The Inevitable Fate [Julian vs. Kiara, Day 7]

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seven devils all around you
seven devils in my house
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She had a feeling. When she woke up that morning, felt the ache in her bones, felt the sear of pain from her wounds that still had not faded, Kiara knew. She was going to die today. This was it. In the past, the cynical girl had often scorned those who claimed that it was possible to "feel" death before it came; in her eyes it just happened. Just a freak thing, something you didn't expect. How could you possibly know when you were going to die? Hindsight bias, that's what it was. In retrospect, anyone who had came close to death thought they had had a "feeling" before the experience, but really they just liked the idea of being some sort of prophet, or something.

But here she was, waking up among the deep red sand for the - what, sixth time? how many days had she been in here? It was all becoming a blur. And she truly felt like she was going to die. Should I feel upset? Scared? Spiteful? In reality, the District Eleven tribute simply felt relieved. She could stop trying so hard, after she died. She could stop fighting the opinions that people had of her simply because of what nature had given her. She would just be...gone. That's it. Oblivion. And maybe I'll see Colton again...

As she took her first step inside the first tower she found, her eyes widened and she did a double take; the irony was just too unbelievable to attribute to coincidence. Surrounding her, on every side, were rows upon rows of dark grey gravestones, each engraved with words - names, most likely - and placed beside a mound of earth. Cautiously she limped toward the closest one and gasped when she saw the name. Fledger Rells. The tribute she'd killed just the day before. How had his grave gotten here so quickly? It had to be a trick of the Gamemakers; there was no way all these people were really buried here. But still...the eeriness of it all made her shiver.

After examining a few more headstones she deduced that these graves were all for past tributes; not just from these Games, but from plenty of others. Alexander Hood. Charas Harp. Aesop Bloom. Each had a number below the name, too.The Games they'd been in - this row appeared to all be from the 59th. Was it in order? Probably. A thought crossed her mind: would Colton's be here? His Games had been the 53rd; only seven years back, so quite likely it wasn't too far away. With a new determination to find the gravestone of her brother, Kiara weaved among them. Soyala Delaire. Aenor Kembry. Raphale Grey. Not here; she kept going, switching rows. Zuka Faybi. Katie Morven. Themba Kilera. Before finishing the row, she suddenly spotted a statue in the next one, an anomaly in the expanse of graves. It was of a teenage girl, wearing a dark robe and brandishing a sword pointed towards the gravestone beside her, an expression of what could only be utmost longing on her face. Topaz Ross, it read. 56th Victor. So the victors got statues; that would be why there were a couple of others. Curiously the tribute ducked down to read the name on the headstone the Ross girl's statue was staring at wistfully. Nash Harvey. Just like every other citizen of Panem, Kiara remembered the relationship between the victor and Nash Harvey in the 56th Games. Unlike every other citizen, though, it had hardly taken any emotional toll on her at all. She didn't care, to be honest.

She kept moving on, but still no Colton; it seemed as if she was in the 55th Games now. Getting closer. Jango Graves. Argent Mealnger. Melanie Clark. And then another statue - Aranica Petros. 55th Victor. Though the youngest victor was older now, the makers of the statue had still captured her in her post-games state: small, slight, scared. Beside her was another name Kiara recognized. Drusilla Charlesburg. How long had she been in this graveyard? Half an hour? More? Time seemed of little importance. Jared Strahan. Ismene Clemet. Iris Brookside. For a moment she'd thought she'd found her brother, but it was only Colton Brax, from the 54th. Damn it. She was fiercely determined not to give up, though her wounds were giving her hell and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die; she was almost there, after all. Then finally, finally, in the next row - Colton Mason. 53.

Kiara wasn't sure if she was supposed to feel something. Sorrow? Despair? Hatred towards the Capitol for doing this to her kin? But she didn't feel anything, nothing at all. Perhaps it was because she knew that her brother's body didn't really lay beneath her feet; she'd been to his true grave back in District Eleven many times. It was just the Gamemakers trying to mess with her head, mess with the heads of any tribute who ventured into this dreadful place. Well, I'm going to die today, she thought defiantly. So fuck with me all you want. Then suddenly...

A sound. Footsteps. A grunt of anger. A quick burst of searing pain in her thigh, the feeling of warm liquid dripping down. This is it, Kiara thought, before whirling around and blindly slashing the diamond-studded knife she'd found in the gem pit.

[attacks Julian]
[dice=200+2000]
[sc left bicep 3.5]

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and now all your love will be exorcised
and we will find you saying it's to be better now
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A puny cut on his bicep. That was all the damage she'd been able to do, and with a knife, the one weapon she'd known - or thought - would be her salvation in the arena. She glared at the sparkling, bejeweled object - how dare it fail her - before deciding that it really didn't matter anyway. After all, hadn't she already decided that she was going to die today? That she had no further intentions of winning? This tribute was going to kill her. Well, let him.

As if on cue, her adversary's deadly glaive came slashing in her direction; she turned and ducked, but it was too late. The blade buried itself between her shoulderblades and she had to bite her lip to keep from wailing in pain. Don't give him the satisfaction. The tribute stumbled forward to dislodge the blade from her flesh, falling to her hands and knees in the row for the 54th. Zinnia Yaren, read the headstone nearest to her. And not far away was the victor statue; though her vision was clouded with pain, she didn't have to read the carving to know that it was Arbor Halt. Everyone in here is dead, Kiara thought as she attempted to regain her composure. Except you. And you, and you, and you. She glanced around at the victor statues, anomalies in the uniform sea of gravestones. Well, what made you all the lucky ones?

Was it skill, really, that determined the victor? Or brute strength? Rarely. Likability was more like it. And luck. Sheer, dumb luck. Well, I'm certainly not strong, hardly skilled, far from likable, and I haven't got an ounce of luck. Didn't all that prove that she was set to perish from the start? She was fortunate enough to make it this far. Had that been luck? Either way, it's not enough.

"Ready to find your gravestone, District Eleven?" For the first time she was able to get a good look at her attacker after straightening up once more. A Career - the boy from two, if she was correct. Julian, his name was? He wasn't very big for a Career, but then again, who was she to judge? "Well, I've been sleeping on gritty sand every night for the past week, it'd be refreshing to be stretched out in a lovely padded coffin six feet under." The sarcasm practically dripped off of her tongue; it was refreshing to speak to another human being, her first conversation in a while. And a taunting one at that; what could possibly be a better scenario in which to die?

[attacks Julian]
[dice=200+2000]
[sc right forearm 3.5]

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they can keep me high
till i tear the walls
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He got in another cut on her stomach; it wasn't deep, but paired with the stab wound on her back it was complete agony. The small tribute nearly doubled over in pain, but forced herself to remain composed despite the fact that she was beginning to see stars. Come on. You're stronger than this. But was she? She knew she wasn't strong physically; her size inhibited her. She'd always liked to think that she was strong mentally, but lately even that had been becoming difficult. Well, didn't the Hunger Games break everyone? So you're just like everybody else.

The pain compromised her ability to get in a good hit; yet again, she was able to land only a minor cut. Wasn't she supposed to be lethal, with a knife in her hand? Hadn't that been what she'd been waiting for all this time? And yet she was showing very little competency whatsoever. "I think I've got to pass on that offer," she said in response to his taunt. "You see, I've always sworn that when I die, it'll be with a knife in my hand." That had always been her intention, ever since she'd become handy with the small silver weapons. Die fighting. Die with a knife. Don't die cowering on the ground or laid up in some sickbed. "So I think I'll have to keep it, if that's alright with you."

Kiara fingered the hilt of her blade somewhat curiously; never before had she held a weapon made of diamonds in her hand. It was probably worth a whole lot, but once she died it would simply be chucked in a pile with all the other dead tributes' weapons, most likely never to be used again. Well, give it one more good use. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to stand the pain much longer, that her wounds would get the better of her soon, the scrawny, unimpressive tribute from the agriculture district attacked once more.

[attacks Julian]
[dice=200+2000]
[dg left calf 8]

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and what have we done?
can i be undone?
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Now we're talking. As she felt the satisfying sensation of tearing into Julian's flesh, Kiara smiled weakly, a feeble attempt at her signature sly smirk. Probably the last good attack you'll get in, so savor it. Her competence was dwindling, and fast. She could do nothing now but stare wistfully at the blood pouring down her enemy's leg and wish that she'd done better.

He said something, but before he finished he lashed out with his glaive once more and Kiara was absolutely blinded by the pain as it made its mark, sinking deep into her chest. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, nothing even close; the wound in her back seemed laughable compared to this. She sunk to her knees and yanked the glaive from her body, forcing back the tears of agony that threatened to spill over her cheeks. This was hell. This was what hell felt like. What is this what is this just let me die let me die please please please

[attacks Julian]
[dice=200+2000]
[miss]

Kiara hadn't been aiming to hit - she no longer possessed that ability - so it was no surprise when her knife missed Julian completely and sailed out of her hands, far away. She made a pathetic grab for it, but it was much too late; it landed beside a gravestone some feet away. Still feeling as if her chest was on fire, the District Eleven tribute gritted her teeth and stared at the ground, which was already stained red by her blood. "Kill me," she demanded of Julian, though it sounded far more like pleading. "Just fucking...kill me already, what the hell...are you waiting for!"

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all along
it was always there you see
and even on my own
it was always standing next to me
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Her nine years of life had treated her well. Loving parents, a great big brother, and a few close friends were all she needed - the poverty, oppression, and discontent of her district and the nation that contained it were far away from her, simply because she was too young to understand them. She usually ate well, and if she was forced to go to bed hungry one night it didn't matter because her parents would make up for it as soon as possible with a big bowl of strawberries or blueberries or something sweet, all for her. She was happy.

The sixteen-year-old had known it was all over the moment her knife sliced open nothing but thin air; she was too weak to attack. Too weak to fight back; this Career would have her dead in moments. Defeated, Kiara Mason sunk to her knees, palms planted firmly on the ground as she stared at the mound of dirt below her - the one that housed the imaginary body of Ailia Goodnite, 54. She refused to look into his eyes while he killed her. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Or was it supposed to be the other way around? She did look into his eyes so he wouldn't think her some helpless bit of prey? Oh what the fuck does it matter, anyway? You'll be dead in two minutes regardless, why not die in the way that requires the least effort on your part?

The Hunger Games. She was still too young to be affected by them - still three years to go before she was even entered in the Reaping - so they never really made much of an impact. She watched them on television every year, sure, but only because she enjoyed the excitement; the notion that these were real people, really dying hadn't occurred to her yet. All she knew was that every year, her fifteen-year-old brother Colton would stand with all the older kids in the square while some freaky-looking man read off the name of someone she didn't know. And today was one of those days - Reaping Day.

There was a sickening thud as a blade made connection with flesh and bone, but it took Kiara a few moments to register the pain. Then, instantaneously, it felt as if someone was burning the flesh of her left arm away completely - it was burning, melting, oh the pain oh make it stop make it stop please just let me die Kiara turned her clouded gaze to the flaming side of her body and her heart nearly stopped at the sight of her left arm lying limp and forgotten in the dirt beside her; in its place was merely a stump of her shoulder, from which a waterfall of blood poured. My arm. Is gone. Sliced from my body. On the ground, next to me. Her head swum with the effort of forcing herself to stay conscious, to refrain from passing out from shock, though admittedly being unconscious would make dying so much easier...

She stood off in the spectator area with her parents, staring down at her feet and kicking around a pebble, bored and uninterested with the goings-on around her. Reaping day was so

boring - the only good part about it was when they went home and ate a feast to celebrate. The child stole a few glances at her brother, standing with the other fifteen-year-olds in a roped off section near the stage. He sported the same anxious expression as everyone around him. Kiara couldn't fathom why; there was nothing to be worried about! Soon this would be over and he could take her to play hide-and-seek in the vast fields of golden grain, or to skip rocks at the creek, or - "Colton Mason!"

They liked him. The Capitolites liked him; he was strong, able-bodied, and had a great sense of humor. Now he was making them laugh, just as he always made Kiara laugh in the past. She watched him intently on the television at every spare moment as the day he would enter the 53rd arena drew nearer and nearer. Usually she watched him alone; her parents would always conveniently disappear when she switched on the television. As if they couldn't bear it. Well, Colton needed support, if he was going to win. And if his parents couldn't handle giving it to him, his devoted nine-year-old sister would.

He was dying. It was so sudden; he'd been doing so well, doing his district proud, even making it to the final three - this was a feat an Elevener hadn't accomplished in a long while. But then they'd all been driven together, Colton and two Careers, and it was all over. A swift Career female had snatched his knife right from his belt and stabbed him to death. With his own weapon. The little nine-year-old's eyes widened in disbelief as the cannon fired and she watched a hovercraft take him away on her little television screen. Then he disappeared forever, and she did all she knew how to do: she ran. She ran and ran, without stopping, to a place that would become home to her, far more so than the little shack she'd grown up in: the woods.

Seven years later. Yet another Reaping - her third-to-last, to be exact. Soon all this crap would be done with, soon she'd be old enough to leave forever. To do what? run away, maybe, and never come back. Try to find someplace where she wasn't so much of an anomaly. But first she had to get through two more of these unbearable days in which she'd stand with all the other teenagers in her district, waiting for a dull speech to be read and bored applause to sound and tears to be shed and - "Kiara Mason!"