Imre Archaga, 18

District 1 Male

"I don't know what I'd be doing if I were anywhere but here."

It was a beautiful day.

Orange rock towered around them, layered with mesmerizing stripes that wove through its sides. Off in the distance, to Imre's right, he could see a river glinting in the bright sunlight. The sky was a picture-perfect blue, not a single cloud to disrupt it. The Cornucopia was made of brilliant glass. It had been carved in such a way that it functioned as one large prism, sending rays of color scattering across the canyon floor.

Imre took in a deep, long breath. This was everything he'd ever wanted.

Ahead of him, within the prism-like Cornucopia, he could see weapons. Backpacks and loose supplies littered the ground in front of it, but the good weapons were inside, rays of red and blue and purple illuminating the metal.

He glanced to his left- an older boy stood there, his hands curled into trembling fists. The patch on his jacket identified him as the Six boy. He caught Imre looking and glared. Imre shrugged and looked away.

On his right was one of the small girls. It was the blonde one, her forehead covered by choppy bangs. She ignored him, her gaze instead trained steadily on the weapons pile. Imre admired her focus.

Fuck, he needed to focus. He scanned the rest of the circle that he could see, searching for his allies. Skip was closest; the Four boy gave him a jaunty wave, which Imre returned with a smile. Beyond him was Circi, her head bowed. He could just barely make out Lorenzo, too, standing like a statue atop his podium. Emryn and Violane must have been obscured by the Cornucopia.

Only a few seconds remained, now. Imre took one more deep breath.

It really is beautiful here.

The minute was up.

Twenty-four tributes bolted. Imre lunged, tearing toward the Cornucopia. The world blurred around him, he ran so fast.

(He had to do this. If he didn't, there would be no after. No chance to learn what else he was capable of.)

His boots slammed against glass. Nearby, Emryn claimed a spear and sprinted away. He would've liked the familiarity of a machete, but he didn't have that kind of time. A collection of throwing axes laid in a pile to his right. Imre gathered four of them and turned on his heel, stepping back into the sun.

It was chaos outside. He could already hear tributes starting to scream. A girl tripped and fell, slashing her knee open on the rocks. A boy punched another in the face over a supply bag. And along the near wall-

-Imre squinted. Is he insane?-

-a boy was already ten feet off the ground, scrambling upward in hopes of safety.

He recognized this one: it was the hyper kid from Eleven, who had spent most of training doing the obstacle course at top speed. Imre tightened his hand around his first throwing ax. Ten feet wasn't all that high. He'd pick this one off easily.

He raised the first ax, winding up to throw. As he hurled it forward, the sun glinted off the metal, temporarily blinding him; the throw went high, clanging against the rock above the Eleven boy's head.

The Eleven boy ducked just in time as the ax went crashing back to earth. The boy screeched, looking down at Imre. His dark eyes were wide with a fear too great for his face. Panic set in quickly, and in a blink, he was scrambling higher, higher, trying to get away from Imre.

Imre gritted his teeth. He was good at this. He would not miss again.

("This is your calling, Imre. Not mine."

"How do you know?" Imre asked, desperation seeping into his words.

"I don't want this," Nio answered. His older brother looked tired, as though breaking this to their parents had sapped him. Knowing them and their shining hope, it probably had.

"But how do you know what you want?" Imre pressed.

Nio rubbed his temples. "I just do, okay?"

"But-"

"I'm sick of explaining myself," Nio interrupted. "I don't want to go to the Games. I want to make art. I want to live. I- I like it more. It makes me feel like myself. I have to do what I want for once, Imre."

Nio stalked away, his shoulders hunched, before Imre could ask more. The questions brimmed at his lips- how did he know what he liked? how did he know what made him feel like himself? how did he know Imre would never be good at anything else?- but Nio was gone, slamming his bedroom door shut.)

This was what he was best at.

("They didn't choose me, Nio," he said. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Anything you want," Nio answered.

Imre didn't know what to say to that.)

He would be good at this. He would be the best at this. And then, when he'd completed this task, accomplished his parents' wildest dreams and freed himself from training, he'd find something he loved.

("Due to Valiance's accident earlier this afternoon, we need a new Volunteer. We choose you, Imre. We've called your parents, and they're on their way. We're absolutely thrilled that you'll be representing us, don't worry about Valiance- really, he did us a favor by proving you're the much better candidate…")

(They changed their minds. They chose me. They chose me. I'm happy. I can't throw this away. What if this is what I'm meant for? Stop with the wishful thinking. I got picked. I am happy. I am getting what I want. I am happy.)

(Just get through this, Imre. Then you can find out what you really want.)

Imre grasped another ax, winding up to throw. He squinted- the little boy's back was exposed. If not the head, then right between the shoulder blades.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement.

"Imre!" someone screamed. He turned his head- Lorenzo stood a few dozen feet away. The Two boy's lips were parted, and he wasn't looking back at Imre. He was looking behind him.

Mid-throw, Imre twisted. His arm twinged uncomfortably as he searched, searched- something was wrong, there was a threat somewhere-

There. Sunlight on metal.

Imre lashed out, but he was too high. The knife lashed up, digging into the soft spot at the base of his throat. Imre coughed, gagged- he felt hot, his throat was too hot- he tried to slice again with an ax, but the culprit skipped nimbly back.

"Imre!" Lorenzo shouted. He seemed so far away.

The little girl's face was blank as she looked back at him. Her curly brown hair had been braided back, and she held a dripping knife in one hand. Hesitantly, as though she were trying on new shoes, she grimaced at him. Or smiled. It was hard to tell.

Imre's vision swam. He threw another ax at her, but it missed. He fell to his knees, hands at his throat to try to suppress the blood, but his hands were soon sticky with it.

"Imre!" Lorenzo's voice echoed in his ears. "Imre!"

("You'll figure it out, Imre," Nio told him. Imre wore those words around his heart like a promise. "Just give yourself time.")

Feet pounded against the rocks all around him. The blue in the sky was fading into gray. His mouth tasted like metal. Someone's hands shook against his shoulders. The Eleven boy kept climbing, climbing, climbing. Until he was gone.

Imre Archaga placed 24th at 00:00:22. Killed by Sunrise Wrenly.