Dancing through a dream
Underneath the stars
Laughing till the morning comes
Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart
Oooh, won-derland I love
Kaylee Vy
District 9, She/Her, 13
(The Scarlet Desert)
[12.21 AM]
...
Dahlia's cannon sounds, and at the same time, the knife clatters to the floor.
Blood stains my hands a deep red as it spills from Dahlia's neck, rushing out like a rainy day in District Nine. The storms that rumbled by in the winter months always terrified me, seeking comfort in the arms of my parents as we attempted to sleep through the rage of the sky. The very fear I felt on those days returns to me in this moment as Dahlis's face is drained of all blood. Except, my parents aren't waiting in their beds to comfort me.
Instead, they're watching me back home, standing over the dying body of the girl I've killed. My mother is likely crying, and my father is screaming at the TV as I'm frozen in shock. The startling image is all too much and serves as proof of the horror I have become.
"Kaylee?" A voice says, and I whip around. Adam's eyes widen in horror as he takes in the scene before him. "Oh, Panem, what have you done?" His voice trembles as he rushes to Dahlia's side, pressing his hands against her neck in an attempt to stop the last droplets of blood that spill out.
"She..." My throat constricts, choked with overwhelming guilt. "She's dead."
"Why, Kaylee? Why?" Adam cries, tears dropping from his face.
"She asked me to." I sob. "She was in so much pain, Adam."
Instead of the comfort that I long for, only anger radiates from Adam's eyes. I take a step back as he stares me down, and then I rush out of the room entirely.
I don't expect sleep to take me as I stare up at the ceiling, sinking into the mattress of my bed. Every time my eyes close, I remember the rough texture of the knife handle as I used it to end a life. A life. Somebody who could have survived will never get that chance because of me.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I sniff, curling into a ball. I'm not even sure there's a camera in my room as I begin to speak to my parents, but the small chance that I can speak to them is enough for me to try. "I don't know what I've become in here, but this isn't me. I promise you."
My brain knows there won't be a response, but my heart longs for one as I sit in the silence of the bedroom, wondering if Adam will ever forgive me.
An hour ago, I thought I was doing the right thing.
Now, I realise how much it cost.
...
Dawn confirms my expectations, with sleep not taking me for even a minute. Dahlia's final moments continue to haunt me; the very screams that led me into the dining room to check on her now ring in my ears with no end in sight. By the time I'm out of bed, the sobs that filled the night reach me once more, but tears no longer slip from my eyes.
Once downstairs, vomit threatens to surge up as I pass the dining room, where Dahlia's body still lies. I wonder what will happen to her once this is all over. Will she remain at the centre of the cedar table until she's nothing but bones? The thought only intensifies the sickening feeling in my stomach.
"Sleep well?" Adam asks as I enter the kitchen, and I'm tempted to turn right back around.
But Adam doesn't deserve that from me, not after what I've done to him.
"Not really." I sniff, taking a seat on the stool opposite him. "Did you?"
"Not really." He echoes, and I avert my eyes from his stare.
"I thought I was doing the right thing." I start, but he holds up his hand.
"Save it." He states. "You did what you did. I'm done talking about it."
"So, what now?"
"I don't think I want to be here any longer." He says.
"Me neither." I reply, thinking about the same sickening feeling occurring every time I step anywhere close to that room. "But I don't know if I can take that journey again...through the desert." Reminders of the sleepless nights and the relentless heat that seemed to burn into me with every step.
"Better than the alternative," he says.
And he's right.
Because the alternative would mean Dahlia's face tormenting and shadowing every thought. If I can just put some distance between her and me, then maybe, just maybe, I can force myself to forget.
"When do we leave?"
"As soon as we can."
I nod. "I'll go grab my stuff."
A few minutes later, we're sprinting from the front door into the morning sun, hoping the bird that started all this is feeling merciful. Fortunately, we make it to the gate without a problem, and the climb is somewhat easier than I remember. Possibly due to desperation. I want nothing more than to leave it all behind.
And as I look to where the sun rises behind the glimmering red of the grand structure, I tell myself to forget Dahlia and her lifeless body. I must move forward through the games and through life, or there won't be a future laid out for me for much longer.
Yet, as much as I try to fool myself, I know that her dark eyes will continue to watch me. They do now, as I leave her alone in death after forcing it upon her.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't save you. I'm sorry I killed you.
The hope that Dahlia might've been right, that there was more after death, dies quickly with the silence that follows my pleas.
Felix Quintus
District 2, He/Him, 18
(The Scarlet Desert)
[9.34 AM]
...
The heat covers my body whole, sucking every ounce of moisture from my skin. Fortunately, my backpack still holds the water we managed to get from the swamp, although the murky brown colour it has turned prevents me from taking too many sips. Even still, it's comforting to know that the beating sun won't completely dry us out until we find an oasis of some sort.
"Do you think we should turn back?" Weft asks from behind. His skin and cheeks are flushed with colour, and sweat drops relentlessly down his light brown skin. I'm tempted to agree; fatigue is beginning to take over, but we've only been walking for a couple of hours, and giving up now would be shameful. No, I already damaged the name of my family in that swamp, and I don't need to be proven wrong by coming here too.
"No, we'll keep going until we find some clean water."
That's the goal of coming here; after all, we haven't had clean water in days, and the dry feeling in my throat persists—a consistent reminder of our struggle. I never thought my main struggle in the Hunger Games would be finding water. The academy prepared me for fighting and killing mostly, with a few lessons in survival skills every couple of weeks, but mastering the spear was always my focus.
A lot of good that's done to me so far.
"Here, why don't you take the knife?" I say, taking the knife from my pack and handing it to him. His arm doesn't move to take it; he simply stares blankly at me.
"I don't want to." He replies, not moving his eyes from my own.
"We might run into people here; it's best to be prepared."
"I'll take it when and if we see them, then." With that, he brushes past me with a flicker of defiance in his step.
Since the swamp, things have been tense; anything could set Weft off in a matter of seconds, and, although I've catered to it so far, it's starting to get on my nerves. This isn't what I need to be surrounded by in the games. I need like-minded people with similar goals—bringing honour to our districts and serving Panem—to keep myself in check. But Weft...Weft has no idea what he is doing.
"What's up with you?" I ask, speeding up to walk beside him.
"Nothing."
"Are you sure? You've been acting strange."
"Well, forgive me if the death tournament begins to weigh down on me." He snaps. "I'm hot, I'm thirsty, and I'm tired. And I don't want to talk about this." Again, he speeds ahead of me, and I sigh. If he doesn't tell me what's wrong, how the hell am I supposed to fix it?
Again, I force my numb legs to catch up to him. "I understand if you don't want to take the knife. It's fine."
"Okay."
"But since the swamp, things have been weird between us, and I just want to understand what's going on."
He sighs, wiping sweat from his face. "You could've died."
"What?"
"You could've died, and it would've been my fault. When you fell, my body froze up. I was useless, and your head was so close to going under."
"But you saved me." I point it out. "You pulled me out."
"You had seconds left, though. What if I freeze up again? This time fighting against Scylla or one of the other careers."
"I've got your back." I shrug. "I'll defend you until you snap out of it."
"And if you can't? If I let us both die?"
"Then it was meant to be, Weft, but it wouldn't be your fault." I sigh. "You aren't dragging me down; we're in this together."
Suddenly, I feel very guilty about my previous thoughts. Weft wasn't trained for this, and of course he doesn't know what he's doing; that's not his fault. And he did save me, seconds before I thought everything was going to end. If it wasn't for him, I would've been a disgrace. Sinking and drowning are not acts of honour; I know that well enough.
"My brother, Warp, and I were always able to rely on each other. Warp was good with his words, telling anyone who'd pick on us to fuck off, and I could hold myself in a fight. We survived that way, the two of us sticking together. Now that you're here, it doesn't feel like much of a team effort."
"You can still hold yourself in a fight, Weft."
"With my fists against a scrawny teenager, maybe, but a career like Ranger? I mean, the weakest of the careers almost slit my throat."
"Half this Arena couldn't beat Ranger in a fight; I wouldn't worry too much about that."
He sighs. "I guess."
We walk for the next few minutes in content silence until Weft gasps.
"What?" I ask, lifting my spear.
"There! Look!" He cries, pointing in the distance to the silhouettes of palm trees.
"An oasis!"
Without another word, we're rushing forward. No longer do we worry about the sun on our skin or the dryness of our throats because our refuge is in sight, and the very thought of the cool water reaching our tongues pushes us forward.
It takes about ten minutes until we reach the oasis, and the spring of water quite literally brings me to my knees. Immediately, I cup water in my hands and pour it into my mouth. Relief crashes over me as heat dissipates from my body. Finally, something is going my way.
Scylla Minali
District 4, She/Her, 18
(The Gardens)
[1.30 PM]
...
Frustration bubbles up inside of me as I stare up at the towering oak tree. This is how last night had been spent—slapping myself every time my eyelids began to fall. Then, this morning, Robert found me out here, and I told him about what happened—how I killed the girl from Eleven and how the boy from Seven remained up there. Ranger had thought the cannon was mine, which only served as a reminder of how they underestimated me and how I can play that to my advantage when the time comes.
The lack of movement in the last few hours worries me.
Had he managed to escape?
Is the Capitol laughing at me right now?
"What are you doing up there?" I shout, trying to provoke a reaction. "Do I need to come up and get you?"
Leaves rustle at that, and the tension constricting my chest loosens.
"I have a knife!" He cries. "I will use it if you come up, so don't!"
I chuckle and reclaim my seat on the ground, leaning against one of the opposite trees. There's no need to risk climbing up to get him; he'll be forced to come down soon enough to get food and water. Or he'll starve up there; either way is the same result, and I will know that I've leaped over another obstacle on my way to victory. Still, being forced to wait is difficult, and despite my lack of sleep, restlessness ripples through me.
Simply doing nothing is not in my nature; there's always been something else I could be getting on with.
Yet this is the true test, forcing myself to sit and wait to accomplish this goal. Which is exactly what I am going to do. Because getting rid of the boy from Seven will bring me one step closer to a home that doesn't need constant fixing and a brother who doesn't need to be continuously worn down by his relentless working. Maybe then doing nothing won't be so hard because, when that day comes, everything will already be in place.
As my mind wanders, I find my mind latching on to the body of the girl from Eleven. Her red hair is strewn across her face, and she has become even paler since I last looked at her. Her arms and legs are twisted in strange, unnatural angles that make even my strong stomach rather queasy. But what truly catches my attention are the three holes placed in a line on her torso; blood no longer spills out of them, but it has dried around them on her dark jumpsuit.
Allowing my mind to not be solely fixated on the games means that those holes bring me back to another day, four years ago. The first thing I noticed when I entered my grandmother's room, ready to listen to her daily preaching, were those very same holes scattered on her body. At that time, the blood had still been flowing from her. I remember the tears that sprung to my eyes, though I don't recall feeling any grief as I stood in that doorway. Possibly relief. Lien's death had given me life, and Malik had given me life by that same logic.
While I usually suppress such memories to not be distracted from my training, they act as a driving force now. Malik did something for me that I can never repay by giving me an escape from the cult that had anchored me to the ocean bed. But that doesn't mean I can't try. That doesn't mean I can't push myself to my very limits to bring him the life he deserves, just as he did for me.
So, when I look at the body of the girl from Eleven and recall the body of my late grandmother, guilt doesn't even cross my mind. No, both of those deaths have been necessary for my life. For the life I deserve and the one that was stolen from me until four years ago. This is the same logic that forces me to sit at the tree where the boy from Seven prays and hopes for his life, as his death is also vital.
A branch snapping pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Nice try." I smile at the boy from Seven as he scrambles back to the top of the tree.
Empowerment rushes through me as I understand the control I have over his life. If I turned for, say, five minutes, he might very well live. If I stay here for days, he will most certainly die. It's a position I'm familiar with, except as the victim and not the one in control. Lien always had her grip on every part of my life, deciding who I could see and when I could sleep. Now it's my turn to be in control, and, unlike Lien, I will not slip up.
She was too proud and too confident. She thought she was untouchable. She never expected death to be brought on her by one of her own.
Yet that's something I know all too well: your trust should never truly be given to somebody. They should only think that you trust them because it makes it a whole lot easier when you turn around and stab them right in the heart. Robert will be easier than Ranger, but both of them will be under my control in no time, just as the boy from Seven is now. And when the time is right, I will kill them just as easily as I will kill him.
Then, I will take the crown and the riches and finally go home to the life that's rightfully mine.
Marya Linder
District 12, She/Her, 17
(Marmoreal)
[9.24 PM]
...
As the day comes to an end, I'm relieved. No cannon sounded today like they have been doing so consistently, and the tension of waiting for faces to appear in the sky is one I'm glad to avoid. It's odd—the sadness that fills me at seeing those faces—as I never did know them besides the odd glance during training or a comforting smile after the interviews.
Yet when the girl from Eleven's face fills the sky, I see my own innocence staring back at me. Same for the one from ten, even the boy from five. None of us had asked to be here, but we were thrown in to fend for ourselves, so when one of them dies, my own heart aches, as what became of them could just as easily become of me.
"Will you just shut up?" A voice shouts, and, just like that, the usual tension of the Games returns.
As it does, I sigh and pick myself up from the castle steps, turning away from the orange hues of the sky. It's nice to get away from the others, if only for a few minutes, but to neglect them completely would be a mistake. Especially with the ongoing feuds that have grown more fiery since even yesterday. Another shout from one of the living areas bounces off of the pristine marble, and I pick up the pace towards the room.
"Is there something wrong with wanting a bit more food?" Smith spits at Saxony as I enter, fury blazing in both of their eyes.
"Yes, in fact, there is!" She cries. "We're running out, you idiot; we need to fucking ration it."
What the hell is Smith doing? He knows we decided to ration the food yesterday; why is he provoking her like this?
"Can we just calm down?" I plead, and all eyes turn to me. "Let's just try and keep this together for at least a couple of more days."
Nobody responds. It's the first time someone has dared to acknowledge the reality of our situation—this alliance is falling apart and won't last much longer. Yet the mischievous look in Smith's eye as he stares back at me sends chills up my spine. At that moment, I remembered the deal we made.
Two days.
I had promised we'd figure something else out if all of this didn't stop in two days. Time is up.
Without another word, Smith leaves the room, but catches my eye as he does. I know he means for me to follow him, and my hands tremble slightly as I do.
"Yes?" I ask as he leads me into the kitchen.
"Time's up."
"Smith, I know, but..."
"No, no buts." He hisses. "You said two days, and I'm sick of all this."
"If you just cooperate with them more, then it won't be so bad!" I snap back. I've always held back when speaking my mind to Smith, but he needs to know I'm going to stand up for myself. "I mean, we agreed to ration! What were you thinking?"
"I wanted food, so I took food." He states. "Once it's just the two of us, those are the kinds of things we can do. We'll have enough to last us days."
My rumbling stomach answers for me; it's a tempting offer to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner again.
But destroying myself isn't worth something as trivial as more food.
"Just one more day, please."
"No." He says. "This is what we have to do. I'll go get my sword; you grab your knife." It's a demand, an order.
I'm aware that most people would start heading to the bedroom to grab their knife out of fear of what Smith might do to them otherwise. But I've never been good at following my head, and my feet take me to the living area that Saxony and Smith had been arguing in. The three of them are talking in hushed voices, but all go silent as I enter.
"Marya." Sky nods.
"You need to go." I murmur, fear of Smith hearing me, causing my voice to shake.
"What?" Saxony responds, standing up from the armchair.
"He's going to kill you all. You need to leave now."
The three of them only stare back at me in shock.
"Please, you need to hurry."
They don't need any more than that; they grab their pack and shove whatever they can inside. We all know that Smith is the only one with a sword, the rest of us have knives but it's no match and Smith has already demonstrated such skill. Even if it was four against one, it might end in Smith dying but he'd likely take one or two of us down with him.
"I can't believe this... I can't believe him." Sky says between deep breaths. Then she turns to me. "Come on, grab your pack!"
"It's upstairs."
"Well, we'll leave it here. Let's go."
"I can't come." I say. "I need to distract him to make sure he doesn't catch up to you."
Now, it's time to follow my head. Because my heart so badly wants to listen to Sky and rush off into the night with these people who will care for me so much more. Yet my mind knows that Smith will some day catch up to us, and he'll kill us all. I won't let that happen.
Then, I hear someone coming down the stairs.
"Hurry!" I hiss. "You'll have to go through the back door."
They rush out of the living area, but before they do, Sky turns to me. "Thank you," she says. "Good luck." She pulls me into a quick hug.
"Wait," I say. "Punch me."
"What?"
"Just do it! As hard as you can!"
And she does; her knuckle flies into my left cheek, and I fall to the floor from the impact. "Now go." I managed to get out.
As Sky leaves, I wait on the floor and prepare myself for what's to come. A few minutes later, Smith enters.
"What the hell? What happened?" He cries.
"They attacked me and got away." I mutter, clutching my face. "They're gone."
I don't dare to open my eyes, fearing what I might see in Smith's.
"No. They're not."
Sky Mastroianni
District 6, She/Her, 18
(Marmoreal)
[9.41 PM]
...
"Keep running." I say this as Ephron begins to slow. "We need to get far, far away."
The castle can still be seen in the distance, which means anybody coming out of it is likely to see us.
My heart beats out of my chest as I try not to think about everything that just occurred.
Just keep running, Sky.
I knew Smith didn't like us, but to try and kill us? And now Marya is left with him all alone. Guilt sets over me as I think about her crumpled on the floor and Smith coming in. What if he kills her for letting us go?
That would be your fault, Sky. You left her behind.
Immediately, I come to a stop. "Marya." I say, and Saxony and Ephron stop before turning to face me.
"What about her?" Saxony asks. "We need to go."
"She saved us, and we're leaving her."
"She told us to, Sky! We need to go!"
I force myself to believe that she's right and that Marya will be okay. But even if she does live now, she'll be stuck with him.
I think to Maria, who likely watches me now as I run through this pink forest, debating whether I should leave another behind. If Maria wasn't watching, I wouldn't be questioning it. Because running is my best chance at getting home to her, and that's what all this is about. But Maria is watching; at least, I tell myself that she is because the alternative... Well, the alternative would mean there's nothing to go home to, and I can't afford to think like that.
"What would you have me do, Maria?" I whisper into the sky. Yet I don't need to ask.
Maria always loved her stories of heroes. Robin Hood and King Arthur were doing whatever they could to protect their friends and the most vulnerable. I'd never been one of those heroes, but she always thought of me as one. But no, I was selfish, and I was a criminal. I did what I did for Maria, but I did it at the expense of others who were just as vulnerable, and that's something a hero would never do.
But when I did deal drugs, when I did beat up others, Maria hadn't been watching. That was always my protection. I could come home and pretend to be someone else, a big sister who had come home from her honest job and put food on the table for the sister she loved so much. I was never a criminal when I was around Maria; I always felt more like a hero.
Now, I realise that I don't want her to think of me otherwise. I want her to believe me as a hero.
"Stop." I say, and the two of them do.
"We need to go further," Saxony starts, but I interrupt.
"Do you remember what you promised me?" I ask, looking into her eyes.
"Sky..."
"Do you remember?"
"Yes, to look for your sister if I get out of here."
"Good." Then, my eyes turn to Ephron. "Would you make me that same promise?"
"What's her name?" He asks.
"Maria Mastroianni."
"If I make it out, then I'll ask everyone in District Six for her." He nods, and I know then that he realises what I'm doing.
"What's going on?" Saxony asks, her eyes growing wide.
"I'm going to turn back."
"What?" She cries. "Why?"
"Marya is back there."
"But-"
"That's not the only reason." I sigh. "He's going to catch up to us. Whether tomorrow or a week from now, he'll be on our tail."
"You're going to kill him?"
"Or get you some extra time trying to." I nod, and she flings herself into my arms.
"But I could do it!" She sobs. "Let me do it, Sky. Please."
"No, Saxony. I'm doing this for Maria." I say. "This isn't goodbye; there's a chance I could make it."
"But you need to get home to her," she says.
"I want to so badly, but I have two people who can do that for me now." I say, and she pulls out of the embrace, her glassy eyes staring into my own.
At that moment, I realised the true friendship I'd made in this arena. A girl so excluded from the realities of the world and one who knew them all too well. I know what I said yesterday was true—that she was a sister to me. So, as I say my goodbyes and promise to see them soon, I know that I am doing this for two sisters rather than one.
It isn't long before I run into Smith running towards us, and he stops in his tracks as he notices me.
"You came to fight me?" He chuckles.
"Yes."
"How very brave of you." He retorts. "Although a sword against a knife feels like quite an easy fight,"
"We'll see." I say, knowing that he's right but knowing something more.
I have people to fight for. Isn't that what always gets the heroes in Maria's stories through a fight? Their bravery and grit against the evil kings and monstrous dragons. There were always impossible fights, and yet the hero always came out alive.
Without a second to spare, Smith lunges for me with a surprising amount of skill, and I stumble back. It's then that I remember watching him fight on that first training day—the very thing that drew us to the District Twelve pair as a potential alliance. Now, fear runs through me.
He tries again, and this time, I parry back with my knife and try to push his sword away. But he keeps coming at me, lunging and lunging and forcing me to doge and parry until I'm out of breath. If I'm going to win this, I need to force myself into the offensive.
So, when he swings for me, I duck under the sword and stab at his side. But he sidesteps with the ease of a skilled fighter.
How does he know how to fight so well? I've used everything I've managed to pick up from the streets, and yet he still seems to be a level above me.
As he swings again, though, I force myself out of my head. This time, I manage to slice across his hand as I duck under, and he curses. Now, his usually pale face goes red with uncontrolled anger. As I stand, he pulls the very move that impressed me that day a week ago. Then, I had expected that move to be used to protect me. Now, I realise that may have been my fatal mistake—choosing such a skilled ally.
He dives at me and grabs me by the waist, pulling me to the floor and causing me to drop my knife. He pins me to the ground, his sword still in his hand.
"Good try." He grins, then stabs me through my stomach.
The pain that jolts through me is comparable to nothing I've felt before, and I scream with pure horror as blood spills from me. I don't hope for my survival; I know there's no point, but I hope that Maria looks away at this moment. I hope she doesn't watch as I fail her.
Because as Smith stabs me once more, the revelation to all those watching is clear.
The hero doesn't always win.
Then, everything goes dark.
Robert Smith
District 1, He/Him, 18
(The Cornucopia)
[11.55 PM]
...
"Have they announced the dead yet?" Ranger asks as they enter through one of the doors of the cornucopia room.
"Not yet." I reply, running my finger up and down the blade of my sword. "It should be some time soon."
"We could go outside and wait."
I shrug with indifference, and they take it as a yes, leading the way outside of the cornucopia and into a field of grass. Without the trees and plants filled in the rest of the gardens, there's a clear view of the sky and therefore of the announcement that's soon to come.
"Any predictions?" Ranger asks, and my stomach churns at the thought of predicting somebody's death. It feels so wrong.
"No."
"Well, it won't be the boy from Seven because Scylla would've come back by now." They say. "Maybe it's Scylla."
"Possibly." I say it, but I doubt it. Scylla can hold herself in a fight against most of the people left, and training showed no real combat abilities from the boy from Seven besides with an axe. Scylla said he doesn't have an axe, though, or anything of use up in that tree. He's simply trapped, waiting for death to take him in the form of a golden trident. Again, the guilt caused by the inner turmoil of the last few days begins to set in.
Why should we be able to train and volunteer while they are forced into this? I chose to do this, and I'm struggling. I can't even imagine how they feel.
I can imagine what my trainers at One's Academy would say, though. Focus on your goal, Smith. Kill them and take the crown.
They're right. That is what I need to focus on, but part of me knows that, when faced with the opportunity to kill, I am going to hesitate. I won't be able to help it as, since Aisling, everything just seems so much clearer. Aisling had a life; people back home. Everyone here has that, and for me to just kill them... Well, it's something I'm not sure I can do anymore.
"Here it comes." Ranger says as the Panem anthem begins to play. My hands go to my ears to drown out the grating sound, and part of me wonders if it's because of the disgust that's grown in me over the Games and the Capitol by association. Yet the very thought betrays everything instilled in me, so I push it away. The games are punishment; the games are necessary. Most importantly, the games are honourable.
As the anthem comes to a close, the girl from Six's face lights up in the night sky. She's pretty with wide, brown eyes and long, dark hair. I remember how she spoke about her sister during the interview, about making it back home for her. That's impossible now, and I can't help but wonder what will happen to the girl's sister when she doesn't return home. I also wonder if the person who killed her felt the honour that we are supposed to feel.
My mind takes me back to the body of the girl from Three, memories of her fiery spirit come in waves. She had her whole life ahead of her with that ambition and that drive, but I stole that from her. Is there any honour in that? Yes, it might mean coming home to my district with a crown on my head and some riches to share, but I'll also be coming home with blood on my hands. Why should I be forgiven so easily?
"You okay?" Ranger asks.
"Fine."
"Did you know her?"
"Who?"
"The girl who died."
"No." I sigh. "I didn't know her."
But part of me feels that isn't true. I knew about her sister; I knew what drove her. Isn't that enough to know a person?
"You just seem sort of..." They squinted their eyes, looking me up and down. "Sad."
"Just tired." I reply, and they shrug in response.
"Better get some sleep then." They say, standing. "Coming?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."
As the door closes behind them, I sigh and fall onto my back, looking up at the stars. I wonder if a different Smith in a different universe looks up at these stars on this very day from District One. He has normal friends, parents who love him, and goals of a career in something academic like being a doctor. That Smith doesn't have to worry about surviving or what he might do to survive. That Smith lives the life that he chooses to live with the people he chooses to live it with.
Maybe someday, after these games, I'll be able to steal the life of that Smith for myself. I can look up at these same stars from Victor's village with my wife beside me as we tell our children about the constellations. Skylark would be there too, with my nephews and nieces, and everything would be set right by my becoming a Victor.
Because surely I will become a Victor?
A/N: Another chapter...another death. We're getting closer and closer to the end!
Alliances:
Robert, Ranger and Scylla
Ephron and Saxony,
Marya and Smith
Felix and Wells
Adam and Kaylee
THE FALLEN:
14th Place - Sky Mastroianni (D6F). Stabbed with a sword by Smithsonian Caldera (D12M). Submitted by Very New To This.
RIP Sky. This was definitely one of the hardest deaths for me to write so far as part of me wanted to keep writing Sky but, also, I felt this was a good place for her story to end. When I received her form, I always knew that I wanted her to finally become that hero that she always thought she wasn't and I really tried to do that here by having her go down fighting for her friends and for her sister. She had such a great connection with Saxony that I absolutely adored and it will most definitely impact Saxony as we move through the story. Thank you Very New To This for her.
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 3
Quincy - 1
Ranger - 2
Felix - 1
Robert - 1
Nicole - 1
Kaylee - 1
Smith - 1
- Neb