Nothing around here is quite
As it seems
Not sure if anything is real or
A dream
Sky Mastroianni
District 6, She/Her, 18
(Sixth Floor)
...
By the time the elevator doors have pinged open on my floor, my gown has been ripped off my body and lies in a mess of pink on the floor of the elevator. Not bothering to pick it up, and in my undergarments, I storm out and into the dining room. Omar, our escort, sits eating dinner. I've always found his bright, yellow hair and green-tinged skin rather revolting and unnatural, but after tonight, I don't bother to give him an ounce of my attention.
Of course, he doesn't realise that I'm not in the mood to talk.
"Oh, you're back. How did it go?" He asks casually.
My hands immediately curl into fists. How did it go? How does he think it went?
"Fucking awful." I snap, not even turning to look at him. "Your people are disgusting. You should be ashamed."
He doesn't say anything in return, so I continue forward into the hallway. Finally making it to my room, I slam the door behind me and slump against it. I become the shape of a ball, with my knees pressed tight against my chest and my head upon those knees. Security and protection have always been hard to come by in my life, but now more than ever, as I recall how the audience treated me, I wasn't a person to them. I was a thing—an object to be observed and wanted.
I don't bother putting any clothing on; in fact, I don't bother doing much of anything. My body yearns for sleep, but my mind is at war with it, flashing up images of the serpentine eyes of Capitol men as they shout their sexual remarks. The memories act as ghosts, haunting my mind and promising to stick around until they inevitably scare me off. Until it all becomes too much and I finally go completely insane, or worse.
After what feels like hours, a knock sounds on my door. I'm curled up on my bed, though wide awake, and don't have the energy to call out in response. Fortunately, there's no need, as the door opens anyway.
"Hey, Sky. Can I come in?" Somebody says, and it's a female voice, so it can't be Ephron or Omar, which only leaves one option. My mentor - Harriet. I grunt in reply, and she takes that as a yes; I'm not sure if it was. Then again, I'm not sure of much of anything right now. "Make some room for me?" She asks, nodding towards the bed. I sigh but listen, knowing she means no harm, and sit up on the left side of the bed. She slides next to me on the right, and we sit in an unbroken silence.
"What do you want?" I eventually ask, wanting to go back to hiding under my covers.
"Omar told me you were a little unhappy with how the interview went."
"A little unhappy?" I cry. "They looked at me like a child would an animal at a zoo!" Once the sobs start, they don't stop, and Harriet gently pulls my head onto her lap to allow the tears to drip onto her pleated, white skirt. "You didn't prepare me for that. You didn't tell me how dehumanising it would be!"
"I know." She whispers into my head, kissing it softly. "I know, I'm so sorry."
We stay in that position for who knows how long, but, in due course, my tears begin to dry out.
"I'm sorry." I sniff.
"You have nothing to apologise for, Sky." She murmurs. "I should've prepared you better; that was my fault. You know, they did the same thing to me during my interview."
"Did you ever get over it?" I ask, hoping she'll reassure me that it'll all be forgotten soon enough.
"There's a lot of things I've yet to get over, Sky." She quietly says, "I don't regret doing what I had to do in that arena, but I see their faces every night. I'm reminded of what they could've been in my dreams. I don't think it will ever stop, and you need to know that."
I nod in understanding.
The horrors don't end when you're a victor; you aren't simply given the life of luxury and privilege that we're taught to believe in.
"Those...men out there. It doesn't stop once you're out, does it?" I ask. She stays silent for a minute, looking up at the spinning fan on the ceiling.
"It doesn't stop." She says, and I can tell she doesn't wish to expand. Besides, I have my answer.
I can't help but wonder if getting out of that arena alive is the far worse option. But I push those thoughts away with the image of Maria cowering underneath the stairs with nobody to care for her. I need to believe that she is alive because she's the one thing that will be able to get me through all of this—the kindling that keeps the fire raging in my veins.
"You're my hero, Sky." She used to say,
I never truly saw myself as a hero; after all, I'm a drug dealer and a criminal, but I now know more than ever that I have to be that hero for her. I have to use everything I've got to get out of the games so I can go home and save her from the miserable life we have lived for so long.
Even if it means not being able to save myself in the process.
Enver Naledi-Alder
District 7, He/Him, 16
(Eleventh Floor)
...
It's late; the clock just hit 12 a.m., but none of us have even let out a yawn.
Adrenaline courses through me, and my legs bounce with the pent-up energy. Until now, it hadn't hit me that tomorrow could be my last day here. My last day anywhere There's always been something up ahead to distract me, like the private sessions or the interviews, but now the reality of it looms, threatening to crash down upon me.
"You won't all be near each other, so you'll need to find a meeting point," Eamonn says, standing over the circle of us sitting on the carpeted floor.
"I suppose we just run west?" Malory says, and Eamonn nods.
"How do I know which way is west?" Cybill asks, looking down at her lap, where she's fidgeting with her hands.
"Oh, that's easy!" I say, perking up a little at the fond memory of my Dads teaching me the acronym during a hike. "Never enter Sickle Wood," I repeat, pointing out the directions.
"Never enter Sickle Wood, okay," Cybill says, nodding but not looking up. She's been off lately; her need to be in control seems to have loosened since the private sessions. I suppose it's what's affecting us all—how little time we have left.
No, Enver. How little time they have left, you'll be fine.
"Are we going to try and get supplies?" I ask.
"From the cornucopia?" Crow, Malory and Odalis' mentor, asks and I nod. "If there's something close enough, I say you go for it. We don't know what resources they'll have in the arena, and you don't want to risk dying of thirst or starvation."
"Agreed. Try and go for a pack if you can; weapons are useful too, but are usually placed directly beside or inside the cornucopia." Eamonn adds.
My chest begins to constrict with the talk of weapons; even in training, I didn't dare go near them. It's one thing to use an axe to build a treehouse; it's a complete other to use one to murder somebody. It's something I've forced myself to picture at night when I can't seem to get the games out of my mind, but every time I'm about to go in for the kill, I drop the weapon and run.
"What if we can't..." I say, but hesitate. I know these people aren't my friends. I know that it's stupid to share my weaknesses. "What if we can't kill?" I ask, ignoring the doubts in my head as they try to push me into someone I'm not. Trust is an utmost value of mine, and it would hardly be fair to expect that from others but not uphold it myself.
"What do you mean you can't kill?" Crow asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Like, I don't think I can do it," I murmur, avoiding eye contact.
"Look, Enver." Eamonn sighs, and my face begins to heat as I feel all eyes on me. "Most of us don't go into that arena expecting or even wanting to kill. But, and I know this is cliché, it's kill or be killed in there. You won't be able to win without killing somebody; it's never been done before and probably never will."
"Okay," I say, although my mind hasn't changed. It would break my dads to watch me end the life of another one of these children, and then again, it would break them to see me be killed. At least, not killing is something that I'm able to control.
"I think it's best we head back now; it's getting late, and you all have a long day tomorrow," Eamonn says, and the four of us nod in unison, nobody having much to say.
Eamonn and I don't talk much on the way back to our floor; I suppose it must be hard for him to see me enter his version of hell. It's just another thing to spur me on when I'm lifted up on that platform tomorrow.
"Heading to bed?" Eamonn asks as I walk out of the elevator.
"Yup," I reply, heading down the hallway and into my room. It's been a long time since I've felt so down, and the only thing I can think to do is curl up in bed and reminisce.
...
"I can't do it!" I cry, throwing my wrench to the ground. "I totally screwed up the calculations."
"Enver, it's okay," Dad says, coming up from behind me and picking up the wrench. "Not everything in life is going to go your way."
"Why not? That would make it a whole lot easier." I huff.
"It sure would." He laughs. "But it would also make life a hell of a lot more boring."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Try again. Pick yourself back up and keep trying until it goes your way."
...
I wish I could say that this particular memory serves as a motivator and that I feel suddenly prepared for what's ahead.
But I'm not stupid. If I die tomorrow, there will be no picking myself back up.
There will be no trying again.
Kaylee Vy
District 9, She/Her, 13
(Ninth Floor)
...
The sound of rain shooting against my bedroom window wakes me with a start. It's strange, as it's the middle of summer, but disturbingly fitting for such a sombre night. I'm surprised I even managed to get a couple of hours of sleep with the horrors that this morning might bring bouncing around in my head. The digital clock on the nightstand beside my bed flashes the time in glowing red.
4.00 AM, meaning five hours until the Games officially begin. Five hours until it could all end.
My body shakes with the closeness and fear of it all bearing down on me.
The plan, Kaylee, Stick to the plan, and you'll be fine.
I recite the plan once more to ensure I haven't forgotten during the night.
Adam will go to the cornucopia.
Dahlia and I will run five minutes east.
We'll find a hiding spot.
If Adam doesn't reach us within ten minutes, we keep running.
Eventually, I become restless and begin to force my still-tired body out of bed. It's hard to not linger as I remind myself that this may be the very last time I sleep on something relatively comfortable. Something tells me the Arena won't be a twelve-story, lavish hotel, but a girl can dream.
I'm surprised to find both Mikayla and Adam seated opposite each other as I enter the dining room, both wide awake and involved in an active discussion. An empty bottle sits in front of Mikayla, her hand wrapped tightly around it. My parents often drank when they had the money to spare, but not in the way Mikayla does; she consumes bottle after bottle like her life depends on it, and it makes her strange. Adam says that it's because she's drunk. I'm not sure what it means, but I know I don't like it.
"Oh, you're up," Adam says, his voice hoarse.
"I couldn't sleep," I say, taking a seat beside Mikayla at the table.
"I couldn't sleep the night before either." Mikayla slurs, and I flinch at the strong smell on her breath. "Who cares about sleep when you could be dead in a couple of hours?"
"Mikayla, could we maybe not talk about death?" Adam says it through gritted teeth.
"No, Adam, she's right," I say, feeling the need to defend her.
"It doesn't mean she has to say it." He mutters, staring down at his plate of food. It's still filled to the brim with eggs, bacon, and sausages, and my stomach begins to growl at the sight of it. "You want it?" Adam asks, and I look away as I realise I must've been looking at it greedily.
"I can get my own plate," I say, starting to stand up.
"No, I'm not eating. Not much of an appetite." He says this, pushing the plate towards me. The food is incredible—better than anything Ma ever made, although I would never dare tell her that. Fond memories of Pa and I making fun of her cooking replay in my head, and I can't help but let loose a small smile. "How are you feeling?" Adam asks, causing my smile to falter.
"I'm okay. Nervous, I guess." I say, tapping my fingers against the marble table.
"That's understandable." Adam nods. I can tell he's attempting to comfort me, so I force a smile.
"Nervous!" Mikayla cackles. "You should be scared out of your mind, kid. Nobody survives the arena, live or die." Her eyes stare directly into my own, dark, deep, and completely void of emotion. My chest constricts, restricting my breathing, and my heart begins to beat rapidly. "No point crying."
"Mikayla, stop it!" Adam shouts, slamming his fist against the table. "Can't you see that you're scaring her?"
This seems to snap Mikayla awake, and she directs her eyes away from me, I assume out of guilt.
"I'm sorry." She sighs. "I'm going to head back to bed; wake me in an hour."
Adam and I sit in an awkward silence, myself poking at pieces of bacon with my sudden loss of appetite.
"Do we even bother trying, Adam?" I say, my voice cracking and tears entering my eyes. "You heard what she said; whether we win or lose, there's no hope."
"We can't think like that." He states.
"But-"
"No, Kaylee." Adam snaps. "You can't give up now."
"Okay, I'm sorry," I whisper.
"No matter what, you will not die tomorrow. I will make sure of it." He says, his eyes staring unblinkingly into my own. "Run with Dahlia, and you will be fine. I promise."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
Scylla Minali
District 4, She/Her, 18
(Fourth Floor)
...
I awoke to the incessant sound of the alarm clock I set only a few hours ago. Getting to sleep was a long process, with my entire body buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Finally, I've reached the moment I've worked so hard for. Rolling out of bed and clicking off my alarm clock is done with more haste than most mornings, my body already feeling wide awake as I think about the day ahead.
I pull on the training uniform left folded for me at the end of my bed and tie my hair into a slick ponytail in preparation for the fights that are bound to come. Looking at myself in the mirror, I can already envision the crown atop my head and the power that my new status will provide for me. Although I've been separated from Lien, my supposed grandmother, and the rest of my relatives for so long, the control they've had over me has never loosened. Every night, another nightmare haunted me, and every day was clouded by the fear of Malik being taken from me.
Soon, the riches of a Victor will be mine. Is the only thing on my mind, imagining coming home to Malik with our new life in my hands. A life of luxury and honour away from the Minali family. Finally, I will have something in my name that will separate me from those years of my life. Not Scylla Minali, but Scylla The Victor.
I exit my room and find Quincy standing smugly and our mentors waiting beside the elevator.
"There you are, Scylla!" Cora says, shaking her head. "I was about to come get you; we're going to be late."
"It's not like they're going to leave without us." I chuckle, ignoring Quincy's glare as I enter the elevator.
It takes about ten minutes for us to reach the aircraft hangar, and we are, in fact, the last to arrive. Cora and Maya are scolded by a peacekeeper as Quincy and I are led into the aircraft where the rest of the tributes are already locked into their seats, most looking to the ground, and a couple, like the girl from Nine, have tears in their eyes.
"What were you doing, looking at yourself in the mirror?" Quincy whispers into my ear.
"Precisely," I say, turning to smile at him before taking my seat.
A couple of minutes later, the peacekeepers begin taking people's arms and inserting a needle into them.
"What is this?" The girl from Three snaps, pulling her arm away.
"A tracker." The peacekeeper replies, as emotionless as ever.
Most tributes flinch as the tracker is injected, but I remain completely still, attempting to catch some of their eyes. The more scared they are, the easier they'll be to kill.
Soon, the hovercraft begins to ascend. It's a strange feeling, like a thousand butterflies flapping around in my stomach. Fortunately, I didn't have time to eat breakfast, so there's nothing to come up and out of my mouth. As we begin to glide across the sky, the feeling quickly disappears, and the low hum of the hovercraft creates a relaxing calm.
I look at Aisling and Robert, who sit with a matching stillness, their faces expressionless. The three of us are ready for what's to come, and by the end of this bloodbath, Quincy and his posse will be dead. I, of course, will take Quincy. Aisling, as the weakest of our three, will take Wells, and Robert will take Felix. It's a simple plan, but one that has to work for the three of us to be able to dominate these games.
The hovercraft descends about five minutes later, and the feeling returns to my stomach. Luckily, it's a quick landing, and the hatch opens to a group of peacekeepers with guns in hand. It looks like they don't want any runners, and I don't doubt that some of the others were stupidly thinking of it.
Cora meets me outside, exiting a hovercraft filled with the mentors.
"You ready?" She asks as she leads me down a dark hallway, with other tributes and mentors behind and in front of us.
"Of course," I reply as Quincy enters a door on the left. Cora leads us to the one beside it, confirming that Quincy and I will enter the arena next to each other.
Perfect.
The room is very simply square, with white walls and clothing hanging up on the door. At the far end is a tube and a timer above it that counts down in bright, red numbers.
"You have to be in the tube in the next three minutes, so hurry up and get dressed," Cora says.
"Yep, not stupid," I murmur, grabbing the outfit from the door. Cora makes no signal to turn around, so I change in front of her, slipping the skin-tight jumpsuit on with ease.
"One minute," Cora says, and I roll my eyes as I take my place in the tube. Cora faces me as the glass door slides closed. "Remember your training, Scylla. District Four is counting on you."
Before I can respond, the timer hits zero, and I take a deep breath as I'm plunged into darkness.
A/N: Well! We're almost there.
The next chapter will be The Bloodbath and it will be posted Sunday 19th November!
Alliances:
Robert, Aisling and Scylla
Marcus and Nicole
Malory, Odalis, Cybill and Enver
Sky, Ephron, Saxony, Marya and Smith
Quincy, Felix and Wells
Adam, Kaylee and Dahlia
Conifer and Rowan
- Neb