Flashes of Gold

Chapter Nine | What Remains of Summer

Arena POV

I scowl at the thick leather in my hands. My fingers, which are freezing cold and shivering, cannot grasp the thin needle, and it slides inadequately over the leather as I try to stick it through.

After finding a tall tree fairly close to the base of the mountain, I sat down to rest and recover from the action. With Matt and the girl's death came a new found confidence. I'm actually starting to think I have a chance at winning. Because with my new sword, I feel like the most powerful tribute in the Arena.

I'm still not safe, though. I have enough of my wits about me to remember that I'm still injured and weak. Even with my sword, I probably wouldn't make it very far in a fight. Which means that I'm still at a clear disadvantage, and I still have no plan on how to remedy that.

Which is why I'm sitting, 30 feet in the air, cursing the leather in my hands. I wish, for a moment, that I knew if there was a tribute left from District 8 – the textile district – because they'd probably know the secret to sewing through stiff, frozen leather.

Still, I try, because the fact that I still have no gloves is really worrying me. If my hands are frozen, I won't be able to properly hold my sword, which is the only defense I've got. I'm already at a loss to do other things, as well. Climbing the tree I'm now in took way longer than it normally would have.

After a while, I give up. I'm getting no where and there could be other, better things in which to fill my time. The sun is gradually setting, as well. I only have a few more hours left before darkness washed over the landscape, and even though I now have food to last at least two days, it's the only thing I've got.

I need a plan, and fast. The Careers can't be too far away by now. Where the other Tributes are, I've no idea. Since I've not seen any of them, other than my run in today with Matt, I wonder if they've gone further into the mountain. There are probably plenty of deep caves which would offer good protection...but with the Careers running about, would anyone risk it? Maybe, I think. Maybe if they have an ally.

I shift, trying to get a more comfortable position, and begin to dig through my bag. I pull out small serving of food, because my stomach is absolutely killing me, and chew on it. It's not much, because I want to spread out my provisions as long as I can. But it at least quenches the discomfort in my abdomen, and gives me something to do as well.

I can't stay in this tree forever, I tell myself. Soon, I'll have to leave. Because spending the night out here is a bad idea. Even though I have two other jackets and my vest, I can still feel the sharpness of the wind as it cuts through the fabric. I could probably make it, but I really don't want to.

Which means that I'll have to make my way back to the mountain. Toward the Careers and possibly my death. Huh. Choices, choices. Suddenly, the thought of freezing in my tree doesn't sound so bad.

It doesn't take long for my to finish my meal. Soon, I sit up, dangle my legs off the branch, and look around. It'll take me at least two hours to make it back to my cave. Perhaps another hour to find a new one – because that's what I should do, if Matt's reaction before had anything to say on the matter. What I need is to find a shelter that's fairly hidden. Maybe camouflage the entrance to make it look like the cliff surface. But that could take too long. And, I glance toward the sinking sun, I don't have time to be creative.

I sigh, clench my teeth together, and decide that sitting here thinking won't get me anything. So I get up, intent on at least getting my blood moving, and begin to descend the tree.

I get halfway down when I hear the voices. It sounds like some kind of argument, because the voices are guttural and aggravated. Upon frantically looking around, I can just barely make out their figures through the thick trees. I think they're about 15 feet away, far too close for my liking, and as I climb back up as quietly as I can, they don't appear to be normal Tributes. Which leaves only one kind: Careers. The worst kind, I scowl.

I'm suddenly glad I stayed in the tree for so long. Because if I'd left even a few minutes sooner, I would have run into them on the ground. I manage to pull myself up another few feet before I pause to listen to their conversation. It's muted by distance and the forest, but I can just make out their words.

They are arguing about their direction, and why they haven't run into any Tributes as of late. One of them – a girl with matted red hair – was hissing something about how they should be going West. The boy who cut her off is saying that they should keep their direction, because there could be tributes still in the forest. There are three others, two who definitely have that 'Career' look about them, and one who looks somehow leaner, with short cropped brown hair and a thick coat. Five. Which means they must have picked one more up in the last two days.

I'm just starting to think how doomed I'll be if they see me, and how I'll never win with the odds so against me, when something happens. The boy who'd been arguing with the red haired girl suddenly draws his weapon – a silver broad sword. The air changes immediately, shifting into something deadly as the redhead sneers and jolts forward. The other two boys hold her back. The lean one watches from the sidelines, a bored expression taking his face.

There is something strange about him. I can feel a shiver coming on just by looking at the laziness that radiates from him. Though I first thought he was the weakest one, now I get the feeling that he's a lot smarter and stronger than he lets on.

I don't know what to expect – I guess I'm thinking that they'll gather some sense and put their weapons back - but what happens next is quite the opposite. The redhead snarls something unintelligibly scathing and the swordsman jumps toward her, swinging his sword with a cry. She jumps out of it's path just in time, but in doing so, the edge hits the boy who'd been holding her back, digging across his muscled arm and making him howl in anger and pain.

"Damn it!" I wince at his curse and the sight of blood pouring down his arm. He growls dangerously, stumbling forward to grab at the girl. To my shock, I watch as he pulls her forcefully in front of him and gestures for the swordsman to have at her.

The next scene is so gruesome that I have to look away. As he buries the sword into her gut, I bury my face against the tree trunk, deeply breathing in the scent of pine. It does little to comfort me, because now I can hear her screams and the telltale sign of her struggles. It takes a full minute to stop, and even when the canon goes off and she lays dead on the ground, surrounded by stained snow, I can still hear the echoes of her cries in my mind.

I don't look up for what seems like hours. Indeed, by the time I do, the sun has long since sunk into the horizon, leaving me bathed in darkness. But for once, I'm not happy about it. The darkness only brings forth the image of that girl's last moments. Even though she was a Career, I cannot help but feel anguish that she died in such a horrific manner.

I can remember plenty of other Games where such an end took place. Gruesome deaths are normal in the Arena, even smiled upon by the Capitol viewers. They're dramatic, entertaining. It's a game. It's all a stupid game.

And even though I keep telling myself that, I have a sick feeling that if I ever make it out of this Arena alive, that memory will never leave me.

Later that night, as I lay in my tree, I try to formulate a plan. It's all I have now. My mind is sluggish, though, because the coldness is eating away at my body, my heart, and my thoughts are slow and painful. The image of the red haired girl keeps shoving itself into them. And the girl from District 4. And Matt. And all I can really remember is flashes of their deaths, ingrained in my memory.

I try to keep my eyes open, because I want to hear the Anthem and see how many tributes are still alive. It occurs to me that this will be the first time I've been conscious enough to hear it.

It plays, an hour or two after the sun sets. I'm rather surprised at the hatred I feel toward every single note. I grip my jacket tighter to my body and release a long, drawn out breath. My anger lessens into calculation once the faces show, but it still lurks in the back of my mind, always there.

We've been here a little under a week. Because I was unable to check casualties before now, I've no idea how many are still left. But the red haired girl is in the sky, along with a boy I vaguely remember from training. Two deaths, then.

I stare into the sky long after the faces disappear. My hazy mind is going places that I've no control over. Wondering about things from home, how Evon is, what Calan's thinking. But these thoughts morph into stranger ones as my eyes slip to a close. My father's face appears, warmly smiling. He leans forward, pushes his fingers through my hair and musses it up. He watches me laugh, playfully trying to escape as his arms come around me and he lifts me up.

And suddenly, I'm troubled. Because I take a moment to glance around him, trying to see where we are, but the territory is unidentifiable and different. There are woods, but they aren't the ones from home. A stream, but it isn't the one that cuts through District 7.

I try to ask him, but no sound comes from my mouth, and my lips move uselessly. He doesn't see anyway, it seems. He's looking past me, warm smile drifting away into an expression I've never seen on his face. He suddenly looks ten years older.

As I slink toward other dreams, I shiver. The sadness, the anger, the desperateness I now feel are mirrored completely in his eyes.

I remember feeling cold. A certain chillness had crept up my body, festering itself into my heart long before this moment. It's been like this for weeks, but there was no relief. There was no cure for a broken heart.

The velvet couch beneath me felt unused, but yet remained a ratty texture that gave way to it's age. I leaned back, arms crossed protectively over my chest, and waited. For whom I was waiting, however, I could only imagine.

First, it was my mother. I cannot recall a time when she was more loving. She had me wrapped up in her arms the moment she entered the small room, tugging me to her chest as she heaved silent sobs. I couldn't understand why she was so sad, but it made me sad too. I had to push back my own sobs, force myself to remain stoic, because crying in front of her was like a sin to me – it was like showing weakness to Calan.

She'd kissed my cheek before leaving. It was a gesture she used to do, before father left, and it grew even harder to hold back my tears. She'd murmured a few words, too, but I was so busy trying not to cry that I couldn't hear them. And then, she was gone.

I thought that would be all, because there were few people in District 7 that put up with my attitude. But Evon would come, I whispered. Even he wouldn't miss the last moments. Would he?

He didn't, of course. He came in a few minutes after mother left. There was something holding him up, though. Some invisible line had been drawn between us weeks prior, and he was wary around me. So the moment didn't feel right at all. It didn't feel genuine.

I remember sitting there for long minutes, waiting for him to say something. But he hadn't. He merely sat beside me, gingerly took my hand in his, and held it tightly in his warm grasp. I wanted to take it back, to tell him that he had no right, but I couldn't. Nothing would come out of my lips, no words or sobs. It was like I'd been shoved into equilibrium, where anything personal wasn't allowed.

The minutes were escalating, and I could feel the tension rising. He was going to speak, before this was over. I was surprised at how much I wanted him to. I wanted to hear his voice, so deep and filled with comfort, because the beating of my heart and the anxiety on my mind could only be relieved with such a sound.

He'd leaned in, freeing one hand and wrapping it around my shoulders. I was pulled into him, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his essence. I caved, because if there was one last thing I wanted before I died, it was him. Even if it lasted only a moment, I wanted him.

His breath wavered over my hair, sending warm shivers through my body. His grip tightened, fingers jerking over my back. Slowly, he told me, "You be careful out there, alright Wren?" And the moment passed.

My heart crashed. For some stupid reason, I'd been hoping for something a little more sentimental. Something that might profess the exact emotion that had been crawling at my heart these past few weeks. Something that could explain why I haven't been sleeping right, or why I always feel sick to my stomach every time I see him with Calan.

I'm ashamed of what I did the next moment. I'd never slapped him before – never had any reason to, because he'd always been the one person who'd put up with me. But as my hand hit him right across the face, I was filled with a fury that utterly shocked me.

It was like I had no control over my body anymore. All my pain intensified and boiled into anger. Every time I remember seeing him with Calan, all the Mondays that suddenly weren't ours anymore, the disappearances, the ignorance...it all came rushing back. It slammed into me and caused me to feel a fury that I'd never felt before.

"I'm going to die," I snarled furiously, standing up. I could feel his shock, his stare. It was burning into me, breaking me down further. I didn't think I could be broken even more, but as he stood up and coldly nodded – in agreement or something else, I didn't know – I felt the shards of my already torn up heart explode into a myriad of thoughtless feeling. When he turned to go, cheek red from my slap and expression unwavering, I wanted to scream out for him to come back, to tell me that my words were false, to say that he loved me just as much as I loved him. But that moment passed, as well. And then he was gone, out the door.

And all I could think about as I tumbled back onto the velvet couch was where he was probably headed now. To the girl he loved – the one with the beautiful golden hair and the shining eyes and the winning personality. The one who would never hit him, who would never show her anger around him, would never hate him enough to ignore him. As his footsteps faded, so did the aching pain that fluttered over my body. Cold winter remained.

:D Thanks for the reviews and sorry for taking longer than usual to update

The next chapter will be posted tomorrow. I don't know if I'll be writing any other flashbacks, since the story is progressing so quickly, buttt I might put one in with her father or something. Eh, I don't know. Thanks for reading though! (An I'm too lazy to put in chapter points =P pfft)