be like snow, cold but beautiful | pixie

Rain came pouring down, when I was drowning
That's when I could finally breathe

Everything is fading to a sickly white. An incoming blizzard dances morbidly before my eyes and forces itself onto the tired skin on my face. All that I can remember during the bloodbath is swept away with each snowflake. The basic outlines I had drew with my unsteady hands in preparation for these games have been rubbed so effortlessly away. I’ve been given a blank sheet – two words written in permanent marker at the top, staining my name into the innocence of the page.

The winds around me blow my mind every which way. It shakes the branches of distant trees, carrying their gentle hushed lullaby’s all the way to my freezing ear. The white is still falling, raining down onto my being, blending in with the pitter-patter of my heartbeat. The rhythm quickens as my feet drag myself through the thick layers of crunching snow on the ground. I want to leave – I want to smash the glass around me and slither out from the open shards, leaving my frosty soul in the arena. As I’d walk free from the entertainment attraction, I’d be reborn – a new girl with meaning, hope, purpose and everything else in between. But I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m stuck deep in the thick stormy walls the gamesmakers have shielded me with. I wish performing the actions was as easy as thinking them.

As I continue to walk aimlessly around, I think about my future, or lack of. How many seconds, minutes, hours will it be before someone bathes in my blood, showcasing my insides for the people of each district to see? What if I’m the one that does that to someone else? I look at my harpoon. It’s a shiny silver. The fading sun glints off from it and into my eyes. The thought of something so beautiful doing so much harm and damage makes me look away in disbelief. Yet, I turn back, ushered by intrigue. What is it like to be a murderer? Murderer. It’s such an ugly, black word. So bitter. A label plopped onto a person that is so frightening. One person, one human being with a soul – capable of taking the life of another.

A fire burns inside me. I can feel the flames trying to escape via my mouth and lips, but I won’t let it. I can’t let myself be driven by an immoral thirst for blood. But what if it takes over? I've already seen the girl from eight be brutally murdered in a slither of a second. It changes you. It’s like death himself has reached into me and is pressing his resentful fingers against my pure body, drawing out the last of each emotion that managed to sneak into the arena with me. It turns me into an inky mess. The black liquid that the hand dripped onto me leaks into the tiny mountains and valleys my skin is home to. It’ll flood around until eventually, everything – every part of me is affected. And when that happens, the real me will be gone.

~ 

An uninhabited collection of blue, snowy homes are dotted around me. Who knows what monsters lurk inside them – whether it be the darkness itself or something worse. I glance down to the icy floor and see a fragment of my reflection in a frozen puddle. I think of my memories from a couple hours ago. Standing isolated in a tube of worry and fear, with only my bittersweet reflection to keep me company. I suppose the situation I’m in now isn't much different. I still feel alone. My alliance don’t want me. I feel like an outsider to them. The fourth wheel.

They act like they care, hugging me and asking if I’m “okay”. But as I wrap my arms around them, shielding them from the destruction each day will bring, I feel awkward. I’m not one of them – but I don’t know what I am. There’s an invisible barrier that has been erected, separating me from them. It divides me from the safe few, leaving me stranded in an ocean of uncertainty and fear.

Get a hold of yourself, Pixie. Just put on a straight face and act like you know you’ve got to. It’ll keep you alive. I listen to the voice inside my head. The husky tones it expresses circle around me, forcing it into my head, before it paints itself onto the walls in my brain. I clench my jaw and stare around cautiously. The thoughts of doubt flees quickly from my mind, leaving me empty. Which is exactly how I want to be. I want to be empty around all of these people: Bree, Mystic and Gaia.

Attachment is a silent killer. To the other tributes, there’s nothing that separates me from my alliance. I’m not special or interesting; I’m just another hopeless soul waiting for the clock to strike death. But to me, my alliance are security. They are providing me with one of the most basic things I need to survive. They’ll help me fight, and I’ll help them. But with every breath, I’m reminded that I can’t get attached. If I do, I’ll be weak. A wreck when I need to be strong. Every emotion I’d pledged to forget would be felt and I’d be a web of intrigue to the other tributes. I’d draw them in, just so they could thrust their blade into my neck. That’s why I’ve got to feel empty.

I look over to them. I’m suffocated by my turtleneck as my neck stretches to look over my shoulder. When I told them I need a “moment”, I doubt they thought I’d be this long. As my numb toes carry me back over to the small gathering, I wash everything out, for good, and put on a brave face. I want to protect them and reassure them everything will be okay, but it’s hard. As I emerge from the snow, my icy face etched with apprehension, I realise why I’m doing this. I’m not doing it for them, I’ve got to do it for myself. No one else will. The key to games like these is being selfish. “Every man for himself.” “Kill or be killed.” There are nine-hundred and ninety-nine similar quotes that can apply to my situation.

As I greet them with my cold palms, I know that I’ve got to keep that piece of paper clean. No dirt, stains or much. No memories. Just now.