A/N: Who needs revision when there's fanfiction to write?
Sadly, I do, and so I apologise for my lack of posting in the last week. There's just so much on at school with my final exams being only three weeks away. English Literature, French, History, Music, Biology, Religious Studies, Chemistry, Further Mathematics, Physics...
Too much to do, I swear.
But anyway, I'm on top of things at the moment, and so there will be a couple of chapters this weekend.
Also, thanks to richards25, Burningbrightforyou, FScSeG0403 and Vykktor for reviewing since the last update.
Here's a classic cornucopia scene to get back into the swing of things, I hope you enjoy it :)
"I'm the self-inflicted mind detonator
I'm the one-infected, twisted animator
I'm the firestarter, twisted firestarter."
- Keith Flint, 1996.
The 36th Annual Hunger Games
Fernando James (16), District 10 Male
The Prodigy - Firestarter (1996)
Ten.
All I see is grassland.
Nine.
Rolling hills behind me, a sparse forest half a mile north. No doubt there will be water amongst the long grass somewhere.
Eight.
Twenty-four tributes.
Seven.
Only one will survive.
Six.
I don't know who I'm fooling other than myself by keeping up hope. I only scored a three in training.
Five.
Compare that to the Careers and, well, there really isn't any point trying. One of them, the girl from Two, the daughter of a Victor, scored an eleven. There's no way that I can hope to compete with that.
Four.
But for once, some of us from the outer districts have agreed not to kill each other until the Careers are dead. Not allies as such, but for the time being, on the same side. A non-aggression pact, of sorts. Districts 7 to 12 united against the Careers. Supposedly.
Three.
Of course, we will eventually have to fight each other. It's either that or die.
Two.
The grass has been cut shorter around the cornucopia to allow easier access. There's no question of beating the Careers to the supplies. If I want weapons and supplies, I'll have to take them from the environment that the Gamemakers have thrown us into.
One.
A glance to my left and to my right tells me that no Careers are on pedestals near me. I'm relatively safe. For now.
The gong sounds, and the 36th Annual Hunger Games explode into life. At first, I'm unsure of where to go, and watch as the boy from District 7 sprints past me into the long grass to the west, safe in the knowledge that currently he is not a threat. Unsure of where to go, I think that the best I can do is find somewhere safe to stay until the carnage of the cornucopia bloodbath is over. I quickly dash to the long grass, take about ten paces and throw myself down in the grass, out of sight of the other tributes. The chances of them stumbling across me here are next to none.
Suddenly, the first screams of the bloodbath are all around me. The Careers must have reached the supplies. I knew it was going to be bad, but with only the sounds of the fight, the wait for it to die down is torturous. I have no idea what is going on. I have no idea who is alive or dead. All I know is that someone out there is murdering other innocent children.
I don't want to be a part of this anymore. I don't want to have to listen to their suffering. I clasp my hands over my ears and bury my head into the dirt, trying to isolate myself from the horrors all around me.
Then I hear it. Weak, pleading, desperate. But it is there.
"Fernando!"
It's my district partner. I'm certain of it. I've grown used to her voice over the last week. I remember telling her that she mustn't run to the cornucopia. She promised me that she wouldn't. But I had promised her that I would protect her in the arena. Not just as long as the Careers survived, as then as anyone other than us two survived. If we became the last two, then I would have to fight for the chance to go home. But that scenario would never happen.
There it is again. Fainter, but I still heard it. She may be in trouble, but I can say now that I'm not going in there. Two of us can break promises.
I hear my name again, but then the voice is replaced with screams that soon subside into nothingness. By now, the bloodbath must be nearly over. There are no new cries of pain, only the whimper of dying tributes, and the abrupt end that I presume to be one of the Careers returning to finish them off. Slowly it all fades to silence. I have no idea how many died, as I can't see the bodies of the dead lying in the grass. Six or eight, I would guess. Not many less than that.
Suddenly the crash of the first cannon reverberates around the arena. I lay silent in the grass, counting. One... Two... All the way up to nine.
Nine of us are gone already. Hopefully tributes from Three, Five and Six, who didn't join our little non-aggression scheme. Maybe even one of the Careers, that would be nice. But then, in the calm after the fight, I become aware of voices. The Careers. Still at the cornucopia, the windless conditions letting me pick up their voices fifty metres away. Unlike the rest of us, the Careers aren't afraid to talk loudly and carelessly; they know that no-one would dare try and hunt them down. Such a fight would only ever end one way.
"Did we all make it through?" asks a boy, who I believe to be from District 4.
"Yeah, although the boy from Seven slashed at me with a knife. I've got a nasty gash on my thigh that needs looking at."
"Don't worry," says another, this one a girl. "There's always a first aid kit in the cornucopia supplies. And if not, there's always sponsors."
"Who did we kill then?" asks yet another.
"I got both from Twelve," says the girl who spoke earlier.
Damn. There's two gone from our group.
"I'm sure I saw both the boy from Five and the girl from Ten bleeding out," says a different girl. Her careful accent reminds me of District 1.
So that confirms my fears for my district partner. She's gone already.
So much for keeping our promises for each other.
"I think the boy from Eight is gone too, but I'm not sure. Anyway, we need to gather supplies and move out. We've got tributes to hunt," says another male, trying to take control of the situation.
And suddenly I realise flaw in my plan. If the Careers walk my way, I've got nowhere to go to. I'll be dead in under two minutes. And I can't run now. Running would only draw attention to myself.
I then hear the Careers gasp in awe at their supplies, which only made me feel even more on edge. The next twenty minutes could be my last.
"Wow, look at all this!"
"The Gamemakers have been very generous this year!"
"Hey, Marcus! Check out these two swords!"
"Is there anything for my arm?"
"Oh, who cares? Look at all this!"
"I'll check round the back; there's so much!"
"What's this? Oh my g-"
The sky flashes white and my ears feel as though they have been shattered in an instant. I can faintly hear echoes of a sound like a thundercrack rumbling back from the hills in the south as the light from the summer sun is blocked off almost completely. Trying to stand to my feet having been disoriented by the sudden noise, I turn to the see the land where the cornucopia had stood, but there is nothing.
In front of me is a massive crater, twenty feet deep, spreading out from where the cornucopia had stood, only stopping just before the pedestals. Smoke is being belched into the sky at an alarming rate, fire spreading through the grass all around me. Through my damaged ears, I hear five cannons fire in sequence, just as they had done at the end of the bloodbath. Through the smoke I can make out the charred remains of wooden supply crates, melted plastic that appears to be the source of the blackness that descends upon me and melted pools of gold and iron; the remains of the weapons. Then, from the heart of the inferno, a shape appears from the smoke. A tribute, no doubt, engulfed in flames, their charred figure staggering forward towards fresher air. I can't even tell from their disfigured form is the creature in front of me was once male or female; and nor do I care to find out. I turn to run from the scene as the charred figure collapses into the flames, never to rise again.
The sixth cannon quickly follows as I attempt to escape the fumes that were rising from the wreckage, and the burning-hot ash that is starting to fall from the sky. And so I run blindly onwards into the grass, not caring where I am going. All I want to do is be away from there. Golden rain that scorches my skin follows me; the metal of the cornucopia melted at flung skyward by what I can only assume was a colossal explosion that is now coming down to haunt me. Two droplets catch my forearms and I find myself swearing in pain as my skin is scolded by them, and it spurs me on to run even harder for the hills that now loom right overhead.
As I run, my mind returns to the deal that had been struck by the tributes of the outlying districts had made before the Games.
Now the Careers are gone.
I might not have hoped for it to come so soon, but from now on, I am on my own.
With fifteen tributes gone in the first hour (including the whole Career pack), the 36th Games were then dragged out by the Gamemakers, making sure that the remaining nine tributes never wanted for anything, especially not weapons. Having anticipated the destruction of the supplies in their explosive trap at the cornucopia, the Gamemakers set up several other weapons stations around the outskirts of the arena, which ensured that the remaining tributes were well supplied for the remainder of the Games.
Eventually, the seven tributes who had taken to the woods after the bloodbath all found ways of killing each other off, leaving the boy from District 9 to be the only survivor from the northern half of the arena. In the south, Fernando had eventually been spotted by the girl from District 3, who was the highest-scoring non-Career in that year's Games. In the hills, a drawn-out chase had ensued, winding through narrow ledges that hung over hundred-foot drops. By the end of a long and (in the eyes of the Capitol audience) thrilling chase, Fernando turned back to face his adversary, and the brief fight resulted in the girl from District 3 being thrown off of the ledge to her death.
Yet again, fire (which tributes had come to know of as the Gamemakers' best friend) was used to draw the final two together. Luck was the deciding factor in the end, as the unskilled fighting between the boys of Districts 7 and 10 led to both clumsily injuring each other, and the Games was decided by seeing which boy bled to death on the ground first, an unexpected anticlimax to the otherwise thrilling 36th Annual Hunger Games.
A/N: I don't know if any of you (the readers) will be interested, but I'm contemplating holding a competition, with the winner being able write one of the oneshots for this story. If anyone thinks this is a good idea or would be interested, then please let me know ASAP.
Also, I've gone back and updated the previous chapter, which was (and I apologise) riddled with typing errors, as pointed out by FScSeG0403. Feel free to give it a re-read in its improved state if you like.
Finally, if you enjoyed the chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is still welcomed :)
P.S: I promise I won't go this long without updating again.
