{Feel the Tide}{Island 6/Day 6 Fight}

No one mourns the Wicked

To be honest, I had hoped against all hope that Dru would choose to back me, but that’s not to say I expected her to. To complicate things, Ara jumps in front of my attacker’s blade. I guess she woke up. A bit too late, I think bitterly. On instinct, I gently force her down and out of the way. I’ll pay for that I’m sure, but I don’t worry about it, as I’m being attacked anyway. My stomach, finally not protesting from the lack of food intake, suddenly erupts with a new pain. My eyes widen, and I chance a glance downward. Blood. So much blood. I can feel my heart pumping energetically, not realizing that it just causes more and more blood to spill from my body. No, not spill, rather gush. A waterfall of red liquid, and it’s all mine. Still, I’m not mad at Dru, not really. I don’t know why, but somehow I feel like it’s not her fault I’m going to die.

I’m going to die. Simply thinking it sends chills up my spine. But I know now, where Dru’s true allegiance lies. Even if I kill Shanks, I will follow. I will have failed everyone. Ara, Dad, Platine, the guys. The thought of people watching, and cheering for my death all across Panem makes me sick. Surely one person out there is mourning, right? Wishing Dru had taken my side? Willing that by a miracle, my life would preserve, and I would be crowned victor? Somebody had to be. Platine would. She was the most obnoxious know-it-all in the District. But she was my sister. And surely she’s cheering for me, even if Mom isn’t paying attention and Dad has already closed the shutters in disgrace.

Are people born Wicked? Or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them?

I’m ready to face my death, in any case. After all I’ve done, I ought to fear it. No, I do fear death. A small part of me though, whispers that none of it was my fault. I wasn’t born to kill. I was forced to kill, by circumstance. I was forced to deliver pain, on the gamble that it would save me. This path, that of the Games, had never been mine to choose. So, I’ll face death with courage, safe in the knowledge that nothing could be worse than the Arena. But I have to take Shanks with me to Hell. I promised. If I leave him here, he’ll kill Aranica. If Shanks lives, I have no doubt he will win. I won’t let a coward win the Hunger Games. Even the twelve-year-old girl fought straightforward. But not Shanks. He attacked allies, manipulated children, and pretended himself to be in control of my destiny. All I tried to do was make things better, and Shanks tried to force us all to make things worse.

No good deed goes unpunished

Ara, poor, sweet Ara, is crying over me and apologizing. I won’t have that. I tried so hard to help her, to save her, and I’ve just made her upset. She’s screaming at Shanks, about how it’s not my fault. I don’t think she realizes that this has become much more than a spat about her fainting. Do I regret not running into the woods with my supplies and disappearing? Of course. But not as much as I would regret it if the girl died because of me.

“Don’t cry,” I say, softly, speaking my first words since the fight began. “I’m not worth it, Ara.” I hold back my own tears. I am Argent Melanger, and I don’t cry. Instead, I raise my sword and turn to face Shanks. My mind and heart are racing. This is it. Shanks is almost done. One good hit, and I can be assured of Aranica’s safety for another day. Dru would die before she let anyone so much as look at her charge the wrong way. I’ll soon be dead too, but it won’t matter. I take a deep breath and pray to any deity who will listen for my own safety.

Let his flesh not be torn
Let his blood leave no stain
Though they beat him
Let him feel no pain

And then Ara steps in front of me again. I stop my sword’s trajectory in the nick of time, and it hits neither Shank’s neck nor Ara’s. I allow myself a sigh of relief before something crashes down against my head with tremendous force. I can’t help it, I go down. I know something’s wrong, and that Shanks is still alive, but I can’t get up; I can’t. Shanks called me a traitor, but that doesn’t make sense. I tried to help. I start to shake, and I don’t know why. The pain is gone, slowly fading, and Nachele is back, but I don’t have the strength to greet her.

“Ara, win it,” I murmur, not even realizing I’m talking before the words are out.

Let his bones never break
And however they try
To destroy him

They say when you die, everything goes black, but for me, everything was only getting clearer and brighter, making me wonder if I succeeded. But I know I’m dying. Part of me wishes I hadn’t grabbed that hard hat. I could have died instantly, without the suffering and the waiting.

“Did I get him?” I ask, weakly. “Is the girl safe?”

But nobody is answering me. I think I got him, I can see his face next to mine on the ground.

“Is she safe?” I cry, as loudly as I can, which is still softly. What if I didn’t save her? I’m going to Hell, I know it. Going to Hell for not saving Aranica. For killing her friend. For betraying Nachele. For attacking Shanks and not saving Jango. My one final act of good pales in comparison to the misery I’ve caused in just this week alone, and I’m not even sure I accomplished that.

Hands seize both of mine, pulling me upright. Nachele? Jango? Both of them are smiling, which confuses me. Why are they smiling if I couldn’t save Aranica? I didn’t realize I asked out loud.

“You did save her, Argent,” says Nachele, with a smile. I saved her. I turn around to check, because trust has not gotten me anywhere. I can’t believe what I see. I see… myself, lying on the ground. And not moving. Slowly, I smile. Because the boy I can see is smiling. He’s happy, and if he’s happy, I know I should be. It’s hard to describe how I feel, as I walk away, because I’ve really never felt it before.
For the first time I can remember, I’m totally and completely free.

Let him never die!
Let him never die!