Welcome to wonderland
Where should we go
There's a tea party along down the road
Make an appearance and maybe they'll sing us a song
Ephron Amos
District 6, He/Him, 15
(Marmoreal)
[9.32 AM]
...
("Sara Amos!" The escort calls, and immediately, the cameras latch onto the cherub face of my younger sister.
Tears shine in her dark eyes as she makes her way up to the stage.
Everything in me wants to do something—to rush towards her and hold her back. But I can't, because I'm not there.
"Am I correct in assuming that you are the younger sister of Ephron Amos?"
"Yes," Sara says, her voice trembling.
"Aha! District Six, if you didn't know, Ephron was one of our past tributes. A shame what happened to him, really."
The large screens above the stage light up with my face, bruised and bloody.)
"No!" I cry out as I jolt awake.
All eyes are on me as I sit up, my own sight adjusting to the bright light of the sun.
"Bad dream." I mutter, and Sky offers a sympathetic smile.
"Want some breakfast?" Marya asks, walking towards me with apples in hand. A few minutes later, everybody is sitting down and biting into their apples. The silence that fills the room has become typical in the last couple of days, and I loathe the way it allows me to sit with my thoughts. Have my family been able to get food on the table without me? Are they even still alive?
I choke on a bite of apple at the thought, and, once again, all eyes turn to me.
"What are we thinking of doing today?"
Diverting attention has always been a specialty of mine, or rather, a necessity for pickpocketing.
"I suppose the same as yesterday. Eat, go down to the lake, and sleep." Sky shrugs
"Actually, I thought we'd try something different today." Smith suggests, his eyes glinting mischievously. Marya raises her eyebrows.
"And what would that be?" Saxony asks, and I can't help but be similarly intrigued.
"Let's venture out; see what we can find."
"And why would we do that?" Saxony scoffs. "We have everything we need here."
"It's day five, and there are sixteen people left. This isn't ending any time soon, and we're running out of food."
As he says it, I find myself agreeing. Partly because living off of our remaining stock of fruit is growing tiresome and partly because I've never been very good at sitting still.
"And how do you suggest we make this go quicker, Smithsonian?" Saxony spits, and as her face grows red, I find myself shuffling away from what's sure to be yet another conflict. Yesterday was a nightmare; filled with tension as the two of them glared at each other.
"I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort."
"Whatever."
With that, silence takes over once more.
The parental side of me that was forced to constantly ease tensions between my sisters wants to try and resolve it all, but, at this point, it's starting to feel impossible to keep this alliance together.
"The three of us could head over to the lake now?" I suggest and break the uncomfortable silence. Fortunately, both Saxony and Sky agree to the idea, and, with haste, we make our way towards the lake. The sun shines brightly as we walk in a way it never did in the polluted sky of District Six, and I relish the warmth that my skin absorbs. What is shocking most of all, however, is the smell. The perfumes of the blossom trees are heavenly compared to the acrid tang that clung to the air and my clothing back home, carrying the scent of industrial decay.
Never did I think I would be able to appreciate a part of the Games, and yet the place they have created is something that has only ever existed in my dreams, filled with the pinks and greens of nature rather than the browns and greys of man. A hidden part of me also resents the place for what it is, filled with everything neither I nor my family could ever have, yet everything we could ever want. I imagine there wouldn't be a need for pickpocketing or tesserae out here.
"So, what's the plan?" Saxony asks, interrupting the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves.
"Plan?" Sky and I say in sync, and, as Sky looks to me with a smile, I force a weak one in response.
"We can't stick with Smith forever." Saxony sighs. "He's already becoming a problem."
"As much as I agree, I don't want to poke the bear."
"Bear?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"You know, it's a saying."
"I haven't heard of it." I shrug.
"I suppose I picked it up in..." Sky hesitates. "Well, in my work. It means don't piss somebody off and cause them to lash out."
"That someone being Smith?" Saxony asks, and Sky nods.
"We could run away," I say. "In the night."
"As good a plan as any."
The conversation ends as we reach the lake, and I hastily fill up my bottle, chug it down, and repeat. Sky scolds me about drinking too much too fast, but I tune her out as the rushing, cool sensation fills my burning veins. After the bottles are filled, we splash water over ourselves to wash off the sweat and then begin the journey back to the castle.
"So, when do we leave?" I ask
"Tonight?"
"We shouldn't rush it; things might get better." Sky says.
Saxony laughs. "Better? There is no better game in the Hunger Games, Sky."
"That's not what I mean... Look, if we still feel like we want to leave by tomorrow night, then we can. I don't think we should be impulsive."
I nod in agreement; watching out for my impulsiveness has always been tough. "I agree; we need to be careful about how we do this."
"Fine. Tomorrow night."
As we approach the castle, the reality of it all sets in. The Hunger Games don't feel all that real when you're yet to witness a death, but every part of me prepares for it. Someday soon, the games will really begin, and I must be ready to play them.
Ranger Saladin
District 2, They/Them, 18
(The Gardens)
[11.23 AM]
...
"You know, it's been ages since I've had a real friend."
I snort in response. "We're friends now?"
"Sure, why wouldn't we be?" Robert says, turning to face me with a grin.
"Besides the fact we're supposed to kill each other in the next couple of weeks?"
"Besides that."
"Sure, I suppose we are."
"Are what?" He asks this, raising his brows.
"Friends."
The word sounds foreign as it slips from my tongue. Sure, there were people that I interacted with back home, but never anybody that I felt really comfortable talking to. Yet, as I look towards Robert, who has continued down the trail we follow, spilling my life secrets feels inevitable.
Then the aspect of myself crafted by my mother intervenes, and that part of me doesn't allow friendship or vulnerability. This facet is the one that I know I must take on until these games are over because emotions are a weakness, and Ranger Saladin was not trained for eight years to have weaknesses. This very internal conflict churns within me, torn between my ingrained instincts and my hidden desires.
As I find myself walking alongside Robert, a yearning to know more about him tugs at me.
It's strange, as I've never found myself caring much about others; I was always too focused on myself.
"What's life like for you back home?"
This is a mistake, Ranger. You shouldn't get too close to your victims.
My mother's voice rings in my ears, but I block her out. Knowledge is important, and that is the sole reason for my questions.
Robert sighs. "Normal, I suppose."
"Our understandings of normal are likely very different."
He laughs, and I furrow my brow.
"I wasn't making a joke."
"No, I guess you weren't." He chuckles lightly. "You're right, though. My life has been nowhere near as remarkable as yours."
"In what ways?"
"Well, I'm not a cyborg, for one." He says this, glancing down at my arm. Instinctively, I pull it behind my back. "My family is as normal as it comes. Two parents, an older sister."
"Do you get along?"
"Not always. I've never been close to my parents, but they aren't horrible." He says this as he cuts down a brush in the way of the path. "I'm closer to my sister; she's the reason I volunteered, after all."
"Like how I volunteered for my mother?"
"No, not like that. She started at the academy first, and I followed in her footsteps."
I nod, thinking about following in my own mother's footsteps. I wonder if she'll expect me to become a peacekeeper under her after this, and the thought causes me to shudder. Immediately, guilt follows. It's not that I dislike my mother, but to continue under her control for the rest of my life is not something I long for. In fact, Robert's version of normal sounds a whole lot better.
A mother who wants the best for me but isn't overly involved. Maybe a friend, like Robert, to trek through life with. A career that is a fit for me.
But to dwell on such things serves as a distraction. There is time to figure out who I want to be after that crown is on my head, and that is exactly what I'm going to do.
"These are pretty." Robert says, and I kick myself for not taking in my surroundings.
Seriously, Ranger? That could've been your fatal mistake.
The subject of Robert's admiration is a rich profusion of vibrantly coloured flowers—a rose, tulips, and daffodils—that reach my kneecaps. Their appearance is nothing new; we've come across a variety of flowers down this path, but their constant swaying grasps my attention.
"Why are they swaying like that? There's no wind."
"I'm not sure...but I don't like it; we should go."
As I turn away to continue forward with Robert, a sudden sound pierces through my ears.
"You can learn a lot of things from flowers!"
"What the hell?" I spin back around to find a hole has appeared in the bud of the rose.
"Especially in the month of June!"
Not a hole, but a mouth. "Robert, are you seeing this?"
"There's a wealth of happiness and romance!"
"Are they...singing?" Robert asks as each flower develops a mouth.
"All in the golden afternoon!"
As the melody comes to an end and the holes close up, I begin to back away. "Now, we should go."
"Agreed."
But once again, the flowers grow their mouths, except this time it's not a song that comes out of them.
"Run!" Robert cries as balls of liquid hurtle towards us, the first landing beside me and burning a hole into the ground.
Without delay, I'm sprinting from the flowers and following Robert into a grassy clearing.
"Shit." Robert says, breathing heavily, as we come to a stop. Then he looks at me. "Shit."
"What is it?" I ask, but no answer is needed as I look at my left arm. Or, what used to be my left arm?
Immediately, I'm back in the sparring ring. Sena is opposite me; a devilish grin spreads across her face. Then she's flying at me, sword in hand, and beating me to the ground. Kicking, screaming, and punching. Then there was the sharp pain at my left shoulder as my arm was sliced off.
This time, there is no blood, only dangling wires.
And this time there is no pain, but something so much worse—vulnerability.
Kaylee Vy
District 9, She/Her, 13
(The Scarlet Desert)
[1.48 PM]
...
The sensation of water on my lips causes a complete release of tension in my body.
Since arriving at the castle, both Adam and I have taken trips every couple of hours to the oasis—about a half-mile away—to fill up our bottles. We could likely make the water last longer, but it warms quickly in the desert sun. Besides, Adam and I need something else to focus on.
"Do you think she's okay?" I ask, looking at Adam, who splashes water on his face.
"No, I don't."
"That's not what I meant." I murmur. "Just...should we be leaving her like this?"
"We need water." He says, not bothering to meet my eyes. "She understands."
"Are we doing the right thing, Adam?"
My chin trembles.
"What do you mean?"
"Should we be letting her suffer like this? All alone?"
"We don't have many other options."
"We could..." I hesitate. "We could end it for her." As it comes out, I immediately regret it and think of my parents' likely shocked faces.
"And I assume you wouldn't be the one doing the ending?"
This time, I'm the one avoiding eye contact as I screw the lid back onto my bottle. "No."
"Well, we're in agreement then." He huffs. "Because I'd also rather not." With that, he picks up both his and Dahlia's bottles and begins to walk away.
I make sure to follow him. "Adam, please."
"Please, what, Kaylee?" He snaps, turning. "Please kill her. Please slit her throat so you don't have to feel so guilty."
"I don't want her to suffer." I choke out. "Is that so bad?"
"Not if you're willing to suffer the consequences. I, for one, will not have her blood on my hands."
I let a distance develop between us as we make our way back to the castle. The selfishness of my asking him to do such a horrific thing weighs on me as I trudge up a sand dune, my feet slipping. No part of me wants to re-enter the grand castle whose walls echo with the wails of a dying girl, and I drag out the journey for as long as I can as it appears underneath the blazing sun.
"Don't lose yourself in that arena, Kaylee. No matter what they throw at you, remain true to yourself."
My father's words from his final goodbye replay in my head, but I can't make sense of what staying true to myself is when faced with this decision.
Ending somebody's life is not true to my heart; I know that much.
But another message, this time from my mother, also finds its way into my mind.
"Do your best to help others. Those who do will find that help is always given to them."
As we approach the back of the castle, I block out the internal battle in my mind and concentrate on something more important.
"The bird," I say. "Do you see it?"
Adam shushes me from where he stands, staring up at the spires of the castle. Since yesterday, we've been using the back entrance and climbing over the walls in order to avoid the rampaging beast that took Dahlia. The thought of the beaten-up and terrifyingly grand bird sends shivers up my spine, and I want nothing more than to rush inside, feeling suddenly very exposed.
"No, I think we should be good to go in."
I nod, and we begin our ascent up the castle walls. It isn't easy having to hoist myself and use the entirety of my remaining strength. But nothing about these games was ever going to be easy; there was always going to be death, no matter how long we were able to avoid it. No, Kaylee. She's not dead yet. You can't think like that.
God, but I wish she was as I walk in through the back door of the castle.
Her cries for help send a blade piercing through my heart, and I'm immediately rushing to her side.
"Dahlia, are you okay?" I whisper, touching the back of my hand to her pale cheek.
"Please come to me. I'm ready, please!" Dahlia cries, and I recoil from her broken body.
"She's still not making any sense." I whimper, looking at Adam, who enters the dining room. He averts his eyes completely from where Dahlia's body is spread across the long table. We attempted to move her to somewhere more comfortable, but she screamed and protested, so we decided to leave her until we could figure something else out. "Do you want something to drink?"
She doesn't respond, but I take her bottle from Adam anyway.
"Just a little." I whisper as I tilt the water into her mouth. She's hardly able to swallow it, and I'm worried she might choke, so I pull away.
"You've been with me all along. Why? Why did you pick me?" She says, and I place a gentle kiss on her forehead in response. Then, being unable to continue to see her, I leave the room and enter the living area. It's extravagant, that's the only word I know that can describe it, with countless armchairs and sofas ornate with velvet cushions. Antiques and paintings line the walls, all matching the theme of gold and red.
The beauty of the room is hard to deny, but the girl before this, who would've squealed over the lavishness, is too tired to make an appearance today.
So, I simply collapse into one of the armchairs and close my eyes. I wish to enter a blissful quiet, but, with the cries of Dahlia and the screaming of my own mind, it's one that won't come true.
Enver Naledi-Alder
District 7, He/Him, 16
(The Gardens)
[3.17 PM]
...
As I admire my latest work, my mind begins to drift.
(The child leaves the house to gaze at the creation, and, immediately, his eyes light up with joy.
"Thank you, thank you!" He squeals, wrapping his arms around me. "It's perfect."
A subtle smile forms on my face, and I hold myself a little higher as he rushes to the ladder of the treehouse.
My eyes meet Dad's as a similar smile appears on his face, and he beckons me towards him.
"Admire what you've done here, Enver. The joy that you've created."
As the boy reaches the top of the tree and gasps, I do just that.
"It's all paid off, hasn't it?"
"It sure has." He smiles. "I'm very proud of you, Enver. I hope this is the first of many."
"Oh, it will be!"
Dad chuckles, ruffling my hair. "Always remember the reason for our work. In a world full of challenges, the ability to create joy is a powerful gift.")
Even now, with the half-hearted attempt at a treehouse in front of me, I remember those words and the purpose they have given me. The smiley face tattoo on my wrist reminds me of that day when my life changed, and even when everything seems so impossible, it brings a smile to my face.
"Hey, Enver! This bush has some berries at the back." Malory shouts from behind me, and I hastily follow the sound of her voice.
The bush she speaks of was one we'd picked yesterday, but it seems we missed a cluster of berries.
A grin spreads across my face. "Let's have a few for lunch and save the others for later."
"Agreed." Malory says, and we begin to pick the bumpy, black fruits. "Briana and I used to pick berries together."
"Your girlfriend?"
She nods. "She gave us a basket, and we would go out to the fields after work. Sometimes we'd stay up all night making pies."
"Oh, I love pie!"
"Me too." She laughs. "Sadly, I don't think we'll be able to make any here."
"No, I guess not." I say, deflating a little. "Maybe someone will sponsor us?"
"A pie? I doubt it."
"Hey, Capitol! We'd love a pie if you have any spare money!" I shout to the sky, causing birds to dive away from the nearby trees.
"I'm sure that'll work."
Once we've picked the berries, we head back to our tree and lean against it. The berries are sweet and burst in my mouth; I can't help thinking about how perfect they would be in a pie. Then, I imagine myself in the kitchen with Malory and Briana. They're both making pies, as Malory's brother and I make jokes. Oh, and my dads are there! Yes, they'd probably be cooking something up for dinner.
"No pie before dinner!" Dad would say.
"Your family sounds really nice, Malory." I say. "You sound like you have a good life."
"Yes, it was good." She sighs. "I'm lucky to have been surrounded by so many people who loved me. Not everyone has that, you know?"
"I guess not." I say, frowning. If I had my way, I would make a treehouse for every single one of those people without a loving family. Treehouses always create love.
As we bathe in the afternoon sun, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the garden.
Birds sing their songs, and the humming of insects
However, something else causes my eyes to flash open.
"Do you hear that?" I whisper.
"What?" Malory replies, her own eyes shooting open.
"It's like rustling... I think it's coming closer."
Before Malory can reply, a figure emerges from the bushes with a sly grin.
"Jackpot." The girl from District Four laughs with a large golden trident in her hand. "Run."
Without another word, I'm climbing the tree with desperate urgency, my heart beating out of my chest. "Come on, Malory! We need to get to the top!"
She doesn't reply, but I can hear her grunts from behind me, so I continue forward, hopping from branch to branch and pulling myself further and further up.
As I reach the top of the tree, the place we've been sleeping, I look down in order to help Malory. She's still a few branches further down but is making her way up using the knife. If our lives weren't at risk, then I'd be impressed by how much she has improved.
"You can't stay up there forever!" Scylla shouts from below, but I ignore her; we'll figure that out when we need to.
Malory reaches the branch just below me, and I reach out to help her up.
Yet it seems luck is no longer on our side. The branch underneath Malory snaps, and I grab her wrist as she calls out. "Enver!"
"Hold on, Malory." I say, my voice shaking as I attempt to haul her up.
I'm not strong enough, and I know it, but I try anyway, pulling and pulling.
"Enver, you can't." Malory says, and I notice the tears shining in her eyes. "You can't."
"Yes, I will!" I cry, clinging desperately to my only light in the darkness of this arena.
"Please, Enver. Don't give up." She says. "It won't be easy, but you can't give up."
"No, Malory. We're going to the end together like you said; we'll force them to let us both win!"
"That was never going to happen, Enver. One of us was always going to die." She murmurs. "I always wanted it to be you who went home. Now, at least, you don't have to kill me."
And with that, Malory fights off my grip and hurtles towards the ground. A bloodcurdling scream rips through the air, but it's not Malory's; it's mine.
Her body lands with a crack, broken and bloody, on the now blood-red grass, and I cover my eyes with my hands as Scylla raises her trident.
Boom!
The cannon sounds, leaving me, for the first time in my life, utterly alone.
Sky Mastroianni
District 6, She/Her, 18
(Marmoreal)
[6.24 PM]
...
The rhythmic thud of my knife against the chopping board echoes through the kitchen, done only with the precision of a big sister making a midday snack. Maria is on my mind as I scoop up the carrots and drop them into a container. She was always grateful for food, whether it was vegetables or a sweet treat sat on the table. Motherhood isn't easy, at least, that's what everyone says, but with Maria, it came to me naturally; she simply obeyed, and I was able to keep her safe.
That need to protect her kept me going the years after my parents died, finding every way to keep her happy and alive. Whether it was selling drugs or conducting a burglary, I did what I had to do in order to keep us afloat. Yet I can't help but feel that those sacrifices have gone to waste and that I've failed her after everything by leaving her alone under the staircase while I was thrown onto a lavish train.
She has to be safe, though. She has to be because, if she isn't, there is no reason for me to go back home.
"Saxony, I want you to promise me something."
Saxony furrows her brow as she looks to me from where she peels an onion—food is running low and dinner isn't what it used to be.
"Sure." She says. "What do you need?"
"You know about my sister?"
"The one you talked about in the interview? Yeah, 'course."
"She's all alone out there, and if I don't go home,"
"Woah, I don't like the sound of that." She says this, dropping the peeler and approaching me.
"I'm not giving up." I affirm, meeting her concerned gaze. "It's more so...a precautionary measure."
"Okay."
"If you get out of here and I don't, I need you to promise me that you'll find her."
Saxony takes a breath through her nose. "There was no need to ask."
A small smile forms on my face, and her own lips turn into one.
"I've never had any siblings, but I think that if I did, I would like you as a big sister." She says, and my smile grows larger. It's rare that Saxony lets go of that tough exterior.
"Sisters don't need to be related, you know." I reply. "It's about the bond and the support rather than the blood."
"So, we could be sisters?"
"As far as I'm aware, we already are."
Saxony laughs and pulls me into a tight embrace. "These damn games really play with your emotions, huh?"
"Sure do." I say, but the truth lingers. Saxony is a girl who often feels like she isn't seen, and that is something I can understand. "Now, let's finish up dinner and bring it up."
A few minutes later, with a container of carrots and onions in hand, the two of us are ascending the stairs back to our shared bedroom.
"Dinner's ready!" Saxony calls as we enter the room, and the three of them are immediately on their feet and grabbing at the vegetables. "Delicious, I know. Eat up."
Lunch is eaten with the usual small talk as Marya makes halfhearted attempts at conversation. The five of us can sense the crumbling of the alliance, and the very thought creates a seemingly unending awkwardness. Especially between Saxony and Smith, whose backhanded compliments, or outright insults, persist the entire meal.
"Do you usually eat vegetables, Smith? They might help the constipated look on your face."
Fortunately, once we're finished, Marya floats the idea of her and Smith going down to the lake, and the rest of us agree without hesitation. When the three of us are left alone, I allow myself to take a sigh of relief.
"Are you sure we can't leave tonight?" Saxony complains, and the idea is tempting, but impulsiveness hasn't gotten me anywhere in life.
"I promise, Saxony, we can leave tomorrow." I say. "But to rush things would be a mistake; we need to figure out what to take and when exactly to leave. Let's give it some time."
Saxony simply huffs in response.
"Once we leave, then what?" Ephron asks, and, as I look at him, my eyes latch on to the dark ringlets around his own. He hasn't been sleeping well; nobody has, but him less than anyone else, and I often wake up in the night to the sound of him crying. He isn't the same Ephron I met on the train—the one who cracked jokes and tried to make light of the situation. Of course, the Capitol is to blame for this.
If they ever broke Maria like that, I'd tear them to shreds.
"I suppose we try and outlast the others."
"And what then?" Ephron persists. "When it's the three of us?"
"That's not something I want to think about." I reply.
And it's true. As much as I've always been ready to stay two steps ahead, the thought of being left with Saxony and Ephron at the end makes me feel sick to my stomach. I told myself that I would do absolutely anything to get home to Maria, but how far do I go? If I go home to Maria with their blood on my hands, would that be any better than not returning at all?
"We'll figure it out when we get there; let's focus on that." Saxony concludes.
Dahlia Lucretia
District 10, She/They, 17
(Salazem Grum)
[11.39 PM]
...
"Just a little closer, please, hurry." I whimper as the cloaked man takes another step forward.
Death isn't as scary as I once thought him to be. While the cold that he brings sends shivers running up my spine, it's not fear but anticipation that fills me as he approaches. The excruciating pain causes me to call out for him to grasp at my wrist and take me behind his veil, but he takes his time, his fingers inches away.
"My life is over, I know. Don't make me suffer, Death. Not after everything."
Hesitantly, he nods his head, and the tension in my body releases with relief, but as he outstretches his other hand, it isn't to take me with him. Rather, a bright golden light fills the room, blinding me, and, one by one, hundreds of figures begin to appear around me. Confusion fills me as I look around at the figures, each with the black-filled eyes of those of the dead.
"What is this, Death? Do you taunt me when I'm so close to you?"
He only points to the man closest to me.
"Jonathan Crowther, Miss. You helped my wife and me a couple of months ago." He says, and, as he does, I find myself remembering the encounter that felt so very long ago.
"So, I did," I whisper. "What are you doing here?"
"We're here to help you, as you did for us." He says, and, as the hundreds of ghosts gather around me, I recount how I helped each one talk to their loved one for the last time. "Death told me my wife has moved on. He does that for us, you know, telling us the important things."
"He'll tell me about my family." I ask, thinking of Mom and Dad. "He'll tell me if they're okay."
"He'll do his best." Jonathan says, his lips curling into a smile.
It's then that I realise the all-consuming pain that took hold of me has loosened its grip, only a faint tingle where a thousand daggers used to be.
"Am I close?"
"You're getting closer." An elderly woman says, and I recognise her as Edith Brown, I helped her grieving daughter last year. "But you must finish this on your own; Death can't take you until the time is right."
"When will that be?"
"Soon, Dahlia. Soon."
As I glance around at the familiar faces, each encounter comes flooding back to me. Each ghost carries a story, and I was able to touch each one. Knowing this, everything suddenly feels worth it. The teasing and the bullying—the people who doubted me and called me sick and a liar. Even my parents, who tried to be supportive but never truly understood. Fighting mental battles with myself over my sanity.
Every single obstacle was worth it because I did what I always wanted to do. I helped people, and I made my mark on the world.
"What's on the other side?" I ask, looking at Jonathan.
"Closure." He says, and the radiant light continues to envelop us, the figures around me becoming a chorus of guidance. An overwhelming sense of tranquilly replaces what once was pain, and I know that I'm ready to meet whatever is beyond the veil with those I've helped by my side.
"You've touched so many lives, Dahlia. Your journey is one of kindness and compassion. You used the gifts given to you by Death for good, and you will be forever rewarded for them." Edith says, her voice sounding distant.
"Where are you going?" I say desperation in my voice as their bodies begin to dissipate.
"Death is ready to meet you, Dahlia. This is between you and him; we can't be here when he does." Jonathan says, his voice barely a whisper.
Then they are gone, and the bright light goes with them.
A bloodcurdling scream releases from me as the pain comes tumbling back, climbing up my entire body with its fiery rage. Every bone in me shakes with agony, and my entire body trembles with torment. The anguish is a relentless storm, tearing through every fibre of my being and leaving me gasping for breath. I wait for Death to grab ahold of me, but he doesn't move a muscle.
"Dahlia, are you okay?" A voice says, and my eyes snap to the wide eyes of Kaylee. "Can I do something? Please talk to me."
As Kaylee approaches from the doorway, Death's fingers move an inch closer.
"Yes! Please, help me!" I say, forcing myself to tune out the pain and focus only on Kaylee.
"Of course!" She says, brows lifting in surprise. "What do you need?"
"The knife, bring the knife to me." I say, using my eyes to direct her to one of the kitchen knives lying on the dining table.
"O-okay." Kaylee says, doing as I say and grabbing the knife. Then she places it in my hand.
"Finally, it's time." I sigh and then plunge the knife towards me.
Except that my hand doesn't move as I command it to. In fact, none of my body moves. I'm paralysed.
"Shit!" I cry. "Kaylee, please. You need to do this."
"Do what?" She asks, chin trembling.
"Kill me, I beg you." I sob. "You have my consent; just, please, end it. Let me go."
Kaylee takes a deep breath. "Are you sure?" She asks, tears shimmering in her eyes.
"More sure than I've ever been."
She nods, taking the knife from my hand.
"Close your eyes." She whispers, and I do.
As the cool blade slides across my throat, Death's skeletal hand clutches my wrist.
Then, I'm gone.
A/N: I am SO sorry for how long this took me.
Nevertheless, I'm trying to make sure updates continue at the very least once a month. I've got some motivation back so hopefully these next couple of chapters will come easy to me. Hope you enjoyed this one, though!
Alliances:
Robert, Ranger and Scylla
Sky, Ephron, Saxony, Marya and Smith
Felix and Wells
Adam and Kaylee
THE FALLEN:
16th Place - Malory Black (D11F). Stabbed in the chest with a trident by Scylla Minali (D4F). Submitted by FizzNBoo.
RIP Malory. You were always a fun character to play with, especially with your wholesome home life and relationships with your family and friends. I tried my best to tell a story of a girl who realises how lucky she is and how much she cherishes those she loves but also to bring you out of your shell a bit and allow you to develop trust with others outside of your circle. Your friendship with Enver was certainly one of my favourites so far and it hurt to put an end to it but, alas, it needed to happen as there is, sadly, only one Victor. Thank you FizzNBoo for her.
15th Place - Dahlia Lucretia (D10F). Throat slit by Kaylee Vy (D9F). Submitted by Gomex.
RIP Dahlia. Oh my god, I had so much fun writing you. Obviously, interactions with the supernatural are unusual in SYOTs as, for the most part, it's supposed to be based off a real world future. However, I've never really felt like restricting my Verse to that and it was a lot of fun to explore things like what happens after death and such while using your character. I love how you were able to come to terms with who you were and how you were able to help so many people. I really did love you as a character and I hope I was able to do you justice! Thanks Gomex for her.
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 3
Quincy - 1
Ranger - 2
Felix - 1
Robert - 1
Nicole - 1
Kaylee - 1
- Neb