The Southwest Quarter | Mandate Four

Damp palms make this tricky, but there's a newfound confidence that comes with the muscle memory of scaling a large post and it eases the shaking from my insides, out. In a few moments my fingers latch around the pergola eaves and in one big kick of my legs and swing I am scaling the run-down skeleton of a playground left desolate from the war, watching the neighbours kids make magic out of the one swing still hanging, chains creaking as they soar into the sky with glee arena, hauling myself upwards with the last remains of my bread-given strength.

Breathe out, a sigh of relief. Up here isn't so bad. Warmer, sunlight cooking us from the inside of plexiglass cages - and there's a smell rising, sour and musky. My nose twitches, taking it all in, as I roll up my overall sleeves and set out across the neighbourhood, ignoring the squeaks the soles of my too-old shoes make on the Panem Postal Service's vinyl floors - holes are starting to wear in the sides as the seams come undone but we need ration stamps more than I need new shoes flinch at something soaring through the air to my right.

Oh. They don't like this - that's right.

I just smile, hold true.

And then there's a hand reaching up to me, a girl about my age - and a boy, too, younger, but he's got ideas about the overgrown bushes that crawl across the fence on my walk through the fields, Izar land just up the way - a girl from my class I called a friend tells me the wildberries are safe to eat. I shake my head and carry on with my deliveries, ignoring the dull ache of hunger I've learned to live with wires that hum with something dangerous. I follow their trail, leading back to a somber camera lens that clicks at me. I think it can read my thoughts. (Good.)

I've never quite known what to do with an outstretched hand. An empty one at that. My mind draws a blank - usually I put something back into palms. Packages, parcels, envelopes, bread. Don't ask what's in them, just hand them over. They've paid their pennies' worth of postage already and wave me on. I go quietly, asking for naught. Can't expect something from nothing, and everyone at home has nothing.

I still have nothing. So does she, girl from Three - the boy in the matching overalls has a plan, at least. I have nothing to give but my hand, holding true to myself and who I want to be, not what the Capitol thinks I should be.

So I take her hand to haul her up and the sky cracks open. And then I am falling, or rather tumbling, into the abyss of a crumbling arena. I follow suit.

They were not safe to eat. She died two days later.

Something hits me on the back of the head. Hard, and I know it's the end - but that's okay. I did not hurt. I tried to help. I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried I t r i e d I...

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I was true. 

She smiles.

I smile back.

I'm smiling because Trill finally is too.

I get it, I do. I know how easy it is to be afraid and even though I maybe don't show it, my knees have been shaking in my boots this whole time. What people don't get though is it actually takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. Got that from a fortune cookie once, didn't bother fact checking it 'cause who really cares if it's wrong.

I grin back at Trillian, "See? Not all ba-"

And the ground gives out from under us, didn't even have time to knock on wood.

I'm staring at her as I fall, a dumb smile still spread across my face as I watch her horrified face grow smaller from where she hangs off that other girl's hand. So this is it probably, the moment I die. Gonna be twenty-fourth out of twenty-four, huh. That's not too bad when you consider the fact that I wasn't ever supposed to live past a year old anyway.

Got twelve whole years, free of charge. My hand lifts in a little wave, as the world crumbles in slow motion around me. A huge hunk of metal is right above me, turning slowly in mid air, hopefully to crush my head in, I don't want to go from being pinned to the concrete by the stomach or something. Dying from bloodloss, writhing in pain, it all sounds freaking awful.

I shut my eyes.

"Rascal, come on!"

Huh.

I'm yanked up so hard by the neck of my overalls that the canvas cuts into my neck and I almost choke on my own spit. Suddenly I'm being lifted back up into the light, my feet scramble for purchase for a moment, my fingers scrambling at the neckline of my overalls before I just give up.

Guess I'm just here for the ride. I watch the hunk of metal slam sharp-side-down into the exact spot I just was. Man, I don't even think there'd be anything left of me to identify after that.

Someone's screaming. There are cries of pain in the aftermath and as the dust settles I can hear Trill's voice calling my name. "H-HERE, TRILL," I call out, cupping a hand around my mouth for the extra volume. "TRILL, I'M OKAY!"

Thanks to-

I look up, squinting into harsh light at the older kid holding me up over angry water, swirling, thick eddies forming beneath my feet. I don't know him, but he's the one who sounds like he walked right out of one of those old westerns my Gramps loves to read. He's definitely older than me, definitely stronger too judging by the way he hasn't dropped me yet all while managing to hold onto a metal rod above our heads.

"Hey!" I holler up at him, "Are you crazy?"

What kinda lunatic saves someone during the games, doesn't he know that the whole point is for us to kill each other? Still, I guess I'm grateful about it. I reach up, hands wet from the spray of water, and claw at the leg of his overalls, fingers digging into the canvas and holding on for dear life.

At what point do I mention that I can't swim? Seems like an important thing to make note of. If I fall into that angry water below then I'm dead. Actually the amount of times I should have been dead in the past few minutes here probably just proves my name sake.

Other than the whole getting reaped thing.

I kick my legs a little, trying to use the momentum to climb up cowboy's leg. I probably look like a mangy little half-drowned cat at this point and the image almost makes me laugh. I can feel my grip growing weaker, feel the panic starting to set in as I realise that I'm going to definitely let go soon.

"Don't let go," says cowboy.

"What, you read minds too?" I mutter, tone spiking with my fear. The sarcastic facade is already crumbling, as quick and easy as the pagoda we were all standing on just a few seconds ago. Using all my effort, I elbow my way up until my arms are wrapped tight around cowboy's ankle.

It's cold though, my body is numb from it. There's a girl in the water below, banging on the walls and I have no idea about what happened to that climbing girl. Judging by the screaming, probably nothing good. I'm losing feeling in my arms. It's better than the burning feeling from a few seconds ago but I've spent enough time on the monkey bars at school to know what that means.

"Ha ha," I say, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice, "Hey Cowboy, you think they passed the safety inspection when they built this place or what?"

Not my best work. If those are my last words that's low key embarrassing.

QFvIULDs2m1-20
Cut by fiberglass shards +6