Hey, it's me again!
I'm back at school and um... it's kind of not awesome... But anyway! Chapter! Sorry for the gap. It's been hard adjusting to normal life! Thank you Maddie, for your reviews, and I had a great camping holiday c:
I hope this chapter is technically accurate, but hey, it's my Hunger Games and if 'vintage rifles' don't exist in Panem, they should.
Happy Reading and Back to School!
*In the Blink of an Eye
Penny Delusion, Capitol Citizen
Dad is sponsoring a tribute. Again. Last year he squandered all our emergency savings on a long-handled sabre for a Career who died before the hour was up. We've only just managed to build up the savings again. But if Dad acts like Dad, it will be gone by the end of the day. No amount of gentle persuading by Mum can deter him.
Dad is crushed that the Careers are all out. I'm crushed that anyone is all out. But what really hits home is that just about all the tributes left in the arena are decent human beings with moral capacity. Oh, but Dad chose the only one who doesn't fit that description.
Can you guess? I'll give you a clue. Predator. Yes, you got it. Kyle Lanyer, aptly nicknamed 'Animal'. I think I heard Dad mention something about a vintage rifle. I know that's bad news. I think of the poor prey, the seemingly innocent Charms. Such a pretty name. So helpless.
Dusk Delusion, Capitol Citizen
"Cheers, Tatê," I add as I walk out of the building. Tatê acknowledges me with a wave of the hand. He's in a good mood now. I know money gets him cheerful. Well, it should, seeing as I just gave him a small fortune. Dawn won't be happy. But if the guy wins the Games, then I will feel like I've accomplished something right.
A vintage rifle: preserved since before the Dark Days. Infinitely expensive, and even more so to transport to the arena. A sight for perfect accuracy and a kick worthy of any modern gun. The old-fashioned bullets and the sturdy feel of the butt on your shoulder is enough for me to pay any price.
Let's just hope the guy actually knows how to use it. He looks like a Career and acts like one, if a little more sly and cunning. His District is gadgets, so therefore he'll have technical expertise. A perfect match. I'm hoping that with my gift, the boy will be able to take out that pitiful Charms. Maybe he'll even keep that flute on a string to remember his victims. Hey, maybe he can take out everyone with it.
I'm thinking now. If only I could send him a typed up strategy. But I have no money left to spend. Shoot someone in one of the alliances from a distance, wait for them to find out where the shot came from, and while they're distracted, take the rest of them out. If need be, the rifle can be used as a club at close quarters. Perfect!
I'm so lost in my thoughts, I walk head on into a lamppost. A cobalt blue lady gives me a strange look as she walks by. I rub my head and carry on, taking a little more care with my street navigation.
Kyle "Animal" Lanyer, District Three
One Girl is asleep and I watch from a distance. She's actually quite pretty, I think. But let's not stray down that road. Wouldn't want to form attachments to my victims.
Suddenly, a white sheet billows out of nowhere. I curse silently. What if it makes her wake up? Then where would I be? The parachute luckily lands gently onto the neighbouring boulder. Dusts puffs up around it and I notice the resemblance to an explosion and stifle a giggle.
The gift is big. My grin widens. Daintily, I prise open the container and almost gasp with joy. A rifle! Not even a modern one. A pricey, accurate and very high quality vintage rifle! I stroke the barrel, crooning to it. Someone in the Capitol must be on the save wavelength as me. Perfect. I could take One out from here, and she wouldn't know a thing.
The only teensy-weensy problem is that it's going to make noise loading. As quietly as can be, I crack open the gun. Thank goodness for History in school. I wouldn't have a clue how to work this if I hadn't seen the old footage before Panem. The gun is loaded. I want to cry with joy but I know my every move could cause the girl 400 meters away to wake.
And I wouldn't want that.
I place the butt on my shoulder, marvelling at the weight and shape. I line up One's figure with the sights. A bit wobbly, but I'm confident. She's lined up. I stop breathing. Increase the pressure on the trigger. Bit by little bit. Surely it must have shot by now?
BANG.
The recoil jerks me off my perch. One thing which I didn't anticipate. There's smoke. Is there supposed to be smoke? I waft it away and squint though the early morning mist.
Did I hit her?