The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 13

The sky begins to darken, and the almost instantaneous change makes me wonder if we're finally getting some rain from the Gamemakers. I don't know what would push them to do it, but I can't stop myself from hoping all the same. But no, it's just that night has begun to fall. I was foolish to think that they might actually have some sympathy. They haven't shown any to us before, so why would they start now? They want us to be the ones with sympathy for them. Not like forcing us into an arena where we're supposed to kill one another is going to do anything to make me feel much sympathy for them. They're the ones that are doing it to us. It's their fault

A breeze whips through the air, sending a shiver down my spine, making my teeth chatter. A howl in the distance makes me move closer to Victoria, side by side with her, the both of us fearful of what the darkness will bring. My legs are aching, aching, aching, and I feel as though I'm going to fall over with tiredness. I'm shaking hard, exhausted, scared, so done with being in the arena. But once you're in, there's only one way that truly leads out. Death. But there is another way, one that allows you to win. Only it's very costly. Survive, fight, kill, to win, outlast the others at the cost of your sanity and your morals. Is it really worth it to be the victor? I've seen some of them on television, before the rebellion. Some have shut themselves away from society. Others have turned to alcohol or morphling or some other treatment to soothe their minds. And then there are the rest. Who wear their win like a badge of honor, who volunteered for fame and glory, who care about nothing more than the respect that it would gain them. Do I really want to become one?

I want to say no, I want to say that I wouldn't kill others to survive, that I wouldn't be the person who would betray those who once trusted me, who I once trusted, that I wouldn't ever be the first to shoot.

But some tiny sliver in the back of my mind doesn't let me believe it, keeps me fighting for the elusive hope that I could still live, still win this thing. Because I know that I'm lying to myself. Some selfish, uncaring part of me, deep down, desperately desires to be the victor. Even, I realize, my heart breaking with the shame and sadness of the prospect, if it means Victoria's death.

I try to console myself, telling myself that if I die, it would be even harder for my mother, who has lost so much in these past few months, to give reason to the horrible need to survive these Games at the expense of others.

Ridding myself of these thoughts that torture and torment me, I push forward, although my body begs me to stop. When I finally feel that I cannot take even a step further, I slump down by a tree with lucious forest-green leaves, deciding that any more time that we spend trying to get back to the Cornucopia today will be wasted in a futile, fruitless effort that will clearly bring nothing except a sleepless night.

Next to me, my best friend is breathing hard, and which only cements it in my mind that the choice to stop here and rest was a good one. I question whether it was fully thought through, but I can't say that it's the best possibility, since I feel so vulnerable in the open, where I am unable to wield a weapon or flee if danger comes. But what more can we do? We have nothing left to give.

I've just started to drift off as the anthem plays loudly throughout the arena, jerking me from my rest. Above, the sky lights up with the portraits of the dead. I had nearly forgotten about it, after all that's happened today. If only we could have gone a night without the ceaseless reminder that Coin is constantly dogging us, watching us, controlling us, and that we're the pieces in her game.

I didn't hear any cannons, so I'm sure that it will soon be dark once again, but no, I'm wrong.

Four deaths. The projection ends, the music drawing to a close, leaving only the glittering stars created in the force field that contains us and the silver-gray moon to illuminate our path. None of the dead today are people that I had been very familiar with, but it doesn't stop them from hurting as much as ever. I do a quick count in my head. Four today, and eight yesterday. Two days, and half of us are gone. Twelve left. Including Victoria and myself.

I try to imagine what it must be like for the tributes who came from the less wealthy districts at the great disadvantage that already some had learned to kill. What it would be like to stumble upon one of the Career Tributes, in the fear that the moment you do, your throat would be slit in a matter of seconds.

It's hard when you have had personal experiences with the tributes that have died each day, but is it harder knowing that the moment you step into the arena, you're walking right into your death, where the killers are waiting, ready and eager to spring when you least expect it? Less hope means less will to survive. You may as well just die already, before they make you sacrifice your innocence too. At least since all of us are from the Capitol, it's not like we don't have anyone left from home.

—

Neither of us can keep our eyes open, so we decide to sleep without taking watches, despite the extreme danger. If they want to come for us, they can. We won't be able to travel any further in this state. Nothing's entirely safe. Everything comes with risk.

It takes me barely any time to fall asleep because we're both so desperate for a reprieve from the Games, want so badly to be home again. But we all can be certain that they'll never let that happen.

After a while, a single droplet of water splashes on my head, and it takes my tired brain a moment to figure out what it means. Rain!

I shake Victoria awake, laughing in delight, and we quickly remove our water bottle that we got at the Cornucopia from our backpack, trying to catch whatever moisture we can. I tilt my chin up to the dome, my mouth open, and swallow every raindrop that I can.

At home, I used to hate the rain, for its seemingly unceasing dreariness and how it would always ruin my outdoor plans. After all I've been through in the past week, I can only scold myself for such pettiness, for the fact that I would ever care so much about such an unimportant matter, soaking up every bit of it that I can.

The gentle pattering of it against the ground and the plastic of the bottle is a beautiful melody after being so starved of the liquid while we're in the arena. I don't know how the other tributes could bear it, without having a drink for so long.

By dawn, the rain has slowed to a gentle drizzle and our clothes are soaked and we're shivering, but I could hardly care less. We only slept for a few hours, but I feel refreshed after the downpour. We're still in the Games. It's not over yet.

The sun is shining brightly high above us, and I judge it to be around nine o'clock. Of course, this is the Hunger Games, and nothing is natural, so this could just be a trick. I remember how the Gamemakers made the sky darken in the middle of the day a couple years ago in the finale. Really, it doesn't mean anything much.

I recognize a tree with crooked branches that I barely took notice of when we had first walked past here. We must be getting nearer!

We take periodic sips from our gradually emptying bottle to replenish the water we've lost through sweat in the hot, sticky weather of the arena. The rays of the sun beat down on us, a sweltering, inescapable heat that is making me go crazy.

And that's when I hear it. The eerie, echoing cry. It would be impossible to miss the desperation in the voice as the scream rings out throughout the forest.

I can only form one clear thought.

Alana.