a Message filled with regret

Chapter10; The Unwinnable Game.

the rest of her last remaining days pass in a blur of horrendous colour. She knew it was her final days, yet couldn't get her brain to engage, instead shutting herself off into her room, her preferred method of dealing with emotions, and sulking. 

her interview was okay, by no means did she stand out, her score doing that for her all on its own. Rowell was scared for the arena, but at least their people are honest about wanting to kill you.

The minute the platform rose she knew she was in trouble. The sheer sensory overload took her away from her senses into a numb state that she couldn't register her surroundings. the sky was bright, too bright. the wind whipped at her face and exposed skin, bringing s shiver to her skin while also blinding her completely. 

The countdown rang out loudly, yet she only focused on her breathing, not the weapons or other tributes, not even the surroundings.

Nothing mattered more to Rowell than to last longer than her sister, who froze up right where she was standing, died at the blood bath out if stupidity. No! Rowell couldn't be that. She was trained for this. Or as trained as you can be when training is a capital crime, punishable by death. Yet, her father risked it all to make her ready in case her name was ever reaped.

As the clock hit single digits she tuned back in, albeit with great difficulty, to where she was. Got ready to sprint, and as soon as she could, she leapt from her pedestal and ran towards the cornucopia.

Their legs burning as she slid across the flood picking up a set of throwing knives before returning to a standing position, throwing them out into the throats of anyone careless enough to be near her. Unfortunately enough not to know to duck.  Reaching the middle of the clearing her chest heaved and blood pumped when her fight or flight kicked in. Adenine coursing through her veins not letting her feel the fear she should feel, instead bringing her excitement and anticipation as she found her chosen to weapon a wicked grin fell to her lips. All teeth, wolf like and predatory.

Rowell had targets she needed to take out first to ensure her victory in the games. These being the Academies, or careers as she'd heard them called in other districts, the people who were trained killing machines (might like herself, but with an expertise she could never possess) and if they remained in the games, her chance of survival was stacked against her.

Spotting the first career she sent the metal disk from her hands in a horizontal arch, hitting another tribute to reach her target (an academy trained tribute) before returning into her hand, catching it just the right way to avoid severing her wrist off. Soaring a quick glance at the deceased tributes, her stomach turned, they were severed in half. Dead. Definitely dead.

By the time the blood bath had finished her ally made herself known. Revealing herself only now, most likely to annoy the younger skilled girl. Natalie Sanford, the pretty girl from one. The girl who approached her proposing a new idea, take out the academy pack, leave the others to kill themselves, keep their hands relatively clean.

Something Rowell was already failing at. Having killed, if she is correct, 8 tributes already. 4 from the throwing knives, each landing perfectly either in the eye or lodged into a throat, and the remaining 4 from the circular disks she revels in welding. 3 trained tributes already gone, only increasing her chance of survival.

finally getting a chance to appreciate her surroundings she let herself take it all in. the high mountains that surrounded her on every side, leaving them and the cornucopia in the middle, relatively flat ground below the mountain tops. Wandering around examining the area, making sure to keep an eye out for anything that can cause her harm as she looped around the relatively small clearing, before calling Natalie over.