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The Siblings
I instantly regretted my actions the second the duo were out of sight. I refused to admit to myself the full amount of pain the two of them had caused me. All this lying, pretending and violence was all part of who I was, but that didn't stop the fact that I was hurt beyond belief – I had genuinely, beyond any doubt, thought that the two of them were my friends.
I was almost glad things worked out the way they did. At least they hadn't literally stabbed me in the back, for which I was thankful. I would have never seen it coming.
The two of them can go to hell. I just couldn't get over how Theo, a District Two tribute chose Cinder, a lowly District Twelve over me. I was better than her in every single way. I was more petite and lithe, making me hard to kill. Despite my initial jealousy over Cinders power, I had come to recognize the full extent of the power I could control. I was strong, and Cinder was weak.
As I rattled a list of how great I was, I saw something that I realized Theo must have. Cinder was innocent. She had never had to kill for sport, hadn't lived the majority of her life training for this one moment of gory glory. She would never have to think she was too tall to be able to take cover effectively, her blonde hair too obvious to camouflage, not intelligent enough to think of basic battle plans…
And in that way, she was better than I.
I hesitantly look around me, while I walk in the opposite direction of Theo and Cinder. I will always keep this revelation to myself.
If Theo thinks this, does he see himself as a monster also? I think back to the things he admitted to me. His confession to defying the rules of District Two, killing all the boys with permission, and his defying of the Capitol… rigging the reaping. He must know how he will never emerge from this arena alive. I force myself to smirk at the thought of his death, focusing on the anger than the pain I feel. He could perhaps be protecting Cinder, protecting her innocence, knowing that he would never live and making sure that she would. I push this thought away. He is a traitor to my district, my nation. He is not honorable, and that thought gives me strength. I had not forgotten, how honor is everything.
Even in the games, it is despicable to turn against your own.
Four days. Four days had passed since I last saw a tribute, or any sign of life. The arena was so quiet. In those four days I had crossed the immense suburbs and had gotten to the edge, where the final row of houses were positioned. Within those four days I had contemplated a lot of things. With only myself for company, I could either think deeply or fantasize about killing to pass the time.
Before I entered the row of houses I set up camp in a house opposite, able to view the row with a good vantage point. I set up some blinds so that I could see out and no other tribute would be able to see in. Beside the window I set up camp, dragging a mattress down and lots of blankets and a small nest. As I forgot all of my supplies during the irrational flooding of Cinders cave, I had only managed to pick up meagre supplies on my way here. I only had two, long knives remaining, each with a wicked blade and a bone shaped handle. It was gorgeous.
As I lay there beside the window, drifting in and out of sleep, I began to think, as I always did these days, about the games.
After I had begun thinking about Theo, and his actions within the games, and before, I had begun to realize something. Yes, I might be from District Two and enjoy death, violence, torture… but did I like what it made me? Did I like that all these innocent were forced to come here, when I so readily wanted to? Did I like the fact that our government had forced hundreds of children to their deaths as a message?
No. I did not like it.
I was who I was, there was nothing that could change that now. I had spent my life training for the games, grown up with violence and cruelty more readily than I experienced love. And I suddenly wish that it was all different. If it was different, May would be alive. If it was different, I would not have become a murderer at the age of 16, entered the games and continued killing at the age of 17. All before I was even legally an adult.
Due to this, I couldn't force myself to hate Theo, despite the anger that I feel. He was disappointing to myself and my district. He was just trying to protect someone that hadn't been as tainted by our society as I had.
I forced myself to ignore all these thoughts, although this didn't stop them running through my skull. I could deal with these treasonous thoughts when I left the games, but until then I would keep my training close. Schooling my features to disguise my true emotions, pretending that I was the same Olivia that volunteered weeks ago.
Three weeks I had been in this hellhole, and a week prior to that in the Capitol. These games had nearly been going on for a month… they were certainly dragging this out.
I took a nap, and when night fell I became all too aware of movement outside on the street. My enhanced vision helped me see clearly though the darkness, away from the street lamps.
I saw two figures, and instantly I assumed it was Theo and Cinder. I almost got up to go see them. I wasn't too sure if I wanted to kill them or talk to them. However, a flash of white hair had me slumping down back onto the mattress. It was Sibylline and Hart. The siblings.
Sibylline had an awful limp, and Hart seemed to be struggling with some unknown injury as he helped Sibylline cross the threshold of a house numbered 7, for their district. Unlike the rest of the houses, there is only one home numbered 7. For the others, there is two homes for each tribute from each district.
I had resisted studying my home, but almost without my consent I began to study the old weathered house. The steel shutters on the windows were rusted shut, but the windows behind shined brightly, indicating a stress clean from my mother. By the doorstep were my parent's dirty miner's boots and equipment, stuffed in an old, heavy steel box padlocked shut – it too covered in rust like a stain of blood. The stone of the building is stained black, from a fire from years ago. There is still the faint red stain on the door from when there was an outbreak of measles, leaving Ruby and Emerald bedridden for weeks. I peered into the darkness, trying to see what was inside, but I couldn't see anything. If I wanted to, I would have to go in.
I didn't want to though. That was the home of my childhood, and nothing more. I almost wished that they had put the Agoge in, which is what I classed as my real home.
And then I remembered that place no longer holds any good memories anymore. Almost everyone I had shared it with had moved out or were dead.
I contemplate going in after Sibylline and Hart, knowing I only have one shot to get Hart. As much as I hated to admit it, that fight at the feast was just a fluke, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fight Hart and beat him again – not without him being at an immense physical disadvantage.
Now was my chance, wasn't it? He was in pain, and he would be too busy trying to protect his sister than to protect himself effectively. I strategic placed blow here, a jab with my knife there, and I would have one more kill under my belt.
I didn't feel a stab of guilt or disgust as I would have imagined accompanied with my new revelation about myself. Must just show how much I've been trained to be a good little murderer, with no remorse or regret.
I postpone going after them, having a meagre meal of spaghetti straight from the tin. The pasta slides disgustingly cold down my throat as I force it down, stopping the gag reflex.
By the time I was ready to go and attack, it was nearly dawn. I reasoned to myself that attack at night would be best. I move better under the cover of darkness, and knowing that as a sibling, you would want to protect. This meant that Hart had taken first watch while his sister rested, but he would have to rest at some point. After a day of quiet, Hart would suspect that the coast was clear and sleep while Sibylline guarded. She would be so much easier to take down after I got her sleeping brother.
I never had my chance.
Screams woke me up from my sleep, and I squinted at the sun. It was late in the afternoon. Immediately my attention zeroed in on the house labelled number 7. No one emerged from the house, and the scream didn't sound again. Positive that that was where I heard it, I held still, tense, watching for any movement.
A faint scream called again, and this time I could tell it was a female. Sibylline? I hadn't heard a canon sound yet, but maybe someone had gotten to the siblings before I could? Was there any point in me going over there?
Yes. I could take down whoever was responsible for the screams.
Leaving behind all my packs and supplies, I strapped my knives to my belt wrapped around my waist, strapped up my boots and was at the door of number 7 within moments.
I strained to hear another sound, but there wasn't a peep.
I stepped back from the front door, unsure if I should barge straight in. What if it was a trap? The kids didn't seem overly stupid, perhaps they knew I was watching and thought this up? I scattered the thoughts and raced to find another way into the house.
Down the side, in-between 7 and 8, there was a woodpile stacked almost half way up the house. I studied it for a moment, doubting my abilities, when I thought I should just go for it.
Willing myself to be as light as possible, I strain make each step petite as I climb up. Reaching the top, I vaguely notice that my skin glitters in sweat and my scales have emerged, glowing a brilliant dark blue in the fading light. Bending my knees as carefully as I can, I push off from the logs with as much strength as I can, but still gentle to stop the logs crashing down.
My hands catch the edge of the roof, and I groan in annoyance as the sound of the falling wood crashes throughout the alley echoes loudly. I heave my body onto the roof, and just manage to roll onto the side when I see Hart jump into view. I hold still, peaking at him only slightly.
The tribute looked more animal than boy, fur sprouting all over his body. His face looked elongated with a snout. I held my breath in fear as his nose lifted up into the air, smelling the air.
And that's when I know I am done. Automatically Hart looks up and locks eyes with me, rusty brown blazing into dark blue. I roll further away from the edge, no longer able to see him.
My heart pounds. He wasn't injured. He was fine. At full power. Knew where I was. Going to kill me.
I quench the thoughts, terrified of the paralyzing fear that was overcoming me. I had faced this creature before, I could do it again. I warily get to my feet, careful on the unstable roof. Slowly, showing more confidence than I felt, I withdrew my knife from its sheath and clambered towards an entrance.
There was no sunroof or chimney that would be big enough to let me wriggle through. And then I spot a roof tile that was slightly out of place. I nudge it with my foot, exposing the house below.
And a pair of rusty brown eyes locking with mine.
Quick as a snake, the beast grabs my ankle, his claws leaving tears in the leather of my boots. I couldn't help it. I screamed. In response, Hart growled. A ferocious grumble of malice and enjoyment emerged from his black lips as his eyes regarded me greedily. Gripped by a fear I had not known I could feel, I struggle and writhe from his grasp. It does nothing, his strength is too immense. My foot goes down the hole first, and this makes me more desperate. I scramble and flail as much as I can to dislodge his grasp, my body getting banged and scraped up on the rough material of the roof. With my knife I suddenly leap forward and stab the blade deep into his arm.
The surprise is enough to loosen his grip, but not let me go. I don't bother retrieving my knife, I just writhe and struggle away from the beast.
I fly backwards onto the roof, my foot finally free but leaving my boot with him. I don't care. I run along the roof, desperate for a way free.
My foot instantly becomes cut and scraped from the surface, but I ignore it. Adrenaline is pounding through my body, and I cannot control the smile that threatens to split my face in two.
A loud crash sounds behind me, sending me skittering down a few meters; I watch in fearful glee as the hairy, bloody, scraped arm of Hart emerges from the hole in the roof. His body heaves as he tries to push his body to scramble through the hole. His eyes never leave mine as his torso blooms with blood from the ragged edge of the hole.
The grin I flash him is manic, and my hair whips around behind me in a tornado just for me. I slowly remove my last remaining knife from my belt, and aim to throw.
His movements surprise me.
Just before I let my knife loose, he throws the one I had stabbed into his hand. He ducks, and I am too shocked to do anything but to brace myself.
With a gasp that sounds half a breathless scream and a breathless laugh, I pull the blade from my shoulder, blood immediately soaking the right side of me. Pain like fire sears through my veins. No amount of water could quench this pain. I slump to the floor, legs no longer responding. My vision blurred and all I could see was a figure stalking towards me. Laced with agony that sent me crashing down into the hallucinations of the land of devil wishing death upon myself and those who had caused this searing fire devouring my whole body without mercy. What was on that blade? Poison? I struggle to my feet, head pounding as though a thousand tiny bees were trapped behind my skull. I couldn't think straight, which was why I could do nothing but brace myself for contact. Hart crashes into me, his heavy weight too much for me to handle and shoving me backwards. Stumbling I regain my footing, trying not to get too close to the edge. I slip and slide on the blood soaked roof, trying to maneuver my way around Hart, but my movements are too clumsy and heavy. The fiendish talons locked me in an iron grip of fear and agony. Knowing my intentions, he backs me up to the edge.
He slowly comes towards me, his snout turning to a boy's evil grin. Or maybe it was my imagination… everything was blurry and in slow motion.
"How much glory I bring, killing a District Two," he says, filling the word with as much disgust I flinch, blinking slowly and struggling to keep my gaze on him. He watches me intently, and knowing what I am thinking, "You can't jump. You'll die. 3 floors is a long way down. Might be easier than the pain I bring you though Olivia." The wind picks up, and nearly knocks me to my feet in my weakened state.
A flare of anger hits me, although it is stifled by my pain. The anger is only a brief pinprick of emotion compared to stabs, the perpetual stabs and with a blade made of fire. What is everyone's problem with me, specifically? It's truly like everyone wants to hunt me down! My hair mimics the anger I feel, and Hart's chuckle is a low rumble in his chest.
"Why don't you just kill me then?" I shout as loud as I can over the wind, increasing in its tempo, and spittle falls from the sky. My voice comes out as a pathetic hoarse whisper. His face breaks out into another smile, and before I even see it, his claws flash out and swipe against my stomach. I stumble away from him, swiping blindly with my knife. Lose my balance. There is no roof left.
The last thing I see is his grin of triumph as I fall.
Falling.
Water.
Water?
In that instant rain began to fall, I tumbled off the side of the building. I was seconds away from death. In one last desperate act to survive, I imagined each droplet of water that dripped onto me became a puppet string, slowing my fall. Not strong enough to fight. Too much blood.
Water.
The water gave me enough energy to live. With my good arm I gripped my stomach, trying to prevent what I hoped wasn't a fatal injury from killing me. I stumbled into the house. Fire coursed through my body, but there was numbness too. Number 7. I was strong. I wasn't going to let him get away with this. Pain. Fire and ice. Hands are too slippery on the door handle. My blood.
Death.
I saw the broken body of his sister on the floor, staring up at me. Blood surrounded her too. Was I going to rescue her? No. Death. White hair red once more.
I left the girl dying.
I crouched by the stairs from where I knew Hart would come down. The wind howled throughout the house because of the hole in the roof, sending the curtains flapping and papers flying everywhere. My body screamed.
A creak.
Hart was coming down the stairs. I covered my stomach with my bad arm, forcing down the pain like drowning a flailing child. Deal with it later.
I emerge just before he does. And I throw.
Due to the pain I am infused with, it is off. I know it the second it leaves my fingers. It causes him pain as it embeds itself into his stomach, making him let loose a roar of pain.
More beast than human he roars and roars and roars. I crouch down as he leaps over me to the front of the house and runs off, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. I barely even care that I missed.
Grey wavers at the sides of my vision. No.
Must stay strong. Must live. No. Must rest. Yes. No.
I stumble from the house, leaving smears of blood everywhere. More agonizing than anything I could have imagined, I force my body across the street. Or was it even painful. I can't remember. It felt… no it feels like I am floating in a bubble of grey and red. I am too gone for even the rain to aid me. I push myself harder than ever, and it was the easiest journey I have ever had to make.
Blood stains the floor. Stains the floor. Banister is coated in a layer of my blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
I collapse on my hastily made camp. Slowly open my first aid pack. I look at the resources without even comprehending. Does it even matter? Pain laces through me, but it feels good. With each hint of pain I feel more and more at peace. The burning was gone. Was I dying? Was it my imagination or did it feel like I was floating.
I don't even prepare myself. I remove my hand from my stomach. That is when I start to cry, a small pitiful weep. Four long gash marks mar my body, straight along my midriff. I can barely tell the severity of the wounds due to the red stain that coats my white skin like paint. I vomit onto myself, not even bothering to move my head to the side. Was that a decision or couldn't I?
I don't know anything.
Visceral pain is the only word I can use to describe what I should be feeling. Nothing. I feel detached from my body. Why did I want to win again? I glance down again lazily. Logically, I know that due to my hand covering my wound, it prevented my actual intestines from falling out. This thought shocks me enough that I weep in tune to the wind in pain as my courage runs out. I'm going to die. Death. Death. Death.
No no no no.
"It wasn't supposed to end like this!" I scream until my voice is hoarse. Or was it a whisper? And the peace settles over me again. No more pain. I smile weakly.
With a shaking hand I grab the small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Mesmerized I stare at the hand of blood with a detached sense of fascination. Almost like the glove of blood that I wore in the parade.
The parade.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
I was a warrior then.
Now I am just a scared little girl.
Dying.
I dump the alcohol onto my stomach - only because I know it is something I should do, and I am happy to not even notice any pain. Don't cry May. I should be feeling burning, shouldn't I? I briefly panic. I think of May. My twin. My other half. Happy? Do I feel happy? Everything is warm and fuzzy and grey. May. Blood surrounds me. I know I should feel worried but I don't. I feel safe. May… hug me while I go will you?
A canon sounds, barely jolting me. Was it Sibylline's death? Mine? May…
I didn't care. My sister.
Everything slowly turned black. There was no blinding light. Just blackness. And peace in my sisters arms.