Yeah, short chapter. I wanted to cover these deaths.
Anyway - Announcement: I will now accept tributes for my next story. There will be forty-eight. Two males and two females of each district. There will be eight teams of six tributes, and whoever is alive from the winning team at the end will be allowed to go home as victor, so basically, there can be up to six victors. Use the tribute form on my profile (you don't have to, but I'd appreciate it if you would) and submit tributes to me over PM. I will not accept tributes submitted over reviews.
The reason it took me a week to right so little was because I'm writing a new story, and I want to write the first five chapters before I publish the first chapter, so I was focusing on that for a bit, and then I started to feel sick, and didn't want to write, and got busy... Blah, blah, blah. Meaningless excuses.
We're in the Games! Celebrate!
No song this time. Next time.
D7- 16- (Damien Andrews)
The bloodbath can be described only by its name: bloodbath. There is no other word that could make an outsider comprehend the bloodshed and terror and pain that the word evokes, it's so intense and powerful. I can only attempt to imagine the fear that fills the loners' minds, the worry for their future that spreads through them like a furious ache in every bone of their being, every morsel of every atom in their system.
I guess I'm lucky I have allies, but I'm not going to admit it to them. The other male from my district and one of the District Ten tributes have all formed an alliance with me.
"Hey, cover me," the District Ten tribute says. His name is Nick diLaurnetis. "I need a sword."
Decon steps back and glances at me, waiting for me to respond with a "yes" or a "no." He does that a lot—sticks to the background, waiting for one of us to do his bidding, to make the decisions. He had for nearly the entire third day of training, when we allied, talking only when necessary. He talked a lot, at first, when we were just getting allied, but as it became official, he backed off and his conversation halted mostly.
"With what?" I ask, my eyes scouring for tributes coming at us. Decon is the one with the weapon. He has it raised.
"Decon's axe," Nick tells me, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course. Your knife, if it will help."
I look at my little knife. I may as well be a butter knife.
"Uh, no. Wait a minute, okay? Be patient; stay out of action," I order rationally. "Until it dies off a bit, stay by Decon's—"
Nick looks at me like I'm insane. "We can't!" he protested. "We're gonna—oh, God! I told you!"
I follow his gaze, and so does Decon, his axe ready. A tribute is running seemingly straight at us, but his eyes aren't focused on us. He takes a sharp turn and disappears behind the Cornucopia. I breathe out in relief and look at my useless knife. Had I been alone, with nothing but this small weapon, and the tribute was come at me, I would not be alive right now. I thank everything that prevented it with every fiber of my being.
"One at a time," Decon suggests, holding up his axe. "Nick, you should stay back first, because you're bigger than Damien and can probably function with just his little knife. I'll go up there and hack at anything comin' at us. Then we'll come back and you'll stay and wait, Damien, and Nick and I will go up there and get his sword. Alright? Safe enough plan for the two of you?"
It's not the lengthy spill of words that flow from him that surprises me, but how brilliant they are. In moments of terror or moments that you know are filled with decisions that will ultimately change your life—in our case the change would be live…or don't live—I can understand how thoughts might get tangled beyond the ability to forge a good thought in one's head. Simple as it is, this plan seems like the greatest masterpiece of plans a person could possibly think of.
"Brilliant," Nick mumbles, nodding. He sticks his hand out, palm up, to me, expecting the knife. I place it in his hand and look expectantly to Decon, offering no word of encouragement despite that I do think it's a good, strategic plan. The best we can come up with now, the three of us. We're not working right, not thinking the best we could. I know I'm not, at least. I am here and there and this and that. The world is spinning but then it's rotating but then it's revolving and twirling and spiraling and it's all a jumble of confusion.
Decon's axe is ready and he is too. We set off towards the Cornucopia. I don't have my eyes set on a hatchet yet because I can't spot one. I really hope they have one; from training I know I'm better using hatchets than axes. I could settle on an axe, but I wouldn't be satisfied with hit. They're just different in my hands, harder for me to work with, especially as a weapon. And while we're allies, I think I'll need something to protect me with.A weapon I'm good at using in times of needs. Emergencies.
We reach as close as we dare to the Careers' realm of the Cornucopia and I scope out what it has to offer. No hatchets show themselves. Disappointed, I hurry around, going as far as I'm willing to towards the Careers, flinching and hopping away when I knife is drawn in a flurry. I automatically think this knife was taken out for me, that it's meant to kill me. I cringe when I see the amused look on Decon's face.
"Shut the hell up," I snarl.
"Wasn't talking."
And then: Finally!—a hatchet!
I try to keep the excitement out of my eyes as I lunge for it, pulling it into my hands and recoiling from the danger that this little movement has caused. Away from the Careers, from the blood and horror. Nick will now get his sword, and we'll all run off, planning now and killing later. Equidistant from becoming friends, from forming a bond that could get us killed, but close enough to be deadly—deadly enough—we should be good. We should be a strong alliance in all.
"Got it?" Decon asks; I'm surprised by how much he's been talking today.
I nod. "Yeah, right here." I slide it smoothly into my belt as we pick up pace again.
"Ow!" my ally growls right next to me. I look over. His arm—his throwing arm, too!—has a knife jabbed into it, and the jabber is next to him.
My hatchet flies out of my belt immediately as adrenaline pulls me to get it out. I turn to the boy who hurt Decon, and he cowers away at first. But his knife rises, and I now know it was right to get ready to attack him, as he would have either attacked me or finished Decon off. Nick and I need Decon's skills, so I know it wouldn't be good for any of us if he was killed now.
I throw my arm back and forward, lodging the hatchet into his shoulder blade. Aiming for his head, I know this wasn't good enough. He dodged, and I didn't hold my arm right, didn't throw my strength forward properly. He screams out in pain, and I hear Decon picking something up behind me and calling, "Nick'll help you in a minute!" as he runs back to him.
The boy, holding his shoulder blade and doing his best just to clutch the knife and stand up right, is probably my age, and taller than me. But he's skinnier, too, and he doesn't have a weapon as good as mine, or an attack system planned out other than attack and hope to get lucky. And with my minimal but helpful knowledge of using hatchets and axes from working in District Seven, I have the immediate advantage. Had I paused, though, had I hesitated, he would've gotten me, would've killed me.
But now I have him in the perfect place. Gaining strength but not enough of it, he's easy to kill. I will raise my hatchet; I will let it fall; that's all that must be done to finish him. I now raise it, and I now let it fall, dropping it to his falling form as pain overrides him from his shoulder blade again. It burrows into his head, and a screech erupts briefly. Blood spurts from his head injury, and without a further glance I yank out the hatchet and run back to my allies.
D11- 16- (Kayla Baker)
I've returned to my girls. The five of us group up, smile, and exchange a few "Oh, thank God you're alive's." All too close to the center of the action, all too close to the Careers and other contenders.
"Sky, Nelly, go find Allegra and Calypso for me, would you?" I say. "I'll be right here, waiting, keeping the fighters away from you."
As much as I want to win—and as certain as I am that I will, though it brings great sadness to me that my close friend Skylar will die for my life—I know the right thing to do, now, is to thoroughly protect Skylar. And if that means I have to sort of produce some iffy protection towards the other girls, that's okay. I will. For Skylar only, the younger girl who's family might shatter if she doesn't return. I must let Skylar put up a fight, let her do well.
My family can manage without me, despite the sadness. That's the part that kills me.
Nelly nods. Skylar shakes her head. "No, Kayla, come on," she insists, cocking her head slightly and moving closer. "What do you need? Come on!"
Her pleading eyes melt me, but I hold my ground. I do need to stay here; I do need to make sure the Careers don't flee back to the girls. I will flee myself when the four of them—or should I just say Skylar?—is safe, away from the Cornucopia. With my knives I will fight others off, make them go the other way. They will have to oblige by force or kill me and take their own path, but either way, I'm sure I'll have delayed them long enough that the girls will have an obvious advantage in that they'll be far away.
Not far enough.
"I'm scared," she whimpers as quietly as she can, begging me to go on once she's sure I'm staying for a little longer to protect them.
"I know," I say back softly, and her pleading eyes are sweeter than an ignorant baby's, sadder than a hungry child's. More scared than I've ever seen her soft eyes.
"Oh…Skylar!" I get out. "Why? Why with the eyes?" I sigh, and a small smile reaches her lips.
I start off, running from the bloodbath. I can see Nelly has collected the others and they're waiting just outside the ring of fighting for us. I see nothing amiss in my terror that rises by the second. Skylar follows beside me. I keep running without hesitation. She drifts slowly out of my peripheral view, but I can hear her footsteps beside me, keeping up pace. Terrified glances are thrown at me from my allies. I run faster in paranoia that a Career is coming after us, silently telling myself repeatedly, They're just worried. Skylar will be alright. I will be alright.
When I reach them, fear is still in their eyes. Two sets of eyes.
I look around for Skylar, who I realize has disappeared. I stopped hearing her footsteps shortly after I spotted the scared glances, and in my paranoia I hardly even noticed…
"Skylar!" I yell, whirling to run back. I hand takes up a handful of my shirt. I yank myself free.
"Kayla, no!" Calypso says beside me. "You can't go back, you just can't."
"Allegra, too! No!" I screech.
Calypso and Nelly both throw me hard glances. I cower away from these and know I've failed, and that I'm only about to risk everything for the two girls I cannot save. But a wave of hatred and anger and so much pain that it seems insurmountable cascades through my body, running down, down, down, and pulling me too. Gravity, just for me, has grown so strong that I can't hold my body up. I can't keep it from collapsing.
No! I scream at myself. I can't! Can't abandon the girls, can't abandon myself.
"Kayla," a scared voice pleads. "Stand up. We have to go. Oh, please—hurry!"
I didn't realize I'd fallen. I drag myself up, but I'm dizzy and I don't know why. Nausea arises and I don't know how long I can hold the urge to vomit down. The only thing I'm aware of is a little voice, whether it's in my head or out, yelling, "Go! Hurry!" I think it's just me, telling myself I can do this, and I have to keep going. But I can't, and it doesn't help that I'm expecting to wake up in a couple minutes on reaping day morning…