The Bloodbath [Non-Victor]

Circe's Outfit

There were blue ribbons woven into my hair forming extensions, cornrow style braids down to my thighs. In my hands I held a bunch of golden poppies that would easily clash against my districts dark blue, sticking out like a sore thumb. A symbol of something I was not yet ready to claim as my own, but afraid of letting go. My mother might have hated me, but somewhere she must care. The same way I could never shake her calculated lessons, her voice often echoing amongst the shadows as I did my best to defy the inevitable.

Dieu-Le-Veut blood stronger than expected.

But it was not my mother I was fighting for, still I carried her legacy in my braids. A few curls perfectly curated on my forehead replicating district four’s waves on my face. I carried my home on my body and my heart had been left behind in the bed of blond boy I was determined to see again. Determined to return to both and so much more in only a few days. A legacy attached, for the whole world would be at my fingertips when I made it out.

The clothes on my skin were scarce, a triangular top made out of more triangles with light reflecting of the shiny blue fabric. Shorts that could have only been made for horrendous heat, chains of jewelry draping from waistline creating the effect of a chainmail.

“You look like a warrior, gorgeous”

I looked like a prostitute.

My eyes shot a look of dissatisfaction towards my stylist. Medea fucking Haley would have eaten this outfit up, prancing around with no self-respect. I could have just as well been sitting on a bar stool at the Kraken’s Cove batting my eyes at whatever idiot could have afforded a minute of my time.

Without saying much more I stepped into the tube, ready for whatever was about to come my way. The entirety of my life leading up to this day, death on my heels but in the end I was confident I would win the race. Portia, Sera and I had a plan…every part of my body screaming for me to ditch the two of them. Flynn Garner’s words in the elevator causing a small voice in the back of my head to call Sera a traitor before anything had even happened.

Mistrust was second nature. It had taken me fourteen years to trust only one of my siblings. Lore’s goofy smile was a reassuring warm embrace, even without his tongue I knew he would encourage me to stick with the friends I had made. I think I know why I decided to wear the poppies in my hair. Not for the sake of my mother, but because it was hands that braided them into my hair, proud of the choice I had made at the reaping.

The only one in the world that could put my mind at ease.

He would be right there with me.

The tube shut, there was nothing left to be said. I stood up tall and tossed one of the braids behind my back. The memory of my brother squeezing my shoulder in good faith telling me that I was ready. My time had finally come to do the one thing my siblings would never be able to beat at. The first of Blair Murdock’s grandchildren to enter the arena.

“Even when all hope seems lost…keep fighting…it’ll save your life. Even when it doesn’t seem important, have those emotional conversations…it’ll deepen your resolve”

Annie’s last words of wisdom, one I could not make sense of but nodded out of respect. I had thought for a second to give her a message for Adam. Only that would be admitting I could not win, a thought that had only crossed my mind for a split second.

The platform came to a halt.

Sand blew into my eyes and the heat immediately burned against my skin. Everything bright, all the tributes in equally shiny outfits as the sun reflected against them causing for blinding reflections. An unknown melody played gently in the background almost haunting and taunting those of us on the platforms.

Was my family watching? Would they be holding their breath as the countdown ran?

Eight seconds left.

I looked around trying to find my allies, Sera spotted easily as she towered over most of the tributes. That is when it became clear, some of the platforms were empty, Portia’s included. I tried to lock eyes with Sera, the plan was to stick together. Strength in numbers, no one would be foolish to go after two careers with impressively high training scores.

Only a few seconds left, and the sound of an explosion disrupted the eerie melody as one of the boys from five was catapulted into a million different pieces. One down, only twenty-two more to go.

The clock hit zero.

My feet ran as fast as they could towards Sera, determined to get to her before anyone else did. For now, I needed her alive.

“We need to find Portia, where the hell is she? Were the hell being the half of us?”

Was this a Murdock curse. The second time one of us stepped into the arena, and the malfunctions had already begun.

[Circe enters the bloodbath]

The seconds dribble away like liquid silver, pooling at my feet, heralding the swift approach of whatever destruction lies ahead. This is not the perfect idea I had for my neon year. The counting numbers are stark against the darkness, an unrelenting beacon in the shadowy recesses of my mind that this place has destined me to. What happened to all the light that I used to have? My heart is like a captive bird, it beats frantically against the cage of my ribs, each thud a reminder of the fleeting moments left to me. This countdown could end with my last breath; karma is cyclic, and so maybe this is what I deserve for playing God for so long.

My dream of a neon year, bright and pulsating with promise, seems now like some sort of sick, cruel joke. All those dreams that I had, woven from threads of shimmering hope, unravel with each chime of the clock. It counts down so harshly, so achingly. The vivid hues of joy, the electric blues and radiant purples, fade into a monochrome existence as reality sinks its claws deeper into my spirit. There's a beast in the twilight, devouring every trace of color and every whisper of light. Imagine - all because this girl was silly enough to dream. 

If only things had fallen into place, I would not be marred by this grim spectacle. I'd decided that this was supposed to be the greatest year of my life; a year meant to be vibrant and electric, filled with the hum of laughter and the glint of undiscovered adventures. Yet, now it is reduced to a mere echo in the cavern of my mind. My neon year dissolves into a shadow play of survival. The radiant promise I had made to myself is fraying like a thread which carries an impossible weight.

Each tick of the clock is a hammer on my soul, driving home the reality of what awaits. The arena, a monstrous canvas, stretches before me, waiting to be painted in hues of crimson and dread. The faces of my fellow tributes flicker in my thoughts, each a constellation in the dark sky of my fate, each one a star destined to fall.

The relentless march continues with each tick, tock, tick, tock. The seconds are both eternal and fleeting, each one a precious, each one deadly, each one a bitter drop in the chalice of my impending doom.

Still, I find a strange, perverse beauty. The tension, the fear, the melancholy – they are the dark threads in the tapestry of my existence. And as the clock strikes the final note, I step forward, leaving behind the shattered remnants of my neon year.

So much for living.

[ carmen enters the bb ]

v e r a .

the girl’s got style, legs for miles: see ‘em walk all over you

The send off Theo gets from me consists of a wink and a wave. Nothing more, certainly nothing sentimental. He’s just some guy I knew for two weeks, same as plenty of others. I don’t want my death to mean anything to him, if it happens. I was already dead when he met me. So I smile, spin around in my skimpy new outfit, and thank my stylists with all of the scant emotion I’m letting through. Really, they’ve done a great job, start to finish.

There were moments that I really did feel like a princess. All my life in Eight, I’d only been pretending. No matter how good I looked, no matter who I pulled, none of it was real. Each night, I’d crawl back into my bed, in the room I shared with four, then two, then one sister, with my makeup still on and a hangover already brewing. Princesses didn’t work in bars, princesses didn’t spend hours maintaining their hair and nails with treatments from old wives’ tales. They had people who did all of it for them, and people who poured everything into them – for brief pockets of time, I experienced what that could be like. Couture, bespoke training, one on one conversations.

They’d given me a taste for real luxury, and it was so, so much richer than the scrap imitations I’d been satisfied with before.

I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Marceline. It’s me that I’m fighting for. I miss my little capsule dressing room as it disappears beneath me more than I've missed any place in Eight.

...

The lights nearly blind me, nearly disorient me enough to force me off my pedestal. But I close my eyes and plant my feet, and take stock of the sensations spreading through me. My skin is crawling. Goosepimples are popping up. My shoulders are tense. There’s a lump in my throat. My mouth is dry. Everything is shaking, just a little bit. Every inch of muscle thrums. It’s all out of time with the music that pounds and pounds, closer and closer. I wrench my eyes back open. The lights are brighter than anything I’ve ever seen before – I’ve been to my fair share of parties, the kinds that take place in dark warehouse basements, lit up by strips of neon. They were nothing like this. I’ve been to concerts too, the sweaty type where everyone’s skin sticks together. Again, nothing like this.

The scale here is totally outside my frame of reference. It’s hot, and sweat is forming under my arms already. Maybe white wasn’t such a good idea.

Looking out at all of this, it’s nearly the complete opposite to what Marceline must’ve seen last year. I couldn’t say how she felt. I can’t even say how I feel. My confidence drains rapidly. All of the material reasons for fighting disintegrate behind my eyes. Look at this place; we could all be having fun here. We could dance.

But the volume keeps rising, and all I can do is stand still as the dead. My lips are already dry, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the heat or my nerves.

When the gong sounds, I’m off like a flash. The lights catch off the gems on my cheek. A weapon is my top priority. Can’t ruin my nails so soon. After that I'll find Lucia, maybe Nori too. They just have to keep up.

VERA JOINS THE BLOODBATH