Disclaimer: Doubt that I will ever own the Hunger Games since I haven't owned it thus far...
This is credited and dedicated to Choco13.
Armegen Morph (Age 34) male – District 6
I have the knife in my hand, my emaciated fingers clutching it, allowing my knuckles to go white. I study the position for the while, all the possibilities of how I can permit the colors to flow onto the canvas, how I will let this moment to be depicted in paint. With my left hand I trace all the ridges that form on my hand from this position, and I realize how difficult it would be to express each and every feature. It would take years to draw them all out and find the correct coloring, all for something that probably wouldn't go noticed to most people looking upon it.
I close my eyes for a few minutes, trying to picture my canvas, but I find myself trapped: The screams, the dying, the pleas, and the blood. Oh, the blood. The one thing I am never able to paint. The memories of the dying children plague my brain and I wish that I could make it go away, but I can't. I feel the knife clatter out of my hand. My eyes burst open to a width which shouldn't be human. I try to gasp for air, but all that I feel enter me is an empty void.
I try to take a step back, but collapse to my knees. The knife, how could I ever hold a knife again? Surely, I will not after what I did so long ago. Something that was so terrible, that it pains me to think of it. How I slipped the knife carefully through her ribs as she leaned toward me, her face upset beyond repair. I look around me, the forest that seemed to crouch over me with its sinuous, menacing branches. I was back. Whether I liked it or not, I was back in the arena.
I raise my hands to my thinning hair: The result of many years of substance abuse. "Why…" I let the moan barely escape my lips. Being told that you are going into the arena again is so much different than actually being there. The first day hasn't even ended and already, so many lie dead. So many of my friends now lie dead. Hemaphilia is somewhere on the other side of the arena, and I am here alone. Armed with a knife and an atmosphere worth of nightmares that I don't want to relive. Up to kill my friends, or those who used to hold such title.
"Hello, Armie." I lazily gaze to the side and let out a snort at the sight I see.
"Hello Gloss." I respond, while trying to find a way to get up and grab my knife without him noticing.
"How is it going without the substance? You and Hemi don't seem to be taking it very well. Then again, you haven't killed yourself over it yet. Almost as funny as Haymitch trying to be sober." He lets out a laugh, and I manage a sarcastic grin. I reach for my knife and stand up. "It's part of your lifeline. And it seems that it has been taken away. So how are you bracing these stormy seas? Not well, by the judge of it. I think you would have done yourself off first if I didn't show up." He raises an eyebrow, to which I give no response.
"You would be the one to betray your friends." I whisper, and I realize there is a chance that he couldn't make that out.
"Betray? No. Not betray. It is a game, my friend, and those who win, are those who are more qualified. Survival of the fittest, so, no, it is not betrayal: Merely competition." He gives a sparkling smile, one that has been known to make girls swoon. Too bad I'm not a girl.
I sigh, and look him in the eye. I know that I am not strong enough to fight him off. I shake my head, strands of my hair falling out of my head as I do so. I grip my knife, picturing the white of my knuckles as they bulge from my skin, and drop it. Gloss has a look of shock on his face as his eyes follow the knife to the ground. I turn around. "What? You are just going to run away? Stand and fight. You were great, once."
I turn for a moment. "Once. I am not going to kill one of my friends." My head is spinning, and I feel the real effect of what I have done over the past years. "I'm coming out of this world on a clean slate. I'm not afraid of you; you're just a confused child. Anyways, if anything, Gloss should be a girl's name. "
I turn completely and barely take two steps before the sword is through my chest, twisting and turning, making sure to impale every possible organ in existence. I fall to the dirt, not even wielding the strength to make an attempt to catch myself. My head hits with a thump, and I'm just lying there. I can feel a trickle of blood creeping down the edge of my mouth. I remember, back in my games, I have seen this before. The children I stabbed with the blood coming out their mouth, a sure sign that they were going to die. And then, just like them, I feel my eyes slip to a close, and, just like them, I know that they will never open again.
Sorry it's been a month... kinda hectic. I can't stay long enough to write much, except that I decided I'm going to stop this at 33 chapters (I dislike even numbers). Seems decent right? I'll take suggestions for the last whatever, but I'm going to be selfish. Last death is me. Thanks for reading, this has been fun to write.
