Despite everything - the pressure of the Games, the anticipation of what was to come, and the superfluous necessity to survive - Misson was somehow tranquil. It was around noon, or felt as if it was. The game makers controlled everything nowadays - it could be midnight in the same time zone somewhere else. Everything for Misson was an expected illusion. But that didn't stop him from putting it all aside and believing it.
The temperature wouldn't kill anyone - it was seventy-degrees-Fahrenheit-feeling weather, with a slight breeze and no clouds. Like a day out of a fairytale. But that's what the game makers wanted. Everything seems so perfect, you let your guard down. And suddenly BAM you're shot to death with an arrow. Sick as it is, it's the truth.
Misson ran his hand over the too green grass beneath his fingers as he lay on the sloped upper portion of a hill. It was the ideal beauty of the natural world. These ups and downs of life were stories, told by the land. He could see for miles, the expanse of this grassy prairie overwhelming his ability to think. Why hadn't he gone to the woods. He was obviously exposed by anyone peering over the opposite side of a hill. Or maybe someone had gotten hold of a pair of binoculars - he'd be dead in a heartbeat. Actually, quite possibly maybe, this grass had unscented narcotics built in to their genetic stances, causing him to lose his focus and relax.
Whatever the cause, he let his mind run wild. The terrible murders weren't anywhere near here, so why worry? And besides, the game makers would definitely let him know if it was time for a battle. It was a new state of mind for him. He liked it.
Out here, he was living like Games royalty. Only half starving to death. It had rained in the middle on the first night, when most everyone was asleep under some sort of cover. He'd been close enough to the forest back then to clearly see it hadn't rained there. It was a twisted blessing - the rain in the hills. There was so much of it that it caused mud slides and these white river rapids down in the crevasses between the hills. There was almost no way he could cross them.
He was stranded on the same hill for two days before the game makers realized he'd gathered enough water for a week's worth of living. When Mission had stitched his jacket into a garbage bag size carrier - water tight - and filled it up, he saw the water level all of a sudden drop four feet and sink into the grass instantly.
No one had paid him enough attention to realize he'd been stitching it in the first place.
Inside his head was a paradise of escape. He laid on the hill, introspection abundant, thinking about nothing in particular. Except maybe the Game-makers motives, and how he could find some food. Misson accepted he wouldn't win. He couldn't. He told himself he was powerful enough to do so, but there was this drive inside of him, a good guy trying to make his life matter.
He'd been thrown into this arena of death, with these people congratulating him for a job well done, and how lucky he was. They would all kill to drop eighteen years and have their fifteen minutes of fame - even if it meant death.
But Misson wanted to die here, fifteen minutes of fame or not. But he also wanted to do something worth paying a life for. He wanted to make his final moments count.
He mind wandered there and back, random images of childhood clouding his mind. Every now and then a stray tear escaped without warning. But everyone was crying by now. It didn't matter. Misson would die, something worth his life.
He would die for someone. The moment he let his competition back into view, Lettie was the only thing he could think about. He thought about her sense of extreme sarcasm and how she would've been the perfect spokesperson for women's rights back when the Americas still existed. How her personality rang with independence. And how he should not have fantasized about her for that afternoon instead of looking for food.
He'd never known this emotion before. It was a want, but his heart hurt so much for it, it felt like he couldn't go on without it. Like he needed this. But what was it. Suddenly he pictured her in her arms. He pictured a future ahead of them with three little children - two girls, with her same big eyes and a little boy with her personality. Themselves combined in each other night after night, and before that - his winding hand reaching down and caressing her face, his lips reaching hers and -
There was a cannon shot in the background. He suddenly realized it was late in the evening, and he'd fallen asleep. Misson cursed himself for wasting the precious daylight.
IT only took a split second to return to that fuzzy stage with Lettie. What was this - and why had he asked her to alliance him anyways.
He hadn't realized the attraction at the time. But now he realized it. He did. He'd never experienced it before, and had certainly had crushed on other chicas, but this was different entirely. This had to be. This was love.
*.*.*
Lettie scratched at the eclectic collection of bug bites and plant allergies that have manifested on her skin. She marveled at the fact that on top of the fear of dying, and having to strive for food and all, they had to throw in mosquitoes and poison ivy.
Lettie had spent eight hours the previous day trying to perfect the aim of a spear she'd acquired - she'd obviously made a mark in the tree the first time from around ten feet. The closest she'd got to hitting the same mark was the last shot in that time frame, three inches to the right. She wasn't particularly gifted in that sport, but it was the only weapon she had as of now. And from training, it was one of the only weapons she'd remembered the technique for. And the best spots to aim for. Besides, if she got close enough to someone, she could produce the power to stab someone. It was like a big knife.
And that's exactly what she planned to do. Take out someone she didn't care for and lesson the competition. Go for the gold. Plan to win. Take the offensive.
But who? She'd seen evidence of someone's whereabouts nearby - there was a hushed laughter that echoed with the wind, and half an attempted-to-be-covered-up footprint in the soft dirt. It looked masculine. Like the tip of a shoe - but it was wider than any of hers. So a guy for sure. She gasped. If it was Misson, she couldn't do it. She didn't know what it was about him.
It was stupid, wasting time meant for deducting a plan on him. Damn Misson. When he asked her to work with him, she felt a spark. When his hand brushed hers and his voice lingered in their close proximity, she felt it. When he smiled after making a joke back in training, he would look in her direction to possibly wonder if she thought he was funny.
But what did she think of everything? Suddenly Lettie realized that she'd been imagining a lot of what she assumed - but did that mean that her imagination was running wild with images she hoped real? Did she want this.
Distraction from the now was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She needed to figure this out. Why was even thinking of him so much? She was sure he didn't think of her. He'd come to the woods, or maybe escaped somewhere else, and only focused his all too intelligent mind on surviving, she was sure of it. Wasn't she?
Lettie had a headache resulting from dehydration. There hadn't been a sprinkle of rain recently, which was strange. She could've sworn she heard a distant thunder recently. But yet again, she was most likely half asleep and imagining good things.
Did that mean she imagined what she wanted? Did she like Misson? She can't like Misson, she just can't. She repetitively installed this inevitable lie in her head until she realized she could die any moment. Really realized. And she didn't want to die a liar. What she really wanted was a kiss and a hug, and him tucking her into bed as she drifted off into a distant slumber that she would never return from. She wanted him to win and marry a girl much better than her and live a happy full life.
But to do that, she needed to find him. She needed him to win if she couldn't. And seeing the competition, she obviously wouldn't.
It dawned on her. There were plenty of other guys, but none with as big of feet as that footprint. Except one. Richie.
Which meant the Careers were nearby.
The sun set as Lettie devised a plan. She sharpened her spear with a rock and took a few more practice swings. She had a little nap-sack full of goodies and a supply of water that wouldn't last her more than tomorrow.
When the moon was at it's brightest, Lettie got up from the dirt packed ground and brushed herself off. She inhaled and exhaled and slowed her breathing. She practiced silent footsteps and surveyed the area for any escape from deathly exposure. She was ready. This would be her first real kill.
She didn't know the Career's whereabouts exactly, but there were signs too obvious to miss. They were uncaringly forgotten about. Had the group of what - seven, six? - Careers forgotten there were many, many more of them. And that maybe, just maybe, one of them might not win?
The footsteps, the noise, the lack of camouflage. And the area in which Lettie's shoe had punctured something foul - human fecies. Right on the ground, plain to see! Not buried or scattered, or under a pile of debris.
Lettie couldn't stand the stupidity. Some of the Careers, to her, had real potential of making it. But their lesser alliances had given them all away.
It was midnight, and Lettie's lips had turned blue from the cold. But she did still have all of her clothes, and had her hands stuck in her drawstring backpack. She would have to rough this one out.
It couldn't have been more than an hour of walking before a strong smell caught Lettie's attention. She knew it was the Careers right away, and was grateful they hadn't stumbled upon her earlier. From a distance, she was relatively unable to defend herself.
The smell? She could put a name to it. There were these specific leaves they'd learned about - leaves from a bush that was rare to find. They had this specific, undeniable smell, and an amazing characteristic. They were genetically engineered so that when burned, they put off a strong smoke filled smell, intense heat, but no light. Perfect for a nighttime fire.
Only would someone close enough as Lettie be able to register their whereabouts. And she had.
Her heart started pounding, faster with every step. She inched her way there, a slow sensation building in her stomach.
She was a good yard away from the little clearing they inhabited now. She blended in to the blackness behind her. Slowly she sank to her stomach, and army crawled to the edge of their fort. Richie was slumped against a tree, their apparent look out. The nerve of some people. Their lives were unknowingly at stake and he'd risked them because he was tired?
Regardless, Lettie was closest to Adonia, who was curled up with Claire. Ben and Dray slept a few feet to the right of them, and Aqua - Aqua was - !
Lettie gasped, and managed to cover her mouth before she let out a scream. Aqua was mere feet to her left, a large knife in her hand and a menacing look of concentration that rang in her features. Wide awake. Seemingly aware.
Lettie knew it would have to be Aqua that would die. Otherwise she'd die herself, going for someone else. Aqua would kill Lettie in a heartbeat.
Now one thing, that Lettie observed but Aqua failed to realize - their 'lookout' had her back to a tree. Maybe Aqua thought it was protection from one side, but Lettie saw it as something else.
It was a clear and easy path to maneuver into, out of Aqua's field of vision. It must've taken Lettie half an hour to move the three feet on her stomach to a position behind the tree. But it felt like an eternity.
Once she was behind Aqua, Lettie prepared a plan. Quick thinking. She would get up, move around the tree, and stab the spear into Aqua's heart. But what if she screamed? Lettie would be dead from the other's weapons. Well now, Lettie had made it this far. She would just have to run.
The dark of the night covered her movements. She made sure she covered the noises. And she did it. She raised the spear, moved around the tree, and well Aqua's large blue eyes met Lettie's in the darkness, she had no time to even fear.
Aqua was dead.
There was no scream, no struggle. Just the blood poured onto the ground, and a limp body collapsing into the puddle.
But if the thud didn't wake them, the soon cannon ball shot would. Lettie ran in the opposite direction she came, hopefully, maybe, looking for an escape.
She'd never felt so free, running through forest at night. Yet, she never felt so evil. Killing an innocent soul under the cover of the natural blackness.