~Dawson: Six of Hearts~
I wake up that morning to being gently shaken awake by Caledonia. I yawn and sit up, stretching.
Krissa sits up, too.
"Morning," she says. Caledonia nods a bit in response, looking pretty tired herself. I'm sure staying up must be exhausting for her.
Krissa goes through her bag and pulls out the bottle of sunscreen and we all replenish it. It's slimy and stuff but when we were working with the other three the other day, they all had pink faces. I shift a bit and rub my eyes, trying to get more awake.
"So, what's the plan?" she asks. "If you guys don't want me around… I understand. After all, you originally teamed up with each other, and I was never included in that. I had my own allies, but…" she trails off, looking upset. "They're gone," she says quietly.
"I'm really sorry…" I say quietly. I know how much it sucks to lose an ally, but not to the degree she's feeling.
"It's fine. I mean, we're all closer to winning, right?"
"Let's not think about that," Caledonia says quietly.
"Right."
"Anyways, we got off track. We'd like you to stay with us, right Caledonia?" she nods. After all, not only is Krissa fairly friendly, she's also got a lot of supplies. It's just best for all of us, I figure.
We organize all our supplies until everything is nice and neat. I adjust the bandana around my neck nervously, trying to keep my mind out of the horrors of the past and the crippling fear of the future. I try to think about my family back home and stay strong for them.
"Hey, look!" Another sponsor parachute. It's amazing that we're getting so much stuff, really it is. Krissa says she's gotten things like this fairly consistently. Someone out there must really admire her. Then again, I got something. Some floaties. Just in case we go out to the ocean. I wonder if there's something interesting out there.
She pulls out an item that looks like my floaties, except for it's bigger and black. Hhm… I wonder if it's some kind of flotation device.
"Hm… What's this?"
Caledonia and I exchange a glance and shrug.
"Look, a blowhole. I think we have to blow it up. Then we'll know."
"Probably for flotation. That'll come in handy if we go back out to the beach."
"Think we can fit it in the backpack?" Caledonia asks.
"Sure we can," Krissa says. She tends to be more on the optimistic side. I tend to be pretty in the middle. The chances of me winning are fairly low being realistic, but I still think I can do it. I try to survey things as they are but give the benefit of the doubt when that's necessary. Caledonia is slightly more toward the pessimistic side, I'd say. Which is fine, as long as nobody argues. Hopefully we'll all be okay on that.
Krissa unloads and reloads the backpack, and then we decide to go for breakfast. We haven't had meat for days because nobody in our group feels comfortable skinning a kill or making a fire. We eat some dried fruit and my stomach rumbles. I'm used to being hungry, though. I'll live.
Then we get together our stuff.
"Alright, now what?"
"We should go replenish our water. "
"Yeah, good idea." We nod.
Krissa, who carries the good knife she got from a sponsor, goes first, Caledonia and I staying close behind her.
I have a good idea how the tributes are allied at the moment. From what we saw on that day with the goop (where physics was defied and nobody thought to question it but me- seriously, how do you break physics?!), we know that Gio, Atticus, and Ori are still together and unlikely to collapse soon. Obviously, the Careers are down one, the girl from 7. I don't know what happened, but judging by how calm things are the action was satisfying enough. The girl from 6 was with the girl from 4, but lost her ally. As for Tristabelle… I don't know. She's the only one I haven't heard much strategy from. She could be anywhere.
We walk until we hear other footsteps.
Goddamn, our luck's run out. It's the Careers.
"Look up ahead!"
"Time to run," I mutter under my breath. An arrow flies past me and we turn around and start running, the girls following close behind me. I hear them tight on our trail, but don't dare to look back.
"Don't, look," I pant. "Keep running…" I usually can't run worth shit, but being a life or death situation certainly helps with that. I hear a yelp behind me but don't look back. I'll be doomed if I look back, just like in life. I can't look back, always forward. Focus on running- I hear a loud, piercing scream behind me and glance behind my shoulder briefly to see Caledonia collapsed on the ground. I can't turn around… I can't save her as it is, I can't waste my chance trying.
It hurts, but I leave her. It doesn't take long for a cannon to boom. I wish I would've been there for her… She certainly deserved a last familiar face before losing the battle to keep going. I didn't even get a reminder of her, not a token or anything.
I run until the sound of footsteps is reduced to just one, and then I flop over and collapsed, convinced I would pass out if I took one step more. Krissa has tears streaming down her face as she collapses next to me, and soon I see an arrow sticking out of her shin and see why. She clenches her teeth, crying out.
"H-Hold on," I pant, trying to get the world to stop spinning as I get the first aid kit out of the backpack. I can think about the past later, but right now there's someone that needs my help. I try to focus on that, but it gets harder and harder as time drones on. I manage to get the arrow out of her leg as easily as possible, all while she yells and cries out, occasionally whimpering and sniffling with tears.
"Sorry," I say quietly, trying to focus on anything, anything but the sight of Caledonia on the ground. I tend to the wound as best as I can, trying to be gentle with her so she doesn't make quite so much noise, but it can't be easy washing out and bandaging up such a wound. I dunno if she'll ever be able to walk without a limp again… Maybe, though. After all, it's only an arrow wound. It bleeds like a son of a bitch, though. I use my last available shirt to try and absorb some of the blood before putting on the bandages. She yells out, and I hope the Careers don't come back and find us.
"It'll be okay," I say quietly, like I would after Sadie scraped her knee or Gaylen fell on his bum. "Keep on being big and brave." The words have taken on a whole new meaning now. It takes a while for her to hold still enough for me to tend completely to the wound, and even when I bandage it there's still some blood seeping through. My shirt, though, is absolutely ruined.
Once the worst is over, I take her hands and help her sit up. "Thanks," she half-gasps, half-pants.
"Sure thing," I say quietly, tossing the shirt off to the side (but not too far away that anyone could stumble across it to find us). "You're going to be okay." If she dies, I'll be all by myself, and that's the last thing I want with four Careers, three well-off boys over 16, and two powerful and determined 16-year-olds still left to beat.
Oh God. I'm the youngest one left now. Other tributes, some younger than me and some older, have long-since died. There are eleven left alive. Which means that thirteen are dead. Over half.
Thirteen kids with dreams, aspirations, hopes, family and friends. Some of them were older than me, like Garrison and Lyndon. Some were younger, much younger, like Vardaman and Asher. All left to be faded memories now, only to be brought back again when a relative or friend is reaped. Some volunteered for it, like Tiffany and Mitchell. Some were just so unlucky. Either way, the thought of 13 lost lives makes me sick, and 10 of us still have to die before someone, someone gets to come out of this hell and try to go back to normal life. Whoever it will be, I don't know. I hope I still have a chance, but with each passing day it seems more and more unlikely.
All I know now is that I can't give up. I have to keep on trying. When Gaylen and Sadie get older, I want them to learn how courageous and dedicated their brother was. They can't see me as a coward, I simply won't have it. Wye wouldn't ever forgive me if I gave up. After all, I've gotten this far. Who says a 15-year-old can't win it? It's happened before. Sure, not very often, but it's happened. It's possible.
Sitting alone with Krissa, we eat the last of the food we were provided and realize we're going to have to either buckle down and try to hunt or try to find food some other way.
The afternoon fades into evening, and we don't have anything left for dinner. We'll try to worry about that tomorrow. Everything is going okay until we hear footsteps.
"Stay," I say. We're going to have to fight this time, because running away isn't going to work.
In the dim light of the evening, I see a pair of bright, almost illuminated blue eyes as Tuesday emerges from the greenery and trees surrounding our camp.
I clutch the knife tight, trying to not shake.
Tuesday's fierce, but only a year older than I am. I could take her (him?) now, if I had to.
After a long, intense stare-off, I prepare to fight.
Instead, Tuesday lets the knife in his (her?) hand drop to her (his?) side. He (she?) has smudges of white on the face and nose from sunscreen that wasn't rubbed in.
"I don't want bloodshed."
"Neither do we." I pocket the knife.
"Seems like you've had a hard day." Tuesday says, glancing at Krissa.
"Yeah." I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent thinking about it.
"Same. Losing allies is tough." She (he?) sighs.
I glance back at Krissa. We could really use a fighter like Tuesday on our side, especially considering how the other alliances are still so big. Nobody says anything but Tuesday doesn't leave.
"So…"
"You can stay with us," Krissa says. "If you like."
"We're down one and you're down one as well. Doesn't have to be friendly, but I can tell you things. Things about how the others have clustered up. Strategic, surviving." I feel like that's the kind of alliance Tuesday would have liked.
After a tense moment of consideration (and probably internal debate), Tuesday nods. "Alright. We'll band together, loosely, for the time being."
"Come, sit." I sit by Krissa and Tuesday sits by me.
"What should we call you, then? Him? Her?"
"If you're ever in doubt, her is fine. It's what I've been using today. I'll tell you if it's not. Also… What happened to your shirt?"
I feel my ears go hot with embarrassment. "Oh, right…" I tell the story briefly, tense and stiff at being forced to remember the events of the afternoon. Both Tuesday and Krissa can see the pain it brings me to tell the story. After that, we drift into silence.
Soon, Krissa is out cold before the sun even sets, and we silently agree to just let her sleep. She's had a tremendously long day, with the injury and everything. I look out and notice a trace of periwinkle clouds and look out for the sunset.
"The sunset is really pretty here," I say, trying to get my mind off of the events of today.
"Sure," she says.
"With all those colors. I love color. I couldn't live without color."
"Tia says they looked like this in Four all the time." She sounds very curt, holding up polite small-talk, which is fine, I guess.
"I guess I'd like to live in Four then because I actually like the sunsets. You never get to see one this clear and colorful and calming and beautiful back in District 5."
"Not in Six, either. Too much smog."
"I was going to ally with your District partner," I say. I don't know if bringing it up is the best idea, but I say it anyways. "Garrison. Did you know him?" I know I shouldn't be asking such invasive questions, but I can't help it.
"No. Not well. He worked in a completely different field." She wraps a hand around the charm on the end of her necklace and pulls it to her mouth, letting it rest on her lips.
Joanne used to do that, too. Why do girls always do that with their necklaces?
"He seemed like a good guy. Wish I could've gotten to know him. He was closed-off a bit, hard-shelled, but I feel like whatever's in there was worth trying to find."
"Hm." With that, she seems to have ended the conversation. Detached, loose, strategic. But I don't want to let my mind wander, so I keep talking.
"There are still all four Careers. I didn't get to see much of their state of health, though. As for the others… Gio from 3, Ori from 8, and Atticus from 10 are all in a group together. On the day of that goop stuff, they looked unscathed, as if they hadn't encountered anyone yet. Tristabelle is the only one I don't know about. I haven't seen anything of her."
"Me neither. But it's kind of odd the alliances are staying strong for so long. I think it's because of a lot of personal bonds."
"Oh. Yeah." I take the cue to stop talking just as the Capitol Seal flashes across the sky (great timing! I wonder if that was a happy coincidence or planned). Caledonia's face is up there, and seeing that look in her eyes and the way she carried herself makes me think of how she reminded me of my brother, and my heart is suddenly wrenched with grief.
"I'll take the first watch," I say. Tuesday nods, trusting me (probably because she could easily take Krissa and me in our condition and we all know it). She curls up and seems to sleep easily. I'm sure without an ally to keep watch she must've been exhausted.
And so I'm left alone. The second I think of Caledonia, of her youth, of the glass dove, of her siblings waiting at home. Her littlest sister may not even know what really happened. That family is going to have to have a funeral now for their daughter. They'll probably just be proud she made it so far, over halfway. It's sick, but what can I do but keep fighting to avenge her?
I seem to be the ally kiss of death thus far. The person I had planned to ally with had died on the first day. Juli and Dawn both died under my watch. And now Caledonia, as well. I swallow nervously. If I want to win, my allies are going to have to keep on dying, even if it's not by me. It still hurts.
Tears pool in my eyes, and I do let a couple slide out. She was an ally and a friend, we knew each other pretty personally in the time we'd spent together. We'd helped each other and watched out for each other, and I wanted to protect her. I know this only improves my chances of getting home to my family, but thinking that way makes me loathe my own selfishness.
A few tears drip to the ground with a quiet sniffle and I let them out. It's only fair to show how I feel about it to the family and friends of the people I've already lost. Crying on national television doesn't sound so great really, but I have to let the sadness out. I don't want anyone to think for a second I'm heartless.
I'm not heartless, I'm just good at bottling up all the sadness until I find it most convenient to release it. Sometimes things become too much and I lose control over it, but I'm usually good with it. Anyways, I let tears drip down my cheeks and nose, I let my breath shake a little bit. I hold back sobs biting my tongue, and immediately start winding down my tears. I don't cry for more than half an hour, but I hate every second of it.
If there's one thing I just can't make myself do, it's break down in front of another person. I just can't, I don't feel comfortable with it. Which is why I've become so good at living in the present and holding things back. Usually I release it when I'm by myself, but in an Arena you're never by yourself, so I continue to hold back.
Once I get a grip, I sit for the rest of my watch in a numb silence, only broken by an occasional cricket or the rustling of leaves. Every time a breeze sweeps in and hits my bare top, I actually shiver a bit. It's hot as hell in the day, but the nights actually get pretty chilly.
I wake up Tuesday when I just can't stay awake anymore, and though I'm terrified of nightmares, sleep comes easily the second I shut my eyes.
~Tristabelle: Three of Clubs~
I wake up before the sun rises and stay awake for the rest of the morning. It's hard to keep myself awake, but after those crazy mutt things stung me I've been having even more vivid dreams about all the shit of my past. Besides, I have to stay on close watch, considering I don't have anyone to stay up for me.
Some people may think it's dumb that I don't have an ally, and yeah, it sucks. But, in the aftermath, when this is all said and done, it will be for the better. Right now, since I'm injured, picking a fight isn't an option. So I'm just trying to stay low, keep from being seen and heard, and wait for whatever the hell is going to happen in my neck of the woods.
Since that electric stuff trapped me and disappeared as the sun was setting, I haven't seen any tributes. I'll bet some of them forget that I'm still wandering and alive. Which is fine by me.
With the morning, I go to the spring and drink out of my hands. So far the stuff hasn't killed me yet. Not that I'd be terribly disappointed if it did. Compared to the things I saw, seems like a pretty painless, calm way to die.
After getting something to drink I try to hunt for food but prove unsuccessful, so it's another day with no breakfast. But hey, I'm from District Nine, so it's more common than you'd expect.
Once the hunt is proven unsuccessful, I sit down in the shade (I'm just about as red as an apple at the moment, but no matter how bad it got haven't yet taken off my shirt for obvious reasons) and wait.
I dunno what I'm waiting for. Something to happen, I guess. Maybe for an animal to come around or something. Maybe I'm just waiting to drop dead. Maybe I'm waiting for a cannon, or another Arena gimmick disaster from the absolutely delightful Ms. Solitaire.
Nothing happens at first, and for a while. It proves the perfect opportunity for my mind to wander, but I don't let it. I try to keep it grounded in the stuff that's going on now. The sound of the occasional bird, the rustling of the leaves in the slight breeze, the distant sound of crashing waves…
I study the knife in my hands. I study every detail on the handle. How my reflection looks on the blade (like shit. Well suck my ass. There was a time when I cared but now isn't it), the color of the sky and the green leaves. If we weren't in a fight to the death, I'd almost call it… Serene.
Suddenly, something moving catches my eye, and I jump up. I guess this is what I was waiting for.
The object isn't a threat, in fact it's a blessing. It's a… Parachute. Something I did or said, someone in the Capitol liked it enough to get me something… Or maybe it's just because of my boobs (but it'd better not be. It probably is, but that's another rant).
I open the lid and pull out a small tin. Inside is a weird kind of creamy substance. I take some on my finger and smell it. A very faint odor, but it doesn't smell like eating it is a good idea. Which means it must be… Medicine.
I put a dab on one of the stings on my arm, and the pain is so scorching I let out a small cry. But the next time I look down the bump is gone, and in its place a small little reddish spot. The pain fades into sweet relief. I decide to go all at once and just get it over with. By the time I'm done, I'm out of medicine and tears are running down my cheeks but they soon turn to tears of joy and relief as the pain fades away.
Great. The second time I've cried on national television.
I think of Wright sitting at home with his friends, with him, laughing at me. The person Wright still calls his best friend even though my life was ruined by him.
All I am to anyone is a talking sex doll. No means nothing to them, to any of them. Maybe they didn't go quite as far as he did, but I've had so many grimy hands on me in the past without giving them any kind of permission to touch me. I hate being touched. Even the smallest tap on the shoulder sets me off nowadays.
"Thank you," I say quietly, putting the tin of medicine in my pocket. I dunno if it's conventional for tributes to thank sponsors, but that's all I can think right now. No more pain, or itching. Maybe the memories will be less vivid and painful now that the stings are over.
I pull my pigtails tighter and go back to sitting and waiting in the shade. Waiting until the sun is high enough to signal lunch so I can go get some more water (very carefully, of course), and try to hunt again. I can't waste too much energy on hunting, though. All I have to get me by are berries, after all.
I've been left to sit and wait again. And with sitting and waiting come unwelcome thoughts and memories of the past. Just as terrifying as always, of course. Not to mention bitter and empty. Quickly, I reach for my token, a black headband that had been on my head for the past couple of days. I slide it off and look at it for a second. I wore this for interviews. I wasn't going to bring a damn token, but my Head Stylist told me I should at least take something.
"To make people remember you," he said.
I don't know if Lyndon had a token. Part of me wishes I'd have found out.
No, Tristabelle. Unwelcome thoughts, empty memories….
I go back to the headband. Study the soft black felt on top, the slight teeth in the bottom to keep it secure in my hair. I'm surprised it stayed in place for so long.
"Tristabelle!" I retired pretty quickly after interviews. "Trista! Tristabelle!" It's a mouthful, but he doesn't stop.
"What the hell do you want!?" I ball my fists, lips forming a tight scowl.
"Are you alright?" his eyes look at me in concern.
"I don't need your fucking pity," I say, crossing my arms.
"I'm really sorry about-"
"Shut up, I know I interviewed like shit!"
"It wasn't that bad… You had an angle going for you-"
"Shut up! You don't have to pretend it was good!"
"I just… I'm sorry."
"Why the hell are you apologizing to me?!" I wish he would stop being nice and just leave me alone. I didn't come into the Games very open to forming friendships, I must not have made that clear enough to him.
"You don't deserve all the stuff that happened… And I didn't know, and I'm just sorry it's been so shitty for you." He's genuine, I know he's genuine.
I need to build my walls up faster. It'll only ruin me if I let anyone in now.
I snap out of the memory.
He's dead. Memories like that are nothing but black and white. Empty. Gone.
I pick at my fingernails until I deem that it's appropriate to try and find some lunch. I sneak around to the waterhole and wait. Upon seeing no one coming and no potential threats, I go there and drink quickly before retreating again to look for food. This time I do find a small little rat thing, and I'm able to kill it, though not easily. There's not a lot of salvageable meat, but even less because I have no idea how you properly skin things and frankly it makes me kind of sick.
Once I have something, I try to find a good place to make a fire, which takes forever. I'm about to give up when I get a little spark, and know I can't stop not. The fire is weak and a puff of air puts it out as soon as I get the thing cooked. It's still a little… Rare… But I decide to risk it.
I have a lot more energy now that I'm not wasting so much scratching and shifting and being generally uncomfortable. And don't get me wrong, I'm still incredibly uncomfortable because that stupid red burning stings and itches itself, but this is certainly a lot better.
After that, all I have to do is sit and wait some more. I chew my fingernails and try to keep the thoughts and memories away.
I was 15 the first time I noticed him. I mean, I didn't know him, really, but with that bright red hair and the green eyes, he's pretty hard to miss. Especially next to his much-less-impressive partner, who I talked to that day. I mean, he was nice enough, I guess, had a fairly nice smile from what I saw, but eh.
He tried to talk me out of it, but I persisted. "I have the money right here," I kept saying. I remember how odd it was to think, having drug dealers only a couple years older than me, that tried to dissuade me from using them. I mean, if you're selling, the only way you can stay in business is if people buy. And I was an oblivious child at the time, though it was only a year ago. It seems like so far away.
I remember telling him I didn't care. "I have the money right here."
"They can ruin lives," he told me. I felt eyes on me and looked up to see him there, hair all messed up, a makeshift bandage over his left ear.
"My life's already been ruined enough." And it's true. I couldn't find a way out.
The partner, shit, what was his name…? Paul? He looked up, looking kind of helpless.
"I have the money right here." I looked mature enough to pass as 17 or 18, but I knew I wouldn't be able to pass because they're both in that range and could call my bluff.
"I'll give her something easy," he said quietly to his partner, glancing over at me. I stood up tall, money in hand, hands on my hips in order to look mature. I honestly couldn't find another way out, and was willing to try most anything. Maybe I wouldn't have done it if they weren't so close to my age. Plus, from what I've seen and heard, they're pretty nice guys. Not that I would trust them.
The partner handed me the goods and took my money, giving me the change (for some reason).
"You be careful with this now, promise?" the partner's green eyes (much duller next to Lyndon's) glanced at me.
"Yeah. Promise."
Not soon after that, the two dealers went down to one. I didn't go back too often, but I totally would've if only I'd had a means to get money. Sometime in the afternoon, my waiting and thoughts are interrupted by the echoes of a piercing scream. Not even a second of silence passes before a cannon shoots off. I sigh quietly, glad that the cannon didn't belong to me.
I already know it's a terrible way to think, but the other alternative is sadness, and my sadness is self-destructive.
I try to shoo away the memories and thoughts, but it's hard. So many horrific things have happened. I doze in and out of daydreams and memories and thoughts for the rest of the day, until the sun starts to sink. I collect some more berries but can't find anything to hunt. Crappy dinner, but I'd rather have gotten that medicine than food so it works.
I don't go to get water, and instead set up the place where I'm going to sleep as the sky gets dark.
The moon and stars are out and the sky is cloudless as the girl from District 12's face flashes up in the sky to display the day's casualty.
I prepare to lie awake for a while.
Suddenly, though, I hear footsteps and quickly start up a tree. It was a lot of work remembering everything I'd learned to do in training, but I spent almost a full morning on practicing just in case this would happen.
I can't make it the full way to the top before the footsteps are near. The Careers walk past, talking to themselves. The darkness is on my side, as well. My grip starts to slip, but I hold on desperately.
"What-"
"It's… Nothing," Janie says, sounding slightly pained. "C'mon. Let's just… Leave it. I'm exhausted."
The others grunt in agreement and they all keep walking. I breathe a sigh of relief, waiting until they're gone to slide down the tree and breathing a sigh of relief.
I check all around my camp as closely as possible before I decide I should try and get a couple hours of sleep.
And so I survive another day.
A/N: I can't wait until the next day, but that's all I'll say for now.
Anyways, if you feel so inclined to sponsor don't be afraid to send me a PM!
Chapter Question: Who do you think will be the next casualty?
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