The Bloodbath

It's like we are born standing on a shard of ice. Cold and blue, their frozen skin radiating a raw essence into the sky. We stand and try to keep our head held high, but they are delicate and provide our ever moving feet with a surface which leaves our faces struck with worry and stained by fear. The shard is beautiful, he transparent, icy surface allowing sunlight to beam through it, emitting it at a thousand different angles. You try to run, but it whispers to you - the words pounding their way into your head until you're left stranded: alone, desolate and forsaken.

I've been repelled by the shard; I have been sent into the abandoned space between reality and a dream-world, a place that is bitter and twisted. Found under the graves of the silken dead and whispering souls lies my future. We breathe and it changes, we blink and we all fall down. No hope can lift us up from this never-ending pit of eternal darkness, the magic has faded into the morning and imagination has been stabbed by the truth.

My eyes peel open, opening the gate to my soul. I'm naked and exposed to the horrific veracity of my life. The sun rises from the horizon, bringing with it a following of beautiful shades of blue and orange. They are led forth by their light and brought forward into something new and happy. It's a shame I can't say the same about my situation. I lay awake in a cocoon of my covers for the last few hours, my globes pinned on watching the sunrise. I wonder if this will be the last I see; I remember a time where the sun rose and I was strong and content, but now it is a countdown. I quiver at the thought.

The seconds and moments fly like hopeless butterflies before my eyes. Their wings flutter like a heartbeat, but a heartbeat which is uneven and distorted creating a world before my eyes which is blurred and slowed every few minutes. It feels as if I have been lying here for centuries. My hands lift themselves and my skin looks rotten and viridescent, my bones seeping from the metaphorical wounds on my knuckles. There's no blood, no pain or any feeling; but as I'm thrown from the deepest of my thoughts and fed to the birds of my physical existence I realise that I'm truly awake.

Before I can even compose myself, they force me into a set of clothes which feel soft and silent — the fibres against my skin making no sound at all. The only noises in the air are the constant buzz of my anomalous stylish pulling and tucking and my pulse ticking in time with the seconds hand of a clock. Each beat getting more sour, the rhythm sharpening itself on the thick air.

Powder is applied to every nook and crevice on my face in a desperate attempt to conceal the redness surrounding my eyes. I gaze blankly at the body who is safe in front of me, my expression quickly stolen by the traitorous jealousy. I try to swallow to rid myself of the criminal, but I'm only greeted by a vicious lump in my throat which is sewn into place. None of my attempts to pull it down with me are successful, and so when I open my mouth to say goodbye, not even a dainty sound escapes from my lips.

I'm urged into the tube which shoots up from the security of light and exports me into a glistening darkness. I exhale, closing my eyes from a split second before I clench my fists. This is all too real for me, and I'm beginning to feel myself crumble under the pressure. I look at the glass and see a fragmented reflection staring back at me: a face who likes to perform cartwheels and create pictures with sticks and leaves on the dirt ground.

The blank darkness turns like a wheel into day, my eyes shielding themselves from the light reflecting off the Cornucopia. The air is husky and the day is deserted. I stand like a skeleton who reeks of deceit and pulsates with energy. I can see the other tributes appearing as my vision clears, Sue, Noah and Wyatt emerging from the water in my eyes. They give me fuel and give me spark which only increases, the surge rising up through my body with each number.

And as time as I know it swirls into something unfamiliar, the shard I once stood on collapses from beneath my feet and I'm sent falling into the Games - no certainty, no future, no life. The sound of a cannon rings around my head, my feet shuffling off the podium as I try to compose my movements with the melody of my heartbeat.
It's so close now.
Everyone of us will taste death.

{ maya enters the bloodbath }