Round One - Green

It all happened so fast.

The name ’Elisabeth Baron’ echoing throughout the center of the district. It took me almost an entire minute to realize he had called my name, because there was no other Elisabeth Baron in the District. But it barely even registered, because the last person who called me that was my mother and she died years ago.

Seven to be exact.

The crowd stared and slowly, I began to push my way through as I tugged on the hem of my ill-fitting dress. I outgrew it last year and Grandma wanted to sew me a new one, but I insisted I wouldn’t need it.

How childish of me to think that would be the case.

I take my time on the stairs, careful not to stumble, sweaty palms still clutched to the end of my dress. Atop the stairs the crowd seems bigger, more ominous, more judgmental. I smile weakly and twitch each of my fingers in a halfhearted wave before turning to the Peacekeeper near the bowls. ”It’s Liza,” I whisper and wait a moment for him to correct himself.

Silence.

I clear my throat and turn to the crowd, this time speaking much louder. I couldn’t let anyone forget.

”It’s Liza, Liza Baron.”

The train ride was a blur. There was conversation, that I am sure of, but every single word escapes me. I was too busy thinking about Grandma and Georgie and how dreadfully worried they are and how deep down, they are probably preparing for the worst.

Hopefully they are, because I am too.

Terra said something…something that would maybe be helpful, or something important at the very least, but my mind is too clouded in the practically pitch-black tunnels. I bite my lip in hopes the taste of blood will bring me back to reality, but even as the warm iron floods my mouth I am still lost.

I am lost.

And I am running out of time.

The Peacekeepers say no words as they shove a heavy weapon into my hands and then push me out into the open. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the new lighting, and it takes even longer to adjust to the obnoxiously loud crowd. Each of them in tactless green seats and behind them disturbing banners with each of our faces painted on them. My eyes flash to the rusty axe in my hand and I catch sight of the sparkly green jumpsuit they have placed us all in. There is clearly a theme here.

And I can’t help but laugh.

”What? Are we a joke to you?” I shout upwards towards the stands, even though I am certain they cannot hear me. ”Just some free entertainment?” Another laugh escapes my lips.

The ideas of throwing my axe into the crowd or laying it down and refusing to fight bounce around in my brain. Not taking part in their silly game, an act of defiance, that would show them. Then the thought of my mother and father, burning alive because of an air raid the Captiol decided to launch. Watching our field go up in flames, waiting for them to find their way to back to the house. Waiting until the smoke finally lifted, but they never returned. The hatred I have for the Capitol burns deep inside.

A flame that has just begun.

My death would only add to their victory.

And I can let them win no more.

I’ve always had my purpose questioned.

”Why do you treat me the way you do?"

Like family?

Because we’re all watching sisters die. Daughters, brothers, sons. We all watch them die and we get pitted against each other because we then feel like it’s the other's fault. We blame their blood for our own, and it turns into a game of pointing barrels and pulling triggers. It begins a circle of hatred and violence. I don’t want this violence. I want us to be a community, a group. We’re all at the ass-end of this cruel punishment our government has placed us into, and our solution is to continue killing others, just as they intended?

I want to love the way that the government wants us to hate.

”What are you taking over the farm for? Need momma’s money?"

Because I want to… I love the farm, it’s my home. I want the farm because I love it. I love it like the girls nextdoor love their apple cider, or the way that my mom loves my other mom. The farm to me is what makes me whole, the part of my day that I look forward to seeing. I love everything that we’ve done with it. For the community.

The money is my money too. I worked just as hard as they have for this. Just because we succeed… we flourished in a time where it seemed that nobody could… does that make my work invalid? Does it then mean that I can never work again? Is every success that I face then immediately equivalent to greed?

Would winning the Hunger Games make me greedy, then?

We’re all dressed in green, so maybe I am. Maybe it’s a sign.

A girl laughs, then yells. ””What? Are we a joke to you?”"

Yes.

We are.

We’re a sick, twisted joke that is fueled by the hatred families feel for each other following death.

”Just some free entertainment?” Also yes.

That’s all we are playing anymore. A game of revenge. Family to family. Brother to brother. Father to father. Capitol to District.

We just have to hope the bullet doesn’t find our head at some point.

dematerializing
with the only shot
of becoming whole
is to do it all again.

Metal on metal.

Somehow, all the other noise stops. No more cheering crowds, no more other tributes, I can no longer even hear the blood rushing in my ears. Just the sharp, piercing noise of two weapons colliding echoing in my head. It Is excruciating, and I try to pull away in hopes that unlocking our weapons will cause the noise to cease.

But we are stuck.

Intertwined.

I take the boy with me as I swing for the other girl. His extra weight throws off my balance and I barely touch her with my axe. Curses slip from my lips.

"All this time, I wondered if I'd be able to kill someone, but I've done it once before. And I'm going to do it again."

Curses turn to giggles and then into full blown laughter.

”I’ve killed livestock. Does that make me an expert?”

"I haven’t, but there’s a first for everything."

It’s almost painful how far my eyes roll to the back of my head. I have never been one to hide how I am really feeling.

And I am not going to start now.

Both of their weapons come crashing down towards me, and I barely manage to avoid them. A breath I didn’t know I was holding escapes my lips.

"You know, I'm open to alliances," says one of the others not involved in our immediate cluster. This time I manage to bite my tongue.

Mostly.

”An alliance in a games to the death? Seems foolish to me.”

Who knew people who were destined to die could be so funny.

The boy’s target’s hand clunks to the ground. I don’t even bother to flinch. Don’t get attached. Terra made it very clear. Allying with someone seemed to be the easiest way to fail.

My eyes meet with the other two and a smile spreads across my face.

”I don’t think you guys are much different, ya know, than the sheep.”

Sweat trickles down my forehead as I raise my weapon above my head, prepared to swing again.

”Except they tend to put up more of a fight,”