The Bloodbath

There is no light at the end of the tunnel here.

Just darkness.

There is no where to go, nowhere to turn, just a straight shot into an untimely death. A straight shot into nothingness.

Her heart raced beneath my chest, like a bird trying to escape its cage.

This was a place of unknowns, and Delacroixs were not trained about the unknown. It was frightening and it was new. At home, she had a pattern, and this shattered it into pieces, but it was becoming the new normal. Maybe soon she’d become used to it too.

Sleep did not evade her the night before. Knowing that people were going to attempt to kill her in less than twelve hours seemed like a piece of cake. Back in Nine, they were relentless. It could be any hour of any day, and there were certainly more than twenty-three of them.

She was woken up by a gentle knock on the door, her feet rushed and shouts of how little time there was to get ready, how everything was already a disaster. Eos filled herself the best she could with food, her next meal not guaranteed. She also managed to grab an apple before being rushed out the door, not sure if she would be able to stomach much more. Surprisingly, there were no nerves, death was something she had grown used to over the years. Maybe it would somehow be an advantage for her.

Or maybe being numb would be her downfall.

They walked her through a steel hallway, not another trib in site. It was Sterile. Silent. All that could be heard was the occasional munching of her apple. Finally she was lead into an even more sterile looking room, Nile there waiting for her, a huge smile plastered across his face. He worked quickly and quietly, he knew today wasn’t a day for small talk, but she could feel his excitement radiating from his body. Her lips surprisingly did not speak a word the whole time, that was until he started to dress her.

”Seriously?”

It looked like he grabbed a piece of royal blue fabric to wrap her with. He was placing and pinning it in so many different places, it created shapes she didn’t even know existed. It was impractical, ridiculous, but of course it only got better. Next was a cape, one that had intricate details in a gold color throughout, and a high collar that almost suffocated her. He finished off the look by weaving a head piece of jewels throughout her hair. Words escaped her, and all she could do was roll her eyes.

He hugged her tightly, and only finally let go when the voice telling her to get into the tube sounded agitated. Eos silently thanked him, he definitely wasn’t the worst person she had met while in the capital, and she took a deep breath when she entered, trying not to cringe as it locked shut, cutting her off from the real world for the last time.

The darkness was back. And it did not get any brighter the longer the ride took. But the presence of death grew nearer. Finally, she arrived on the surface, her eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting. It took another minute to realize what was in front of her.

It was the Cornucopia alright, but the items were floating? She had never seen anything like it, but she managed to keep her face neutral. Her eyes traveled around as she tried to gage the reactions of the other tributes.

This was it.

This was the end.

The watch sounded and she had yet to see the light.

But she will not let herself herself be consumed by the dark.

The morning passed in silence.

There was nothing that could be said, no embrace that could take away the fear — only a short meeting of the eyes, the crease of a brow. ‘Fight,’ a voice whispered in the quiet, and it was hers. ‘You have to go home.’ She had to tell herself she wanted to; she was terrified of living in that skin again.

She did not want to leave —

“I didn’t volunteer to die.”

— but maybe she didn’t want to return.

Her stylist greeted her, taking her hand and spinning her away from her thoughts — and she welcomed the sound, she was grateful for the warmth. Even when the heat became too much, when she winced at the sight of her reflection. Her uniform looked more like several, stitched together and screaming for mercy.

Maybe it was fitting. She wore a peacoat made of greyscale photographs, memories of old arenas and tributes sewn across the fabric — the sunflower field of the eighty-first, Gavin Barker and his tousle of curls. The buttons were a mismatched set of sizes and colours, the palest shades of purple. Beneath the coat was a lavender sweater and a plaid pleated skirt, the hip adorned with more strange buttons.

On her legs were stockings with the same theme as her peacoat, familiar landscapes and faces running down the length. Her shoes were odd and buttoned, made of a plaid material that matched her skirt. She couldn’t put her finger on how she looked, if the knitted beanie atop her head brought the ensemble together.

The scarf didn’t help. She looked like an orphan girl who was preparing to play outside in the snow, just begging to be heckled by the other kids. “Do I need to tell you that I think it’s going to be a cold climate?” her stylist teased, their expression kind, and she offered a weak laugh in response.

They occupied the passing minutes with small talk, anything to distract Fayre from her anxiety. There was so much to consider, so many things to be afraid of — but she spoke only of her favorite flower, of the lilacs that grew by her porch in spring. “I prefer orchids,” the designer said, and that was okay. There was only peace.

And then came the drums of war, a chorus of emotionless words. “Last minute Hunger Games preparations are ending. Tribute has sixty seconds remaining.” She walked to the glass tube without instruction, only a nod to the stylist as the cylinder closed around her. They didn’t need to say anything to her. Not now.

The flowers were enough.

She began to rise shortly after, lifting her jaw to stare at the space above her. Metal parted, dim light rushing in — but as she reached open air, her ascent only continued. Figures floated around her, and she joined them, kicking at the emptiness. She calmed her breathing, reminded herself that this had been planned.

Landing on a platform moments later, it was strange how weightless she still felt. There was steel beneath her feet, but it was as if one movement would send her flying away. She was careful to remain still, turning her head slowly to spot her allies. They were sparsely spread, but they would find each other. They had to.

Numbers appeared in the center of the circle, hovering over the treasure of the eighty-second. Her fists tightened as they counted down, lifting her heel and preparing to launch. There could be no hesitation. ”I didn’t volunteer to die.” She refused to go gentle. The gong cried out, her body lurching forward —

— and then she flew.