84th Bloodbath

"The future can't
be real, I
barely know how
long a moment is"

Time.

It’s nothing but a concept.

Something that we use just to keep track of the day, of appointments, of life. Supposedly we’re meant to have a lot of it, so much that it seems never ending. Most people don’t worry about time, I never used to. That is until I had a limit -

On my life.

I believed that I would have a long life, filled with plenty of time, but then Bell told me the truth and I was more aware than ever of every last minute passing by. They went faster than normal and I made sure to cherish each one. Then my name was called while the whole district watched and they were quickly cut in half. What I thought was another year turned into what might only be a few days.

Time.

It seems pointless until you start counting it.

The sun streaked in through my window. I purposely left my blinds open, I didn’t want them to wake me. I needed time to think, time to relax, time to remember. Her death kept playing over and over again in my head. How close a queen was to her throne, but how in the end she was stripped of her crown with the single slice of a blade.

Even the strongest may fall.

The way her body crumpled to the ground in her own pool of blood, the way Ridley stood over top of her. Her eyes, they were filled with something. Rage? Remorse? No matter how many times I watched it replay, I could not be sure. But this time it wouldn’t be Bell’s body that was broken in a pile on the ground.

It would be mine.

No words are spoken as I’m dressed, just a river of thoughts rushing through my head. Mostly it’s her voice. Make sure your stance is wide enough. You call that a punch? It’s all I’ve been hearing for the past week, and I’m not sure if I’m thankful or just annoyed.

After putting my hair in a multitude of braids he finally allows me to look in a mirror. They had placed me in an obnoxious camo outfit, one that may have even been more hideous than Bell’s. At least my hair looks nice. I turn to him and there are tears filling up in his eyes.

”She would have been proud.”

My mind reels with every possible insult in the book. How dare he believes to know what she would have thought. How dare he even think of her. But instead, I look at him and smile.

”Thank you.”

And without another word I stepped into the tube, and let it take me up to my ultimate doom. Even before I reached the top I could hear the chattering of birds and feel the humidity on my face. As soon as the trees appear in my vision I understand why they chose these outfits, too bad the bright colors wouldn’t do us much good.

The thoughts are racing again, trying to remember her Bloodbath, to remember how she survived.

The gong sounds.

Time.

Mine finally might be running out.

I always expected this day to be different, to be exhumed with a kind of energy entirely foreign to my body. Yet as the first beams of dawn break free from the sphere of the sun and dangle over the corners of my face, I am unchanged. The rapid rhythm of war drums does not unfurl from the floating mists of the glass city. Instead, like every other morning, I’m simply a single shape framed by the figure of my window while the rest of the world turns in their sleep. The tips of my fingers fall against the icy panes that prevent me from feeling the rushing wind, and I shiver at my isolation.

Towering trees and lakes of deep desires. Prairie Plains and erected jagged stones of the past. Even decrepit cities almost completely devoured by Shifting Sands. These are the visions of the future that follow me through the morning. The ones that burble up from within the barrage of battle sequences while I slip into comfortable clothes, the last I’ll wear before I’m bathed in the selection of the Games. I can’t decide what kind of arena I want most, maybe one with enough good camera angles to capture the exact moments I sever the limbs of the other tributes. I suppose any environment is fine as long as they catch that.

As a bowl of blistering oatmeal adorned with fruits finds my place for breakfast, the memoirs of home come wafting in on the back of its smell. Mama shooing her band of boys out of the kitchen while our mouths swell with saliva. Papa pacing with his morning coffee while murmuring like a madman about the lesson plans for the gym. Everything in order by the rut of routine with me happily at its center, and at my place: a bowl of oatmeal. The very meal I’ve been instructed to have the morning of the Opening Day since I was a child, well, more of a child. I’m sure my whole family is up by now indulging in the exact same meal, a way of being with me.

By the time I’m rinsing down the remnants of oats and fruit with some kind of incredibly sweet orange and yellow juice, I know for certain that back in Two my family has already left for the gym. The doors will soon be open for a mandatory viewing party in which all the others I’ve trained alongside, and who’s knees I’ve broken, will be gathering to watch and learn from my actions. They’ll take notes while the world wanes into the scene of slaughter ushered in by the gong’s greggarious cry. It is up to me whether they learn how I died or how I killed. The same goes for Gala, we’ll both be on full display. Only now can I begin to feel a tinge of unexpected excitement igniting beneath my skin.

As the morning continues to malt the fragments of the night, I spend my final moments in the training center with Gala. Her hair is messily entangled in her typical lackadaisical style, while her face still paints a portrait of passing pain. Bruises still stretch over its features healing from her fight in the Center, a fight which has earned her the adoration of a 7. Despite even this discoloration though, she brings soft smiles to my face while we float around each other lightly sparring. I give in eventually to the softness and pull her smaller frame into the hollow of mine. As we stand like some kind of inevitable duality at the center of a cosmic shift, I anchor myself to the girl in my arms. Gravity will not be our burden today.

“Ready?”

My question is only barely posed before she runs her elbow into the center of my diaphram. A brush of air bursts from between my lips and I laugh lightly after the gasp. She answers with a tease.

“Obviously.”

They come for us before I can reply. But we ascend towards our chariot of the sky together, hands unified into one before the eyes of our opponents. We don’t shy away from our statement of strength together. From here on out, we don’t shy away from anything. Careers, no, villains don’t hesitate to show exactly who they are. I even wink at a few of the other tributes while our trackers are injected into our arms and this chariot of Apollo leaps into the clouds tracing the tendrils of the burgeoning dawn.

When we land, it’s Gala who kisses me first. The brush of our lips is nothing more than an innocent peck. My hand releases her’s as her final words to me before the battle slide a smirk onto the edges of my cheeks. The same words she spoke to me before entering the labyrinth of the District Two tournament last year.

“Let’s go kick some ass.”

I wave to her shrinking shape.

“With pleasure.”

In the launch room, I get friendly with several cups of water. The cool clear liquid is like a treasure to me at this moment, unknowing of what waits only several yards above my head. I take the advice of Papa to drink right before the Games incredibly seriously. To the point that the avox assigned to my room almost seems distraught when I ask for my fifth glass. Luckily for him, the final request is cancelled by my styling crew. And from comfortable to combat ready I go.

Bound to the colors of neon and camouflage I take to the tube in the corner of the room. The Gamemakers haven’t called us to our places yet, but I use the time to stand in silence with my eyes shut. All I can feel is an even heartbeat and the moving future. My dreams of corpses and a crown are drawing nearer and the world of my past is becoming dimmer. The watch party, the oatmeal, it all drops into the darkness as my plate begins to rise.

I feel the metal beneath my feet lock into place, but I keep my eyes closed for a moment just to listen. Birdsong brambles through a swaying of leaves while an underlying quiet seems to set the stage of sound. My eyes flutter open to find dampened wood and the fingers of mist just creeping around the cornucopia’s edges. Suddenly, there’s a smile on my face. Whatever this arena is, the Gamemakers have done us a favor. It’s iconic.

The final seconds fall faster towards destruction as I prepare to sprint for the bounty before me. Gala isn’t far from me and I know with certainty that she will meet me at the center, all I have to do is trust in her and in myself.

The Games are about to begin.

No.

Our Games are about to begin.

Pure annoyance oozed from his glands rather than sweat. Perhaps I should have known at the moment that the Career path was not meant for me. Maybe I never should have volunteered in my sister’s place, allowed someone else to, and this is ultimately the biggest mistake of my life. But I had convinced Matthew to begin training me, with determination glistening from my existence. Training had taken over my life from that point on, and for the first time in my memories happiness radiated from me. Surely that couldn’t have been a mistake. Just as a smile plastered my face then, it still does now.

Calmness welcomes my crusted eyes into the first day of the rest of my, to be determined in length, life. A restful sleep was mandatory prior to this big day. And though it was a gentle slumber with a mixture of numbness and a chaotic mess of thoughts, it was successful nonetheless. Preparation guides me through the tasks, knowing exactly what has to be done without a second guess.

His hands gripped upon my neck with a soft force. Death didn’t sparkle in his eyes, just a craving to send a message. “I didn’t lie about anything to you, little girl. But you’re playing with fire. Mocking me ain’t a smart move.” His words spat against my face, and I could feel his desire to rid of me from his life. But loyalty and strength was proven from my end. And whether guilt was involved in his decision or not, he offered to start training me again after that.

The time breaches upon us faster than realization can even absorb. His fingers are laced with mine, just as they constantly are without knowing it. Seconds feel to be dropping like bombs in a war zone, rapidly and with casualties. It isn’t goodbye, though feels as if to be one - a goodbye to the life we left behind us. Gently my hand glides across his jaw, a swift kiss colliding his lips into mine. “I’ll see you on the other side. Let’s go kick some ass.” I say inches from his face, before departing to our separate paths.

“They’re pretty careful here, aren’t they?” He had stated while playing with the machines hooked up to me. The extent of my injuries during the career battle back in two, hadn’t reached him yet - though he meant it all the same. Toughness is all he taught, hence his hatred for training a girl until I came around. Though when he discovered of my punctured lung, rage fulled him at his Girlfriend. Pleads whined from me then to not be angry at her, while now I can simply laugh over the entire ordeal.

If I had survived all that, there’s at least a decent chance of me surviving what’s up ahead. The platform rattles with movement to bring me to my destination, with radiating, cheerful colors suiting my attire. There’s no telling if the right path was chosen. A jungle appears to be welcoming me into the path that was decided upon, with the only person I can truly trust somewhere by my side. Whether it was the right or wrong, it’s the one I have now.

3…

2…

1…
.