when your soul embarks {kasia | oneshot}

I have to say, the Bloodbath has always been my least favorite part of the Games. I've never had a very strong stomach. When I was little, I broke my leg trying to slide down the banister at our house, and the contents of my lunch spilled out across the floor when I saw my leg bent at such an odd angle. My father scolded me for being so careless, said he couldn't have a daughter with a broken leg standing next to him on live television. Said it'd look like he abused me. My mother went on and on about the mess I'd made on the floor, ordered Mami) to clean it up. I apologized profusely and did my best to help. I couldn't do very much, because as soon as I saw my leg a second time, I passed out. It took months for it to heal.

So no, I have never had a stomach of steel. It's a weak little thing really.

Mami stands in the corner, hands clasped in front of her. She's stoic, but I can see the caution in her green eyes. She's definitely nervous. I think it's more for me than the children we're about to see fight to the death.

Reluctantly, I drop down on to the couch, the red dress I've chosen folding in and around my legs. The color choice is ironic I suppose. I sit back, wring my hands together, do my best to breath deeply. But I can't. I'm too nervous, too afraid for the lives of the poor dears I've spent the last week preparing for what they're about to face. I've done what I can. I've taught them how to smile, how to respond to questions, how to present themselves with an air of power and mystery. They were fabulous on stage. Gregor received an 11 in training, a great celebration for us all. Aline received a 7. Not quite as great, but neither was it the worst out of all the Careers. She's still got hope.

As if on cue, Mami moves to turn the monitor on. A few practically invisible buttons on the wall, her practiced fingers glide over them with ease, and then the screen blinks to life. Caesar sits in his usual place, grinning broadly, hair turned a brilliant shade of yellow. I would've gone a bit lighter if I were him, but he still looks alright.

We get clips of the Tributes here and there. On the hovercraft, beneath the Arena, in their launch rooms. They take their places on twenty-four different pedestals.

My heart rate increases. I glance sideways at Mami, she gives me a curt nod.

"For heaven's sake," I breath quietly, "Come sit with me, will you?"

As if suddenly broken free from chains, she whisks herself over to my side, taking my small hands in her soft, aged palms, a gentle smile on her face. I tighten my grip and she reaches to pat my leg.

"Do you think they'll live, Mami?" I look over to her, eyes wide, a shiver running down my spine. She gives me a sympathetic look.

Only one can live, Kasia.

I can almost here her speaking. If Mami had a voice, I imagine it would be warm, a sort of gentle hum, the kind that comforts small children when they won't stop crying. She's calm. But at the same time, she's stern, and she doesn't sugar-coat the truth of a matter, despite not actually being able to speak.

She nods at the screen and my heart leaps into my throat. The count down is starting.

For the duration of the sixty seconds, they flip between clips of the tributes, commentators jabbering in the background. My hands start to shake and Mami tightens her grip.

Briefly, we see Aline, scanning the area and positioning herself accordingly. She's smart, I know that much. I can only hope that will pay off and reward her with her life in the next few minutes. Gregor stands a few pedestals away from her, gaze set, eyeing his opponents with an almost unreadable expression. A shudder runs through my body and I pray silently that he stays true to the 11 he received in training.

I know Mami wouldn't like it, but I can't help paying noticing the other tributes as the camera pans around the Cornucopia. They're determined, ready to run, ready to fight for the crown--for their lives, no less. I know I for one wouldn't last ten seconds once the gong went off. I breath in, but it's shaky, not quite filling my lungs the way it should.

Three, two, one.

I squeeze my eyes shut. But I can't do that, I can't, I have to watch. Somehow I can almost believe that they'll have a better chance if I watch them. I look up, Mami's warmth acting as some distant form of comfort. Immediately I am sickened by what I see.

There's blood already, small injuries, but blood all the same. They've picked up weapons and appear to be as battle-hungry as ever. Or perhaps I'm mistaking the fear in their eyes for determination. I catch a glimpse of my tributes, Aline with a knife, Gregor with a sword. Good, solid weapons. I can almost breath a sigh of relief. Good weapons have gotten Two through the Bloodbath before, but than again, some of them have been taken out in seconds.

We're a few seconds in, and then suddenly, I can hear cries of shock coming from the commentators.

"No...no, who is it?" my words are muffled by my hand covering my mouth, panicked brown eyes searching the screen for a death I know must have occurred. Cannon fire echoes in the distance and seems to rock the wood-paneled floor beneath me.

The camera zooms in, and my hand moves to clutch my stomach. Dark skin is barely visible beneath the red fountain that's formed at the top of his head. Above him, there's a girl, all fiery-haired and wild-eyed, no older than sixteen. There's a black mace hanging at her side. I knew her name at one point, but now, shock coursing through me, it escapes me memory.

"No, no, he can't be--"

Caesar's voice interrupts me, stating rather solemnly that the District Two male has left us far too early in the Games. They don't stay focused on it for too long. There's more action, plenty of excitement to keep their attention away from my dead tribute.

"No!" a sob tears through my throat and my eyes are welling up before I even have a chance to attempt not crying. I'm struggling to stand, but Mami is holding me back with surprising strength. She knows that if she lets me go, I might do something I'll regret.

Tears spill out onto my cheeks and my breaths are coming in shaky sobs. I try to pull free from her grip, but I'm giving in. Her expression is stern, steady hands pushing me back into the couch, keeping me where I'm safe.

"He wasn't supposed to die, Mami." my voice cracks and I give up trying to escape. Her arms wrap around me, holding me close, warmth radiating from her body. She lifts herself up onto the couch until she's practically created a cocoon around me. I shake my head and bury my face in my hands, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

I tried so hard. Every year, I try so hard, and every year, my work comes back in a neat little pine box. Is it even worth trying anymore? All my efforts seem worthless when two hearts stop beating and I know I'll never hear their voices again. Tributes have told me more than once that it's foolish to care for them so much, that I hardly know them. But I do care. And it breaks my heart every time I see them go.

"He's gone, he..." I sniff loudly, brushing my nose with the back of my hand.

"He's gone."

Word Count: 1310