BIRDS The sun glints off the pyramid of supplies to the east of me, blinding me temporarily. I raise a hand to evade the glaring brightness of the morning light, the canopy of trees above me swaying in the wind, making a soft, whispering resonance. I sit on a barrel, careful of the meticulously placed mines, buried beneath the soil. A small rustling sound stirs me from my thoughts, my hand going to the spear out of instinct. My head swivels from left to right, listening for any intruders. The thicket to my right quakes, a small set of hands peeking out from the front of it. I swallow, my hands tightening on the shaft, my knuckles turning white. Someone—or something—has come, my role of defender finally coming into place. Standing quickly, more rustling sounds, this time from the left. Gritting my teeth, I spin towards that direction, heading towards the noise. I pause at the bushes, poking around with the head of the spear to detect nothing. Silence surrounds me as I turn back towards the stock to glimpse a figure darting back into the woods, my annoyance growing to cover my fear. Grumbling a string of curses, I decide it would likely be best to keep my guard up from now on. So I sit watching the clouds pass by as the birds continue their songs and the wildlife continue their wandering. *** The sun has begun to set when an arrow soon flies fast past my head, my hand going to the spear far too late. I watch with horror as an arrow knocks an apple from the netting covering the inventory, almost in slow motion. The apple sets off a mine, making the rest of the apples tumble after their friend who braved falling first. BOOM The sound roars through the air as the entire supply crashes to the ground, blowing up the careers' key advantage in the games. My hands go to cover my ears, the blast throwing me back at least 13 feet, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The last thing I hear before my vision darkens, is a shrill scream and a low mournful song, carried on by mockingjays. *** My sight materializes gradually, coming back piece by piece, still grey in areas. My fingers go to my head, coming back warm and sticky with blood. Wincing, I inch myself towards the more wooded area, not daring enough to look back at what remains of the supplies. Cato is going to kill me, I realize. He is going to kill me just as he did so many others. The abrupt awareness of how screwed I am truly manifests in my brain, digging its claws in like a wild beast, desperate for release. A silent sob shakes through my body, tearing through my carefully built-up confidence as I drag myself further into the brush. I finally find the courage to look down at my legs, swollen and most likely cracked, both misshapen and twisted at odd angles, I suck in a sharp breath. Bits of skin dangle off and I can almost see the bone. I hold in the bile threatening to surface, taking slow deep breaths. My arms still work, that’s a plus… right? A howl of rage roars through the air, Cato, likely. The birds scatter into the air at the loud noise, flying on instinct. The blood loss makes my head throb, a painful yet soothing thing. Keep moving. I tell myself, though I find myself getting distracted, feeling as though I am floating, the pain turning into numbness. I watch the birds longingly, so free in this beautiful illusion of a wooded paradise. Their black feathers glisten in the dim light of the setting sun, the white on their wings making them look like shooting stars in the dark. How could something be so ethereal in such a dark place? How can one find light in the shadows? I ache to be at liberty, to have no one nor thing tell you what to do. To be free. I smile a bit as vision goes hazy, darkness taking over. Peaceful, peaceful, darkness. ***
Warmth. The first sense is warmth, the gentle kind that croons to one like a mother would a child. I bask in it for a little while longer, then the pain kicks back in, sharper than before. That has me sitting up abruptly, my eyes flying wide open. Where am I..? In front of me is a little campfire, small enough not to attract any unwanted attention, but still warm enough to not freeze to death. It's dark out, probably sometime around midnight, the moon shining brightly overhead like a beacon in the night. “You’re awake” A hushed voice startles me from my thoughts, soft and slightly raspy. My head flies to the right to find a petite face, with stunning red hair, glowing like a flame in the firelight. My hand goes for the spear, but it must’ve gone with the rest of the supplies. “I fixed your legs the best I can. Ya’ won’t be walking for a while I’m afraid.” I nod slowly, still trying to piece together the events of what had happened. “You were hurt in an explosion” The girl supplies for me, seemingly knowing what’s on my mind. “I’m Eithne.” She says, sticking her hand out. I take it and shake it cautiously, my hand shaking slightly. She tilts her head to the head with a tiny smirk, “Can you speak? Come on now, it's rude to keep a lady waiting.” I clear my throat slightly. “Uhm, my name is Cillian.” She tests the name out, seeing how it tastes on her tongue. She smiles “Cute. Kinda ironic for the games, I'd say.” She offers a one-sided bob of her shoulder, a casual movement. “It’s alright though.” I force a smile, though my confusion reemerges. “Why’d you help me..?” She pauses at that, apparently contemplating her own actions, though ends up giving me a shrug. “I guess I'm not a huge fan of watching animals feast on your insides before a hovercraft can come to get ya.” She starts, a grim smile on her face,her delivery then turning tentative as she bites the skin on her bottom lip. “Though… you’d be a good partner, the whole bomb thing was pretty cool. Don't think anyone has done that before.” With a dip on my chin, we silently agree upon a temporary truce. She murmurs a ‘good night’ and I close my eyes, listening to the capitol anthem before brief peacefulness of the arena floods in, closing up the day. *** The days seep into one another, our relationship slowly growing into some sort of a bond. She, supplying food using her quiet stealth and clever wits, and I, keeping guard of a makeshift camp, and showing her how to make various traps using the scraps of metal she’s gotten over the time. The games have been still, and quite dull; I do believe the gamemakers have been bored, because there have only been a couple deaths in the span of a week. I can tell when a gamemaker—Claudius I believe—invites us to a feast. “Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each partnership needs something desperately. You will find something in a backpack, marked with your district numbers, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," says Claudius. Eithne looks up from the rabbit she’s skinning and we meet each other's gazes, hers then going down to my legs, the ones we’ve been trying to keep disinfected and I, to train them back up. I also look, the makeshift casts made of ripped fabric and sticks hold them in a slightly bent position, made so I can move without looking like a stick figure, even with the pain. I already have this, what do the gamemakers have that can fix these besides robotic legs? “We can't go to the cornucopia,” I say firmly, already starting to protest. “It’s an obvious trap. Both Cato and Clove will be there. We can’t.” “We have to.” She argues, going back to the animal before her. “You can barely walk with those stupid braces and we both know we have no sponsors." “We don’t know that.” “Stop gaslighting yourself.” “Come on Eithne, you can't go! Please. Don’t do this.” Her gaze softens slightly at my plea, though she swallows, her voice turning steely. “You will die if we don't. I can’t lose you…” she ends in a whisper. “I’m going.” We’re silent for a while, the only hint that time is moving are the birds tweeting to one another—so different from us yet so, so similar, both trapped in this beautiful hellscape yet making the good out of the bad—and the occasional rustle of the brush. Eventually I take a breath and break the silence. “I’m going with you.” She opens her mouth as if she were to protest, though closes it, noiselessly yielding. *** (the rest is in the inside, it's too long T-T)
