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
Robert Smith
District 1, He/Him, 18
(The Gardens)
[9.55 AM]
...
"Let's just leave him." I say, Scylla's stare digging daggers into me.
"I didn't ask for you to come." She says this, crossing her arms. "I'm staying until he's dead."
"Come on, Scylla. Is it worth it?" Ranger sighs.
"Yes. It's an easy kill."
I look up to where the leaves rustle atop the tree where the boy from Seven hides. I can't help but feel pity as Scylla hunts him like a rabid dog would a squirrel. "Do we even know his name?"
Scylla laughs. "Why the hell would we know his name?"
I shrug, and we fall into an awkward silence.
"Enver, my name is Enver!" The boy shouts from above, and I watch as he pushes a few of the branches aside to see through the leaves. His dark brown eyes connect with my own, brimming with tears.
"I'm sorry." I mouth it to him before he goes back into hiding.
"Are you happy now?" Scylla says, eyebrows furrowed.
"I guess."
"Alright, well, we don't want to leave the Cornucopia alone for too long." Ranger says, turning to leave. "See you around, Scylla."
"See ya," I say before following Ranger through the foliage and onto the path leading back to the Cornucopia. Ranger doesn't stop to allow me to catch up, so I force myself forward to walk in step with them. "What was that all about?"
"Well, she wants to kill him."
"Yeah, I got that. But why? All that waiting is a little unnecessary for one kill."
"That's what the games are about, Smith. That's what we were trained all our lives for—to kill." They say. Part of me knows that it's right and that I was sent here to do that very thing, but the part of me that has grown in this arena... The part of me that has witnessed what I have witnessed...
Every night, I see the bloody face of the girl from Three or Aisling with a knife stuck in their back. They have branded themselves on me, a brand that I know deep down will stay with me for the rest of my life. I think of Enver and almost throw up at the thought of Scylla's trident sticking through his chest. Another life branded in my dreams, another splatter of blood on my hands.
"You alright?" Ranger asks, looking me up and down.
"Fine." I mumble.
Ranger shrugs indifferently.
"Can I be honest with you?" I say this, breaking the silence.
"If you'd like to be."
"I've been thinking."
"Well done, you."
I chuckle at that, but Ranger remains as emotionless as ever.
"The boy, Enver, I don't want him to die."
Ranger continues forward, hacking down bush with their machete. "What do you want to do with him, then?"
"Just…leave him."
"Leave him to die?"
"No- "
"Because there are only two options for everyone here, Smith. We either die or we win, and there can only be one winner." Now, they turn to face me. "Would you want him to take your place as Victor?"
I pause, my cheeks flushing. No, no, I wouldn't want that. I want to go home to build a life for myself far, far away from these damn games. "No," I answer simply.
"Then the boy must die." They turn again, but this time, I grab their wrists and turn them back. Their eyes narrow. "Let go of me."
I do.
"I'm sorry, it's just..." I hesitate. "I don't know if I can do all of this."
"All of what?" Ranger says their face turning pink.
"You know, the killing. Having to watch people die, even."
For the first time since I've met Ranger, they laugh. It's a cold and emotionless laugh, completely lacking in any joy. "You have said a lot of odd things, Smith, but this has to be the strangest."
"How do you mean?"
The laughter stops, and their eyebrows furrow as they stare me down. "I mean, that you signed up for this. You were chosen out of hundreds of others who wanted your place. You have had years to decide if this is what you wanted, and you have already decided that, yes, it was."
"But in this arena, things have changed. Haven't they?"
"Nothing has changed. The only thing I think about in this arena is becoming victorious and how I can kill everybody else to do so."
"But the guilt..."
"There is no guilt. Not when I stabbed the boy from Ten. Not when I sliced open the boy from Eleven. They are dead, and they will stay dead."
I don't have a response to that.
"If you can't handle this, then you have to leave." They say those dark eyes are as serious and intimidating as always. "I won't let you get in my way, and I'm sure Scylla will feel the same." Then, they begin to walk back to the cornucopia.
I follow because it's the only thing I know how to do.
I followed Skylark when she began to train. I followed my trainers when they told me to keep pushing for the volunteer spot. I followed the academy when they placed me in that very spot, and I did exactly what I was told.
There were no other options.
But that lie no longer works because I know, deep down, that anything would be better than this. Even if my district shunned me, even if my parents refused to talk to me ever again. Yet I stupidly made the wrong choice.
So, I continue to follow in the hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll finally find the direction that was always intended for me.
Enver Naledi-Alder
District 7, He/Him, 16
(The Gardens)
[10.03 AM]
Trapped.
A feeling I've so rarely felt—if ever.
The branch I hang my legs from is my cell, and the leaves and branches that surround it are the bars of that cell. A prison was something I had heard about in passing, and my only thought about it was that it must be lonely. Yet, lonely is not enough to describe the newfound feeling that engulfs me.
At least when I was reaped, the lonely feeling didn't last long. I quickly found comfort in my mentors and the alliance that welcomed me with open arms. When Odalis and Cybill died, I had Malory to push me through. But Malory is dead now, and when she fell from the very tree that is now my prison, the last of my hope fell with her.
A sudden noise makes me jump, and I pull away the foliage that surrounds me to watch as the two other careers—Ranger and Robert, I have learned—make to leave. My heart aches as I watch Robert disappear among the trees and bush; his mouthing of an apology had given me hope. But that was stupid of me.
There's no hope left, Enver! None!
I force down the optimism that so frequently bursts from me and let my tears flow freely from my eyes. The first day, I held out hope that someone was going to save me. In the second, I had expected Scylla to leave. By yesterday, starvation and thirst had beaten me down enough that I no longer held enough energy to fantasise about a world where I might see my dads again.
Still, throughout it all, Scylla shouts her threats at me and speaks aloud her intent to kill me. I don't understand why, and I don't think I ever could. On the first day, I wished that I had Malory's knife, but then I began to think. What would I even do with it? I couldn't kill Scylla, not even after what she did to Malory; the thought of it is enough to make me nauseous. I swallow quickly, wanting to keep down any of the berries that might still be keeping me going.
Physically, that is. Mentally, I've never felt so tired.
Just as I place my head against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes, a noise puts me back on alert. I quickly recognise it as being above me, and, balancing myself on the branch, I begin to climb to search for it. What I find three branches up almost has me falling out of the tree with surprise, and I gasp. It's a metal capsule with a parachute attached to the top, and it lays so perfectly in front of me. Without another second of thought, I'm opening it, eager to see what has been sent to me.
The sight of a loaf of bread is enough to put my entire world at ease, and I don't waste any time stuffing it into my mouth. I've never tasted bread so soft and sweet; whether that's because of the Capitol's luxuries or because of the starvation that has consumed me, I don't know. When I'm done, I brush off the flour that has settled on my face. As I'm about to settle down for a nap with my full stomach, I take notice of a piece of paper attached to the capsule.
Keep going. I haven't given up on you.
- Eamonn
A grin spreads from ear to ear as I read the note. Knowing that, out there somewhere, my mentor is watching me calms the loneliness that has been torturing me. Then, that loneliness turns to guilt as I think back to Malory. They would've been watching as I climbed the tree, hastily leaving her behind. They would've watched the branch snap out from under her, and they would've watched as I let her go.
I've thought a lot about her in the past couple of days, but the reminder of my failure is enough to make my body shake.
You weren't good enough, Enver.
You let her down.
As my thoughts begin to run again, fuelled by the bread, I can't help but crave the silence of mental exhaustion. I allow tears to slip down my face, knowing that anyone watching already knows how weak I am, and slump against the trunk of the tree. Malory was one of the strongest people I'd ever met, and coming to terms with her death means coming to terms with my own. Because if Malory can't survive, then how am I supposed to?
Then, I think of my dad watching as I give up hope, and I know I must keep pushing. For them.
With a sigh, I begin to climb my way back down to the branch that has become my home. As always, curiosity overcomes me, and I pull away sticks and leaves to reveal Scylla. Every time, I wonder if I might just get lucky—that she's gone to get food or maybe given up on me completely. Every time, I'm left disappointed.
Her eyes lock with mine as I stare down at her, and the utter hatred within them causes my hands to shake with trepidation. Then, without warning, a knife is shooting its way towards me. I yell, jumping back and stumbling off the branch.
I'm falling.
Just like Malory.
I close my eyes and wait for an impact. But it doesn't come.
I squint my eyes open, wondering if I'm already dead. Instead, I'm hanging onto a branch with my feet dangling. I scramble back up, using all my strength to pull myself back up the tree. The entire time, Scylla is cackling.
"My friends brought me some new tools! But you're just like a cat with nine lives, aren't you?"
She's right; I really do have nine lives.
But how long do I have until they run out?
Smithsonian "Smith" Caldera
District 12, He/Him, 18
(Marmoreal)
[12.52 PM]
...
I spit on the pale grass I walk upon—my phlegm is sickly yellow. The few drops of water left in my bottle are downed quickly after that to force my body to keep moving. There's no time to stop, not when Ephron and Saxony are still out there with, I'm sure, intents of doing to me what I plan to do to them.
As if on cue, Marya calls from behind me. "Couldn't we stop for a break?" I turn, my eyes narrowed, to find her already sitting down. Her tanned skin shines with sweat, and her cheeks have turned a deep shade of red. Even now, when her slowing down fills me with such rage, there's something so strikingly beautiful about her.
But beauty is of no use in the Hunger Games.
"Get up." I respond. She closes her eyes tightly shut, as if she were wishing this were all a dream, before standing and continuing forward. As she reaches me, I grab onto her wrist and brush my other hand against her eyelid. The ring around it gets darker by the day, marking the escape of my fodder. "Does it hurt?" I ask, my voice soft and smooth.
"It's fine." She says this, pulling my hand away. "Just…leave it."
But it's not fine. Every time I see that damn black eye, I see red. All my life, I've been able to manipulate to get what I want. So, what went wrong? There were never flaws in my performances; I know that much about my skills in acting. In my tent back in Twelve, there wasn't a fool who left it without paying me their fair share. Yet, this arena isn't my tent—far from it, in fact. The utter lack of control is enough to make me insane.
"You're hurting me." Marya states, her eyes staring blankly into my own.
It's then that I realise my grip is still tight around her wrist, squeezing harder and harder with my growing need for control. Because Marya is someone I can control, isn't she?
"Sorry." I chuckle, releasing her wrist. "I got lost in my thoughts."
She shrugs as if indifferent, and I can't help but feel a little hurt. A shrug, is that all I get? And I thought we were going to be friends. The change in her is oddly scary. In theory, her indifference and lack of opinions should make her perfect for her purpose. Yet, I can't understand what happened to the girl who spoke her mind or what put out that fiery spirit. And can I truly control something I don't understand?
From this moment on, a determination lights within me to bring the old Marya back.
A couple of hours later, we've reached a part of the blossom tree wood that we didn't get the chance to explore on the way here. My reasoning for taking the path is simple, stemming from when Marya spoke to me about the beauty she saw in the trees. "Aren't they pretty?" I ask, slowing down to walk beside her.
"Beautiful." She says, although her tone implies that she is thinking about anything but the pink and white blossoms before us. Impulsively, I decide to take her hand. She tenses as I do but, slowly, begins to relax as our hands swing entwined with each other. Thoughts of Jesse and the daisy flower in my back pocket spring to mind, but I block them out. She'll forgive me when I get home and can finally get down on one knee. For now, though, I must think of Marya as I would a sword being sharpened. I'm simply making her more useful for battle, and when it's all over, I can lay her to rest and forget about her as my life continues as normal.
But is there a world where I can forget Marya? Her smooth skin brushing against my own? The dimples that appear with that mischievous smile? No, it was unlikely that Marya would be left as a forgotten part of my life once she was gone.
My thoughts are interrupted as Marya lets out a gasp, and, quickly, I realise the source of her surprise. Through the blossoms of the trees before us, a shimmering blue can be made out. I rush forward, pushing away the branches that cover it, and jump into the pond with a cackle. "Woooooo!" I cry as I burst from the crystal-clear surface, the coolness on my skin dissipating any anger still boiling in my blood. Finally, something is going my way.
I half expect Marya to jump in with me, but she simply takes a knee and drinks from her cupped hands. "You don't want to clean off a bit?" I ask, a sly smile curling on my face. She doesn't return the smile, staring back at me blankly.
"That's okay; I'm just thirsty."
My eyebrows furrow.
What is wrong with her? Doesn't she want to have a little fun?
Maybe she just needs a little push.
Or a pull more like it.
With a laugh, I grab her ankle and pull her into the pond.
A shrill scream bursts from her mouth but is quickly drowned out as she falls through the crystal surface. The pond isn't deep, but after about a minute has passed, I can still make out Marya's form submerged in the water. Quickly, panic takes over, and I plunge into the pond. She's still in the water, her closed eyes and flowing hair giving off an aura of tranquility. Nothing like what I'd expect of someone drowning.
I pull her into a hug-like position and begin to kick up. As soon as we reach the surface, she begins to splutter, and her eyes burst open with surprise and fear.
"I can't swim, you dick." She spits.
My only thought is that at least she's finally talking back.
Ephron Amos
District 6, He/Him, 15
(Gummer Slough)
[4.36 PM]
...
I trudge through the mud of the swamp, sweat trickling down my face as the sun beats down upon it. Yet the harsh conditions aren't what drag my feet through the mud, but rather the isolating feeling of failure. Protecting those I love has always been my driving force, from stealing bread to keep my sisters alive to signing up for tesserae every year and risking my life at the Reaping.
But I couldn't protect Sky.
I allowed her to protect me. To sacrifice her life for me.
In every way, it feels like a slap in the face to the life I've lived for the past 15 years. Would Ava and Sara be ashamed to see me now? I'm so overtaken by fear that I can't even put up a fight when my ally sacrifices herself for me. If I were thinking logically, I would know that they would understand, but because I'm so wrapped up in grief and fear, it's difficult to think logically about anything anymore.
"I'm thirsty." I call out to Saxony, my voice hoarse.
"I know." She says, fists clenched at her side. "We'll find some water, I promise."
She turns to me, a comforting smile on her face, but I can only stare into her eyes. A fire has been lit in those round coals, and it blazes with a fury that causes me to wince. In the wake of Saxony's death, I have turned to shame and isolation, while she has turned to rage and revenge. It does scare me to see her that way, and I wonder about the monster that's lurking inside. Then maybe she won't be so different from Smith and the Careers after all.
I push the thought aside, knowing Saxony would be repulsed by such comparisons, and continue forward into the swamp.
Fortunately, I'm not left victim to my thoughts for long before the sound of rushing water fills my ears. I quicken my pace, Saxony following closely behind, and shove through the long, growing grass and bush. The sudden relief I feel once I reach the slough is enough to bring me to my knees. The water is a bright green colour, but I don't waste any time shoving it down my throat. The coolness slipping through my body is enough for me to ignore its bitter taste.
I fill our shared canteen as Saxony watches.
"What are we going to do now?" I ask, breaking the silence. Having a goal to focus on has always helped me push forward, and, as Panem knows, I need that motivation right now.
"Hunt Smith." She says she meets my eyes with a content smile.
I match her gaze, conflicted. Smith is cruel, even evil, but hunting him down fills me with trepidation. After all, he killed Sky; couldn't he just as easily kill us? "I'm still not sure it's a great idea."
"You said you would stand with me." She snaps. "Were you lying?"
I wince. "I just want to get home, Saxony."
Just like that, the fire in her eyes dampens, and she furrows her eyebrows in a look of sympathy. "I know, me too." She says. "But we can't do that unless we survive, Ephron, and, as long as Smith is out there, our chances are lower."
"Can't we just wait for him to find us?"
"No. I'm not going to be his prey."
I nod. Not because I agree with her sentiment, but because she has made it clear that she is beyond reasoning with. I understand her need for vengeance, even if I don't share it, and so if that's what Saxony truly needs in order to grieve, then I won't stand in her way.
"Could we find some shelter for tonight at least? Then we can decide our next move in the morning."
She stares at me, considering, with a clenched jaw, before responding. "Fine. But we can't delay it much longer."
"I know," I say.
A few minutes later, we find a clearing and set up a makeshift camp. Although the sun won't fall for another couple of hours, the day of walking is enough for the two of us to be drained. I settle down, curling into a ball and using my arm as a pillow. The first couple of nights, it felt almost impossible to sleep this way, but I've slowly grown used to it.
As I'm about to drift off, the memories of Sky's face filling the night return to my head. The scream that Saxony let out. The tears that flowed down my face. Every night, it's the same memories of the night when I realised how cruel the world truly is. Saxony's uneven breaths are a clear sign that she shares my restlessness, even as both our eyes remain closed.
"Ephron."
"Hm?"
"Do you think we'll ever feel safe again?"
I inhale deeply through my nose, unsure of how to answer.
In honesty, I don't think the constant fear of being killed will ever leave me.
But I know it's not what Saxony wants to hear.
"I don't know." I say, "I hope so."
We fall back into a deep silence, and, as the sun begins to fall, sleep takes us away from our relentless thoughts.
Wells "Weft" Bobbin
District 8, He/Him, 17
(The Gardens)
[9.23 PM]
...
A twig snaps, and I jump, holding my knife out in front of me.
After spinning my head from right to left, searching for the culprit, I find the twig. Right under my foot. My exasperation at my stupidity turns to disbelieving laughter, and I continue forward along the path of the forest with my heart beating at its unsteady pace. Nothing about being in the Games alone compares to my time spent with Felix. At least with him, the imminent fear of death was soothed by my side.
Now, somebody can jump out at any minute, and all I have to defend myself with is a knife I can't even use.
After reaching the gardens this morning, I kept going with blind rage. Seeing the girl from Nine's face in the sky confirmed my worst fear—I had been with a coldblooded killer this entire time. Yet, as I was left to my thoughts walking down the ever-winding dirt path, fear consumed me—as it always does—and I came to the realisation that I'm pathetic enough to prefer a killer by my side rather than isolation.
And I find myself missing Warp more than ever. My thoughts constantly compare me to him and his smarts.
He never would've been stupid enough to ditch his ally.
He probably wouldn't have even aligned with Felix in the first place. Teaming up with a Career and expecting to not have to kill anybody? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You were just too blinded because you thought somebody liked you.
The last thought brings angry tears to my eyes, and I abruptly wipe them away. "Don't fucking cry." I mutter to myself, remembering that the whole of Panem is likely watching me break down. To comfort myself, I think of Warp shouting encouraging words at the TV. I think of him crying as I do and hoping with everything that I make it through this. And, once again, he is my driving force as I steel my emotions and strive forward.
Quickly, I find a stash of berries in a bush and begin to eat away at them. They're clearly not ready to be eaten as they're small with a strong, bitter taste, but my stomach takes anything it can get, and I shove as many as I can into my mouth to get it to stop rumbling. If only I had taken a canteen full of that oasis water before I left, but, alas, my rational thinking comes to me a day too late.
Just as I begin to settle, leaning against a tree, I hear rustling above me. The knife is back in my hand before another second passes, and I jump to my feet. For a minute, I stand in silence and begin to think that I must've imagined it. Then, I hear it again, and, as I tilt my head up, I see the branch above me shaking slightly. I almost run then and there, but curiosity quickly overtakes me.
Maybe I don't have to be alone anymore.
The thought is enough to still my fears.
"Hello? Is there somebody up there?"
The rocking of the branch and the rustling of the leaves above come to an almost immediate halt.
"I don't want to hurt you." I say, my voice shaking as fear returns. "I'm the boy from Eight."
In the light of the sunset, I watch as a head pokes itself out from the branch and looks down on me. I don't recognise her; my memory has never been all that great, but she's neither Scylla nor any of the other Careers, so I let out a sigh of relief.
"You can come down." I say, and when she doesn't make a sign of moving, I drop my knife to the ground in front of me. In the back of my mind, the voice of Warp is telling me it's stupid, but in the moment, it feels right. Once I place my hands in the air, she makes her way down from the tree with impressive ease, and, as she stands before me, I realise how pretty she is with chestnut brown hair and smooth, tanned skin.
"I'm Nicole." She says this, outstretching her hand. "District Five."
"Weft." I reply, taking her hand and shaking it. As I do, I remember watching as the boy from Five's face lit up in the sky only a few nights ago. "It seems like we're both alone."
"It seems like it."
Without need of another word, a sense of security washes over me, and I know simply from her soft smile that I can trust her.
The next hour is spent with me going through the story of my time in the arena. She's silent as I tell her about Quincy, Felix almost drowning in the swamp, the oasis that felt like a gift from a god. As I talk about Felix and the events of yesterday, my heart beats rapidly—whether with anger or regret, I'm not sure. And, once I'm done, she takes a deep breath.
"Holy shit." She chuckles. "He sounds like a right ass."
My first instinct is to come to Felix's defence, but the validation that I feel from her response shuts it down. Felix was being a right ass, wasn't he? At the very least, he wanted me to help him murder an innocent girl.
"He was." I nod. "In that moment."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, other times he was kind. He defended me. He understood."
She looks at me like I'm insane. "He's a Career!"
"I know..." I say. "No, you're right. But he was also my friend."
"If you say so."
"It sounds stupid, but... I want to find him. I don't want things to be left like, well, how they were."
"That makes sense." She shrugs. "Ready for my story?"
"Sure am."
As she tells me about Marcus, his unbridled anger, and his untimely death, tears slip silently down my face. As she speaks of herself, I hardly recognise the girl she tells me of. Her ruthlessness and her rage. The impulsive murder of her boyfriend. Then, she explains what changed.
"I just...remembered them, and suddenly I didn't feel so alone anymore." She says as she is speaking about her parents.
"Your anchor." I say, and she cocks her head to the side. "Your mom, she's your anchor. She keeps you grounded."
"Anchor. I like that." She smiles. "Do you have one?"
"Sure do; it's how I know it's a thing. He's my brother, Warp."
"Weft and Warp, sounds fitting."
"You'd be surprised." I chuckle, thinking of the way our names became such misnomers, with Wade being short and skinny like Weft and myself being short and stocky like Warp.
"Well, seeing as neither of our anchors are here, do you reckon I could use you for awhile?"
I smile sheepishly. "Of course."
"Perfect." She says with a yawn. "Well, not to end this moment so quickly, but it's late. Time for bed?"
I nod, my eyelids already falling and plunging me into darkness.
A/N: This took way longer than expected. I say this every chapter. Whatever!
Alliances:
Robert, Ranger and Scylla
Ephron and Saxony
Marya and Smith
Nicole and Wells
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 3
Ranger - 2
Felix - 2
Quincy - 1
Robert - 1
Nicole - 1
Kaylee - 1
Smith - 1
- Neb