Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy or the Mary Sue; I simply own my Alexia Monroe and any characters I made up. This is for Prophe's Mary Sue contest at hungergamestrilogy.com.
A/N: Yes, she's supposed to be a Mary Sue. That's the point. Review, flame, doesn't matter, have fun reading it. Hell of a lotta fun to write, I'll tell you that.
. . .
Golden Bullet
Chapter Two
. . .
A warm, moist wind fluttered Alexia's flawless ponytail as she whipped her head around, looking intently at the arena. Then she saw it. A tribute who must have been thirteen years old at the most, about to faint. I can't let her die! thought Alexia urgently. Especially not this way, blown to pieces! The girl was so fragile, so thin, her skin so sickly pale…
Alexia didn't think, she just ran. Her dagger banged against her hip as she sprinted to the thirteen-year-old's plate to hold her steady. All of the tributes were gasping in disbelief, and she realized what she had done—or, more specifically, what she hadn't done.
None of the mines had gone off when she stepped off of her plate.
Someone shouted, "The mines aren't working!" and jumped off of his plate in excitement. A girl let out a horrified scream as the mine did erupt, an explosion of smoke and bits of flesh and blood.
Alexia gasped, told the girl she was holding up to be strong, she had to go, and raced into the scene. As she walked into the cover of smoke and ash, she said, "Hello?"
A voice replied, "Alexia, the mines were working…they were working, and now I'm dead…."
"I know," Alexia said. "But I practiced some magic back in District Ten, both black and white. Something of a hobby. That's why I can talk to you now."
"I feel better than I did a second ago," whispered the dead tribute. "I think your presence is healing me."
"Great," Alexia said softly. "You'll be recovered in no time." A minute later, the dead tribute was alive again. His scar-ridden skin morphed into a smooth, light-brown color as Alexia put her hand on his shoulder. "I have to go now. Back to my plate. The Games must have begun by now."
She hurried out and saw that nearly nothing had happened. "Wha—?" she asked, running onto her metal plate. "That was more than a minute, I know it…."
Then she heard it. Claudius Templesmith's slow-motion-distorted voice, calling, "Let the 75th—"
Oh, she thought. Let him speak normally! Let time be normal, this is too odd.
"—Hunger Games Begin!" His voice normal again. A gong rang out.
Alexia sprinted toward the Cornucopia, which was muddy and wet and gleamed darkly. She saw that there were only two different things in the Cornucopia: ragged-looking clubs with spikes nailed into their split wood and a few wicked-bladed swords. "Stop!" she yelled, throwing her arms behind her, clutching the Cornucopia with her fingers.
Everyone stopped moving and stared at her. "What?" demanded one tribute. "You're not going to let us get weapons?"
"We can't fight each other!" said Alexia. "We can't! It's wrong! We have to stop before we start!"
"You're right!" someone cried. "Alexia Monroe is right! We can't fight! Let's just all sit here and talk and not—" Everybody's eyes were on the talking tribute when a sword tip erupted through his chest. There was a yell of triumph, and a girl ran from the scene, laughing insanely.
Alexia was confused, but only momentarily. "Oh," she said softly, as no one was paying attention to her now. "The blind and deaf tribute couldn't see or hear me, know what we were saying…but why didn't she give in to my wonderful intoxicating smell? Her nose did look quite flat…maybe it's broken or something. Poor dear."
But now, chaos ensued.
Alexia was able to dodge any weapon that came toward her with ease the few times someone's aim failed them—after all, no one here wanted to fight Alexia. There was a stray arrow, plummeting at her, about to skewer her neck, so close Alexia had almost lost hope—
—when she yanked her new dagger from her belt and deflected it with an easy blow. Confusion overruled her flooding relief: How had she managed to pull out her new dagger in time? The arrow had been too close for that to have happened.
Looking around her, Alexia saw so many dead kids. She could save them all, surely, but there wouldn't be enough time! Soon she would have to go into hiding as well, or the insane blind, deaf, and unable-to-smell girl would be back to kill her, too.
With quick feet, Alexia sprinted into the trees, her galoshes sliding in and out of the mud. And then she was enveloped in the thick fog of the swamp, her breathing rapid. "I have to get away," she whispered to herself frantically. The fog settled itself in the air, wrapping around trees and rocks and puddles, surrounding Alexia like a shroud. It even formed a gray halo above her head as if to show the world what an angel she was.
Grasping the hilt of her new dagger at her waist for protection, Alexia began to—with one arm—scale a nearby tree. Maybe if she hid close enough to the Cornucopia, they wouldn't think to look for her here. Of course, she was a fast runner and was already a good deal away from the site.
She got comfortable as possible in the tree's slick branches. But she kept almost slipping, so she pulled out her dagger and began to swiftly carve out a bed-like space in the branches. Then she climbed higher, yanked the leaves off the tree, and shimmied back down to her spot, spreading them like a hay mattress so it was comfortable. After this, Alexia dropped the thirty feet from her branch, flipping twice in the air, and landed on her feet. "Now, to find some grass so I can make a comfortable blanket…" she said.
And because she was Alexia Monroe, find grass she did. It was tall and lush and green, and she was able to weave it into a comfortable blanket. On her way back, Alexia caught an unfortunate duck and added its newly plucked feathers to her leaf mattress. Then she dropped to the ground again, gathered some wood, and readied herself to start a fire.
When along came a little boy, one she remembered to be thirteen. He had cuts and bruises covering his body, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. "You won't be able to make a fire," he told Alexia softly. "The wood's too wet."
"We'll see about that," Alexia smiled. "Why don't you sit down? I have plenty of this." Without waiting for an answer, Alexia tapped two small sticks together and a spark caught her wood easily, soon roaring. She cooked the duck over the fire and gave more than half of it to the boy, who gobbled it down. "Where are you from?" she asked after a while.
"District 12," said the boy. "I'm Stan, by the way."
"District 12?" asked Alexia. "Oh, you poor dear. You never get enough to eat there, do you?"
"No," admitted Stan. "But that's okay. I'm used to it." Alexia's heart just about broke, and she handed him the rest of her duck. He didn't protest, but he gave her a questioning look.
"I can always catch more," Alexia said, her white teeth flashing in the gloomy air. She pricked her ears suddenly, her super sense of hearing picking up on not-so-distant voices. "Get in the tree," she said quickly. "Stan, get up there now! There's a dug out area. Hide beneath the grass blanket!"
Stan said, "I can't climb that! How did you?!"
"Easily," replied Alexia. "The branches are just a little wet, it's not a problem. Quick! Go!" With one look into her gray-blue eyes—for the sun was in a gloomy mood—Stan climbed up the tree for all he was worth.
"And then I said, 'Haha, no, but I do ha—shh! I hear someone!" It was the Careers, Alexia was sure. She let her arms to her sides. She didn't want to fight them.
"Hello," Alexia said in her silky voice. "What brings you all here?"
"Hunting," replied the large boy from District Four, a net in his hand. The rest of the Career pack emerged from the fog, and they all answered with the same general "hunting" as their leader had.
"Oh, hunting what?" asked Alexia, already sure of the answer.
"Other tributes," said District Four. "Would you like to join the alliance?"
Alexia grinned at the Careers. "I would, yes, but I can't, not now, at least," she said. "Soon, maybe?"
"Of course," said the boy from District Four. He nodded and motioned for the others to follow him. "We'll be waiting." And he gave her a smile.
Alexia waved, and they hurried off on their own way. Then she called, "Okay, Stan, come on. We have to get away!"
"Where?" was the faint reply. "There isn't anywhere safer than here…."
"I suppose," responded Alexia, beginning to climb up again. Then she was up, sitting next to the young boy, telling him that he would be fine, and that they would both make it through this.
"But how?" asked Stan. "There can only be one victor…."
"Or so you think," Alexia said. "Of course, I may be wrong. But I'm sure we can both get out of this fine." He gave her an apprehensive look, but she waved it away. "We'll be all right, both of us."
Then they settled down to sleep, pulling the soft grass blanket up to their chins. "It's so c-cold!" chattered Stan. Alexia shoved the rest of the blanket towards him.
"You can use it, then, I'm not even cold," she said. Tucking it up around him, she sang him a soft lullaby and he drifted into slumber while she stared up at the sky. It was easy for her eyes to focus through the fog and treetops to the starless sky so that she could see who had died.
Then reality hit her. There were only eleven and a half tributes left—apparently one was still living, their arms, legs, and other various areas of their body missing. Alexia realized it was the boy who had been killed in the explosion; her healing him must have been able to keep him alive through more than she'd thought.
Alexia held her breath as another cannon went off. Who it had been, she didn't know. A pang of terror struck through her. "What if it was Kim?!" she thought frantically. The sky had shown him to be okay, but that could have been one of her loveable boyfriends!
"Stan!" she whispered, shaking him awake.
"Huh?" he asked.
"I have to go find Kim, one of my boyfriends! I have to save him!"
"But…but…I need you here to help me, Xia," he said, giving her an on-the-spot nickname. She smiled gently at it.
"I'll be back soon, I promise. Stay up here." Then she swung downwards and began to run. "Kim!" she called, her voice echoing through the swamp.
Then she let out a cry as she landed in a small pond that had come out of nowhere—literally The Gamemakers must have done that, or maybe it was a freak thing: She wasn't sure. Her mouth filled with mud, and she groaned. There was a low, pained moan nearby, and she splashed forward. "Kim!" she shouted, knowing it was he. "Are you okay?!"
There was another pained sound, and Alexia spotted him lying face-up in the water, most of his body submerged in the murky deep. Alexia hurried up to him and lay a hand on his chest. Then she lifted him up and hoisted Kim over her shoulder and began to hurry back to her tree, skipping lightly over any protruding roots or rocks that lay in her way.
"Stan!" she called, and the boy's head popped over the side of the tree. "I've gotten Kim! Make room up there!" She dragged Kim and herself up the tree, and then she said, "Oh, Stan, there isn't room…I'll make Kim a bed, too!" She lay him down and climbed higher up and began to carve out her boyfriend's new living space. Carefully, she grabbed more leaves, then placed Kim up there and sat next to him.
After a minute, Alexia clambered down the tree and found a medicine bush, something she had invented as a child, an invasive species of plant. It was wonderful that the Gamemakers had put it here in the arena. "Thank you!" she called loudly. Then she plucked it free of its everhealing leaves and got back to Kim.
"Eat these," she ordered him, and after he did, he looked a whole lot better.
"Thanks, Alexia," he murmured.
"Rest up, now," said Alexia.
She swung down to the large bed area she shared with little Stan. "Time to sleep now," she told him. He settled down, and she sat next to him, watching the sky.
Now there were six of them left.
How fast the day had gone by. She hadn't even heard any cannons. Alexia nodded off, and she awoke to a rustling sound. Then there was a strangled cry, a cannon going off. The voice belonged only to Kim—Kim! She struggled out of the blanket and climbed upwards.
There was Stan, holding Alexia's now-bloody dagger and standing over Kim. "Oh, Kim…" she murmured.
"I've killed him with your dagger," said Stan, as if it weren't obvious. "So you can't bring him back."
Alexia let the tears flow from her round eyes, and she asked, "Why, Stan?"
The boy looked down, dropping the knife onto Kim's body. It landed with a near-silent but still sickening thump on his stationary chest.
"Because," said Stan. "I was sent by President Snow to kill you…but I couldn't…"
"Why not?" she demanded. "I—Kim—how—!"
"You're too wonderful," Stan replied. "I couldn't kill you. So I killed Kim. I…"
"Get the hell away from me," whispered Alexia, snagging the knife back from the boy. "I'm—not—mad at—you." Her words were strained. "But I sure—am pissed—at President Snow." The president's name came out in a snarl. "Get away!" she shrieked. "Now! I have a job to do, damn it." And she pushed Stan out of the tree.
Alexia dug her dagger into her arm to pull out the tracker that had been implanted there, then wiped it off on her shorts, sticking the weapon afterwards into a belt she had fashioned earlier, and dropped from the tree as well.
Then she watched as a hovercraft's metal claw reached down to take away Kim's pale body. She swiftly climbed back up the tree. And she went with her dead boyfriend into the hovercraft on its way to the Capitol.
