The Bloodbath

Sperring was alone.

There were people all around him, rushing in preparation, but honestly, he was quite alone. Sperring felt numb as the tracker was inserted into his arm; probably because he was. It was like nothing mattered any more. Nothing existed. It was already game over, even if no one was playing yet. The Hunger Games didn’t have a real winner, not in Sperring’s mind. Winning the games didn’t make you a winner. It made you a killer. But Sperring knew there was no point in arguing with the system. If getting out alive meant killing all the others, so be it. There was nothing Sperring could do but accept that.

When the woman standing above him, was finished inserting the tracker, she left, leaving Sperring to himself. This time he really was alone. He looked out the window of the hovercraft, but the windows were blacked out, so there was no point. His mind swirled with all kinds of thoughts, but as proven before, there honestly was no point. No point in thinking, feeling, trying. These games would dehumanize Sperring; that he knew. His mind shifted back to the distant memories: the memories of the boy who died at his hands.

Sperring fidgeted, quickly pushing the thought from his mind. The last thing he needed was emotion. Emotion would stop him from returning home, from finally being glorified and honored as a victor. Sperring sat in silence for a few moments, waiting for the hovercraft to land. It finally did, and Sperring was led out. Of course, his mentor didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Was it shame that had kept his mentor so distant? Shame towards the introverted District Four boy.

Sperring’s stylist, a perky young woman, entered the launch room with him. Until the games started, this is where he’d be staying. His stylist sat down, and so did Sperring. Silence engulfed him. He cleared his mind; he didn’t want to wait. Time seemed to tick by so slowly. It was like it was forcing him to think, reminding him of his values. He didn’t want to remember. He just wanted to get this all over with.

Suddenly, his stylist stood up, giving Sperring a slight nod. Sperring walked over to the plate, where he would enter the arena. He took a step onto it, giving his stylist a nod of courtesy. Neither of them were very close; besides, Sperrring wasn’t really someone for formal goodbyes.

The plate rose, and Sperring could feel sharp cold air hit his face. He had known there would be something like this, something wintery, for their outfits were enough to give that away. But looking around, all Sperring could see was snow. He was already shivering from the cold. He hadn’t felt cold like this before, not in District Four. Even in the winter, it never got this freezing.

Sperring took a deep breath, remembering the boy he killed. He would do it again if he had to. He glanced around for Shayde and Damaris, and caught their faces in the line of tributes. They had never officialized an alliance, but maybe it would be smart; maybe it would be better, if Sperring wasn’t completely alone.

Sperring readied himself, but thoughts were still haunting his mind. As much as he tried to push them away, he could hear the voices of the people back home, the ones that liked to bully him. They wanted him dead; everyone wanted him dead.

But Sperring wouldn’t die. He would fight.

Suddenly, Sperring heard the gong, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he ran, full-speed towards the Cornucopia.

Today is the day. The day I have been waiting for my whole life. It is the day that I go into the arena, the start of my tribute life. That life will lead me into my life as a victor, but that has to wait. For the first time in my life, I will get to take the lives of people who do not deserve to live. All of the other tributes, even my alliance, are a waste of space. Panem will be a better place without them, I am sure of that.

With my as a victor, District One will finally have earned some respect back. I will represent the end of the unheard of run from District Twelve. Any order that has been lost in Panem will be regained. In essence, I am basically the savoir of District One. Without me, One would fall into shambles; but that does not matter, because District One has me. We will stay in the Capitol’s favor, especially above those people from District Two. They like us better; it is obvious that we are just the best District by far, as long as Sapphire Ross is not included. She is just awful, the first chance I get at her she will be dead,that is for sure. I cannot handle how much of a disgrace she is, thank God she got reaped for the games; it is my destiny to take her life as well as many others in the lovely Hunger Games.

Why Willis isn’t here bothers me, it would be hilarious if she is still upset from last night. I did not do anything wrong, so it would surprise me if she is. Besides, she will try and be nice to me so when I come back she wont have to feel like an idiot. She knows I am going to win, so she wants to be on my good side. I can’t blame her, I’d do the same thing if I was in her position. Well, besides getting upset with the tribute who I am a stylist for, that is clearly not being professional. It is not what I would expect from a stylist for the best District in all of Panem, she should be fired for disrespecting me. When I get back to the Capitol I will make sure to talk to President Snow or the Head Gamemaker about Willis’ unprofessional behavior. To be honest, that was the only bad part about my time in the Capitol, time spent with Willis, that is.

Right on queue Willis walks in, turning on the lights. My hate for her is like a magnet; anytime I do not want to see her she comes to me, anytime I want to see her, wait, I never want to see her, why would I even be thinking that I do. Still, seeing her this morning is fairly nice, it is the official start of my first day in the arena. This day is going to be wonderful, I can already tell. I have a checklist made in my mind:

Piss of Willis ☐
Kill at least four people in the Bloodbath ☐
Kill Sapphire Ross ☐

There is no doubt in my mind that I will accomplish all of these things. I will take the most pleasure in killing my District partner, but angering my stylist will be a hilarious memory that I will take with me into the games. She is so superficial it is beyond funny. She should not care about what I say to her, the only thing she should care about is making me look my best. She could not accomplish that, thus, she should be fired.

”Wake up Michael! It is your big day, and I do not mean birthday by that. It is Hunger Games time! Are you excited? Because I am! I am going to be the winning stylist, and I get to see the arena! This is too exciting!" As I thought she is still the same, self-obsessed, bitch. If Willis were a tribute I would kill her first. She may be the one person in the Capitol who I hate more than Sapphire Ross. It must be hard to be so hate-able, I am convinced she is trying to piss me off.

Why she did not just come in here and tap me to wake me up surprises me. That spiel she just went on was unnecessary and just makes me hate her more. ”Shut up, Willis. I already showered, let’s go, I don’t want to deal with your crap today. Be quiet and let me get in my zone. Once I am in that there is no stopping me. I’m going to go hard this first day, don’t stand in my way.”That was a little bit harsher than I wanted, but I do not care. She deserves it, the mental stress she has caused me is too much to handle.

Before I know it, the hovercraft that she took me to is closing all the windows so we do not get a glance at the arena, my body is tingling with excitement by this point. After about twenty more minutes of flying, we are told to get off. I find myself in my dressing room, under the arena. This is another benefit that District One has; we get to the arena earlier, so we are able to relax more before the games. I already feel at home under the arena, which I will be walking very soon. I cannot wait to get into the action.

Willis and I sit there quietly, not wanting to speak to each other. I get a meal of food and glasses of water. I want to fill up, but not overfill myself. If there is food in the cornucopia, I will have it. But if not, then I do not know when my next real meal will be. This one is slightly enjoyable at best. Having to deal with Willis just angers me, and I am thankful when the box of clothing finally comes.

To my complete disliking, there is extremely heavy wear in that box. I love the games, but the one thing that I dislike most is the cold. I cannot be cold, it is the worst feeling ever. I hate, hate, hate, hate being cold. I am too awesome to be cold. God should make it so I radiate heat no matter how cold my surroundings are. This is going to be awful. Until I kill somebody I will just be freezing. Even Willis can see my obvious detesting of the clothing, but we still refrain from speaking to each other. Finally I put it on and I am in my launch tube, the shaking with excitement begins when they start lifting us up on our plates to the arena.

The arena is pretty damn cold, but at least these clothes make me not freeze to death. I have always hated the somewhat cold winters in District One, but I can tell this is a whole other. Even with the warmest clothes in all of the country, I can feel myself freezing. I have been in pain before, but I always stay inside when it is cold out. I will most likely get pneumonia by the end of these Games. This is just going to be uncomfortable for me, why this? God must hate me, but he can’t, I am just too important for that. The Capitol must think this gives me a distinct advantage in winning. But we will all find that out soon enough, as Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms over the arena, ”Let the 59th Annual Hunger Games Begin!”[/color

His words warm me up; they are a shot of adrenalin. I am ready. I let the countdown start in my head. I am sure that my count will be right; it is another thing that my training for makes infallible. I will not be wrong, even if the adrenalin in my body makes me count ever so slightly faster. I can tell that this will be fun; I can tell I will win. I take a look at my surroundings but most importantly that lovely golden horn. It is calling my name. I get into my sprinting stance, making sure to stay on the plate. It’s go time. I know it. This is my year. District One will be respectable after this.

The.
Crown.
Will.
Be.
Mine.

It is just about to be ten o’clock in the morning, everyone knows what time it is: ”Let’s Go!”

GONG!

I am off the plate at first instinct. My words may have been calm, but there will be no restraint. I am off towards the life of a national hero. It only started a few seconds ago, but I already feel the artificial warmth spreading throughout me as I sprint towards the cornucopia.