CAREER PATH

A HUNGER GAMES STORY

PART 5: THE SPARK

A waist. That's all it is. Twenty two kids, dead, for what? That's the trick though isn't it. The dirty little secret President Snow and Game Keepers keep as they smile smugly throughout the celebration and festivities of each Hunger Games. It's so simple, clear as day, and I feel as though its been staring at me this whole time, laughing and mocking me with each kill.

SHRINK

The wet stone glides smoothly across the edge of my blade. I test it with my thumb, and find its good and sharp. Perfect. It's just me and Lyra now, the final two, and I'm guessing the President and Game Makers couldn't be happier. They wanted to re-interest the younger audiences, so they created me. I'm the villain. Angry, ferocious, violent, and overall just not very likable. Yet, was I born this way, or driven to it? The audience is suppose to wonder, take sides, disagree, and watch with interest to see how my story plays out. Will I get my revenge? Or will I get my due? Either way, no one will be able to turn away.

Good.

The sun reaches mid-day height, and I feel it warming the top of my head. The river runs calmly over the rocks, and the birds are still singing, just like they were last night. My eyes close and I fight the knot which forms in my throat again. It's hard to admit she's gone. Porsche. It hasn't even been a full day and I've already caught myself speaking as if she were still here, turning around and expecting to see her, planning our next move for the both of us. But then I find she's not, and it feels as though a part me is missing. Can I ever get used to this? Do I even want too? Either way, it's hard to accept the truth. I'm all alone now.

I know what that emptiness is. It was her place, in whatever part of you makes you feel happy, fulfilled, and secured. That was Porsche's place in my life, and no one could ever fill it, I won't even let them try.

Make sure it means something.

That was her last wish. She made me promise, and we never broke our promises to each other. I spent the rest of the night wondering how I. How could I make her death, along with everyone else's, mean anything at all? No one remembers the losers, only the winners. Their bodies are given back to their Districts to be buried, and they're mourned by family and close friends, but outside of that, nobody cares. Just the winners, and only because it reminds us only one can win.

It was early this morning I realized there's only one way.

I sheath my swords, stand up, and take in the landscape one last time. The river flows softly into a small lake which contains a small island. It's where Lyra and her alliance had kept their base. Here, on the shore, is where Porsche had died. Crawling here after Krillan mortally wounded her, wanting to hear the sounds of the river once more, just like our place in District One.

I wish they would bury her there, so she could rest in the cool shade overlooking the river and listen to songs of the birds for all time. I'd know where to find her then, and I'd know she'd be at peace.

Picking up her spear, I sling it behind my back. I don't use a spear, that was Porsche's weapon, yet I take it. Feeling its weight against my back comforts me. It almost fills that emptiness. Turning from the shore, I head into the woods, weapons sharp and ready, for it's time to find Lyra, and put an end the Forty Fourth Annual Hunger Games.

The air is humid from the afternoon sun deep in the woods. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and they occasionally drip onto my jumpsuit. The bandage around my leg is itching with each stride, yet there isn't anymore blood, and the pain is minimal. As I walk, my mind wanders to what must be happening in the rest of the world. With Lyra and I being the final two, I'm sure there have been in depth specials and segments into who we are. They want the world to know exactly who is fighting who, and what got them here. They'll craft elaborate stories around each of us, all designed to peak viewer interest, and get them talking. I smirk as I wonder what kind of story they've chosen to tell.

Are they going to interview my father? Who I said beat me constantly as a child during my interview. He's probably had a near heart attack with every decision I've made. All he talked about my whole life was what he thought I needed to do win. He was a student of the Hunger Games, and thought he knew how to win better than anyone else. They never told him about the characters Porsche and I were playing, so I'm sure he was yelling and shouting a lot, and feeling enraged that I apparently never listened to him. If they interview him, I'd actually want to watch it, it would be very amusing.

And what about Lyra? Who are they going to interview? The young thirteen year old girl she volunteered for? That would be very entertaining for most. No doubt the little girl is grateful for Lyra. She should be, Lyra has taken a lot for her. I'm sure with each punch, kick, bruise, cut, Lyra endured, the little girl became more thankful, and the Game makers more excited, . I can just see them wriggling in their chairs like young kids, eager to interview the girl after Krillan chopped off two of Lyra's fingers.

Lyra is certainly hero in that little girls eyes, and probably many more as well.

Either way, no doubt people will be glued to their viewing screens for our final encounter. That's what its all about, making people watch. Well I'll be giving them something to watch. A damn good show. We'll see if they can handle it.

I'm surprised how light my feet feel, and how relaxed my shoulders are. Pushing through the branches and foliage, I mull this over. It's not because I know Lyra is wounded, and won't be able to fight very well. It's not because I know I can beat her one on one and no one can jump in and save her. It's also not because I don't have to try and keep her alive any longer. Nope, none of those.

It's because I've made a choice, on my own, without any pushing me to or from it, and I'm happy with it.

Porsche would be too.

I keep walking, back towards the middle of the Arena. Lyra took off last night after seeing her allies were dead, and Porsche, Krillan, and myself were fighting each other. I wondered earlier how long I'd have to search to find her. Then I realized it wouldn't be long at all, Lyra's not the type to run away, she's just running to where she knows I'll look.

The sun is beginning its descent as I push through the last of the foliage and stride into the charred remains of the prairie grass Lyra's alliance burned yesterday. The cornucopia stands in the middle of the field, with Lyra sitting on a crate with her back to me.

That's just stupid, and she needs to do better than this, I don't plan on wasting my life.

Taking Porsche's spear from my back, I hold it steady in my right arm, lift it high, and slam it into the ground. The sound echoes across the plain and Lyra whirls around. Seeing me, she quickly leaps to her feet and stands ready. Our eyes meet, and we stare for several moments at each other. Then, I slowly begin walk towards her. Watching her closely with each step, I see her fiery red hair shines brightly against the fading sun, and her eyes still wear that same defiance she always wore.

"So," she says when I get closer. "It's you."

"Yep," I reply flatly. "Just like they wanted all along."

Her hands are empty, and there are no weapons in sight. They took a lot of them during their raid, and we grabbed the rest and tossed them in the woods while searching for them. The two handed sword she had must have been lost in the last battle. Yet still, she stands ready, prepared to fight with everything she has, completely unafraid.

"Psh, yeah," she says.

She swallows as I reach for my swords and un-sheath them. I examine each one, and look to her.

"You going to fight?" I ask.

"Of course," she says narrowing her eyes. "I've never stood aside for anyone before, I'm not going to start now, not with the likes of you."

I nod, keeping my face blank.

"Good," I say. "That's what I wanted to hear.

I toss her the sword which I sharpened earlier.

It lands at her feet, and she stares at it cautiously, her eyes shirting between it and me.

"We need to give them a good show," I say. "It's what they always wanted, the villain…," I say motioning to myself. "…and the hero," I add, pointing to her.

Her eyes squint and she cocks an eyebrow. I smile, and nod my head once more. Lifting my sword, I charge her. Lyra waste's no time and picks up my thrown blade and holds it in front of her. My blade connects with hers softly, and I push her back.

I circle her, and she holds it steady in her good hand. Then she charges me, swinging it wildly at my waist. I parry it effortlessly and juke to my left as she rolls past me. She's already given me two ways I could have killed her without any effort. Lyra recovers quickly and spins, just in time to deflect my blade aimed for her head. I continue to press down on the blade, not too hard, but hard enough to make her arms shake.

"Did you think you were the only one?" I ask in a hushed voice. "Did you think they'd ask you to be the hero, and not have a villain for you to fight?"

I jerk myself backwards, acting as if her strength had pushed me back. She stands straight, her chest heaving and her eyes wild in confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"You're not helping yourself out here," I reply. Lunging at her again, I take a side swipe at her, which she narrowly leaps out of the way off. Then, she tries to strike me as my momentum carries me away off balance, leaving an opening for my kidney, but I quickly spin and deflect her blow, kick her in the gut, and knock her back.

"You said you talked a lot," I say as she tries to regain her footing. "I don't think they like that. So I'm guessing they came to you a few nights before the reaping, and some how convinced you to volunteer."

"SHUT UP!" she wails and charges me again.

I strike her sword from below, sending her arms skyward, and trip her feet.

"Think about it Lyra," I say. "They asked me and Porsche to do the same."

She slows herself and looks at me carefully. I know her mind is whirling, probably thinking about all that's happened, just as I did all last night. A few moments pass, and I see her face soften. But we gotta keep this dance up.

I leap towards her and raise my sword. She rolls out of the way as my sword hit's the ground, she leaps forward and tries to stab me, but I back hand her in the face, hard. She falls, but quickly rolls back to her feet. We begin to circle each other once more.

"So they did huh," she says. "And why? What did you do?"

I shrug.

"Nothing," I reply. "I just had the good back-story. My brother."

Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches.

"Well they have something of mine!" she shouts.

She charges once more and we lock blades. Her face turns red, and I smile, she's starting to get the dance.

"They have my family, and they threatened to kill them."

"Unless you play the hero?" I ask.

"Yes, and I learn my lesson."

I thrust her back and we begin circling again.

"You're certainly gotten a lot of people hurt haven't you," I say. "That's what they want you think huh."

She glares at me, real hatred growing in her eyes.

"So what happens if you win?" I ask. "What do you do then?"

I charge her and we parry several blows. I strike high, she parries and strikes low. She strikes to the side, and I block it.

"Nothing," she says with a strike that I block. "I go home, I shut up, and I'll never put anyone else in danger."

"That's not what I want to hear Lyra," I say. "Besides, do you really think they'd make it that easy?"

I kick her in the stomach and she falls on her back. I circle around her, spinning my sword in my hand, and deadly look on my face. She spits blood from her mouth and stands up.

"I don't care what you think," she growls.

"You should!" I shout. "I could have killed you over a dozen times by now, but I haven't, and there's a reason."

"I don't care you District one scum!" she shouts.

"Start caring!" I shout. "Think about all that's happened. Do you realize what you've done! Huh, do you?"

I charge her again and we start exchanging blows at a faster rate. I hold back my strength and my attacks. I let her unleash her fury on me, blocking and parrying each blow as I go, making it clear I'm toying with her.

"You've done something…." I say parrying a low strike. "…no one has ever…" deflect a high blow. "…done before."

She tries to stab me through the chest. I grab her wrist pull her around and push her to the ground. She gasps and winces, but quickly rises. I hold my sword tightly at my waist and glare at her.

"You united all the districts," I say. "No one's ever done that. No one's every tried. Hell, no one probably thought it was possible."

She stands slowly, and watches me carefully.

"Think about it Lyra," I continue. "They fought for you, they rescued you, they, DIED, for, you!"

"You think I don't know that!" she shouts.

She charges me again, and swings my sword with blind ferocity. I defensively being to back away as she attacks me over and over. I parry and block each strike, listening to her as she fights.

"They're all dead because they tried to protect me!" she shouts. "I didn't want that! I only wanted us to fight together to kill you! I didn't want them rescuing me, or making me their leader. I only thought if we stood together we'd have a better chance of beating the odds. Beating you, giving us all a better chance."

I deflect a strike and make one of my own. I strike her from above, and she deflects it. I press down hard again, making sure our eyes meet.

"Exactly," I say quietly. "But you got something more. You inspired them to join together to fight a common enemy. Imagine what you could do if you united us against our real enemy."

We push off each other, and she stares at me broodingly. I twirl my blade in my hands, staring right at her. Her face is flush, and she's gasping for air. Lyra's doing all she can to kill me and survive. I can see her hands quivering, and her chest heaving. She's scared. However, that's what so impressive about her; she doesn't give into it. Lyra fights her hardest, despite being as scared as she is.

"Do you ever wonder why we play the Hunger Games?" I ask.

"That's easy enough to understand," she says. "To remind us each year how much power they have over us."

"Sure," I say shrugging. "That's one reason. But there's another, and I don't think anyone sees it until they've played the game. At least I didn't."

Lyra holds herself still. Good. She's listening, perhaps this isn't a total waste. I raise my blade and charge her again. She blocks my strike, and we begin our parry dance again.

"It's not only to show the power and control they have over us," I say. "But to keep us divided."

She parries a blow and jumps backwards. Taking several deep breaths, and wiping the sweat from her face, I see her eyes blink several times as she understanding over takes her.

"Ever since the uprisings, and the beginning of the Hunger Games, they've sought to keep us divided," I say. "Divide us by planting seeds of hatred, distrust, and fear in all of us. Discouraging any kind of fellowship between us. The reason is simple, if we're too busy fighting each other, we'll never come together, and fight our real enemy."

She charges me, but her attacks are half hazarded. We exchange a few parries, and I can tell she wants to hear more.

"We fight each other, kill each other," I continue. "It causes us to distrust each other, hate each other, and kill each other even more. It divides us. The Districts, who are all oppressed by our real enemy."

"Our real enemy?" she asks.

"The Capital," I hiss.

We break away. Her eyes are wide, in intense fear now. Speaking against the Capital gets you killed. Not possibly, or maybe, it does. I've just crossed that line, and she didn't want any part of it. Yet, in her eyes, I can tell, she believes the same. Lyra shakes her head.

"It's not possible," she says.

"Yes it is," I reply. "You just have to make them realize the truth."

I charge and begin attacking her now. Above, side, below, she deflects them.

"They don't even…" she says parrying a high attack. "…let us talk…" parries a side attack. "…to each other."

" No," I say holding our blades crossed. "But the winners see each other every year.'

Her eyes widen and she jumps to my left. Her eyes and eyebrows narrow. After a moment she shakes her head.

"It's still not possible," she says. "We'd need so many…"

"You united almost everyone against us with one interview," I say interrupting her. "They saw your intensity, your conviction. You gave them hope, something to focus their anger and fears on, something to fight for. That's the kind of power President Snow wishes he had."

She charges and starts attacking me now. Our dance continues.

"Why don't you do it then," she says. "You seem to have it all figured out."

"Because," I say deflecting a strike to my heart. "They chose you to be the hero, and they chose well."

We break again, and start to circle.

"All of Panem has seen you," I say. "They've seen what they saw," I motion behind me indicating all the tributes who have died these games. "A girl from the under privileged District eight, unites all the tributes against the privileged career pack. They fight, they die, all against their enemy, but they died together. It's the kind of tale which inspires everyone. I couldn't dream of doing that."

I charge her again, and the dance continues.

"I see the picturing you're trying to paint," Lyra says feigning a jab to my stomach. "But whose to say there are even others who think like you and me?"

I smile.

"Strike a match in the dark, and everyone flocks to the spark," I say. "They will come to you. You are more than just Lyra from District eight now. You are an idea, a symbol, the spark. You will be the only light in the darkness which they will gather too. And one day, when enough have gathered, your spark will catch fire. Yes, it will take time, but you're not really going to have anything better to do."

Lyra clenches her teeth, but slows her attacks some. I see it in her face. She's thinking about it, seriously thinking about it. I'm sure she has her doubts, I would too. However, no revolution began on its own. There's always a beginning, and that beginning is inspired by ideas and courage.

Lets see how brave she really is.

She slashes her sword towards my neck. Ducking to my left, I grab her wrist, twist it, and snap it around her back and I hold her in front of me. Kicking her in the back of the knees, she falls to her knees, and I place the blade of my sword at her neck. She holds herself perfectly still, slowing her breathing, staring straight forward. I lean closely to her ear, and whisper.

"What did they die for?" I whisper. "Was it so you could go home and keep quiet for the rest of your life? No. They gave their lives to you. You owe them."

This is how I make it mean something. If we're going to die young and fighting, it should be for a reason. If Lyra really is the hero, everyone who lost their life in these games, will have died for a reason. Even Selena, and Krillan. I'm the flint which the knife is striking against. Hopefully I'll create a spark big enough to burn it all down.

I feel her swallow.

"What does it matter," she says. "I can't beat you. You've proven that. You're going to win."

"No," I whisper. "I'm not."

I pull the blade away from her neck and kick her away. She rolls forward, grasps her sword, and stand up slowly. Her eyes are wide.

"You only need one more thing before you can start," I say. "You need my life, which I'm going to give you."

Once again she narrows her eyes and cocks her head. Our eyes lock, and we stare at each other once more. Several moment of silence pass, each one confirming to her that I mean what I say. When her head straightens, and her eyes soften, I raise my blade, and utter…"

"Don't waste it."

I charge her as fast as I can, screaming at the top of my lungs. Her mouth drops and her eyes fly open. Instinctively she raises her blade deflect my incoming blow. And just as I reach her, I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and drop my sword.

SHRIP

I gasp as cold steel runs through my body. It hurts, but not as bad as I would have thought.

"Oh my," a shaking voice utters.

I slowly open my eyes, my head already feeling lighter, and look down. My sword, the one I sharpened and tossed to Lyra, is protruding from my stomach, almost to the hilt. Blood flows from the wound, down the blade, over her hand, and onto the ground.

My legs begin to feel week, and my fingers start to tingle. I fall to my knees where Lyra quickly catches me and lays me softly on the ground. Her red hair flows in front of her face as she looks over the wound, panic in her eyes. I blink several times as my vision starts to go fuzzy. My breathing grows slower, and I realize it worked.

Lyra places a hand over the wound and pushes hard. I place my hand around her wrist. My grip is soft, as I don't have the strength to pull her away.

"Stop," I whisper softly.

"No," she says. "You can't die, not like this. I can't do what you asked, I can't owe you..."

"Yes….you can," I reply.

I lift my head, struggling to keep steady, and I look into her eyes. This is the other part of her that will inspire people. Here I am, dying, and yet she's trying to save me. I singled her out in my interview, vowing to kill her. After capturing her, I hit her several times, even knocking her out. A member of my alliance chopped off two of her fingers. Yet she tries to save me.

When they raided the cornucopia, she tried to help and injured ally, and was captured because of it. When Krillan attacked them, she stayed behind and tried to help her wounded ally before he died. She put herself at risk, volunteering for the Hunger Games, to save her family, and the little thirteen year old girl. The Capital choose their Hero well. Hopefully too well.

"I would have… joined you too," I say.

My death will mean she wins. Her win, means our deaths mean something. Lyra will find others who want to over throw the Capital. Starting with previous and future winners of the Hunger Games, who will learn, as I have, why we play the games. The Capital won't be able to keep us divided once we realize the truth. They fear us joining together.

But with Lyra, one day they will unite, and fight back. I'd love to see that day. But that wasn't part of my plan. My part was to create the spark, along with everyone else who died in these games. If Lyra pulls through, we will have created something which will change the world. We will have meant something.

I rest my head on the ground again. She squeezes my hand as a tear falls from her eye, and lands on my cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I shake my head.

"Don't thank me," I say, struggling to speak as darkness begins to creep into my vision. "Just swear."

"Swear what?" she asks.

I turn to her again, our eyes connecting.

"Don't…waste…our…lives," I say with the final breath I take.

I no longer have the strength to breath, and I can't feel my legs, arms, or torso. All I can feel is the wound in my gut, and her hair as it dangles on my face. She closes her eyes and her chin begins too tremble. A moment later she opens them, and that brave and defiant look fills her face once more. Leaning close to my ear, she whispers…

"I won't. I swear it."

With that, I let the darkness overtake me. Soon I don't notice the brightness of the sun, or the discomfort of the terrain. The last thing to fade is the pain from the wound. And as the announcer's voice fills my ears congratulating Lyra on winning the Forty Fourth annual Hunger Games, a wave of peace washes over me, followed by darkness, and I don't feel any more pain.

THE END