.
"It's stupid," he said.
"No it's not," she replied, and smiled a moment later. "Besides, this place here," she motioned her arms around the boulder and the river. "This is our place, a safe place, whatever we say here, stays here, between you and me."
Slade face remained still, and Porsche's smile faded. She nodded an apology.
"It's probably nothing," Slade said. "But, when he won, I just had a really bad feeling."
"What kind of feeling?" she asked.
Slade shrugged.
"Don't know," he replied. "But it was bad, and its kind of lingered ever since. Told you it was stupid."
"It's not stupid," Porsche said stepping closer to him.
He could smell her hair, and he took a slow breath, letting it fill his senses.
"Well I don't know, don't tell anyone about it ok?" I said.
"Course not," Porsche replied. "It was said here, in our place, so it stays here."
"Promise?" Slade asked.
"I promise."
Present Day
"What are you talking about?" I ask her.
Porsche stops, and stay silent.
"Never mind," she said. "It's stupid."
"No it's not," I reply. "Come on, what's going on?"
She sighs.
"It's just, you're not yourself out here," she says. "And it scares me."
I pause and take it in. Porsche has lived a life of fear. Fear of failure, fear of starvation, fear of her father. Yet, she's never admitted it before. I shrug softly.
"It's easy to be afraid out here," I say. "After all, everyone is trying to kill us."
"No," she said. "That's not it. I'm not afraid of whose going to stab me in the back, or the front," she said. Leaning her head against mine, she gazes into the stars. "I'm afraid of what I saw while you were beating Lyra."
I lean my head back against hers, and wait. She'll continue when she's ready.
"We've been alive eighteen years," she says. "Some of the boys and girls we've killed out here were twelve. Their lives had just begun, and now its gone. They're gone, forever."
I lower my head as her words sink in.
"What have I done with my life?" she continues. "All I know is the Hunger Games. I've never even thought about what would come next, should I win."
"You'd be a mentor to future tributes," I say.
"To continue the cycle of meaningless violence and murder," she replies. "No. That's not a good life. I've wasted my life."
"No you haven't," I say. My chest tightens as my cheeks become flush. "We haven't wasted our lives."
"Really?" Porsche challenges. "Have we learned anything? Discovered anything? Created anything?"
"We've…"
"No," she continues. "We've done nothing but fulfill the roles the Capital has demanded us too. And I'm not talking about our characters. I'm talking about what we do in our districts. District twelve are all coal miners, four fishermen, eleven farmers. We're born into it, and we never have the chance to discover what makes each of us unique. In their eyes, to play this game is a privilege, where we kill our fellow people from the Districts. People like us, who live our lives in hardship so they can live in comfort. It's just another role pre-written for us."
I wrap my arms around my knees, and hold them close to my chest. Its easy to forget there are thousands of camera's all around us, but Porsche doesn't seem to care. If we were anyone else, we might be killed on the spot. However, they need us now, and Porsche knows it.
"So what happens when we die?" Porsche asks rhetorically. "What kind of impact will we have?"
Silence.
"I'll tell you what," she continues. "Nothing. We'll become one of the nameless losers who died in the Arena. We'll be forgotten as soon as its over, and nobody will care to remember."
"They'll remember our characters," I say.
"Oh good," Porsche says. "Does that make you happy? Being remembered as the villain? Being remember for how you declared revenge against Lyra, beat her like a dog, then ultimately kill her when the shows over?"
"I didn't mean it like that…"
"Or how about me," she says. "I'm the national WHORE!"
I stop myself, all words escaping me.
"You play your role well," she says. "While you were beating her, I swear I saw our fathers. Kicking her in the gut, slapping her across the face. It came very naturally to you."
"Maybe you forgot I was beaten often too," I snap.
"Yes I remember! She snaps back. Then her head sinks and her voice lowers. "It's what made me so afraid."
I lean forward, my back leaving hers, take several deep breaths, and clench my fists. Standing up, I swallow and begin to walk away. A moment later I hear feet running behind me. Turning, I see Porsche, a terrible look on her face as she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. My arms wrap around her waist, returning her squeeze.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
"It's ok," I whisper back.
"No it's not…I can't believe I'd ever think…."
"Shh, yes it is, just let it go." She buries her face in my shoulder. I sway her slowly back and forth, my hand softly running up and down her back. "We're not ourselves. It's the stupid games. But they'll be over soon. We take care of the marks, then Selena and Krillan, Lyra last, then its just you and me in the final two."
She clutches my shoulder hard with her nails, burying her face deep into my chest.
"I can't do this," she says.
Three Years Ago
Thunder cracks overhead as the rain falls heavily through the trees. His clothing drenched, feet frozen, water dripping from his hair, Slade runs through the woods as fast as he can. It's late at night, what time exactly, he isn't sure, but he doesn't care. He's not sure how far he's run, or for how long, but he keeps running.
Lightening flashes overhead and illuminates the forest. Seeing a break from the path, Slade takes it and runs until he crashes into a boulder. Wrapping his arms around it, he holds himself still as the tears flow. A few moments later, he collapses next to the boulder, holding his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms.
The thunder ceases, the lightening dies, and the rains pass. The night time sounds of crickets, firefly's, the songs of evening birds, and owls returned, and a stillness fell over the forest. Yet Slade remained where he was, curled by the boulder, the river rushing over the rocks down below. His pulse was normal, breathing calm, but his heart throbbed with pain. His mind was wild, replaying the events over and over, from start to finish. Over and over.
So lost was he in his pain, it wasn't until he heard his name called that he realized where he was.
"Slade!" someone shouted.
Lifting his head, the familiar voice cut through the visions, and his mind calmed.
"Slade!" the voice called again.
A moment later Porsche came into the clearing. She paused and stared at Slade, who remained seated, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. A painful expression was on her soft face while her eyes were wide with sorrow.
"Slade I'm…" she swallowed. "I'm so sorry."
His eyes closed as they grew moist again, and his head fell between his shoulders. A moment later she was beside him, on her knees, taking his hands in hers.
"He's dead," Slade managed to say. "Saber…he's just…he's dead."
Death was concept he had never thought of before. He had heard of elders passing in town, seen other tributes fall in the Hunger Games, but this was different, this was real. This was his brother, who would never speak, draw breath, smile, laugh, run, climb, or come home again. He was just, gone. His body an empty shell where life no longer existed.
It had never seemed real to him before.
"I know," Porsche said.
"My brother…"
Porsche took his head in her arms and held him close against her chest. He relaxed his body, and allowed himself to fall into her.
"They're all looking for you," she whispered.
"I don't want anyone to see me," he replied.
"I know," she said.
"What time is it," he asked.
"Late, well early in the morning," Porsche said.
"I don't know when I'll want to come back," Slade said. "You better get going, they'll be looking for you too."
"That's why I came here," she said. "And I'll be here as long as I need too."
"Same with me."
Just before the this seasons Hunger Games had begun, Porsche and Slade had made the final cut for their class. Nobody would have guessed nine years ago they would have won. Apart, they were feeble, weak, and lacking in talent. But together, the two had shown exceptional teamwork, cunning, and tenacity. Three years from now, they would be competing themselves.
Now that Saber was dead, Slade's father would be extra hard on him.
"It'll be ok," Porsche whispered. "We just have to make it through the next three years."
"Yeah," Slade said, lifting his head away from her chest. "How are we going to do that?" he asked shaking his head and starting to get up.
Porsche squeezed his hand and smiled.
"The same way we always do," she said. "Together."
He smiled as she brushed a strand of hair which fell over his eyes. Her hand lowered, but stopped at his cheek. His hand wrapped itself around her wrist, and they stared into each others eyes.
"Together," Slade whispered.
Porsche leaned in and pressed her lips to his. His eyes closed as his arms wrapped around her waist and hers around his neck. Her lips were tender, sweet, and the sensation was beyond his wildest dreams. Time lost its meaning, and for a moment, the throbbing in his heart stopped. A moment later, she slowly released, and stared into his eyes.
Slade nodded, and relaxed his arms. Porsche led them back to the trail, and they began their walk home. Slade licked his lips, still tasting hers. It was a moment he'd never forget, and wanted to remain special.
"You're not going to tell anyone…about what….well about…what happened?" he asked.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.
He smiled.
"Promise?" he asked.
"I promise."
Present Day
We remain still, her last words echoing in my mind. I can't do this. Can't or won't? I don't know, but we can't let that get to us. So I just hold her, wondering how many more times I'll get to do this.
"Do you know what frightens me the most?" she whispered in my ear.
I shake my head.
"One way or the other, these are the last few days I'll get to spend with you," she says.
"Just don't think about that," I reply.
"I don't want too," she says. "But I can't help it, especially when you're not yourself. Because if we're not ourselves, then our lives truly mean nothing."
"That's not true," I reply. "You know me, the real me, better than anyone, and I know you. That alone makes it matter. And we both know we're nothing like these characters."
She leans back and looks into my eyes, tears streaming down her face.
"Promise?" she asks.
"I promise."