Phelan Krouse - District Eight
The barrier between the conscious and unconscious state of mind is a thin one. When drifting in a realm of dreams and infinite possibilities, one can be pulled back into a world of horrors without warning and only a small moment in time between the two where it feels as if what you had seen while asleep could really become true. But that thin blanket tears easier than a damp tissue, and suddenly you are flooded with reminders about your mistakes and misfortunes, misgivings and malevolent acts. Suddenly, you are back in a world of evil.
Phelan had been dreaming of a factory; an all too familiar building where he had spent a majority of his teenage years. The usual damp and rundown warehouse was no bright and bustling with life; nobody noticing Phelan as he proceeded to do what he loved with a feeling of comfort and warmth. The faces around him were unfamiliar, blank slates that could not possibly belong to anybody he knew as they never gave him a second glance. If they had been Phelan's friends, he would have been forced to stop and face the music.
As he drifted back into a world where he lay bleeding on a cold tile with his hands bound behind his back, the first thing he felt was longing. How he wished he could pull that factory into reality. How he wished to bury himself amongst a pile of fabric and sew away his pain and misfortune. For a moment, it felt as if that were all possible. But then he felt the pain.
The deep gash on his hip had been taped over with a thick, white cotton cloth. It was one from his own bag, whoever had placed it had most likely assumed it were some form of bandage. He was not about to correct them by revealing the sewing needle in his pocket.
The makeshift bandage did nothing to dull the pain, each miniscule movement felt as if he were tearing open a wound that had already made an attempt to close over. It felt as if that knife were still dragging through his flesh.
He was not sure how he obtained the wound on his leg, but it felt far worse than the one on his hip. A blazing inferno flared beneath the cloth of a shirt that had been tied around it; his own, maybe. Phelan had questions to as why he was still alive, why his hands were bound, and why he had been left alive. But all he could do was let out a moan of pain.
"He's up!" A deep voice said loudly; a pair of shoes stepped into his line of vision; the owner crouching down in front of the boy who was laying with his back pressed against the wall and tears flowing down his cheeks, "Bring me the painkillers,"
"There's only four," A second voice said; and suddenly a barrel of kindling fell into that inferno of pain and a volcanic eruption of agony tore through Phelan's leg as Brody Lewis moved him into a sitting position. He screamed; or at least he tried to. Brody's hand found it's way to Phelan's mouth and clamped down, allowing nothing but a mere squeak to emit.
"You have to be quiet," Brody said stiffly, "We don't want you waking sleeping beauty,"
"Beauty my ass," Quinn Hyland said as she too crouched by the now propped up Phelan, "I can't tell what's uglier: His face or his personality,"
"Just be happy he hasn't woken up yet," Brody grunted, and moved his hand across Phelan's face before squeezing his cheeks. The boy's mouth opened, and Brody shoved two heavy duty painkillers inside, "Swallow,"
"I'm keeping the other two for me and Darcy," Quinn said, standing up and walking away, "It's not like we haven't earnt it,"
Phelan pondered who it was that Quinn and Brody had knocked out and tied up other than he; he hoped that it was Grant and not the beastly Wolf. The moment he swallowed the pills, the inferno of pain began to die. Long tendrils of flame spluttered into nothingness, and soon after Phelan was only vaguely away of a needle prick of pain in his leg.
"Feel better, buddy?" Brody said with a grin, patting Phelan's cheek and standing up.
"I'm pretty sure most people don't tie up their 'buddy'," Phelan growled. Brody only laughed in response and stood. Phelan rolled his head to the side and found himself staring at Quinn's backside as she bent down and rummaged through a backpack. His backpack. Beside it, Darcy Retorre sat with his back pressed up against the button pedestal, staring at Phelan with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry that I don't trust people who try to strangle me," Quinn spat as she stood from the bag, her voice laced with venom.
"I'm sorry that I defend myself from people who fling themselves at me," Phelan spat. The two glared at each other, each with fire blazing in their eyes. Had he not just been drugged, Phelan would be on his feet and charging at the girl, but it seemed the painkillers had numbed his anger as well as his pain.
"Quiet, you two!" Brody snapped, "You're going to wake the baby!"
He pointed towards another figure lying on the floor. Grant Gino had his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied together. Where had they gotten all of this rope?
"Right," Phelan mumbled, "My bag,"
On the very far side of the room, sixth body lay asleep. Wolf had a rope wrapped around his throat that was connected to the wheel of a hatch, preventing him from moving too far away. Quinn and Brody must have made good use of Grant's leash.
"What are you planning on doing with him?" Phelan found himself asking; the question had been intended for Brody, but it was Quinn who answered.
"He's our prisoner. When we are ready, we will move on and take him with us," Quinn said slowly, "If we run into another person who likes to play with their food, then we can hand Grant over and run,"
"What about me?" Phelan asked, and then with a glance at the third boy, "And Wolf?"
Quinn pursed her lips, "You'll be free to go, I guess,"
"Then why am I tied up?"
"Because I don't trust you," Quinn said, turning her back and returning to rummaging through her bag, "I'll untie you when we leave,"
"And when will that be!" Phelan shouted, but Quinn did not dignify him with an answer. Scowling, Phelan relaxed his shoulders and slid further down the wall, staring daggers at the girls back.
"She'll get over it," Brody said, "Girls tend to not like boys who almost kill them right away,"
"Gee, you're so wise," Phelan snarled. Brody only grinned, and sat next to Phelan. They sat in silence for a while, listening to Grants soft snoring and Wolf's occasional whimpers. Darcy and Quinn conversed silently from their spot against the button, and each time their voices became heated, one would shoot a look in Phelan's direction.
"What do they expect me to do?" Phelan asked quietly after a while, head hanging low so that Brody could not see his expression, "I won't make it with these injuries,"
"They're not life threatening," Brody said, and then sighed, "Although it may take a while before you're able to run again. And then the wound could get infected, and that would be bad because. . ."
"I get the picture," Phelan snapped.
They sat in silence for a little while longer, until Phelan finally asked the question he was itching to express, "Why didn't you kill me?"
Brody's expression darkened, and for a second Phelan thought he was going to say he wish he had. But that momentary look that would have been at home on the place of a bloodthirsty killer flickered away as quickly as it came, and Brody turned his head away, "Because Quinn and Darcy aren't killers, and I am not fond of the act either,"
"I'm not a killer either," Phelan said sadly, "and I don't want to die just yet. There's. . .a lot I need to apologize for,"
"I think everyone in here is like that," Brody said, and then with a sideways glance at Wolf, "Well, most of us are like that,"
"Are you ready to die?" Phelan asked. The question was not one that should have been asked of a stranger who you knew nothing about; yet in the arena, knowing somebody for even a second felt like years. Phelan felt as if he knew a lot about Brody, yet the boy sitting beside him was more of a question mark than ever.
"No," Brody said finally, "Not yet. I don't intend on it at all, but there is something I have to do before I die,"
"What's that?"
Brody sighed, "My girlfriend. S-shes in here too. I need to find her, and apologize for everything I've done. I need to protect her before it's too late,"
"I can't imagine what that's like," Phelan said, "I don't think I've ever loved somebody,"
"Never?" Brody asked, "Not even your parents?"
"Didn't know my parents," Phelan shrugged, "Not my real ones, anyway. I can't stand my foster family. I hate them,"
"It's a wonderful feeling, love," Brody sighed, "It's a thousand times better than anything you could ever experience. It can be the best thing in the world,"
"Can be?"
"It can also be the worst," Brody said, and then he looked Phelan directly in the eyes, "If I were you, I'd be thankful that you don't have anybody who you care for. It makes this entire experience so much worse,"
"Guess I'm lucky," Phelan mumbled. Maybe he was lucky, but Phelan couldn't help but feel robbed. He felt as if an essential part of life had been stolen from him; and somehow, that thought was even scarier than the idea of death.
He didn't want to think about it; he didn't want to deal with emotions such as worry, fear, and pity, and as those emotions that had not existed in that near-perfect dream of before, he knew there was only one way to escape.
"Brody," Phelan said, his voice confident and serious, "I know this is a stupid idea, and you're probably going to say no. But is there anyway you could just, untie my hands so I can. . .continue my sewing? Please? It's the only thing that really gives me comfort,"
Brody watched him with an expression painted in eyes of deep brown that Phelan could not interpret, and he feared that the boy would burst into a fit of laughter at the mere idea of a boy sewing like a woman. But he didn't laugh, and to Phelan's immense relief, he nodded, "Fine. But on two conditions,"
"Anything,"
"Firstly, I will tie your legs up instead. I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid enough to risk falling for a trick if that's what this is," He said, and then sighed, "And secondly, I want you to apologize to Darcy,"
"Why?"
"What you said really hurt him," Brody said, his face now worried, "He hasn't spoken since. I think he is having some kind of PTSD attack,"
"Oh," Phelan said, guilt now weaving its way onto the blanket of dark emotions that wrapped around Phelan in a cocoon so tight that he almost couldn't breathe, "I'll do it. I promise,"
"Then I'll get the rope,"
"Thankyou," Phelan whispered as Brody stood and crossed the room towards Quinn and the backpack, "Thankyou,"
Felecia Coin - District Twelve
Felecia had once heard her father say that all of your hard work and effort would be worth it once you reached your goal; nothing could beat the feeling of euphoria after climbing to the peak of a mountain. Yet, as Felecia heaved herself up from the final rung and onto the mattress made for a giant, she felt anything but euphoric.
Her body was aching; joints and muscles she didn't even know existed were groaning in protest with each movement. She thought she would feel something upon reaching the top; a spark of happiness or pride that would inject some life into the relaxed smile she would force herself to wear. But as she stood on the edge of the mattress; at the floor so far below, all she could think about was how easy it would be to make it all go away. Just one step; that's all it would take.
Could she really deal with this forever? Could she deal with this pain forever? She felt helpless; suspended over a pool of icy black water by a frail rope that threatened to snap with each passing second. An cool mist would rise from the water and seep into a hole in her chest that she did not know was there. The cavity where happiness should be. What would happen if she cut the rope? Would it not be easier to just plunge into that black water and sink below the surface forever? Just one step.
What about Brody? She thought. The one beam of sunlight that penetrated the heavy ocean of dark storm clouds that gathered around her head. The one blossoming rose in a field of withering flowers. Could she hold on for him? Would he still want her if he knew how truly broken she was. Never show the world your fear, her father had said, always greet the day with a smile. Nobody wants to know how pathetic you feel. Would Brody want to know? Just one step.
A sound drifted up to reach her ears from down below. Lowering to her hands and knees, Felecia crawled towards the very edge of the mattress and peered over the side. How close she was; how easy it would be to fall. Two people who could have passed as ants stood together by the bedpost she had only just climbed. They must have been yelling, how else could their voices have travelled so far?
One of the two figures pulled away from the other, reaching out for the ladder Felecia had just climbed and pulling themselves up. A breath caught in Felecia's throat; did they know she was here? Had they seen her while her back had been turned? Like a fly on the wall, was she about to be swatted?
She was surprised to find fear trickling down the back of her spine. She hadn't expected it, but she welcomed it like an old friend come for dinner. The fear meant something. It meant she was not yet ready to pass on to the otherside. It meant she was going to stay suspended over that lake for a little longer; dangling, but alive. One more step is what it would take; a single step to end it all.
But that step was not one Felecia was ready to take.
Heath Graves - District Ten
Heath had theorized that being handcuffed to an attractive girl could have no downside. Clearly, he was wrong.
Willow Drake was an insufferable and arrogant bitch. Her crude and brash comments had already done a number to Heath's pride and self worth; but he was not about to let the girl know that. To top it all off, she was extremely stubborn and claimed that, because she was older, she knew far more than 'some little brat', and since she had taken the reigns, progress had been little.
They were moving so slowly that they might as well be going backwards; over the course of seven hours, they had only progressed through five rooms. The first had been easy enough; a small toy store with products unlike any Heath had ever seen. To a teenager who was still a kid at heart; the numerous shelves lined with toy cars and figurines and board games and bicycles was nothing short of heaven; of course, Willow could not have imagined a worse hell. Turning a blind eye to Heath's complaining, the stronger girl resorted to dragging her companion across the room towards a hatch that had a blood red train chugging along a track that trailed across the walls of the room. The cuts the handcuffs had made upon digging into Heath's skin as Willow dragged him along were not about to heal anytime soon.
The second room caused an argument that left Heath wondering how long it would be before Willow killed him. This room was empty; the only difference between it and your everyday room of nothingness was the fact that the rims of the hatches were outlined with various shades of red-like colours. Predictably, this sparked an argument between the two that ended with Heath sporting an ugly black eye, and Willow bearing bite marks on her exposed forearm.
Willow had argued that the Ruby coloured hatch was the one they were to progress through, whereas Heath was convinced that Rose was the correct colour, as it was the brighter than the rest.
"The Candy one is brighter than Rose!" Willow spat, "Are you blind? Oh, wait! You are!"
"Oh, what a comedic genius you are!" Heath snarled back, "Please, continue! You're 'Ruby is the reddest red' argument is the most comical thing you've said all day!"
After a brief scuffle, Heath was forced to follow Willow through the Ruby hatch. Much to her fury, the room on the other side was completely bare. Heaths smug laugh was cut short by a slap to the face. Willow reluctantly followed Heath through the Rose hatch afterwards, and appeared to be in a much better mood when the two found themselves standing on a snowy slope that descended into a fluffy-marshmallow like valley. They slipped through the crimson hatch next, and were convinced it was the correct path after they saw a large, red-leafed tree casting a shadow over a hatch on the other side of a rickety rope bridge. It had taken the pair a while to maneuver over the bridge; and to their dismay, the room on the other side of that hatch was nothing but a long, empty hallway.
The candy hatch led the handcuffed duo to a warehouse like room with impenetrable boxes creating a maze-like path. A trail of crimson blood led the pair to the fourth room; Heath wondered if that blood had belonged to one of the two children who had died yesterday; or another that had passed while he was conked out.
The fourth room took up copious amounts of their time as they were confronted with a dark room with dazzling floor tiles. The walls were painted black, whereas the numerous tiles of various colours illuminated the floor. At first glance, it appeared easy enough to simply cross the room and reach the hatch situated over a neon red tile, but life was cruel and unjust. The moment Heath had set his foot onto the purple tile in front of him; the two had been transported to a tile in the nearest left corner. Each tile would teleport the pair to another in a seemingly random pattern, and it took what felt like hours before the pair finally reached the hatch they needed.
Beyond was a room that Heath could not place for the life of him. Rows and rows of pews stood on either side of a long, purple rug that ran towards the front of the room where a wooden podium stood atop of stage. On the left side of the stage was a piano so ancient that Heath wondered if it would really work. The walls that surrounded the pews were home to large, pane windows that depicted various scenes such as a man and a woman knelt together in prayer or a thin looking man nailed to a wooden cross. Looming over the stage at the very front of the room was a window larger than the rest; each section of coloured glass pieced together to create the image of a bearded man dressed in flowing white; his arms were outspread as if waiting for a hug and a golden halo hovered gently above his head.
Heath turned to Willow, who was staring at the enormous window with a gobsmacked expression, and grinned, "I think you'd look good with a beard like that, ya know? I'm sure with enough effort, you could pull off the hairy pipsqueak look,"
Willow smacked him on the back of the head roughly, and lowered herself to hiss in his ear, "That's Jesus, you idiot?"
"Like the sandwich?" Heath asked, bewildered. Willow wrinkled her nose at the boy and took a step towards the stage, yanking the shorter along by the handcuffs.
"Jesus, not cheese," Willow sneered, not even bothering to glance at her companion as she lead him down the rug, eyes seldom wandering from the man dressed in white, "He's a religious figure in Christianity, which was a pretty big deal a few hundred years ago,"
"Never heard of him," Heath frowned. Religion was not as big a practice as it used to be in Panem, in fact, most had abolished the practice a few hundred years ago. There had been a massive uproar from within the newly formed districts; apparently the capitol did not approve of those below them believing in a being more powerful and worthy of following than they.
"Of course you haven't," Willow scoffed, "You people live in barns, don't you? Amongst the animals? It would explain the clothes and hair,"
"Wow! I didn't know we were in middle school!" Heath said, lacing his voice with sarcasm at the catty insult. He fiddled lightly with the hem of his torn jeans; he thought they had looked badass; he didn't want to admit his pride was hurt, so he deflected instead, "Since when were you such a little know-it-all?"
"I read," Willow said stiffly, "My mother was very into history. She never knew I'd liked it as well. Not like I'd ever want her to know,"
"The whole world knows now," Heath sniffed, "What makes this guy so important?"
"He was the son of god," Willow explained, "Sent down from Heaven to show humanity the right way to live their lives. He was a perfect person, treated all with kindness and respect and love. He possessed miraculous abilities; he could cure any disease with just a touch and walk on water. He was supposed to be the true king that would overthrow the sinners and darkness in humanity. But an ancient civilization known as the Romans saw this as a threat, so the crucified him by nailing him to a cross,"
"Oh." Heath peered at the paned depiction of the man nailed to a cross. Was that really the true son of god? How could somebody so powerful be taken down so easily, "Did it all really happen?"
"Of course not," Willow scoffed, "It's just a story. A story to trick people into doing what was seen as 'the right way to live' and to offer comfort to those who feared death,"
"Seems a bit farfetched to me," Heath said.
"Only because you weren't brought up around it," Willow said stiffly, "I'm sure many people would think people bathing with their pigs is farfetched, yet your family exists,"
Heath scowled, but said nothing. He had already received enough beatings from Willow Drake. He spied a thick, black book sitting atop the podium as he and Willow stopped just in front of the stage. Heath suddenly found himself feeling nervous, as if the unmoving depiction of Jesus would strike him down for not believing.
"That's a bible," Willow said, pointing to the book, "You can read all about christianity in there,"
"I can't read much of anything without glasses," Heath mumbled. Willow did not answer him, and appeared hesitant as she took a step in the direction of the stage. Heath found himself being gently pulled along as opposed to roughly yanked, and wondered briefly if somebody had killed the real Willow and taken her place. Together, they climbed the short stairs and onto the stage, bathing themselves in the rainbow glare that shone down from the window. Heath's arms snaked into a folded position across his chest; he had never felt as small as he did in front of the enormous man. It was as if the room was implanting thoughts into his head, thoughts that made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.
He found himself reflecting on the day he landed a girl back home in hospital. His father had asked Heath to go out and ensure that the cattle pen was locked after dinner. The man's memory was deteriorating with his age; Heath often found himself switching off the stove upon waking up for a glass of water in the middle of the night or chasing after the truck as it rolled back down the drive, his father was a very forgetful man. In the light of the setting sun, Heath found himself strolling halfway across the large property to the cattle paddock. He must have been in a bad mood, for he could remember kicking rocks along the dirt path and grumbling angrily under his breath. The cattle were restless when he reached the paddock, he watched as the animals charged back and forth across the field, occasionally ramming into each other and thundering off again.
Heath Graves has always enjoyed the sight of chaos, and this opportunity was too perfect to pass up, and before he could even think of the repercussions, he was pulling the pin on the gate and swinging it open. The cattle didn't notice the opening right away, but the moment one of the creatures saw its chance of freedom, it let out a thundering moo and Heath found himself narrowly avoiding becoming a pancake as the herd of cattle stampeded past and down the dirt path.
Heath was delighted as he watched the herd head in the direction of town, and reveled in the idea of what madness would ensue. He would later regret his decision when he heard that the girl who would come and purchase fresh eggs from the Graves family was trampled and nearly crippled by the rampaging cattle. He had never regretted a decision more, and to this very day, nobody knew that it was he who freed them.
Willow appeared to be lost in thoughts of reflection and horrid memories as she stared down at the thick black book with a golden cross on it's cover. The hand that was cuffed to Heath's was trembling slightly, She suddenly reached forwards, hand lightly gliding over the cover of the book, as if she were tracing the outline of that golden cross. And then suddenly the book opened.
Heath screamed and leapt backwards, pulling Willow with him, as the cover flipped over and the pages began turning on their own accord at a pace so fast it was impossible to keep track of. Willow was now trembling worse than ever, her legs suddenly gave out beneath her and she fell onto her butt. Heath only just managed to prevent himself from falling down beside her.
The pages suddenly stopped, and for a moment remained motionless, open to a page of writing that was too blurred for Heath to make out. And then the book exploded in a shower of golden light.
Heath was now the one falling backwards as he was nearly blinded by the sheer brightness of the light, raising a hand across his face to prevent himself from looking directly at it. The light softened soon after, changing from a sparkling yellow to a heavenly golden glow. As Heath lowered his hand, he found himself faced with the most elegant and beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin was fairer than any maiden, her hair billowed down her back in waves of gold, and a golden halo hovered gently above her head, bobbing up and down lightly as she smiled down at the handcuffed tributes. The glow appeared to brighten as she gave the pair a mother like smile, hands clasped together tightly as she floated in place, held aloft by two, thick and feathery wings that sprouted from her back.
"She's hot," Heath murmured to himself.
"She's an angel," Willow breathed. He supposed it was supposed to have been said in a snarky tone, but Heath himself felt all his anger flooding away as he bathed in the radiant golden glow of the angel.
"Hello, my children," The angel said. Her voice was elegant, and it filled Heath's chest with a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before. A grin wormed it's way onto his face; he felt as if he were suddenly lounging on a field of marshmallow, "I welcome you to the lord's place of worship,"
"What's an angel?" Heath whispered to Willow, however he kept his eyes on the floating woman instead of looking at his companion, it was as if he could not look away.
"They're the messengers of god," Willow answered, her voice meek and wavering.
"Correct, my dear child," The angel said elegantly, "We are spiritual beings, holy and sinless,"
"Sinless?" Heath asked.
"Wait, that's not right," Willow said with a frown, "I thought I read somewhere that there were angels that rebelled against god. . ."
"My children," The angel said, extending her arms in a manner much like the depiction of Jesus in the pane glass window, "It is time to enter god's graces. Confess your sins and repent,"
"I don't think I've ever sinned," Heath said, puffing out his chest, "I am a model citizen,"
"Each human is born sinful," The angel said softly, "It is in your nature. From the original Sin Of Adam to the birth of the most recent child, no human is sinless. Not one,"
"Woah, Adam must have been a bit of a rebel to be the first guy to sin," Heath said seriously.
"Adam was the first human, you dope," Willow scowled, however the look vanished almost right away and she peered at the angel with an apologetic look.
"Adam and Eve's betrayal of god by partaking in the forbidden fruit was the first of billions," The angel said, "Your only option is to repent and beg for forgiveness,"
"I still can't think of a time I have sinned," Heath said thoughtfully. He frowned as he reflected on the incident with the cattle. Would that count as a sin?
"Well, my child, you should be grateful that it is not you I have been sent for," The angel said warmly. She moved across the stage in an elegant glide, until she was floating right above the two fallen tributes, "Willow Drake, it is time to confess,"
"C-confess?" Willow stuttered. Heath had barely seen anything other than anger on the girl's pale face, and it was a little disturbing to see her expression twisted into a look of a fear so deep it was as if she were staring directly into the eyes of death, "I-I have nothing to confess!"
"Do not lie to me, child!" The angel said, her voice suddenly lost its warmth. For a moment, her entire body flickered. Heath could have sworn he saw a much darker being in that split second, however there was no trace of black wings and flickering, orange flames as her face returned to it's pale elegance, "I am a messenger of god! We know all and see all!"
"I'm not lying! I haven't done anything!" Willow screamed, her voice sounded broken and hopeless, and Heath found himself feeling more terrified by the tears in her eyes than the now thundering tone of the angel.
"All humans have sinned, Willow Drake, and you are no exception!" The angel boomed, "But some sinners are worse than others, and you, Willow Drake, are one of the darkest evils alive!"
"I-I'm not," Willow whimpered. She began to heave, as if she were about to empty the contents of her stomach all over her lap. The angels glow was growing brighter with each passing second, Heath found that he could no longer peer at her face as his hand slipped through the open pocket of his bag, praying that he could find the hilt of the one knife had had without the angel noticing, "I-I'm n-not evil,"
Heath's fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife, and the boy discretely peered at the blade as he pulled it from his bag. As the tip passed the soft fabric, Heath almost threw up when he saw that a chunk of his ear was still skewered on the blade.
"You cannot hide from god, child!" The angel boomed, "Confess, repent, and beg for forgiveness or pay the price!"
Willow whimpered, and began opening her mouth and closing it again without forming a word. It was now impossible to look at the angel directly, for she was far too bright. Fortunately, she was close enough that Heath would not be able to miss. As Willow managed to sputter out a weak, "I don't. . .", Heath spoke.
"I don't know how long you've been away from Earth, lady," He snarked, peering at the light from the corner of his eye, "And I can't speak for Willow, but I hate being told what to do. And I certainly don't beg!"
The angel made an outraged sound, but before she could even bark a response, Heath flung the throwing knife forwards. The throw was weak and would have most certainly missed had she not been so close, but thankfully, the blade hit. Or at least it appeared to.
The angel screeched, and Heath screamed and scrunched his eyes closed as the angel exploded into a supernova of golden light. The warm feeling in his chest vaporised as he was plunged into a bath of ice. What had felt like hope and love only moments before was now a feeling of dread and guilt. Once the light had died down enough for Heath to open his eyes, the first thing he wanted to do was lie down and give up.
It was as if the physical embodiment of night had taken over the church. Where sunlight had been pouring in through the pane glass windows and illuminating the room in a colourful grow, a layer of vapory mist now hovered. The only source of light came from the enormous window behind the two, a thick beam of moonlight shone through the window and landed directly on the two tributes. The room was now ice cold, and Heath found himself longing for the thick, woolen jumper he had discarded the moment he realized he was in the games.
Willow was now curled up into a ball, facing Heath so that there was no strain on her wrist. She was shivering profusely, eyes still held shut tightly and face streaked with tears.
"Willow," He hissed. A puff of smoke billowed from his mouth as he spoke, momentarily surprising the boy as his companion cracked open an eye, "We have to go. Now,"
"I don't want to," She whispered, "I just want to sleep,"
"That's how they want you to feel!" Heath snapped, and he began tugging on the handcuffs, "You have to move!"
"No," She moaned, and rolled over, trapping his handcuffed wrist beneath her stomach.
"Willow!" He growled, shaking her shoulder, "Willow!"
The girl gave him no response, however, something else did. A whispering sound infiltrated the room, bombarding Heath's ears with a sound too coherent to just be wind yet too low and wispy to make any sense. Willow didn't seem like she was going to be moving anytime soon, and Heath was nowhere near strong enough to carry her. What was he going to do?
Then he saw the knife. It had embedded itself in the pages of the bible, the tip piercing through the thick layer of chapters right through to the hilt. He briefly wondered how it had ended up there instead of lodging itself in the body of the angel, when he realized now was not the time to question it.
Heath maneuvered his body around the handcuff until he was in a crouched position, yet he was still too far away and far too low to reach the handle. Twisting around so that his back was to the pedestal, he wrapped his free and around the trapped one and began to pull. It took a lot of effort, and he hissed in pain as the cuffs dug into the already pronounced cuts, reopening the wounds so that blood began to trickle across his flesh.
The whispering was growing louder and sounding faster, it was as if there were a hundred invisible ghosts spinning around and tormenting him from beyond the veil. He managed to pull Willow a few feet forwards, so that he was close enough to reach the book. Slowly but surely, he stood and extended a hand towards the blade, only to have his fingertips brush the very end of the handle. The whispers were now clear and loud enough for Heath to decipher a select number of words such as 'Demon' and 'Hellfires'. The despair and feeling of utter failure that should have made him want to curl up into a ball and die only motivated him further. Yanking harshly on the cuffs, Heath screamed as the cuffs tore through his flesh, Willow let out a soft whimper as she was pulled harshly across the stage. Heath's fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife and with a grunt of effort, he pulled the blade free. Whipping around frantically, Heath crouched down and dragged the tip of the blade across the exposed flesh of the girls hip, digging deep enough to draw blood.
Willow screamed in pain and anger and shot up into a sitting position, and before Heath could offer an explanation, his head was snapping back from the force of a punch.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She shrieked, pulling back her fist as if she were ready to deal Heath a third black eye.
"I had to do something!" Heath cried, shying away from the fist and covering his freshly bruised eye, "You were just lying there!"
"And you should have left me!" Willow snarled.
"Oh! Wow! What an incredible idea!" Heath snapped, and raised his bleeding wrist, "We're chained together, idiot!"
Willow scowled, but did not answer. Instead, she stood and yanked Heath to his feet. The whispering suddenly stopped the moment they were on their feet, plunging the church into an eerie silence.
"We have to get out of here," Heath whispered.
"Oh, I am afraid the two of you aren't going anywhere!" A dark voice boomed. And then the stage burst into flames.
Kelani Richards - District Ten
Kelani's bare feet slapped the cool tile of the bathroom floor with much more force than she had intended, breath catching in her throat as she slammed the door closed. Stealth had never been one of Kelani's stronger attributes; attacking problems head on with speed and force had always been her method of dealing with what she could not outwit. But the intruder that had infiltrated the luxurious mansion that had become an oversized prison cell was not a foe Kelani could outrun, or outwit.
Whoever was toying with her was always two steps ahead; able to somehow slip in and out of rooms with the stealth of a fox. Kelani had become so rattled that she rarely let go of her deadly curved sword, and had retreated to the depths of the library, attempting to keep her fear at bay by burying herself in book after book in the only place the sound of that dreaded music box didn't reach.
Kelani had never been much of a reader before; the task felt too mundane to keep her hyperactive mind distracted for too long. But, under the current circumstances, there was no better escape. Her feet felt frozen as they fell on the lush warmth of the red carpet that ran the length of the hall; she had left her shoes in the living room, and she dared not enter any of the rooms where her pursuer could be crouching behind a stray piece of furniture, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
Hundreds of painted eyes fell on the girl as she moved down the passage, arms folded in against her chest and steps falling shorter and shorter as she peered at the portraits looming over her on either wall. There numerous works of art in the mansion unlike anything she had seen before, such masterpieces had never been present in her small home. Of course, her father had pressed his wife to help liven up the house with works of renowned capitol painters such as Sydney Beuxaton or Hestia Polis. Her father was a true connoisseur of fancy and valuable works, yet he had never possessed the money nor the permission from his wife to own much at all.
Of course, that did not truly stop him. Kelani had once stumbled across her father loading a bust of one of District Twelves most famous tributes, Comet Rowena, into the back of his truck. Comet Rowena had been Kelani's idol for a good portion of her life, she was known as one of the most daring contestants in recent years, often daring to tango with the biggest of brutes and coming out unscathed in her own games. Without killing a single tribute herself, yet leading many to their deaths, Comet was the favourite to win right up until she found herself bludgeoned by an unremembered brute from District Eight. She had thought the bust was going to be a gift from father to daughter; why else would he be handling it on the other side of town? So she remained hidden and watched as he drove away, and Kelani never saw that bust again.
She thought this mansion was her father's dream house; he had designed their humble home in such an old fashioned manner with what little he had. Her mother loathed it, but Kelani adored what her father had done. It was acts like this that made Kelani's like for her father soar over the love for her mother; despite his business trips that would often leave Kelani alone with her mother and brother for weeks on end.
The paintings that bore down on Kelani that depicted all sorts of people and scenery. A lush meadow peppered with yellow wildflowers, home to a number of grazing cows. The towering and infamous capital training centre; a building Kelani would only ever witness through the form of television or painting. A woman standing atop a large seashell, stark with only her flowing her and arms to cover herself with, on the shore of a beach. A woman to her right was brandishing a polkadotted blanket, while a man who was sporting a set of feathery wings flew with a woman in his arms off to the right. These paintings looked as if they originated from all ages and time periods, yet none would catch Kelani's attention like the picture of the pale blonde in the white dress.
This was the only painting in the hall that was labeled with a plaque, a golden plate that read Liberty Cavalli and a date of birth. She stood facing forwards, hair flowing behind her like a tsunami of gold; dazzling blue eyes contrasting nicely with the paleness of her skin. It was really a beautiful depiction, so why did it leave Kelani with a bad taste in her mouth? Why was it that she felt as if she had seen that girl somewhere before?
Kelani quickened her pace as she passed the painting of the young girl, slipping through the open large double doors and flinching as the faint tune of Pop Goes the Weasel began to play once again. She could think only of those sparkling blue eyes as she navigated her way through the labyrinth of books; music growing fainter and fainter until she could hear nothing but her own, short breaths and thundering heart.
It took her a short while to relocate her little set up, a stack of various books she had specifically chosen from the shelves sitting in the middle of an aisle, while another book was splayed open closer to a towering bookcase, neighbour to a plate hosting a half-eaten sandwich and a glass of orange juice.
She paused as she stepped within reach of the book she had been reading; which was no longer open to the page she had been reading. In fact, it was not even the same book she had been reading. The one she had buried herself in before had been titled Everlost, yet as she kicked the cover closed, she was faced with the haunting titled of Surprise, You're Dead!
The library suddenly took on a frosty chill as Kelani stared down at the cover of blood red; a foggy window splashed with crimson and playing host to the shadow of two hands pressed against the glass. The picture was haunting, and the sound of a creaking floorboard from somewhere behind sent the girl whipping around and swinging her curved sword wildly while screaming, "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"
But she found herself alone upon opening her eyes, staring at nothing but an endless stretch of books and carpet. In an attempt to calm down and convince herself that her mind was only playing tricks, Kelani retreated to her little set up and sat down beside her sandwich and glass of juice. A red rug that had been used as a sitting blanket before she had left for the bathroom was now wrapped around her trembling shoulders, and using the tip of her sword, she pushed the intruding book away. As she leaned forwards and reached for the next book on the stack, a thick novel titled A Storm of Swords, she saw a second foreign object lying on the floor beside her.
Her heart was in her throat as she reached out and scooped up what appeared to be a beaded necklace with her index finger, allowing the jewelry to slide down to her knuckle as she retracted her arm to inspect the item. An involuntary squeak escaped her mouth as she saw the secret this pearly white necklace held, dropping the item and pulling her knees away from it. There was no pretending what the intent for this necklace had been, and Kelani found herself wondering what would have happened had her captor not dropped what may be their only weapon. How close had she been to being strangled by the very necklace that now sat inches from her feet? The necklace that played host to a number of deadly metal spikes, one on each bead. A necklace that was already dripping with an unmistakable red substance. Blood.
Willow Drake - District One
If Heath hadn't thrown himself backwards, Willow Drake would have gone up in flames. Literally pulled from the line of fire, Willow found herself tumbling head-over-heels as she fell a short distance from the stage to the church floor, landing in an uncomfortable position on top of Heath with their cuffed hands caught somewhere in between.
That feeling of despair was still wedged somewhere deep within Willow, a poison flowing through her veins that weakened her mental stability and whispered fantasies about giving up and letting go in her ear. But that flaring and insistent pain flowing from the bloody gash in her hip gave her strength, allowing her to push herself into a slouched position with Heath wavering at her side.
The icy mist of despair was singed away by a wall of pure heat emitting from the orange flames that were flickering centre stage. The fire was strangely beautiful, the bright flames danced under the light of the moon, tendrils beckoning for the pair to step forwards. Willow had already been fooled by one apparition in this church, she was not about to succumb to another.
But with her companion still entranced by the flames; and Willow unable to locate the red exit, she could only stand and watch with her index finger scratching the gap between her pointer and thumb as the fire grew in intensity. The pair were forced backwards as the heat escalated alongside it, her nervous gesture suddenly not enough comfort.
Flames licked at the base of the podium, snaking their way up and around the wood until the black cased bible on top was blazing. As if granted a mind of it's own, the fire died all over the stage at once, until the holy book was the only thing fueling the inferno. And then the flames exploded.
Willow screamed and ran for cover as numerous embers hit her exposed flesh, a particularly painful one burning a mark into the skin between her nose and upper lip. Heath had only a split second to react as Willow vaulted herself over the nearest pew, landing in a crouch on the other side as orange droplets fell all around them in a shower of fire. Heath's landing had not been as graceful; his foot had caught on the back of the wooden pew, flipping him over so that he hit the floor chest first.
"A little warning would be nice," Heath hissed in her ear as he picked himself up. Willow pressed a finger to her lips and scowled at the insufferable nuisance, and dragged him down beside her as the flames burned the last of their lifeline and spluttered from existence, plunging the church once more into an icy darkness. The high pitched and whispy sound of a hundred voices whispering dark and evil phrases in her ear returned as well; creating the illusion that she was merely caught in a gale on a rainy day. But not everything about the misty darkness was the same as it had been before; when the flames had flickered out and opened the gateway for those demonic whispers, something else came along with it.
The steady beat of heavy wings flapping could be heard above all else. The whispers were like voices in the background while that flush of a feathery appendage beating was the music playing through earbuds pushed deeply inside of Willow's ears. She could almost feel the force of it above her head; loose strands of hair would flap about wildly in a flurry of wind that was anything but natural. The wind brought with it a feeling of dread, and just as before Willow found herself reflecting on every bad act she had committed in her short life, and that list was growing with each passing day.
Willow had never been a nice girl back home, and mean was not an adjective used by those he knew her either, it just did simply not fit. No, vicious, cruel, and nasty were the words used by family members and former friends who could no longer stand the darkness that resided deep within the girl. She had no illusions that any sort of god would take pity on her, not after the numerous beatings that often landed both children and adults alike in hospital. Not after the numerous beatings that filled her with a thrill unlike any other. Willow Drake did not deserve any pity or love from others, or any affection from a bearded man above, but surely this was not the way she was going to die. Surely she would be saved from this abomination that the gamemakers had created. Surely she was safe from the devil.
The story came back to her the moment she peered over the back of the pew; a very small and insignificant mention that not many would remember. The man on stage did not look much like a demon, in fact, the only indicator that he was anything but human was those large, black, feathery wings that kept him aloft on the stage.
"Is that another Angel?" Heath asked, his fingers wrapping around her forearm for support as he hauled himself into a kneeling position beside her.
"No," Willow breathed, watching as the man's eyes flickered from brown to a magma orange and a shark-like grin carved its way onto his face, "It's a demon,"
This demon was not one mentioned in the bible, in fact, he was only referred to in a book so unknown that it had become her mother's most treasured possession. The Lesser Key of Solomon was an ancient spell book on demonology. She remembered her mother using the tomb as a threat when she was younger; an attempt to strike fear into a child who turned out to be a demon herself.
Willow remembered the story her mother told her the night she was dragged home at the hands of two peacekeepers; men who had found her dumping the body of Renly's Droginger's cat in a dumpster. Her parents had flipped. They had screamed for what had felt like hours until Willow was finally banished to her room without dinner. She had fallen asleep in a fit of tears and rage, and when she woke an hour later she could hear her mother sobbing through the wood of her bedroom door.
"We are good people," She had whimpered, "We are a good and righteous family. I don't understand why she's like this. Where did we go wrong?"
That had been like a knife to her chest. Willow had always loved her parents, but it was on that day that she learnt that, someday soon, her parents would cease to love her. So she had decided to stop first.
Willow was still barred in her room the following morning and forbidden breakfast, and it wasn't until lunch time that her mother finally unlocked the door and entered the room. She was carrying the book, a big black tome, under her arm and had stared down at her daughter with a grave expression. She had told Willow that, if she did not change her ways, then she was going to end up in hell. She had told her own daughter that she was on the path to pain and misery, and then told her the story of Amy.
Amy was the commander of thirty-six legions of demons, and would always appear as a flame before taking human form. Gardenia Drake had made an attempt to strike down her daughters acts of evil by telling her that those armies would come for her if she did not change her ways. But by then, Willow had already made the decision to never try and make her parents happy. It was easier to have them hate her for herself then love her for something she wasn't.
There was no mistaking that the man staring down at her was Amy; the demon was an accurate representation of the drawing that had been sketched in her mothers book. Her mother had warned her that one day Amy would come to take Willow away. If only she had listened.
"Willow," The man purred in an almost catlike manner. The voice was the farthest from human than anything Willow had ever heard, it appeared to sound from every which direction, and was so deep and scaly that she was surprised that Heath hadn't asked the demon to clear his throat, "How nice it is to finally meet,"
Her breath caught in her throat and her knees buckled, Heath only just managed to wrap his hands around her waist to keep her steady before she hit the floor. The demon laughed. It was such a horrific noise, Willow found herself unable to describe how immense the fear induced by the laughter. She could not be sure if Heath could feel the same terror for she could not see his face. Her only hint at what he was feeling was the sudden tightening of his arms around her waist.
"While I had anticipated your fear, I am shocked by your surprise," The demon growled, his lips parting slightly to reveal numerous rows of razor sharp teeth, "I would have thought you knew this day would come eventually,"
"Do you know this guy, or something?" Heath shakily whispered in her ear, "Because if your pen pals or something, it would be nice if you could tell him to use a door next time,"
The demon must have overheard Heath's attempt to cover his own fear with humour, for the hall was suddenly filled with a deep boom of laughter. The pew Willow was pressed up against vibrated softly, and for a moment she thought she could see dust rain down from the ceiling in the moonlight.
"You humans amuse me," Amy boomed, "If only I could bring you with me, child. You would make a great fool!"
"Well, I'm just honoured," Heath said weakly, his entire body now trembling. Willow lightly pushed him away as she righted herself against the pew, resuming the nervous scratching of the space between her thumb and index finger.
"What do you want?" Willow called meekly. The cry was just an attempt to buy time; she hoped that the demon could not see her eyes dashing every which way, hoping to find the hatch they were to escape through. She could only see two from where she was positioned; the one they had entered through at the very back of the hall, and one positioned directly behind Amy. Neither of them possessed the red trait they needed. Assuming there were two other hatches in the room, they must be concealed by the darkness. How were they supposed to reach them before Amy killed them?
"You know exactly why I am here, Willow Drake," Amy boomed, "You have been promised to me. You were warned of the consequences of your vile nature, and now it is time to pay the price,"
He began to rise higher and higher as he spoke, so that his entire body was now in view of the pair crouched behind the pew. His formal and so very human attire made the demon that much scarier, the black suit and red tie made him appear so real. So human.
"Come to me, child," Amy growled, pointing a finger in her direction, "Come to me and suffer for all eternity,"
"Wow, that's a really tempting offer," Heath said loudly at her side, "What can I do to achieve such enlightenment?"
"What are you doing?" Willow hissed. Heath only responded with an annoying joke. The demon laughed again, however this time it lacked its amusement.
"Do not play with me, child," Amy boomed, "You are lucky to be free of eternal damnation. Treasure the gift you have been given, and you will never run into me again,"
Something cold pressed against Willow's cuffed hands. With a risky glance down, she inhaled sharply when she saw the bloody throwing knife being pressed into her hand.
"What if I want eternal damnation?" Heath stalled. Amy didn't answer right away, he appeared taken aback by such a foolish question.
"You wish to suffer for all of eternity?"
"Maybe," Heath shrugged, nudging Willow's arm. A cold bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck; how was she supposed to do this? She was no expert at throwing knives, she had never picked one up before yesterday. She had improved with a minor amount of practice, but she was far from an expert. How was she to hit a demon from this distance while trembling so vigorously?
"Maybe?" The demon repeated.
"Maybe," Heath said, nodding, "Does eternal damnation come with a free dinner?"
A flash illuminated the church from beyond the paned depiction of Jesus, and in that split second, she saw it. A hatch on the right side of the room, situated beneath a red paned window. That was the way they were supposed to go. The brief flash of light was followed by a boom of thunder so violent that the entire church shook. Heath toppled over and keeled into Willow's shoulder as the floor quaked beneath their feet. Amy's eyes caught fire, literally, and his voice sounded as if it were echoing through hundreds of megaphones as he shouted, "You dare toy with me child? You dare treat a being such as myself as if we are equals? You had your chance to escape with your life, but now you will perish inside the lord's own place of worship. God cannot save you now,"
His body began to twist and grow as bones moved and grew in different places. His skin took on a green and lumpy quality; nails akin to talons grew from his fingers and those needle like teeth stretched into fangs larger than a German Shepards.
"Now," Heath hissed, standing up and pulling Willow to her feet. There was not a second to spare, the moment Willow was standing up right, she pulled her arm backwards and threw the knife at the demon with surprising precision. The blade sailed directly towards his chest, and for a moment, it seemed like it would hit.
And then suddenly, the blade passed right through him. It was as if he were just a shadow, an appiration. Amy laughed as the blade clattered noisly against the window, and Heath let out a choked sob at his side, "We're doomed,"
"No," Willow said suddenly, "We're not,"
Heath cocked an eyebrow at her, and she hurried to explain, "If we can't hit or touch him, then he can't hit or touch us. There is no way he can harm us!"
Heath suddenly screamed and shoved Willow to the side as a fireball the size of a soccer ball shot over their heads, the immense heat scorching the side of her face. She landed butt first on the floor with Heath crashing over her a second later; skulls cracking as they smacked together painfully.
"That felt very real," Heath breathed, his face inches from hers. She nodded frantically and lightly pushed him off of her. The ball of flames extinguished a moment after shooting into the shadows, and for a moment, Willow caught sight of the fourth and final hatch on their side of the room.
"Come on!" Willow cried, loud enough for the demon to hear, "I can see an exit!"
Pulling Heath up via the cuffs so that they were both in a crouched position, they ran under the cover of the pew towards the far aisle as Amy laughed, "There is no escaping me!"
"You could have mentioned that he shoots fireballs!" Heath hissed in her ear as they stumbled out into the open aisle and continued their dash for the shadows.
"I didn't know he could shoot fire balls!" Willow scowled, "Do I look like a demon expert to you?"
"Honestly?" Heath asked, "Yes,"
Another fireball exploded over a pew to their right, bathing the wood in flames and once again showering the pair in orange embers. The two slipped into the safety of the shadows, however Willow had not truly anticipated how dark it would be. She could only see a few feet in front of her, and there was no way of knowing how well Amy could see in the dark. There was very little written on the demon commander, and none of what she did know was useful.
They ran passed another three pews before Willow stopped and yanked Heath along as she ran back towards the centre aisle. Heath was already starting to fall behind, her wrist screamed in protest as the metal cuffs dug into her skin and her the flaring of the fresh cut on her hip was not helping.
"The longer you run, the worse your punishment shall be!" Amy boomed. Behind them, another fireball exploded as it made contact with the wall, and Willow resisted the urge to throw her fist in the air in triumph. He had fallen for her trick, and shot his flames in the direction of the hatch they had been heading for.
They made it to the centre aisle, and Willow dragged Heath along the carpet until she was sure she was in line with the hatch, and then ran through the rows of pews towards it. Amy howled something unintelligible, and then the floor in front of Willow burst into flames. She skidded to a halt just in time; thankfully, Heath was able to prevent crashing into Willow and knocking her over, but that did not stop the careful bump that forced her to take a step forwards.
She screamed in pain and leapt backwards as her shoe caught alight; Amy laughed once again as Willow danced about in an attempt to douse the flames. To make things even worse, the pair were still two rows away from the hatch they needed, and their path was now being blocked by a growing fire that repelled the shadows as pew after pew succumb to the flames.
"Leave the shoe!" Heath hissed; Willow was too scared out of her mind to disobey. As she slipped the blazing shoe from her foot, Heath climbed up onto the pew in an attempt to get over. She was about to follow when a fireball shot over her head and hit the bag on his back. She screamed as the fabric burst into flames. Heath fell over the back of the pew and Willow cried out in pain as the cuffs pulled her forwards. She wasted no time in sliding herself over the back of the pew, dropping beside the boy who was now lying face down with his bag and shirt blazing and face thick with ash.
"Heath!" She screamed as she attempted to snuff out the flames with her hands; a bad decision as she was soon shrieking and pulling her burnt hands away. She was almost unsure on what to do, when she saw the lid of her water bottle sticking out of the bags open pocket. Snatching the plastic bottle out, she frantically unscrewed the cap and dumped the water over the spreading flames, briefly sighing in relief as the flames spluttered out.
"Heath!" She whispered, "Heath, get up!"
He gave no response. He was alive, she knew that. His chest continued to rise and fall, and there was no canon signifying his death, but he was definitely no longer conscious. He must have hit his head in the fall.
Delving a hand into the back, she fumbled around for anything that could break the cuffs. Her fingers brushed against some plastic, a cushion, and the dusty pages of a book, but there was nothing that could free her from the chains. She had also thrown away the only thing she could have used to cut off his hand.
With no other option, she scooped the boy up into her arms and stood, not even bothering to look at Amy as she leapt over the pew behind them and landed on her feet in row that would lead her to the hatch she needed.
"You cannot escape, child!" The demon boomed, "You will soon join your friend and burn in hellfire until the end of time,"
"Sorry, but I have other engagements," She called, taking a page out of Heath's book as she dashed towards the hatch. The fire that had been spreading across the pews was already in her path, yet she did not slow as she dashed through the inferno. Flames licked at her bare legs, but she bit through the pain and carried on. Another fireball hit the ground behind her, but she payed it no mind.
Propping Heath up on her left knee and holding his waist with the same arm, she used her freed right hand to turn the wheel of the hatch. It did not give the resistance most others did, and opened without complaint.
"Maybe you'll have better luck next time," Willow called back to the demon as she heaved Heath back into her arms and clambered through the hatch.
"Oh, child, next time will be sooner than you think," Amy laughed as the hatch swung closed behind her.