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Leilani Theriott
District One Female, 18 Years Old
Day Eight
I hate to admit it, but I miss District One.
As sentimental and corny as that sounds, I miss it.
I might not miss my parents, but I miss everything else. The people. The buildings. The natural smell it had. I miss all of it.
It was a beautiful place. The people, well, they were nice for the most part. If you didn't get involved in their business, they stayed out of yours. It was as simple as that. Overall, it was a narcissistic District, but I wasn't in any position to complain. I liked the way people looked. I liked the way they acted.
That lifestyle just wasn't for me, though.
No lifestyle is the lifestyle for me.
And, perhaps, that's why I turned to the Rebellion. Besides, the majority in the District were fighting for the Capitol, which was something I believed was wrong. I didn't want to fight for them – I wanted to fight against them. People there took the cowardly option; they weren't resolved or strong-willed enough to stand their own ground.
That's where people like me stepped in.
The Capitol was wrong.
And I had to show them that.
People like my parents, however, were the ones who fought for the Capitol. They were patriotic to an excessive degree, and it's almost comical that they thought I would turn out the same way as them. That they thought I'd be the perfect daughter to complete their perfect family.
I was taught how to be a proper lady. I was taught manners and etiquette. I was taught the specific way to hold a fork, how to place the napkin over your lap while eating, and how to wash your hands. It was all about the nuisances, the specifics in District One.
In District One, I was expected to be perfect. And, at first, it was appealing to me. I liked the idea of being the stereotypical, flawlessly beautiful District One female. It got repetitive, though, and tiresome.
It was nice while it lasted, but in a way, I prefer this. I prefer this lifestyle.
A lifestyle of training.
One that led up to me volunteering. One that led up to me being in the Hunger Games.
One that will lead up to my victory.
The Games have given me what I've always looked for. What I've always been craving. It occupied my boring life and it was finally something that I wanted to do – not my parents. Training was for me. The Games were for me, too.
"Who do we have here?!"
The voice startles me, and I jump up, peering down both sides of the hallway. At one end, I see a figure approaching slowly. They're taking their time as they walk down it, and just from the voice, I know that it's Ceylon. I sigh, roll my eyes, and stand in the middle of the hallway, waiting for him.
This should be interesting.
Ceylon strolls down the hallway, a spear in his hand. He waves once he sees me, the deranged look on his face looking exactly like it did back in the Capitol. Nothing's changed, apparently.
He's still the twisted boy I grew to hate.
"Who are you, again?" Ceylon asks, tilting his head forwards, peering at me. He smirks, tapping the end of his spear on the floor, the noise agitating me. "Levana? No… Otrera? No, of course not! I remember who you are now."
"Cut the shit."
"You're Leilani," he says, scoffing. He straightens his posture, puffing out his chest as he dramatically rolls his eyes and tosses his head back. "The self-righteous narcissist from my own District. The one who has the audacity to approach me like this. In my own habitat, nonetheless!"
"Why must you insist on wasting my time?"
"You've made a mistake by coming here," he says, his voice flat. He's saying it so calmly, so self-assuredly, as if he's going to kill me. That it'll be easy for him. It won't, though. I didn't make it easy for Mathias or Levana.
And I most certainly won't make it easy for him, either.
I don't make anything easy for anyone.
I never have.
"Oh," I say, smirking. I hold my hand up in the air, angling my head, checking out my nails. I see his face, that same smirk on his face as it always is. He juts his head forward, narrowing his eyebrows. "I wouldn't be the Leilani everyone knows and loves without taking risks, right?"
Right.
Without taking risks, I would be no one. Without doing what people least expect, I'd be no one.
If I wasn't as rebellious, I'd be no one.
"Are you talking to me?" He says, acting confused. Acting stupid. He chuckles to himself, and I ignore him and grip the knife on my belt. With my other hand, place it on the bow shaft. I slowly lift it up from my shoulders, my hand still pressed against the knife just in case. Just in case he's actually impulsive enough to attack me yet.
Which he is, I'm sure.
He's everything District One taught us not to be: Impulsive, rash, brazen. Stupid, too. Idiotic, even.
And, perhaps, I am those things, too.
But, I never said I was perfect. I'm far from it.
Ceylon does some dramatic gestures, waving his spear shaft in the air, tilting his head side-to-side. He chuckles as he does it, and I slowly place an arrow on the string, not pulling it back yet. I stand there, and he notices me, a certain beaming eagerness spreading across his face.
It's sick how he enjoys this.
How he volunteered to do solely this; fight. Kill.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Leilani."
"Why not?"
"Because I could spare you," he says, a crooked smile on his face. He shakes his head, holding his spear out in front of him, getting into a fighting position. "I even promised Thane I would. I told him I wouldn't kill you."
"That's cute," I retort, winking. My hands begin to feel clammy around the bow, and I slide them up it, my finger still attached to the end of the arrow. "I told Affinity that whatever happens, happens. I never made some silly promise that I won't kill my competition. That I won't kill what's stopping me from winning."
"I never intended on keeping my promise, though."
I raise my bow.
And, then, he raises his spear.
"Aw," I say, watching his every movement. He steps to the side, not letting his heel touch the ground, as if he's ready to pounce. As if he's about to charge at me. "Don't get so defensive, Ceylon."
"I'm always on the offensive, dear."
"Prove it."
It all happens so quickly.
Ceylon takes one leap forwards, and I raise my bow, releasing the arrow immediately. He still runs at me, though, and the arrow cuts through the air, impaling him right in the shoulder. He doesn't stop, though… He keeps running. He keeps charging at me.
Behind me is a showcase, and I step back, waiting for the right moment to jump to the side. When Ceylon comes close enough, I leap to the side, but immediately, I feel him grab a handful of my hair, yanking me down with him. We both collapse onto the ground, and I sprawl to get back up, reaching for my bow.
Ceylon rams into the showcase, shattering the glass and making the wood snap in half. His spear is off to the side now, and swiftly, he sends a punch directed for my face. I can't react in time, though, and it slams full-force right into my mouth. Pain surges through my mouth, and I lick my teeth, already tasting the blood.
"How does it taste?" He asks, seeing the disgust on my face. "I was never a fan of blood."
I swing the bow out in front of me, just trying to give myself enough time to get up. To go back on the offensive – not the defensive. If he wants to play dirty, then so do I. I'm not here to play silly games with him.
I'm here to fight.
I'm here to prove myself.
Pressing the string of the bow up against his throat, it leaves a burn of sorts, and I run it against his throat, making him recoil. He throws out another fist, knocking me in the side of the face, and I swallow the pain, looking back up at him. I push myself back with my feet, jump up, and throw the bow to the side.
Before I can see it, though, Ceylon grabs a handful of glass, and with one lunge forwards, plunges all of the shards right into my thigh. I yelp out in pain, slamming both of my fists down on his head, and he drops to the ground. I look up to the ceiling, clenching my teeth, noticing that none of the glass actually got stuck in my skin.
I slip the knife out of my belt, and Ceylon equips himself with his spear again. He rubs his chin, coughs, and then pokes lightly at me with the spear. I dodge each swipe, but then, he is more forceful with it. He stabs it in one way, and when I try to dodge, he anticipates the move.
He goes for my other leg.
I swipe the knife out in front of me, managing to cut his upper-arm. The spear drops, and he barely clings onto it, chuckling. He shakes his head, going in for another attack. I swing my blade upwards, and he swings the tip of his spear upwards, our weapons meeting mid-air.
"I'll give you three seconds."
"I don't need it," I snap, pulling my knife down, hunching over, and thrusting it forwards. Just as he brings down his spear, my knife impales his leg. He slams his foot down, stepping right on mine, and I try to release it, but I just fall back. I catch myself, though, on the broken showcase.
Ceylon grabs another handful of hair, throwing me against the wall.
Bringing up my knee, I hit him in the groin, but it doesn't do much. I desperately try to escape him now, but he blocks me, chest-bumping me back into the wall. He stands there, the spear in his hand, and I can feel his warm breath blowing onto my face.
"You're not as pretty as everyone says you are," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I can see almost every imperfection."
It might be stupid, but I do it anyway. I latch my hand around the spear, and he feels it, and as he tries to shake my hand free, I drop the ground, throwing myself to the side. He tries to reach me again, but I kick outwards, knocking him right in the face. I bring my knife down on his foot, and before I know it, he brings his spear around.
I rip my knife out from his foot, and I thrust it forwards again, and just as I do that, the tip of his spear finds my chest.
The spear tears right through the suit, and I arch my back in pain, suppressing a scream. Suppressing anything that will give him satisfaction. My knife, though… It's lodged in his stomach. He stumbles backwards, and with one last attempt, he attacks again with the spear.
The cut that he manages to make on my other thigh is nothing compared to my chest. I can barely focus on him, and as he begins to fall from side-to-side, I lean myself up against the wall, pressing my hands on my chest. It's deeper than I thought, and it begins to burn, making me want to cry.
Don't cry, Leilani.
He'll enjoy it.
"Which one of us will die first?" He asks, seemingly unfazed by it all. I sit there, leaned up against the wall, feeling the blood slowly draining from my body. My eyelids begin to feel heavy, and I keep them open, refusing to die first. I refuse to die at all.
He wants me to die, so I won't.
I've always done what people didn't want me to do.
Ceylon hunches over, and rips out the knife from his stomach, throwing it on the ground. It's all bloody, and as he walks towards me, I contemplate reaching for it. But, once I realize that it's too far and that his spear is closer, I go for that. With every step he takes, I inch my hand closer to it, and I shake as my fingers wrap around the shaft.
He grabs another handful of glass.
And, before he can come any closer, I jam the spear end against the floor, and Ceylon walks right into it. The spear goes right through underneath his chin, and I drop it, hearing his body collapse to the floor. I sit there, writhing, my voice a mumble.
"Come on, Leilani," I say, my voice quivering. I try to stand up, but I shake incessantly, any effort of me getting up making it hurt that much worse. Come on, Leilani.
You can't die.
You can't give up.
I'm almost there.
And I'm not going to let someone Ceylon have the pleasure of killing me. I'm not going to let anyone have that pleasure.
If I want to win, I can't die.
And, whether my parents like it or not, I'm going to win.
I'm going to be victor.
And I don't care what anybody thinks.
I only care about me. I only care about how I see myself. I only care about my thoughts.
My opinion.
My voice.
My freedom.
Wren Maddox
District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old
Day Eight
Staring out the window, I curl up into a ball, leaning my head against the wall.
I close my eyes, and I let out a deep sigh, awaiting the Capitol anthem to wake me back up. There was only one cannon today, and immediately, I felt relieved. One more step closer to victory – that's all a cannon means for me anymore.
And I didn't even have to kill that time.
Someone else did it for me.
I snap my eyes back open, repositioning myself on the bench. Outside, the sun is still in the sky, but it's slowly setting. With only four tributes left, though, I still feel like I have to be on alert. With Claire and Cailen – who could still be allies, even this late in the Games – and the two from District One, I can't let my guard down just yet.
Not until I win, that is.
I sit up on the bench, wrapping my arms around my knees. My mind drifts, thinking of the times I spent with my allies in the Capitol, to my first reaction to seeing the Capitol and then to my first reaction of being reaped. Of being chosen for the Hunger Games. For something I didn't even really do, I should add.
During the Rebellion, it was my family who aided the rebels by letting them stay or hide in my home and shop. They were on the run, trying to hide out from being found and captured. It was a safe house to them, and my family were their saviors.
I didn't have much of a choice with being involved in it.
When I heard that some rebels gave up information about my family's safe house, I was devastated. My family was soon discovered, the shop was shut down, and instead of being jailed for life or executed, they spared us. Why… I still don't know. All we had to was pay large fines and reparations to the Capitol.
It seemed too lenient.
It was too suspicious.
I might have felt like that Rebellion was meant for the best, but that doesn't mean I wanted to get involved in the first place. I was always a quiet girl, one who drifted from place-to-place in District Twelve, never really having somewhere I wanted to call home. I never had an identity.
Then, once that happened, my family was known among the Capitol for the wrong reasons and among the District for the right reasons.
After that, I started to believe in the Rebellion more. It was meant for the best; it would have freed the Districts from the restrictive conditions of the Capitol. It would help them. It would help me, too. I still don't know if I did enough, though.
If I knew I would be getting Reaped, I would have done more. I could have helped the more if I knew this would have been the result.
I could always do more.
Even here I can.
From around the corner, I hear something crash. Glass is shattered, something collapses, and then someone grunts. Jumping off of the bench, I cautiously step to the side, pressing myself up against the wall. I lean forwards, peeking around the corner, looking down the hallway.
Then, I see her.
It's the girl from District One, Leilani.
She has her hand pressed against the wall, guiding herself down the hallway. She stops here and there, taking a deep breath, and then continues, and that's when I notice her limp. She has a large wound across her chest, but she's choosing to ignore it, it seems. Her whole suit from the waist down is stained with blood, and with every hobble forwards, I contemplate running away.
I think that I could just leave her to die. She's already close to death, it seems.
I can't risk it.
What if… What if she recovers? What if sponsors send her medical supplies and medication?
I stay hidden, watching Leilani collapse onto the ground, falling right on top of her ankle. She lets out a bellow, but her voice is hoarse and her throat sounds dry. She sits there, trying to slide herself up against the wall to stand again, but it's useless. She can't move. She can't do anything.
She's dying.
That cannon before must have had to do with her, then.
Whoever she fought, they went down with a fight. They nearly killed her.
Stepping into Leilani's line of sight, she perks up when she sees me. She tilts her head, and with a sudden burst of energy, she pushes herself up, gripping her hands on the nearby case to support her. She waves at me, but her arm is limp and her eyes look frenzied.
"I know I don't look my best," Leilani says, coughing in-between her fits of laughter. She slams her fist into the glass case, breaking it, and reaches in to grab a knife. She grips it in her hand, still barely balanced as she leans on it. "At least I killed him, though."
"Killed who?" I ask warily. If she wants to talk, sure, but I know that deep down, she wants to kill me. And, in a way, I want to kill her, too. If I want to win, she needs to die. All of them need to die.
I've done it before.
I can do it again.
"Ceylon, duh!" She exclaims, swinging her arms out wide, and she loses her balance, falling into the glass case. She waves her hand, giving me a half-smirk, showing me her bloody mouth. "I killed him… Can you believe it?"
Leilani attempts to walk forwards, but she stumbles, falling into everything. She slams against the wall, now gliding herself along it to remain standing up straight. She waves her hand again, the one with the knife in it, coming closer to me. She's hurt.
She… She can't even move.
Don't pity her.
Don't sympathize with her.
She needs to die, Wren. She has to die.
"You're hurt," I say, leaving my knife in the back of my belt. I approach her slowly and cautiously, making sure I have enough time to grab my knife just in case. If she's going to attack me, that is. If she even has it in her.
"Thanks for stating the obvious."
Kill her, Wren.
She's already half-dead. Just finish her off.
"How does my hair look?" She says, making her way closer and closer to me. She still has the knife in her hand, and her smile grows wider, showing me an even bloodier mouth. She snorts, waves her hand, and takes a break. "Is it that bad?"
"It's pretty bad."
"It feels like it."
Leilani starts moving closer again. She presses her hand against the wall, putting the other hand with the knife on her hand. She limps towards me, and I stand there, unsure of what I should say. Unsure of what I should do.
Kill her.
"I don't want to hurt you," she says feebly, her voice shaking, just like the rest of her body. Slowly, she slides down the wall, and when she's only a foot or so away from me, she stands back up again. "I don't want…"
Before she can even finish her words, she swings her arm, and I step to the side, avoiding her weak attack. She tries to swing her arm again, but she's too weak to even lift it. She grins, coughs, and laughs. As she swings her arm again wildly again, I grab her wrist, disarming her quickly.
I squeeze my fingers around her wrist, and she drops her knife, and she collapses onto the ground. I back up, and she begins to crawl towards me, trying to grab her knife along the way. Kicking it to the side, she looks up at me, her mouth wide open now.
"I don't want to hurt you…"
I don't want to hurt you, either.
But, I have to.
Eventually, she stops and crawls back towards the wall. She puts herself up against the wall, making sure her back is straight. She shakes as she fixes her hair, barely being able to bring it back down. She looks up at me, pats the floor next to her, and smiles.
Don't stall, Wren.
Just kill her already.
"I can't do anything," she says, her voice drifting, the sound becoming softer and softer. "I… I just want to sit here. I just want to talk to you."
"Well," I say, keeping myself at bay. Keeping my own worries, my own doubt of killing her, at bay. "Talk, then."
"I'm proud of you," she says, her eyelids closing, and she attempts to open them back up, but she can't. She sits there, looking as if she's about to go to sleep. "I'm proud… I'm proud of everyone."
I remain quiet.
Kill her, Wren.
"I'm even proud of me," Leilani says, her breaths becoming shorter. She rests her hands on her lap, and she turns her head, resting it on her shoulder. "My parents aren't, though. They never were."
Slipping my knife out of my belt, I walk over towards her, hoping that she keeps her eyes close. Right now, I realize what I have to do – that I have to kill her. Killing her would end her pain; it would end her suffering. She's already in pain, and I'd be helping her out.
I'd helping myself out, too.
I'd be that much closer to victory.
It's only one more kill.
Kneeling down, I sit there, continuing to listen to Leilani mumble to herself. She grins, she chuckles. She does everything she can with her final breaths. Her eyelids remain shut, though, and I lean forwards, holding the knife out in front of me. I turn my head, hearing her voice finally fade.
And, for the first time since I killed Aella, I don't hesitate.
I don't contemplate. I don't think.
I just act. I just do.
I thrust the knife forwards, impaling Leilani right in the throat. Her head swings the other way, flopping sides. I back up, leaving my knife, and look down at her body. Her cannon sounds, and I stare at Leilani, not feeling the same emotions I did when I killed Nathaniel. Aella, too.
With Leilani, I don't feel regret. I don't feel remorse.
I don't feel anything.
I begin to walk down in the same direction Leilani came from. Whoever she fought, they're dead. I assume no one else is this way, anyway, so I trek down the hallway, tapping my finger against each showcase I pass. For a moment, I want to look back at her body, but I don't.
I just walk forwards. I just stare ahead of me.
Don't look back, Wren.
You're almost there.
Looking back means regret. Looking back means that I'm second-guessing myself, that killing her wasn't the best option I had. That it wasn't the only option I had, really. If I want to win, I had to kill her. I had to kill Nathaniel and Aella, too.
I have to kill Claire and Cailen. And, for all I know, they can still be allies. They can still be teamed up against me. But, I won't let that deter me. I won't let that stop me from achieving victory. My victory.
If I want to win, I have to kill.
If I want to win…
I have to do everything I thought I never would.
I might hate the Capitol. I might hate everything they stand for. I might hate everything they have done to my family and I. But, if I want to win – if I want to return to District Twelve to see my family again – I have to play their Game.
I have to be their victor.
I have to play the part.
And so I will. I'll kill if I have to. I will kill again. And again. And again.
I'll do anything to go home.
I'll do anything to win.
District One, Ceylon Lanier – Placed 5th
District One, Leilani Theriott – Placed 4th
Author's Note:
Hey, y'all. I'm back with Day Eight!
So, the Final Three have been decided: Claire Dasilva of District Eight, Cailen Arkley of District Eleven, and Wren Maddox of District Twelve. All outer-District females, huh? That's new for someone like me.
Anyways; the next chapter will be the last, so I'll try to write that soon and update this story. Just two more until the victor, so that's definitely something to look forward to.
So, questions, yeah?
Who do you want to be victor?
Who do you think will be victor?
Out of every tribute in this story, who is one tribute you would have wanted to be victor?