Author Games: World Seasons

Finals - Fiametta James Embers

There is a bitter taste of finality in the air as the earth beneath my feet begins to tremble. A chorus of heavy thunder echoes through the mist of grey sky. With such an abundance of melancholic colours it is a struggle to detect where clouds meet snow on the horizon. The ashes of Rubyn and Love dwindled to nothing some time ago. Every aspect of this landscape is painted with a stale emptiness. There is no life in this arena.

"|They've given the word for the arena to be destroyed... with you still in it."

I find no shock in the termination. There is nothing to save. Bitter, marred and cold. My surroundings match the fog of twisting thoughts within my head. The truth in my feelings was once a buried secret that I bit down to avoid the acidic bitterness. It is now a dilapidated door that no longer fits the frame. I cannot hold back the continuous onslaught of emotion. The fragments of forgotten feeling blur together. They clutter my thoughts and send a throbbing ache through my mind. My hands knot tightly through my hair while a suffocating frustration captures my ragged breath.

In this confusion I find only one solution. I paint every thought in the disguise of anger. It sears through my veins and burns along my spine. The scream of a broken mind slices through the sharp air as a warning. I rise to my feet and with steady steps and, unhindered by panic or fear, I walk towards the Cornucopia. Destruction simply does not fill me with fear. The degradation of my mind as it is ripped at the seams has been a far longer and more fearful process.

Amongst the roar of destruction I listen careful for the whisper of another tribute as I roam in the vague direction of the Cornucopia. It does not take long for the rustle of another presence to reach my attention. March stumbles out before me.

"I'm not afraid to kill you." His voice wavers. But regardless I do not doubt the intent behind his words. There is a certain innocence about March that seeps under my skin and prickles uncomfortably. It takes me a moment to realise it is jealousy.  

"Are you just going to stand there? Do something!" Further uncertainty trembles into his tone. Despite the bravado he is fragile and innocent. But delicacy shatters when thrown against the harsh surface of reality. Someone should teach him that. It would be a favour. Better yet I could remove his suffering entirely. He is simply too delicate to survive this nightmare. I spring forward; kicking snow with the ferocity of my movement. The sudden movement startles March into a daze. In moments I have him thrown against a tree.

He raises a hand to brandish a blade. Without a pause for thought I throw my weight against his arm with a snarl. A snap echoes through the silence followed by a grating scream. In the crook of his arm a fragmented shard of bone splinters through the skin and leaves a trail of blood trickling to the floor. His eyes fall to the source of his agony and a whimper breaks free when he views the damage.

"It was the first thing they did to my father. They tied him to a horse and trailed him through the streets. They tell me he broke both legs, an arm and a few ribs as he slumped against the hardened November ground. But do not waste your tears on this. The worst is yet to come." Utterly defenceless I am able to throw March to the ground as if he were a meagre doll. I place my foot against the base of his throat and press it down; softly at first but with increasing force until the air is torn from his gasps.

"They placed me at the centre of the audience forced to gather on that day. Someone was given the duty of regulating my gaze. I was not to tear my eyes off my father. They placed a rope around his neck. A shuddering creak announced the beginning of the real suffering. I watched his eyes glaze over as the rope enclosed a circle of death around his throat. But they didn't kill him. They waited for his body to begin convulsing with the first hint of death and then cut him down." I wait a few moments for March's gasps to reach a peak in intensity before releasing my grip. For a moment relief flickers in the strangled daze of his eyes. But it is replaced in moments by horror as I draw a dagger. 

"They picked out the dullest blade they could lay their hands on. Making sure I was close enough to hear his rasping breaths, they began. In a rough and sawing motion they cut open his flesh. The first stab of the knife sent a spray of blood to splatter down. Droplets like ruby decorated my skin. I was painted in the blood of my dying father. But I could not move to wipe away the stain of atrocity. His agonised screams tore through my ears and tormented my mind. The raging storm swept through the flimsy boundaries of my naive mind and swept away my humanity and compassion. I will never hear a sound to rival that noise. Your screams will not affect me. There is nothing to fear anyway; this knife is sharp." I draw a line of blood across his stomach and then tear across the seam I have made. March's screams have no impact among the flurry of my thoughts. I proceed with methodical precision. This is a lesson he needs to learn. I cannot fail him. 

"Next they drew out his innards and in his last moments of death burned them before his eyes. I didn't just watch my father died. I watched them mutilate him." I reach for the blood smeared mass of his innards and squish them within my hands. His expressions are contorted into a picture of agony and the repetitive splutters cast blood over me.

"But do not worry. I can wait with you until you pass. I am in no hurry." His eyes stare up at me pleadingly. There are still the fading remains of expression. He will not last much longer. Gently I sweep his hair to the side with a motherly affection. 

"His death was my fault. The Peacekeepers asked me if he had been at home the previous night. I was only young. But it was obvious what they wanted. I told them the truth without any hint of concealment. My folly lay in innocence and naivety. I proved his alibi to be a lie. I signed his death warrant just as I signed yours." The last word leaves my lips and March drifts away. He is safe now.

My anger descends like a mask upon my vision. The world is painted in a mist of burning red and I have lost my bearing. Every step I take is fuelled by hatred. It is pure chance when I arrive to the last three shining lights of the Christmas tree. Victoria and Jefferson are already gathered by the branches. The light on the top of the tree highlights a small area amongst the snow. Presumably the exit. They are allies. It is clear immediately. The aura of confusion clearly indicates that they are unable to decide which of them deserves to live. Now I have thrown another complication into the mix. Two will die for one to live a cursed life. If anything we should be debating the lucky two with a clear escape route because the destruction does not end outside this arena.

It is the end of the world and I have one last gift to bestow. I recognised the most volatile vial of gunpowder they bestowed upon me instantly. Mere friction will release a deadly explosion. It would be a shame to waste such a weapon.

With a steady hand I fling it in equidistance between the three of us. It explodes on impact. My vision is filled with glittering dashes of glowing oranges, reds and gold. I am thrown into the air and into the arms of a saving fate. It won't be much longer now. One canon explodes and then another. Jefferson and Victoria are dead. The Games will have no victor. I am to die in this chaos.

I slump against the floor. There is a flaw in my plan. I am meant to be dead. But a rasping breath echoes loudly in my buzzing ears. My flesh is in agony. Furious blisters hiss across my skin. I feel the flesh melt away from my bones. This should be death. It burns with all the ferocity of death. But I am alive.  

"NO!" I attempt to reach a dagger to silence my screech of frustration. I am no victor. They cannot parade me around ensnared in chains of puppetry strings. I should slit my throat. But it is too much pain. They have won.

Life is a punishment that has been enforced upon me. I close my eyes and wait for the Gamemakers to collect their reluctant victor.