The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 26

That's all it was. One arrow sent him down. Kill or be killed. A perfect example. You don't kill, you get killed. It's that simple. Our code of conduct in the arena. Our reality.

Kill or be killed. Here we are again, waiting to see what the other does, making a calculated decision on how best to attack. Staring each other down. He is a killer. But so are we, so what difference does that make? He has the advantage of long-range weapons. But a bow won't do anything when we're this close. Again, it is two against one. But we are both smaller, and we lost the other three knives we had when we had to escape the muttations and are left with only one between the two of us.

Kill or be killed. Who will it be? It's Marianna all over again. Someone has to die here. I just can't let it be Victoria or I.

Kill or be killed. If I wait, there won't be any time left to make a move. I don't want to be the first, though. If I am the first to strike, I will go down as violent and vicious and lethal and uncaring. Please, tell me I'm not. I don't think I am. Am I? Perhaps I am. The Games have made us all monsters.

Kill or be killed. I can't let anyone else I care about die. Maybe it's worth it if I were to kill him. Maybe then we could go home. No, I can't be thinking like that. These are real people. Real people with real families and real friends and real lives. It's not a game, as the title so loves to suggest.

Kill or be killed. Him or us. Every second since the very start of these Hunger Games have been an internal war waging inside of me.

Kill or be killed. I don't want to satisfy them. I don't want to give them the sight of Capitol blood that they so long to see. I will not give it to them unless it is taken from me.

Kill or be killed. It's not a question anymore; it's a demand. It's a threat.

Kill or be killed. I have to choose. This is the finale of the Games. The climax. The awaited point. We are exposed. We are found. We are hunted. We are strong.

I choose kill.

—

He is defenseless. It does not take us long to overcome him, especially because the bow and arrows are practically useless in hand-to-hand combat, whereas the single blade we have is much more effective against him. We have him on the floor, helpless against our weapons, waiting for death. Victoria has the knife pressed against his throat. I can't tell whether or not she regrets it anymore, like I am trying to convince myself that I do. Like I'm trying to convince myself that this is the only way, that by killing him, I am protecting myself and the people that I care about. Kill or be killed. When one of us comes out of the arena, we will be haunted by the ghosts of our past. Kill or be killed. Their whispers of the unspoken rule never leave you. Not when you're awake, not when you're asleep. They plague your dreams, turning them into nightmares. They make you question every action. It will never leave you. Nothing in this arena will ever leave you. Not the experiences, not the fear, not the people.

"Please," he whispers, begging us for mercy. "Please." A desperate cry for someone to understand, but even though we do, we have to. It's the only way that we'll survive. Maybe since we understand each other at least a little bit, he will accept that. It's not that we want to; it's just that we need to if we want to live. One death so that two can keep living. It might not be a fair tradeoff, but if you look at it objectively, it makes more sense. But maybe it's just because I don't want to die yet.

Victoria draws the knife sharply and neatly to the right, and just like that, his life, too, ends. Swiftly, as if she had done it a thousand times before. Briskly, as if it were better to finish it sooner rather than later. Maybe it was. Maybe it was better to kill him fast than to leave him at our mercy to die a very painful death. I wouldn't have wanted to die a slow death. But it is cruel to make that decision for others.

Another cannon fires. The second today.

How could we do this? Not again. Don't start again. No one ever will survive the Games unless they've done things they aren't proud of. At least the echoes that I keep hearing inside my head tell me that I do care. I believe that there is still hope for us all, so long as there are still people who care. I believe that even when everything seems to be so dark, it's not, because there are people out there who are willing to bear the burdens of the world to make it better. I believe that the world is not all bad yet, that there are still people who care. I believe that there are many shades of gray, even if it seems to be black and white.

I am lost in my thoughts, too unfocused to see it. He is upon us. This is the real finale. He was always the one to kill. Here's our chance. If we blow it, it'll leave us both dead. It would leave both of us dead and then Leander would be crowned the victor, just as he always wanted. As we all wanted.

I should have kept more of a lookout when I first heard his yell in the distance. I should have been more careful. I could have had the advantage. I could have been there first and dealt with the real opponent, the one who has been hunting throughout these entire Games. The predator, the one that refused to show his weakness. But these are only "could have"s and "should have"s. They don't change anything. It seems like we should have seen all the signs in hindsight. No matter how much we look back, nothing will ever change. Alana. Marianna. The other two that we killed, whose names I could not even tell you. Even if we regret it, regrets don't bring them back.

Here he is, right behind us. Holding a crescent sword with a wide but soft curve. The same one that he so lazily asked his ally to pass to him. The same one that he was about to kill us with the first time we met in the Games. This is it. I didn't think this could possibly be the final day, but I guess it will be. At the end of today or perhaps tomorrow instead, two more of us will be dead and one of us battered but alive. They don't need a long, drawn-out Games to get their revenge. This is already enough for them.

And so the real Hunger Games begins.

—

Blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere. I didn't realize how much we were all bleeding until this point. Streaming from our wounds, dripping from the metal of our weapons, oozing down our bodies to the ground. We are bleeding to our ends. A slow way to die.

I hear Leander's heavy panting above us, while we have him cornered against the greenery, up close to a tree with drying bark that is chipping off the trunk. Two against one again. Number beat strength. We will win.

"Kill me," he whispers hoarsely. I blink, perplexed at his words.

"Kill me," he says again, louder this time. "I won't be making it out of this arena. Just kill me now so I can go back home."

Such pain, such hurting in his voice. The strain tells me that it isn't easy for him to say this, but it's the honest reason. He's giving up. I almost want to let him go and die than see it happen. I can't. I must hold on. Don't give up. It's almost over. And then, we, too, can finally go home.

He offers us his own weapon, a true sign of defeation. I glance sideways at Victoria. This isn't right. But it's what he wants. Would it be, if they hadn't dragged us all into the arena for one last Games as revenge on us? It's his last wish. We have to do it. It's not right. It's what he told us to do.

The internal war goes back and forth between the two sides, until finally the echoes of his pleading and the logicality of his words wins out against them. This will be my final kill. For mercy, not for aggression.

I take his sword, closing my eyes as I do the act.

But just as the cannon for him fires, another thought settles in place.

Because now, we are the only ones left.