TW: Mention of suicidal thoughts in Enver's POV.
Dancing through a dream
Underneath the stars
Laughing till the morning comes
Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart
Oooh, won-derland I love
Adam Cooper
District 10, He/Him, 18
(The Scarlet Desert)
[6.32 AM]
...
I don't sleep.
The fire inside of me burns too strong to let me rest for even a moment. Instead, it pushes my feet forward, one at a time, through the scorching desert. I pay no mind to the heat on my back and the sweat slipping from my pores. I'm almost numb to it now that protecting my body feels like a meaningless exercise. All that's left for it is to find the boy from Two, and then it can rot away with the bodies of those I failed to protect.
Kaylee.
Dahlia.
Gena.
Because all roads lead back to Gena, don't they?
She was the reason I was never made to feel cared for. Then she was the reason that I fell apart. Now, it's her death that continues to haunt me, as vengeance is the only thing that feels worth seeking. Kaylee mirrors Gena in every way. The innocent girl from District Nine that I failed to protect. I laugh under my breath at the ridiculousness of it. I came into the games to do what Gena couldn't.
And, yet, it feels like I failed her all over again.
I drop to my knees at that thought. My tears fall in tandem with my sweat, drowning me in all of my sorrow and pain.
There's nothing left for me. Nothing.
The realisation that being a victor would no longer ease my desire for forgiveness has ended in pure hopelessness.
Only one goal keeps me from being lost.
I pull myself up from the sand as I think of the boy from Two and the spear he dug into Kaylee's heart. Then, I push my feet forward as I think of stabbing him with my axe. Again and again and again. One stab for the life that I could never have when Gena was alive, another for the one I lost when she died, and another for Dahlia and Kaylee, who lost their lives to the same Games he fought to be in.
Yes, only his body, lifeless and filled with slices, will allow me to rest because he cannot be allowed to get away with it.
They can't be allowed to get away with it. The games that they made destroyed my life.
But taking down the Capitol is a laughable thought. Even if there was enough fight left in me for that, the impossibility of it is clear.
So, I will settle for the boy's head being split from his neck.
...
An hour later, I approach the dark green of the gardens where Dahlia, Kaylee, and I began our journey. As I step onto the grass, I'm reminded of the fact that I left with them and re-entered without them. The thought only opens a new wound; my desire to live spills out of it like a rushing river.
Fuck, I'm thirsty.
I think as the image of a river fills my mind. I didn't stop at the oasis after Felix left me on the ground, not thinking my mission would last as long as I needed to drink. Now, I see the flaw in that as I double over and dry heave—the dizziness and nausea becoming too much for my body to handle. As my body shakes, I fall to the floor and sob until my tears have dried up with the rest of my body.
I lay there for awhile, wishing death would hurry. Then, everything goes dark.
...
When I awake, Gena is the first thing I see.
"Gena?" I ask, reaching my hand out to touch her. "Am I dead?"
She snickers at that. "You always were a dumbass, weren't you? No, you aren't dead."
I look around and find myself in the same place I was: the gardens of the Arena.
"Then why are you here?"
"Don't know." She shrugs.
Then it hits me.
"I'm hallucinating, aren't I?"
She snorts. "Why does it matter? And why are you on the ground? You look pathetic."
For a second, I almost fall back into that same routine of arguing, but I catch myself.
It's not her. It's just a memory of her.
"I've missed you." I say, not caring if it's really her.
"Yeah, whatever. Are you going to get up?"
I struggle to get my feet up, wobbling and tripping over them as exhaustion continues to eat away at me. Gena spends that time watching me, her arms crossed with her signature scowl. Despite the dreadful memories of it, the scowl that meant I was in for a new insult or fight is comforting to me. As I finally balance myself on my own two feet, I stare into her familiar eyes in silence, not knowing quite what to say.
"Well, what are we going to do?" Gena asks.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, are you just going to stand here? What's your plan?"
"I guess, kill the boy from District Two?"
"Let's do that then." She says, beginning to march off.
"Well, okay." I say, heaving my axe from the ground and throwing it over my shoulder.
I'm much slower than Gena as she speeds ahead on the trail of the garden, constantly berating me for my lack of 'fitness', as she calls it. Yet, a newfound motivation carries my step as I watch her dark hair sway from side to side. Even if she is just a hallucination, it doesn't mean I have to think of her that way. Instead, I see it as a second chance to finally make things right.
I can kill the boy from Two, and Gena can watch as I serve my vengeance.
Then she will know that I have always cared about her.
Then, I can be at peace.
Marya Linder
District 12, She/Her, 17
(The Gardens)
[3.40 PM]
...
Smith's sharp, cold face fills me with dread.
When those dark eyes connect with mine, I'm reminded of the rage they held that day. His dark hair had stuck up in all kinds of places, and his pale skin was splattered with blood. It's a sight I doubt will ever leave my mind because it marked the moment reality snapped into place. I'm in the Hunger Games with a monster of a person, and there's no escape.
If this were a story I was telling to the Winchester children, then I would be the damsel stuck in the tower, her evil stepmother controlling every moment of her life. The thought of Smith as an evil stepmother almost makes me giggle until I remember myself.
This is no place for laughter, Marya.
Because my story doesn't have a guaranteed happy ending. I am the writer, but I have no control. Smith has taken the pen and is draughting the plot as we make our way down the winding path of the garden. Towards the cornucopia and the career pack.
He's stupid.
He's too confident.
He's going to get himself killed.
And, although I've never wished death on anyone before, the thought of the Careers taking care of Smith is one that drives me forward. The only problem is that I'm by his side, with not a single weapon in hand and speed that doesn't match Smith's swiftness. If Smith dies, the Careers will likely take me too. The uncomfortable part is, I'm starting to feel like maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing; at least these Games would finally be over.
Then, I think of my mother back home with that sickly cough. My income as a nanny of the children was getting her that medicine—the one that stopped the scratch in her throat, if only for a couple of hours. It pains me to think of the family that took me in when I had nobody else, struggling as I leave them behind. Yet, it's also a driving force. I have reasons to live and to keep fighting.
Even if everything seems impossible,.
About an hour later, Smith stops me in my tracks.
"We've arrived."
I look past him to the towering structure that encases the cornucopia, its obsidian walls reaching as far as the eye can see.
"Are you finally going to tell me why we're here?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"Supplies. A lucky kill or two."
I laugh bitterly, wiping sweat from my forehead.
"Are you insane?"
I don't know why I ask; that question was answered long ago.
"I prefer calculated and ambitious."
"Calculated?" I say, raising my voice. "You're about to get us killed!"
He sneers. "If they hear you making a tantrum, we probably will get killed!"
I scoff, exasperated, and turn on my heel. The intensity of the moment almost causes me to run, but I stop myself before it gets to that. Running didn't work out well for Sky, and it only made Saxony and Ephron the prey of Smith's predator. No, I can't run.
When I turn to face Smith, he seems to have been reading my thoughts with a smirk plastered across his face.
"I'm going to take a look inside." He says before heading towards the cornucopia.
I drop to my knees, leaning against a tree with a sigh. To get away from him for even a few minutes releases some of the pressure that has been weighing me down, and now that he's gone, I feel the tears that I've been holding back filling my eyes. The thought that one wrong decision led me down this path fills me with regret, and my breathing turns heavy.
By the time Smith is back, I have wiped away the last of my tears.
"Find anything?"
He smirks. "Supplies that could last us days."
I narrow my eyes. "The Careers?"
"There's one, the boy. Still, I think we can get some of those supplies."
"And how do you suppose we do that?"
"I have a plan."
I place my hand on my temple, massaging it slightly.
So far, Smith hasn't had a plan with a satisfying end.
Plus, how in the hell would we sneak past a Career?
It's implausible and arrogant, but I've quickly learnt that's exactly who Smith is. Again, I get the urge to turn and run.
No, I won't be his prey.
"What do you need me to do?"
"You, my dear, are going to be bait." He says with a wink.
Robert Smith
District 1, He/Him, 18
(The Cornucopia)
[5.24 PM]
...
I pace at the entrance of the cornucopia, Ranger's words on my mind.
Nothing has changed.
There is no guilt.
In Ranger's mind, there is only one clear option, and that is taking the crown. As I pace, I try to force my mind to think that way.
The title, the riches, and the glory. That's all you'll ever need in life, Smith!
Yet, as hard as I try, my mind continues to loop back to the same questions.
Is this the right path for me? Is this what I truly want? Is this who I am?
That very conflict is as clear a sign as any that I'm not like Ranger or Scylla because I can't simply focus on that, not after witnessing the horrors of the Arena. My eyes are instinctively drawn to the pile of bodies at the side of the room, their putrid smell becoming worse by the day as their faces grow unrecognisable. Although I no longer know which one the girl from Three is, I continue to feel her gaze on me in every waking moment.
Panem, I need to move them.
I decide that, once Ranger gets back from meeting with Scylla, I'll begin to bury them. I couldn't bear facing the boy from Seven again, so I decided to opt out of the journey. Although some part of me worries that leaving the two of them alone won't end well.
As I begin to search the Cornucopia for a shovel, I hear the thud of a door closing and spin to the opening.
"Ranger, is that you?" I call out.
No answer.
My heart begins to beat to the sound of my footsteps as I make my way out of the cornucopia, taking in my surroundings. As I hear the faint sound of a footstep, I grab my sword from its sheath at my hip and hold it out in front of me, wishing with all my might that I won't have to use it.
"Who's there? I won't hurt you!" I call out once more, trying to discern whether there's a figure in the shadows.
There.
The outline of a person is just left of the door in front of me. I start forward, hoping that it's just Ranger or Scylla throwing some kind of prank—although, logically, this would be out of character for the two of them. Yet, I'm not thinking logically.
I just don't want to kill.
Not again.
As I take another step forward, she emerges from the shadows.
It's the girl from Twelve, her dark brown hair matted and greasy, with patches of dirt across her face. It's clear she's had as rough a time as me in the arena, although most likely rougher by the looks of that black eye. Quickly, I take notice of her hand behind her back and take a defensive stance.
"Look, I meant what I said. I don't want to hurt anyone."
"Me neither." She says, her voice small.
"Then leave, please." I plead, maintaining my fighting position. As much as I don't want to hurt her, I'm not particularly keen on dying either.
"Okay, just...give me a minute."
She looks behind me, eyeing the cornucopia, and I turn to follow her gaze.
"No," she says, stopping herself.
I turn back to see her a few steps closer, her dagger pointed towards me. At that moment, my survival instinct kicks in, and I pounce.
She yelps as I knock her to the floor, her dagger flying from her hand. I pin her as she squirms, then place my sword on her throat. The sharp blade is quick to collect blood, although the cut is hardly deep because, as I stare down into those large, dark eyes, I can see only fear. I can only imagine what she sees in my eyes—a bloodthirsty killer, perhaps? The thought makes me shudder.
No, that's not me.
I can't kill again; I won't.
"I won't kill you." I say. "But you need to go."
She stares back at me, her fear turning to confusion. Then she looks behind me once more.
"You need to run. Now." She whispers, her voice trembling.
"What? Why-"
I hear the footsteps behind me too late.
By then, a sword is already pressed against my throat, pulling me away from the cowering girl.
The girl screams something, but I can't make it out as blood drips down my neck, the cut growing larger by the second. I begin to choke, blood spraying from my throat, and my world grows fuzzier with every cough. As my life slips away, the same regrets echo in my head.
I never should've volunteered.
I never wanted this.
My last thought is of the life I could've had, with a wife and children and a simple white picket-fenced house.
Then there is only darkness.
Enver Naledi-Alder
District 7, He/Him, 16
(The Gardens)
[5.30 PM]
...
Four days trapped.
Yet it feels like an eternity.
Not even my thoughts can keep me company any longer, slowed down by a lack of food, water, and sleep. Instead, my mind focusses on the conversation below in an attempt to pass the time.
"It's been four days, Scylla; enough is enough." Ranger says, sounding as bored as ever.
"It will be enough once he's dead." She hisses back.
It's the same back and forth every day. I can hardly remember the times where I held out hope that Scylla would listen to reason. No, Scylla knows what she wants, and she doesn't let anything get in the way of it.
"I'm starting to agree with Smith now; this obsession is arrogant and downright idiotic."
"He said that?" She spits. "You go back and tell that two timing-."
I don't get to hear the colourful insult Scylla was bound to share. In its place is the sound of a cannon.
Boom!
I jump from the noise as my mind replays the cannon that sounded for each of my friends.
This time, at least, I'm not left wondering who it is; instead, I estimate how long it will be until my own cannon sounds. A couple days, maybe. At this point, simply rolling out of the tree seems to be my last chance at peace. Yet, every time I consider it, the faces of my dad haunt my mind, and the thought of giving up on them roots me to the branch.
Just hold out a little longer, Enver.
Just a little longer.
"I better check that out; Smith might've gotten in some trouble." Ranger says a few moments later and Scylla doesn't offer a goodbye as they leave.
"Maybe that cannon was you, Mr. Tree Boy?" She shouts up. "Still alive up there?"
When I don't respond, a knife comes flying only a few feet above me, and I let out a squeal. Scylla cackles in response.
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.
Thoughts of a knife flying into my side cause me to shudder. Wouldn't my parents rather I fell? Wouldn't that be the less painful way to go?
As I look down from the branch I hang from, my mind thinks back to Malory's hand slipping from my own, and I instantly feel guilty that the thought even crossed my mind. Malory died too young, falling from this very tree. I can't allow the same to happen to myself. So, I roll onto my back and close my eyes, strengthening myself with the will to stay put for as long as I can.
I'm on the verge of sleep when I hear the sound of twigs snapping from below.
Ranger, back so soon?
"Scylla!" They shout, their voice losing its monotone pitch which is replaced with sheer panic. Immediately, I'm wide awake and peering through the bush of the tree.
"What is it, Ranger?" Scylla sighs, turning to face them.
"It's Smith-"
"What? He got a few scratches? Can't the two of you just leave me be?"
"No, Scylla. Smith is dead."
"He's what?" Scylla splutters, finally dropping her haughty persona.
"Just...come on." Ranger says, and, without a second delay, the two are sprinting away.
And I'm left alone.
Alone.
They're gone.
Gone.
My eyes widen in shock, and my world spins as the realisation dawns on me.
I'm free.
Then I jump into action. I climb down the tree faster than I've ever climbed before, hopping from branch to branch with a desperate urgency. As my feet hit the ground, a sigh of relief escapes from my body.
I'm back on the ground!
For a second, I almost dropped to the floor to kiss it. Then, I remember I'm crunched for time and turn to run. That's when I see her.
Malory's body turned to the side, a swarm of bugs resting upon it. It takes me a minute of deep breathing to stop the vomit that threatens to spill out. Dropping to my knees, I rest my hands on her arm and look into the staring brown eyes that Scylla didn't even bother to close.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks.
The sound of twigs snapping in the distance pulls me back into reality.
I need to go.
Yet the thought of leaving Malory here alone rips my heart to shreds.
There's nothing I can do.
At that moment, I decide I have to let go for those who were still alive. My parents, myself, even Malory's family back home because if she can't live then I have to. Whispering my final apologies, I close her eyelids over her eyes and kiss her forehead.
Then, I run like I've never run before.
Ranger Saladin
District 2, They/Them, 18
(The Cornucopia)
[7.21 PM]
...
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I wasn't supposed to be invested, attached, or empathetic.
Everyone has to die for me to win; I know that. So why am I in my head about this? Smith died, so what? He was always going to die.
Still, as I stare down at his lifeless body, I'm unsure. For starters, I am unsure about how I should feel. The trepidation that turned to terror as I entered the cornucopia isn't something I've felt in years. I swore that day that those emotions would hold me back no longer. I wouldn't be human anymore, just a machine ready to take down everything in its path to reach its goals.
Yet they are here again, and they refuse to just leave me alone.
What's worse are the flashbacks.
The cut across Smith's neck throws me back on the ground of the sparring ring, Sena's sword against my throat. The bruises on his face remind me of Sena's fists against my own; the powerlessness I feel now mirrors what I felt then.
You aren't powerless, Ranger!
My mind screams at me.
She beat you down, but you came back. You came back stronger!
And I am stronger, am I not? I was no longer held back by the fear that stopped me from stabbing my knife right through Sena's heart as she straddled me. I am no longer held back by the idea that I might not be good enough, knowing that my adjustments make me superior to everyone else. No longer held back by the arm that was sliced off my shoulder...
Instinctively, my hand reaches for my mechanical arm—a reminder of what I've fought to get here—only to be met with the wires that dangle from my shoulder. At least this time, there is no blood.
With a frustrated sigh, I fall to the ground next to Smith and stare at those lifeless eyes.
"Why'd you have to go ahead and get yourself killed, huh?" I mutter. "Don't tell me you pussied out of killing someone."
I chuckle as I'm reminded of my conversation with Smith only yesterday. I truly had never met anyone like him—so clearly conflicted and suffering, but at the same time a kind soul who only wanted to take the right path in life. Although I won't allow myself to grieve, I can't allow myself to. I force myself to remember him and who he was.
A career. An ally. Maybe even a friend.
"A friend." I repeat aloud. "One I shall miss." With that, I close his eyes and stand. Then, I grab his hand with my remaining arm and begin to drag. I'm not used to struggling with my strength; my mechanical arm has always helped with that, and I grunt and sweat as I pull him to the pile of bodies at the edge of the cornucopia. I place him next to the girl from Three, the one he looked over at so frequently, and leave him to rest.
Then, strengthening my resolve, I stand and place the blade of my sword to the ground. I must be a sight for the people back in the Capitol, drenched in Robert's blood with a missing arm, but I've never cared about my appearance. Strength is all that matters. Power is all that matters.
And only way to take back the power stolen from me is to find whoever the hell killed Smith and slice their throat with my blade.
Nicole Gatsby
District 5, She/Her, 17
(The Gardens)
[8.10 PM]
...
A day spent foraging for berries ends with Weft and I staring up at the sky, our backs against the ground. The musty and rich aroma of the garden relaxes the tension in my muscles as I cling to the crushed leaves and pop a juicy, red berry in my mouth. It's bitter, but the sweet kick at the end compensates for it and has me grabbing for another and another until the pile is gone.
"You could never see this many stars back in Five." I say with a smile, staring out at the great expanse of darkness. "It reminds you how big the world is. How much is out there."
"It does." Weft sighs. "It's scary to think about how small we are."
"I don't mind it; it reminds me that life isn't all that serious."
I shock myself with the words that come out of my mouth. Nicole from a couple of weeks ago would've laughed at something like that. But I'm not that Nicole anymore, and I'm content with living in the present and not constantly worrying about my reputation or my Ice Devils back home.
"I wish I felt like that."
"You could, if you wanted to."
"I can't. My thoughts are constantly spiralling, and my emotions are always at their highest. I want more than anything to be able to control it." He splutters, and the deep turmoil within him spills out with his words.
Part of the reason I felt so drawn to Weft last night was how he reminded me of myself. His unbridled anger, his lack of control. I can't help but feel that I need to save him before he continues down the path I did when my parents died that night. No, that's not a path I would wish upon my worst enemy.
"Well, when you're starting to feel out of control, let me know. I'm your anchor, after all."
He chuckles as I repeat the metaphor he mentioned last night. "It's hard to believe we've only known each other for a day, Nicole."
"Ditto. We'd be childhood friends or something in another life."
"I'm jealous of that Weft."
At that moment, he turns to face me, and I do the same. Our eyes connect, and I notice the tears within them. His usually stern face, with furrowed eyebrows and a frown to match it, has softened with vulnerability.
"I never had many friends back home. Just Warp." He sniffs.
"Me neither, unless you count the Ice Devils as friends." I pause, remembering the cold camaraderie I embraced as family.
"It's strange that it took me being thrown into all this to find people like you and Felix." He says, shaking his head. "It makes me feel guilty, like I never tried to live my life before it was on the line."
"You're not alone, Weft. Before this, Marcus was the only person I ever dared to trust, and even then, I would sleep with one eye open." Thoughts of Marcus touch the surface, and I push them away, fearing the guilt they may once again bring upon me.
"We've only known each other for a day."
"And that is enough for me now. I can't live life as some cynic anymore; it's too exhausting."
He pauses for a moment, looking back up at the sky. "If you make it out of here, what's next?"
I grasp for an answer, but I'm suddenly unsure. What is out there for me? Not my parents, nor Marcus. I couldn't go back to the Ice Devils after this, and I doubt my newfound self could stand it in there for longer than a week. I guess that leaves nothing, just a new Nicole returning to her old home.
"Nothing. There's nothing next."
"And you're okay with that?"
"No. I wish, more than anything, that there was a life waiting for me back home. I wish I could return to my house, as my parents waited for me with open arms. I wish Marcus was waiting to propose, and we could learn from one another and change. But that is not the life I have, and what I am okay with is that I'm powerless to change those facts."
"I wish I were as wise as you."
"If only I knew it earlier, maybe my life would be a hell of a lot simpler."
We both break into laughter, and, as it mingles with the quiet night, I realise that the cold conditions feel a little warmer with him by my side. Warmer than those nights in the arena with Marcus, although that was the fault of the cruel world we were brought up in. This, I recognise, is true friendship and trust—having someone by your side who you feel comfortable and safe with—and knowing that simple fact helps me understand life a little more.
"You could've been a painter, a poet, even."
"And you a magician, travelling from district to district and putting on shows."
He laughs. "A magician! Wouldn't that be something?"
"Sure would. But right now, I'm content with staring at the sky."
"Me too." He agrees and, to my surprise, places his hand on my own. It's not romantic; far from it, just two friends holding one another in the solitary night.
As we lie there side by side, I feel more ready for death than I ever have before. After all, it won't be long before it embraces me, and I will welcome it as it does.
A/N: Getting closer to the end! Only half the tributes still stand and we only have 4 days left.
Alliances:
Ranger and Scylla?
Ephron and Saxony
Marya and Smith
Nicole and Wells
THE FALLEN:
12th Place - Robert Smith (D1M). Throat slit by Smithsonian Caldera (D12M). Submitted by Iomhar.
RIP Smith. Jeez, I really felt bad about killing Smith. However, when reading his form and how he was unsure about his path in life, I knew this was where I wanted his story to end. He showed mercy to Marya in the end and, unfortunately, it did lead to his downfall with Smithsonian (the other Smith, coincidence) sneaking up behind him. I loved his friendship with Ranger a lot and he was certainly important to their storyline, as well as Scylla's, so there's no doubt in my mind that Smith has made his impact in the Games. Thank you Iomhar for him.
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 3
Ranger - 2
Felix - 2
Smith - 2
Quincy - 1
Robert - 1
Nicole - 1
Kaylee - 1
- Neb