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Alamar Seward
District Four Male, 18 Years Old
Day Nine: Pt. I
Six.
Six lives. Six pathetic, unavailing lives. All slaughtered by my own hands, with my own weapon. All of their blood is on my own hands, soaking it… Letting me revel it. That I was able to kill that many lives, all without a sweat. It's gratifying. It's revitalizing.
But, I never doubted myself.
This was always some Game. Some Game to prove myself. Some Game to make myself known. And is winning really necessary? I don't give two shits about the money, the material gains. The fame? Even then, it's iffy. I don't want to be famous. I don't want to go down as another District Four victor.
I want to be known as Alamar Seward, the tribute that could. The tribute that did.
And the tribute that still can.
Besides, who stands in my way at this point? The girl from District Seven? The one whose name I can't even remember. All I know is that I personally slaughtered two of her allies, leaving the last one to whoever took the pleasure away from me. What does she have that could defeat me? The will to fight? The spirit?
That's nauseating. She doesn't have the strength, the training, the competence. But, what about Ceres? Is she capable of defeating me, then? It's still doubtful. Even if she made it this far – with help from me, I must add, since I am the one that let her live, after all – it doesn't mean anything.
If the girl from Seven can survive this long, anyone can. Luck keeps them alive, while I keep myself alive. I don't fate or luck to direct where I'm heading, since I already know – and perhaps victory is included in that. It was never solely about victory, anyway.
That's too simple.
That's too easy.
For people like Ceres and the girl from Seven, victory is enough. Victory can quench their determined endeavors, the ones where they want to go home. Where they were put into these Games, whether volunteered or reaped, it doesn't matter. Me? I don't want to go home. I never really did want to go home.
I just want to win.
And that's completely different from being a victor. Winning is one thing, but not all victors are winners. Some are losers, especially the weak ones. Those are the ones that are picked off early as they live their new victory lifestyle, the ones who overdose and the ones who kill themselves. They let themselves rot away, drowning in their own pitiful lives that they let happen to them.
I could never be able to live with myself like that.
When the tree comes into view, I raise my arm, targeting one of the larger branches in particular. With one, swift gesture, I launch the spear hurling towards it, and as it implants in the tree, I let out a chuckle. It really has come down to this; me practicing on a tree. On an intimate object, which just shows the type of competition I'm up against; I'd rather fight a tree than Ceres or the girl from Seven.
What was her name, anyway?
Once I think about it, though, I realize that I don't care. I realize that I don't care about her or her life, so what is a name supposed to mean to me? If I learn someone's name, I just think about them more. But, for the girl from Seven, all I care about is killing her. Is watching my spear come into contact with her skull and…
What's that?
In the distance, a figure catches my attention. Whoever it is – whether Ceres or Seven – they're running really quickly, barely taking their time to fully run down each hill. They leap here and there, and as I look more closely, there is something else behind them. Mutts of some sort, and at this point, I'm thankful for that.
Now, the real fun begins.
A fight… But, with who?
Closer and closer they get, their backpack dropping as they leap from one hill to the other. They don't even look back, and as I watch one of the mutts begin to tear at it, I can only imagine what they would do to the actual person. Skin them… Eat them alive.
"Who do we have here?" I call out, not getting a response right away. When I can determine who the person really is, I smile with satisfaction, knowing that the Gamemakers had to have something to do with this. They had to know, didn't they? They had to know that this was I was looking forward to.
A fight with Ceres.
It's the least she deserves.
"Ceres!" I call out again, finally catching her attention. What she doesn't realize is that the mutts have stopped chasing after her, and as she comes right for me, I brace myself for impact. A spear to the chest would be too easy… And I don't want easy. I want a formidable opponent.
I want someone to fight back.
Not like Constance. Not like Audric.
I want a real fight.
As she slows down, I take my stance, not wanting to engage in anything just yet. I wait for her to regain her composure, letting her pant for a moment or so and equip her hands with a machete. Silly little thinks she can hide it from me, but not this time; I can see the knives around her belt now, so I show her that I have a few too.
I'd prefer a fight with no weapons, but that's too much to ask, isn't it?
"Alamar," she states, still panting. "We meet again."
"And so we do," I drawl, the corner of my mouth curling into a smirk. "Did you miss me?"
"No," she deadpans, finally straightening her back and standing upright in front of me. "I miss Constance. And Audric. Do you remember them?"
I let out a laugh, stabbing my spear down into the ground. I fold my arms over my chest, looking her up and down, seeing how tense she is. "The blonde one, right? The lapdog? She was pretty. And Audric was your friend, right?"
"Ally," she corrects, which is just laughable. Yeah, that's my bad; friends wouldn't run when one of them has a spear to their face. That's exactly what Ceres did, isn't it? She ran when I killed Audric. She did nothing to help him. She wasn't much of an ally either, apparently.
"Whatever you want to call it."
"And what you call us?" She asks, making me narrow my eyes. What is she trying to do here? Play some mind game on me? Trying to make me feel bad about killing the six tributes that I did? Make me feel some moral constraint so that I don't kill her too? It won't work.
Mind games never have.
"I call you a tribute, a tribute from District Two. I call you a Career," I say, holding out the 'r' in Career, wanting to play her game right back. She'll soon realize that I'm not that easy to fool. "I call you competition."
"Competition," she repeats, speaking to herself. "Do you know what I call you, Alamar?"
"Enlighten me."
"Impulsive, deranged," she replies, her words meaning nothing to me. This is the most I've ever heard her speak, and frankly, her voice is just as agitating as her looks. Her brown hair, the dark skin-tone. She might as well just shut up now if she's going to go on like this. "Lackluster."
At the sound of the word, I raise my eyebrow. "Excuse me?" I snap, wrapping my fingers around the spear in the ground. Lackluster? That's what she's going to call me? After I killed six tributes? After I'm about to make that seven? It's a shame she won't be alive to see it.
"I think you're all for show," she continues, and as I yank the spear out of the ground, she doesn't even flinch. She seriously has it coming for her. "Why did you volunteer, anyway? It seems like you're only here to throw your life away."
"That's enough," I bark, my voice loud enough to get her to seal her lips shut. "I don't want to hear about me, Ceres. I'll save the interrogating for the Victor's Interview."
As she goes quiet, I watch her every movement, making sure to pick up on everything she does. Her eyebrow twitches, her hair's blowing in the light breeze, and her hand is gripping the machete tighter now. She takes a step forward, and when I return the gesture, she broadens her shoulders.
This is what I've been waiting for.
This is what we've all been waiting for.
The moment we're I make my seventh kill, the one that will give me a place in the Finale. The kill where I'll only have one more after that, and once I make that kill, I can do whatever I want… I can do anything. I'll be free.
I just have to win.
And nothing's stopping me.
I'm going to win.
I always win.
Ceres Milani
District Two Female, 18 Years Old
Day Nine: Pt. II
"Do something!"
But, I can't. He has to make the first move, so that I can react to that. I have to advantage here, and if Alamar acts just as impulsively as he usually does, I can react properly. He's predictable enough, and as he grips the spear in both of his hands now, I can tell that he's preparing to make a jab at me. We're at a safe distance, and even if I didn't want to be in the first place, I don't have a choice.
It's fight or die.
That's my only choice now.
Once Alamar uplifts himself from the ground with his heel, I raise my machete, taking a step back. He lands in front of me, quickly swiping the tip of his spear in a circular formation, and as I bring my machete down on top of it, it just reminds me of what happened with Audric. It only happened about a day ago, yet I remember it so clearly; still, I don't know why I ran.
It just felt right at the time.
I had to run.
"That's just practice," he utters through gritted teeth, bringing back his spear to strike again. "This time, it won't be as easy. At least try to entertain me more than Audric."
And without a doubt, I'll give him what he wants; a good fight. That's what I was trained for, for a good fight. To keep my weapon in front of me, to adapt to each situation and plan accordingly, to always be one step ahead of my assailant. As Alamar jabs the spear forward, it tears through the side of my suit, not drawing any blood.
I look up at him, and before he can pull the spear back, I swing my machete. It scrapes the top of both of his hands, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't even look down at the blood, ignoring it. What kind of person is he? He has to feel pain, doesn't he?
"Do you really think that will hurt me?" He teases, pulling back his spear and putting some distance between us. He taunts me, walking around in a circle, and I follow his motion. As we walk around in a circle, I slip the machete into my boot, going for one of the knives in my boot.
They're lighter, being easier to throw.
Distance-fighting might be my best bet. It's a worth a shot, anyway. A wrong move might end up with that spear through my stomach.
I've come too far for that.
On purpose, I show him the knife, watching his eyes on the one in my left hand. With my right hand, I casually get another one, and before he can see it, I whip it towards him. He shakes his head, a smirk on his face, as he dodges it. It only tears the fabric from his shoulder, some blood clotting around it.
"Didn't work the first time, Ceres. It won't work the second," he says, dropping his spear to the ground. He kicks it away, putting both his hands behind his back. "But, if you want to play with knives, I accept."
And I act without thinking.
Running forward, I hold my arms out, going right for Alamar's body. I tackle him down, and before I can slip out of it, his weight is already being on top of me. I struggle for a moment, but his hands are caught behind his back, so I throw my head forward. My forehead comes into contact with his jaw, the pain only temporary stopping me. He stumbles back, giving me enough time to stand back up.
He rubs his chin, spitting blood out of his mouth. "You can do better."
I can.
I was trained to do better.
From the corner of my eye, I can see that I'm standing next to his spear, and as Alamar repositions himself, I use the time to try and distract him. Whipping another knife at him, I bend down, swiftly picking up the spear. I figured he'd move away from the knife, and just as I am standing back up, he lunges forward.
As he comes right at me, I bring the spear out, the force put on the spear making it drop out of my heads. But, when I see where it landed, I gasp. It's lodged in his stomach, but only if I kept my grasp on it, then it would have went all the way through. He pulls the spear out, the tip of it covered in his blood.
Alamar chuckles. "Betrayal by my own spear."
He coughs up some more blood, wiping it away with the sleeve of his suit. We're only a few inches from each other's face now, and when I try to grab another knife, Alamar strikes first. He slices the upper-part of my left arm, the pain making me bite down on my tongue. I resist tearing up about it or showing any discomfort, since he can't have that advantage.
I was trained to take some pain.
I can take this pain.
I have to take it.
Swinging my own knife upwards, it slices the bottom part of his chin, and with all the force I can muster, I push him back. He barely stumbles, my effort not doing much, but it put some more distance at least. For the first time, I can see him now struggling with the wound in his stomach, grasping at it with his hand.
"Does that hurt?" I ask, nodding my head, gesturing at the gaping hole. "I'm sure it does."
Alamar holds his knife out in front of him, waving it, but I know that he isn't doing it on purpose. He's losing energy and strength, and as the knife shakes out in front of him, I know that it's time. I know that it's time to deliver the final blow, but I don't know how I'll get close enough to him without getting a knife in my arm.
But, then I know what to do.
Raising my arm in the air, acting as if I'll throw it, I know that Alamar will come towards me. So, he does, but this time, I move out of the way at just the right time, watching his knife miss me. From the corner of his eye, we make eye-contact, and he growls, showing me his gritted teeth. But, before he can retract his arm, I send my own knife into his neck.
Once it plunges deep into his neck, I step back, watching him freeze up. The knife drops from his hand, one hand on his stomach and another on his neck.
Alamar opens his mouth to speak, but only blood pours out of it. He drops to his knees, my knife now in his neck and the gaping hole from his own spear making blood pool around him. His body drops to the side, completely limp, and as I watch his chest slowly rise and sink, I resist looking away.
I did this.
Just like I killed the boy from Ten.
Just like I'll have to do to Katcia of District Seven. She's the only one left, the sole contender in the Games until I win… Until I can go home. No matter what I say or believe, I can't let this get to me; if I'm too confident, Katcia will have the upper-hand. But, I can't deny that Katcia is capable of something, at least.
But what, I don't know. I haven't seen much of her in the arena, except for the little glimpses in the Capitol and during the Bloodbath. Clearly, though, she has some skill. She's just as good as I am, truthfully. If she can survive just as long as I am, she knows what she's doing.
That can't stop me, though. If I can kill Alamar, I can kill her – I have to kill her. I don't have much of a choice anymore; I've come too far. I have done exactly what the Training Center taught me, and from here on out, there's only one more path for me to take.
The path of victory or the path of death, both with only one person in the way.
Katcia.
She's the only one… Just one more kill. One more kill.
This is what I've trained for. This is what I've fought for. This is what I've killed for.
And I won't stop until I get it.
I won't stop until I win.
District Four, Alamar Seward – Placed 3rd
Author's Note:
Alamar Seward: Alamar was Alamar. He served his purpose, and I think we all know that he was never going to win. He was just here to keep the kills going, to antagonize others, and to keep the flow of the story. I never liked or disliked him, but all personal feelings aside, he did make the story more interesting. Third place might even be pushing it, but eh; nothing I can do about it now.
So, now there are two more tributes. Ceres of District Two and Katcia of District Seven.
Final time I ask this: Who will the victor be?
And a personal question. I'm running out of these, oh my. You know what, in honor of this disgusting and repulsive weather New York is being plagued by, I'm going to ask something real.
What is your favorite season? Least favorite?
I'll answer my own question; I love winter, I hate heat (that's a season now, apparently.)