Disclaimer: I can only dream of owning the Hunger Games... Well, no I can't even really do that it's so impossible.
Okay! Mild language in this. It might be worse than I think it is, but hey! I go to a public American high school. Even the teachers curse.
Phoenix Lint (Age 18) female – District 12
"Time is an illusion." The whisper barely escapes the young girl's lips, but the echo of the sound in the white void is enough to creep me out.
The arena this year is like no other. Clocks, just floating, suspended in air. They are the only color aside the tributes. Clear platforms allows one to navigate through the nothingness, the nothingness with no defined barriers: No up, no down, no left, no right, just clocks and the Cornucopia, which has shed its trademarked golden composition for that of silver. One wrong step and you go tumbling down until you hit another platform or clock. Or maybe you are even unlucky enough to hit another tribute.
Everything, besides the clocks, is white or clear. Everyone dons white, soundless slippers; light, white, tight-fitting pants; white, long-sleeved, close-hugging shirts; thin, white gloves to cover any skin remaining on the hands; white scarf to cover the mouth; finally, a white cap to cover the top of the head. The only skin showing is that around our eyes. Like ninjas, said my designer. Whatever those are.
White ninjas released into a white void of clocks. The clocks provide life. Some hold water; some hold beds, some food, some weapons. It was quickly realized that the Cornucopia held nothing aside shelter. Or perhaps there was more. It was just clear. I didn't stay long enough to find out. We hide in the clocks, in this vacuum of color. Aside the red. The blood stains our clothes, the steps, the clocks. All feces and urine disappears, crumbs of finished meals. Everything disappears by nightfall except the blood. The horrible, blood, splattered mercilessly across the surfaces from all the murdered children…
The clocks strike twelve, and only twelve. That is how we know when it is night, when it is day. Eerily echoing throughout the arena, it singles when the anthem would start, it counted our routine. It allowed some form of sanity, some order from the colorless asylum, a way to make sure that things are still real. And everything has seemed real. Until now.
I swat away a small wristwatch which has drifted into my vision. I watch for a minute, as it swivels away as if in some liquid. "For all you know I could be dead." I turn back to the girl now. For all you know I could be dead, could they do that? Could they remake the dead tributes into mutants to torture the living? "I could have died a long time ago, and they are just waiting for you to hurt me. To take me out like the threat I am. Then I will kill you."
I try to rack my brain for who this little girl is. All the events of the past week or weeks seem to blend together in my memory. I see a few glints of red hair escaping from under her cap, which leads me to assume she is District 5. The horrible red of blood… NO! I will not think of that now. It is just hair, not blood. But the question is, if she is District 5, is that tribute dead yet? Urr… Why must it be so difficult to remember? "You're not dead. You're District 5. You haven't died yet." I speak easily, whispering as she does. If my statement is true, I can only wonder.
"Yes I have. Remember, District 12 girl stuck me with a knife." Now I was really scraping the edge of my brain to figure out what was going on.
I look to my feet, as if the answer is planted there. "No… that was District 7 who was killed by the knife."
"W-What? W-W-Why would you say that? You're District 7!" I look back to her, surprised that her eyes actually contained genuine shock.
Anger seeps through me, and I know that my cheeks would have added more red to this arena if they had been showing. "What are you doing? Are you trying to mess with my head or something? I am not District 7! District 7 is dead!"
"Okay, are you playing with me now? W-Why are you doing this? I'm only twelve! I died by District 12's knife! I was the first to die! Not you!" The girl is stumbling backwards now, trying to get away from me.
"No, I am positive it was District 7, she's dead. Maybe not the first to die. Definitely not the last, once I'm through with you." My voice is eerily low and steady as I take slow, powerful steps towards the girl.
"No, it wasn't. You are still alive. The Gamemakers sent me to kill you." I lunge at the girl before she has the chance to get up. Such an easy target since she was already collapsed half-way onto the ground.
I start to shake her frail form by the shoulders. "Are you trying to make me go insane you little bitch? I know that District 7 was killed."
"You are District 7!" She screams back, her voice shaking with her body.
"No. I'm District 12." I run my knife along the little girl's throat, ignoring the pleading in her eyes, and try to turn away before the blood starts to gush. Then, the unthinkable happens. Instead of a cannon firing, her body dissolves like a hologram. Before I can utter a word of shock, I feel the cold blade of a sword come to rest across my neck.
"So, you're District 12." The deep male voice comes behind me, and his warm breath comes into my uncovered ears.
My eyes become the size of saucers instantly. My brain has to work quickly. "No, didn't you just hear her? I'm District 7."
A shiver runs down my spine as he lets out a booming laugh. He is still snickering while he says, "I thought District 7 was the first to die?"
"I-I said that to mess with her head." Now I feel as if I am messing with my own head.
"Oh, really, Iliad? Then how come I saw you die before my eyes?"
My eyes shut close in defeat. "Ah, fuck. So you are also District 7?"
"That is correct, District 12. You killed my best friend's little sister. She was fourteen. I promised I would be the one to kill her murderer."
My brows furrow together, trying to understand what he just said. "Wait, what would have happened if you killed her, then would you commit suicide?" I never get my answer, and the sword tightens its grip on my neck. A little too tight. I fall on the clear platform as the blood seeps out from the fatal neck wound. The horrible, horrible blood. Just another splatter in an ocean of murder and deceit. And here, I am dying in my worst fear. And here, I died in my worst fear.
Hum... does anyone else get the impression that Phoenix has lost her mind? Well good, that was the intention. I haven't made someone go crazy in a while. This, though, is by far my favorite arena I have come up with. Yet, I still have three more stories to write! Suggestions anyone? ^^ Even if you don't have any, it's cool. I have an over-active imagination. I'll think of something- oh, wait, I just did. I need two more story suggestions! Ha-ha. Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me. It will mean even more if you review *wink**wink*. Speaking of which, I would like to thank xXKillerxxCupcakeXx, hungergamesfan51, and LunaPadma for reviewing my last chapter! And to anyone who actually takes the time to read this! You girls/guys are the best! I shall return once again tomorrow!
