Welcome to wonderland
Look where you're at
Maddest of hatters
The Cheshire Cat
Magical cabins and lovely white rabbits with clocks
Scylla Minali
District 4, She/Her, 18
(The Cornucopia)
[6.45 AM]
...
As usual, my sleep is plagued by nightmares.
(As I haul yet another net of fish from the ocean, I can't help but fall to my knees in pain.
I should be used to the backbreaking work by now; after all, the past ten years of my life have been spent on this very fishing boat. A second home, if you'd like.
Yet, I doubt anybody's bones would grow accustomed to such labour. With eight hours of this consistent exertion under my belt, I'm about ready to snap.
In moments like these, it's hard to consider anything else but the simple fact that my life seems to be a cycle of torture and despair. Most of it has been spent on this endless ocean, and I am so goddamn sick of it.
As I look down at the crashing waves, I can't help but wonder what would happen if I jumped. Would I be able to swim to safety and finally be free from my family's name? Or would I be another soul lost to the colossal abyss of water?
Either option seems better than this. A life tormented by labour, rules, and fear of punishment.
The tumultuous waves rock the boat, and I stumble as I attempt to stand. Every bone in my body aches.
But then I'm there. Against the railing and peering down at my path to freedom.
Focusing in on the hope of escaping, I force away the fear. It's the only way.
I place one foot on the railing and whisper a prayer. A ballad of the sea that my grandmother has always preached.
However, before I'm able to step up, a hand rests on my shoulder.
I spin in surprise. The rest of my family should be resting during my shift.
Yet my brother's widening eyes stare back at me.
"Malik, I wasn't!" I cry. "Please, don't tell." The tears are streaming down my face before I know it—the fear of what Grandmother may do to me is all-consuming.
But instead of the reprimand I expect, Malik hushes me and pulls my head to his chest.
"It's okay, Scylla." He whispers. "I'm not going to tell."
"W-why not?" I ask, surprise and relief rushing through me.
"Because I know how you feel. I long to be free too."
I'm in utter shock that my brother, always a paragon of loyalty, shares my sentiment. It's enough to cause my lips to curve into a smile.
"We can jump together," I say, looking up at his kind face. "We could do anything we wanted. Just the two of us."
"I want that more than anything." He says and my stomach drops as I realise there's a but coming. "But we wouldn't survive. Not only would we struggle to get back to shore, but a teenager and a kid? We couldn't make it a couple of days out there in the real world."
"Are you sure?" I sniff, my shoulders slumping and the corners of my mouth shifting downward.
Yes," he states. "But someday, at the right time, we will escape. I will get you out of here, I promise.")
I wake with a start, drenched in sweat and my neck throbbing in pain. The lack of luxury isn't something I'm accustomed to, but it's always preferable to have a mattress and a pillow to aid your sleep. My eyes are fuzzy with the residue of sleep, and it takes them a while to adjust to the darkness of the Cornucopia. Eventually, I force myself up and clutch onto the golden hilt of the sword beside me.
There's no chance of me going anywhere without it. Not only for protection but also out of fear that I'll miss the opportunity to kill.
"Good sleep?" Robert asks as I exit the cornucopia. He doesn't look up from the knife that he sharpens, and his seeming readiness to kill matches my own.
I managed to hold off on going hunting yesterday after Robert diffused the argument between myself and Ranger, but today, nobody stands in my way.
"Are you ready to go?" I ask Robert, scouting the Cornucopia for Ranger.
"Go?" He asks, and I refrain from rolling my eyes.
"Hunting," I remark. "Where's Ranger?"
Before Robert can answer, someone else gets there first.
"Right here," Ranger says, and I spin to face them in alarm.
"Panem! You can't just sneak up on people." I snap, crossing my arms in annoyance.
"Calm it, Scylla. We don't need more bickering." Robert sighs, making a stand between us. I scoff at the thought of him trying to break up the fight that is bound to ensue in the coming days. "Scylla and I are heading out. I trust that you'll be able to hold down the cornucopia."
"If you think that's smart," They say, face as expressionless as always.
Before I can offer a retort, Robert interrupts.
"It's what we're here to do, Ranger." He sighs. "I doubt the sponsors would be happy with us if we didn't do what we were trained for."
"I was trained to win, not to kill." They say this and, without another word, walk back towards the Cornucopia.
"What a bitch." I mutter, and Robert huffs in response. He never seems to have a bad word to say about anyone. Then again, I doubt he's seen the same truth in people that I have. There are no redeeming qualities in humanity; there is simply ambition and anger.
Those are the two things that run through me, anyway.
As Robert slides a backpack on, I forge ahead. The Arena awaits and the little girl within me stirs with the excitement of exploration and finding what the world has to offer. Even if most of that girl was crushed at the hands of her family, a resilient part of her will always linger.
"Wait up!" Robert shouts to me as he rushes to keep up. But I refuse to be held down any longer and, without a second thought, open the door to the new world that stretches out before me.
Saxony Hampton
District 8, She/Her, 16
(Marmoreal)
[9.15 AM]
...
As we stumble up yet another rolling hill, the fatigue begins to set in.
It was bad enough that we spent all of yesterday walking, but being forced to wake up early paired with having to take a watch for a couple of hours meant it was impossible to grasp any real sense of sleep. It's safe to say that the pale white grass and barren ground are no comparison to the cloud-like mattresses of the Capitol or the luxurious silk sheets back home.
The others seem unperturbed, though, so I've had no choice but to clamp my mouth shut.
"Are we almost...well wherever we're going?" I call ahead, my tone growing frustrated. Nobody dares waste their breath on responding.
I'm not unfamiliar with physically straining my body. After all, trailing Father on all those late nights was no easy feat. However, this compares to nothing I've done before, with my legs numb from the persistent movement and my chest tight with discomfort. Marya seems to be in a similar position as me, with the two of us desperately trying to keep up with the three of them.
Sky is the first to reach the top of the hill, and she does so with a gasp. The sound of it motivates my legs to move with a newfound desperation, not wanting to miss out on whatever they can see. As I force myself up, sweat dripping from every pore, the shocking revelation is finally made clear. It's a pure white castle, the light bouncing from its marble walls creating an ethereal image. It's filled with spires, and the grand entrance is surrounded by the pink, blossoming trees we've encountered countless times.
"Fuck!" I exclaim, looking around at the dumbfounded faces of my allies. "That's got to be worth half the Capitol."
"Well, let's not wait around. It looks like there's a lake just over there, too." Smith says, pointing towards a shimmering pool of water about a mile away from the castle. The very thought of the cool sensation on my lips drives me forward, and I begin to realise how pathetic I was being with each determined step towards the castle.
Seriously, Saxony? You're fighting for your life in here! Start acting like it.
Ignoring every part of me screaming to sit down and rest, I ensure my position in front of my allies and lead the four of them into our refuge, hoping that we could survive a little longer. Father never let me take the lead back home, and yet, now I have my chance, and I have been taking that for granted. For no longer, I say.
Once the five of us reach the marble castle, my eyelids droop and my steps through the grand doors are sluggish. As soon as we enter, there is a sudden release of tension as the coolness of the air sets in and we're finally free from the oppressive heat that has clung to us relentlessly.
The room that we find ourselves in is fucking incredible; there's no other way to describe it, and we all marvel at the grand table set out before us. At the very end of the room is a majestic throne—marble, of course—adorned with light blue cushioning. The one thing that catches the attention of every single one of us, though, is the plethora of food strewn across the table. Immediately, all of us are chowing down on everything we can get our hands on.
Bread, soup, even a chocolate cake! Panem, it's been so long since I've had chocolate cake.
Ephron laughs as he shoves handful after handful of it into his mouth, and I can't help but let out a chuckle as I realise our luck. A place to get out of the heat, comfort, and an endless supply of food! What else could one ask for? The five of us could essentially camp out here for the rest of the games and wait until only we remain.
Even then, though, I realise the flaw in that.
I would be in the same place as four people who want to get home equally as much as I do. That desperation drives people a little insane, and I don't doubt that a second bloodbath would occur within seconds. Hell, I don't know if I could stop myself from pulling one of the sharpened knives from the table on one of them. The thought of it makes me a little nauseous, which pairs with my full stomach, but I have to remind myself that I must prepare for the inevitable.
If I can't even think about it, how am I supposed to do it when it comes down to it?
Eventually, we all reach the point of being unable to eat any more, and we sit in a comfortable silence as we digest it all. For the first time in this alliance, I feel a sense of solidarity. We all worked together to reach a common goal, and it ended up paying off. Despite Sky's initial hesitance, it seems to have worn off, and trust has definitely developed since those days during training.
This could actually work. We simply need to stay here, in the castle, and outlast the others.
Then maybe I can go home and finally start doing something with my goddamn life.
Nicole Gatsby
District 5, She/Her, 17
(Tugley Woods)
[12.15 PM]
...
It's been a long time since I've felt this helpless.
The last time weakness consumed me was just before meeting Jericho and the Fire Wolves. I'd just run from the orphanage at 12 years old and was running through the streets in the dark of night with nowhere to go. I had kept running until my feet took me to my destination, then I kneeled to the floor and sobbed as I took in the ashes of my previous home. The flames that had engulfed my parents that night hadn't touched me, and I couldn't understand why.
Why them and not me?
All I knew was that from then on, there would be no more tears. No more fear.
Then, I met Jericho and built my empire. I haven't cried once in the past five years.
Yet now, as Marcus stands before me, unrecognisable from the anger that consumes him, I feel that urge once more. The urge to finally let go of the emotions that I've held back for so long. To fall to the ground and just sob until my tears dry and I can go back to feeling nothing. I long for the void of emotion that used to envelop me, but with death looming and my lover by my side, it's becoming more difficult to force it away.
"Fuck!" Marcus screams in rage, throwing yet another log at the forcefield in front of us. He's forced to dive to the side as it comes flying back towards him. This is how the two of us have spent the last four hours. Marcus is throwing various things at the forcefield, screaming in rage when it doesn't work, and diving out of the way as the object attempts to knock him out. Secretly, I hope one of the logs will hit him in the head so I can have some time to think to myself.
"It's not going to work, Marcus." I sigh as he snaps another branch from one of the towering, ancient trees that surround us.
His head whips around to face me, his dark eyes brimming with intense fervour. The Marcus that stares back at me is far removed from the one that held me last night or who I fell in love with over that candlelit dinner a couple of years ago. Though we've both always shared a simmering anger at the world, it would be foolish to mistake what runs through him for just that. No, it's a cocktail of pure violence and hatred.
"Have a bit of fucking faith, Nicole." He spits before turning back around and shoving the branch forward. I don't even flinch as it flies back and out of his hand, sending him toppling to the ground. As I bang my head in frustration against the stump of the tree I lean against, I hear rustling from above me and tilt my head up.
I discover what I least expect: a sponsor gift. It's some sort of metal capsule attached to a white parachute, and it drifts gracefully through the trees above and down onto my lap. It's odd that the Capitol seems to want to encourage such rebellious behaviour, especially when not even I'm enjoying it, but it all makes sense once I turn over the note hanging onto it.
That's not going to work.
- H.R
She must have used the very few donations we received to send this message along with a couple slices of bread.
Part of me is thankful that my mentor is on my side in this, but the other side of me fears how Marcus may react to the message. He'll hardly be jumping for joy at being told by someone else that he's being an idiot. However, as he slams yet another log into the forcefield, I decide that it's my best bet at making him stop. If he can't listen to his girlfriend, then maybe he'll listen to someone who truly got out of this arena alive.
"Come sit down." I command him, my voice calm but stern. We've always joked about myself being more dominant and controlling, but that must be shaped into a reality now. I must hold enough strength for the both of us because, if I don't, everything I've worked so hard to build will collapse before me.
"I'm going to keep trying." He says it through gritted teeth.
"We have some bread; get your energy up again." I state this, and he turns to me, curious. He never could resist food, and more so now that he has had nothing to eat since the morning of the bloodbath. Immediately, he strides towards me and splits the bread in half. Then he takes a seat beside me. "There's something else." I say this as he begins to inhale the bread like a black hole, crumbs flying everywhere.
"What is it?" He mumbles, and I hand him the note from Harriet.
It takes him a mere second to read it and rip the paper in half.
"What does she know?" He scoffs.
"More than us." I reply, crossing my arms. "She's right."
"Right, about what?" He interjects, his eyes narrowing.
"It won't work." I say simply, not backing down as his intense glare deepens.
"Guess you're just as stupid as her, then." He mutters, and, after everything, this is the one thing that causes my blood to boil. Stupid? As if I'm inferior to him? As if I'm some little girl?
Without another thought, I slip the knife from my pocket and pounce on his muscular body. He's strong, I'll give him that, and hard to hold down, but I haven't survived so long without being able to handle a brooding man.
In seconds, my knife is at his throat, and I'm seething with anger.
"Listen here." I say, spit flying from my mouth. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you need to get it together. Don't make me deal with you myself."
As I say, I know the impossibility of it all. The idea of sinking my blade into my lover is almost as unfathomable as the two of us making it out alive. He knows it too, but he also knows that, when I get like this, it's best to shut up and listen.
"Understood." He smiles, and I roll my eyes.
"Idiot."
Smithsonian "Smith" Caldera
District 12, He/Him, 18
(Marmoreal)
[4.45 PM]
...
The sun has not yet set; its golden rays spread across the arena.
I assume that the arena follows the same season as back home, summer, which often causes a late sunset. It's something I've always enjoyed, almost like having an extra few hours in the day.
Although nothing tops spring,.
I think as I twirl the delicate, daisy flower in my hands. It's a reminder of what is waiting for me back home and what I risk losing in the games. The one who handed me this flower is all of that and more; she's my future, my present, and my past.
It's been hard to push away the thought of her gentle touch on my cheek this past week, but it would've only caused a distraction for me. However, now, with my stomach full and the light of the sun beating against my face, memories of Jesse James take hold of my mind.
Her florists, always filled to the brim with various flowers, are where I always felt most comfortable. Even if I would never open up that vulnerable side to anyone, the spark of it that remains for Jesse and her little shop consistently causes my heart to ache.
Right now, that spark bursts into a flame as the thought of going home to Jesse's tender lips and fiery red hair acts as motivation to continue putting my all into getting home. I've developed somewhat of a soft spot for my allies. Not that I wouldn't kill them if need be, but I've hesitated when deciding whether to put myself first or them.
Jesse serves as a reminder that I am the only person that matters in this arena. It's very simple reasoning, and that is that the rest of them will be dead soon; therefore, how they feel now is practically insignificant. For the first time since my name was called out on Reaping Day, I look up to the sky with a genuine smile and cherish the moment of peace I've been given to recollect myself.
Of course, as all good things are, this moment is disturbed by the sound of footsteps behind me.
"What's that?" Marya asks, descending the marble steps that lead to the front door of the opulent castle. She takes a seat beside me on the bottom step, and I shove the daisy back into my pocket. Keeping Jesse private has always been a habit of mine. Most of it has to do with keeping her all to myself and not risking letting anyone get between us, but the calculating voice that lives in my head reminds me of a simple fact.
My charm is the most dangerous weapon I have, rivalling the sword that lays beside me. It's a hell of a lot easier to charm people when they think they have a chance with you, and that's an easy lesson to learn when you have women lining up at your tent to discover their destiny.
When I don't respond to Marya, an awkward silence takes over.
"Something from home?" She asks, attempting to break the silence. She's persistent; I'll give her that.
"No, I just found it while we were walking." I reply nonchalantly. Before she can question me further, I change the topic. "Think we should fill up our bottles before it gets dark?"
I look to my almost empty bottle sat next to my sword and deice to down the last drops of water. Sky, Ephron, and Saxony had gone to fill them up a couple of hours ago, but the heat is relentless, so a replenishing sip of water is necessary.
"Sure, I'll grab the others' bottles and let them know." She says this, giving my shoulder a pat before she goes. She's certainly useful when trying to maintain my connection with the rest of my allies, and her almost motherly instincts have caused her to develop a much deeper bond with the others. As much as I feel that Saxony and Ephron trust me and my warm smiles, I can't shake the inkling that Sky is a little different. The way she looks me up and down and seems to always argue back shows she's sceptical, and that's certainly not something I'm comfortable with.
Control is the key to success; that's what Father always said when he spoke about the two mines he manages. The younger me took that on board and developed somewhat of an obsession with control. I mean, who doesn't want everything to go their way? As I've grown older, I've realised that control needs to be subtle for it to work long-term. People shouldn't be able to see that you're the one making the decisions because that only creates the antithesis of control—rebellion.
Every decision we've made so far has been directed by me. From ordering everyone where to go to rationing our food and water,.
Yet Sky is a good judge of character and, therefore, dangerous. Keeping an eye on her wouldn't go amiss.
As Marya returns, she rushes down the steps two at a time with four bottles hugged tightly to her chest. As she reaches the bottom, her foot slips on the slick marble, and she hurtles towards me with the bottles flying from her arms. I outstretch my arms to catch her, and she falls into them, her soft skin brushing against my own. In this moment, as her kind, brown eyes stare into my own, I can't help but admire the freckles that dust her cheek and button nose.
Then, the memories of Jesse come flooding back, along with an unusual sense of guilt.
Nobody else matters, Smith. Nobody.
Kaylee Vy
District 9, She/Her, 13
(The Scarlet Desert)
[11.25 PM]
...
Sleep doesn't take hold of me.
In fact, it doesn't take hold of any of us. Despite us saying our goodnights at least an hour ago,.
Night in the desert is the antithesis of day. It's impossible to stop the unyielding shaking of my body, and the defiant wind sends sand shooting into my wide, awake eyes. Once the thin blanket that we share flies off once again, I've had enough and don't bother laying back down once I've grabbed it. Adam, no longer feeling my frail body pressed against his, soon follows, and Dahlia follows him.
We sit in contemplative silence, the three of us huddled together. I hold my knees so tightly to my chest that there's bound to be bruises, and yet my desperate attempts at gaining warmth are futile. The cold continues to seep in, and it starts to feel unlikely that all three of us will be able to continue going. Not only did we have a similar experience last night, but our water bottle has been emptied to its last drip. All that, mixed with our empty stomachs, doesn't point to anything good.
"We should just get out of here while we can." I mutter.
"I agree; I don't know how much longer we can survive out here." Dahlia says, teeth chattering.
At least she isn't out cold dealing with ghosts. That's still something I'm attempting to wrap my head around. As a kid, my imagination would run wild, and I'd see all sorts of things in my head as a result of being constantly restricted from the outside world by my parents. It wasn't until I started finding real friends that I realised the ghost-like figures that spoke to me were just in my head.
Maybe that's what Dahlia is going through.
Maybe she's just been alone for so long, so she's had to invent imaginary people.
I hope she knows that she's not alone anymore and that she can rely on Adam and me. The thought of the three of us living the rest of our days together as friends is a nice one. Yet, I'm smart enough to know that it's not possible. As much as I push the thought away, it always returns. Not all of us are going to make it out, and that thought alone forces me to wipe tears from my eyes.
It makes me wonder how people can deal with such a loss. If I make it out, will I be able to handle knowing that Dahlia and Adam's deaths are my fault?
The worry that takes over is enough to coerce the questions that I've been holding back to take form in my mouth. Mother always told me it was rude to ask such personal things, but I have to know if living with that loss and that guilt is possible.
"How did you manage after Gena?" I ask, and Adam doesn't flinch. In fact, he doesn't do anything. Simply stares at the ground with those hurt and angry eyes.
He doesn't say anything for a couple of minutes, and I'm ready to leave it at that, assuming he doesn't want to talk about it.
"I suppose I didn't." He says, finally. "I spent just about every day in my room. I quit my job and stopped seeing friends."
It's an honest response, but it's also exactly what I didn't want to hear. If the mourning and the grief did that to Adam, a strong and powerful Adam, then what would it do to me?
Would I go insane being forced to carry that weight on my shoulders?
"Then she came to me." He says, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Like one of your ghosts, I suppose, Dahlia." Dahlia lifts an eyebrow at that but doesn't interrupt. "She told me that I should volunteer. I should finish what she couldn't and win for her. I knew that I had to do it straight away, just for that chance at forgiveness."
"Why would you need her forgiveness, Adam?" Dahlia asks so gently that I can only make it out over the harsh wind, and she places her hand on his arm.
"I was horrible to her." He spits, his sadness twisting into anger. "I laughed when she was reaped; did you know that?"
I didn't. My mind refuses to entertain the notion of him receiving joy from the thought of his sister's death. It's a stark difference from Adam, who boarded that train with me only a week ago. The calm and composed Adam simply sought out solitude.
"I'm sure you had your reasons." Dahlia says, although she too seems a little taken aback.
I'm glad she has the strength to support him, as I find myself at a loss for words.
"Not very good ones." He mutters. "It was jealousy, mostly. My parents always paid more attention to her, and my ego just couldn't take it."
That kind of jealousy is another thing I don't understand. As an only child, my parents only ever had their attention on me. Even if it was too much at times, Guilt clouds my thoughts, as I feel I took them for granted. There's nothing I want more right now than to crawl into bed with them and share the warmth of their bodies as they kissed me goodnight and told me how lucky they were to have me.
"I'm sorry, Adam." I squeak, and it's about the only thing I can think to say.
Silence follows, and, soon, we're back to trying to get our bodies any semblance of rest.
Yet again, sleep doesn't take me. But this time, the cold is an afterthought, and what keeps me awake are questions.
Do I truly deserve to live over Adam, or even Dahlia? I've had my time to laugh, play, and experience love. Why shouldn't they get there's?
But death is not something I can afford to accept, not when my parents are back home and relying on my survival.
A/N: Another no death day...
Maybe there's one coming up?
Hope you enjoyed the drama that is unfolding and also getting to know a little more about some of our tributes.
Alliances:
Robert, Ranger and Scylla
Marcus and Nicole
Malory and Enver
Sky, Ephron, Saxony, Marya and Smith
Quincy, Felix and Wells
Adam, Kaylee and Dahlia
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 1
Quincy - 1
Ranger - 2
Felix - 1
Robert - 1
- Neb