Sunshine - A Hunger Games Story

21| Sinister

The blade stabs through Henri's back, exiting through his lower abdomen. The dirty, off-white color of his shirt instantly turns a crimson color. He opens his mouth wide in shock and the red liquid spills out over his chin.

Before I can think straight, I am dashing towards the 18 year old from my district.

He grips his filthy hand around the back of Henri's neck and he rips his sword out, shoving the boy's body to the ground. The blade is covered in his blood. Fred's crazed eyes meet mine as I run towards him with my own sword raised.

He's shaking. Whether it is from dehydration, starvation, injuries, isolation, trauma, or something entirely different, it was hard to tell. His hands shook the sword as he held it up in the air, prepared to strike. His whole demeanor makes him look even more psychotic. As I look at the boy, I realize how much has changed from the start of it all. The broad-shouldered boy who never had to worry about not having enough food is now skinnier and starved. The two of us, from opposite wealth classes, are now equal. It only makes me angrier.

My blood boils. The burning in my left hand has been pushed to the very back of my mind, leaving room for my one and only thought— kill Fredrick Green.

He raises his sword, sneering at me, and I raise mine. 15 feet away. 10 feet. 8 feet. He takes a few steps forward as I near him, raising his sword to strike.

My gut twists and turns and my arms shake. But, it only seems to make my grip stronger and keep my attention hyper focused. My blood pounds through my veins bringing adrenalin into my brain and muscles. I easily block Fred's sword, pushing it to his side and pulling back for another strike. I swing again, hard, as Fred is open and vulnerable. He just barely blocks it, taking a half step back to compensate for the sudden force.

I swing again, this time when he already has his sword raised. I push his sword out and around, nicking his hand in the process. Apparently with enough force to cause him to drop his weapon.

Still fuming with rage, I swing at him again. Through the tears that are clouding my vision, I see my blade cut a line through his chest. The parts surrounding the cut instantly staining with blood. I bring my sword up again.

I don't see him raise his arms to protect his terrified face. I see Henri. I see Faith and Floyd, Sydney and Rhett, I even see my brothers, parents, friends, everyone I've ever cared about. I see my sword coming down to kill whatever murdered my friends. It comes down with my rage that had been building up over the past month. My sword comes down, slicing through the boy's forearms. And once again, as he scrambles to his feet.

Fred gets to his feet and tries to tackle me.

I see it coming and I jut my sword out, sending my rage through the weapon and into the boy's chest.

I rapidly blink my eyes, trying to clear my vision. I see the shocked expression on my district partner's face. His mouth is open, staring in shock at the blade protruding from his chest. No tears fall down his face, but I can tell that they will if he's given another moment or two.

As the boy gapes, his knees buckle. He falls to the ground. With my grip still on the sword, it pulls out of him as he falls.

Blood gushes from his wound.

But that's the least of my worries.

I whip my head around to where Henri lies, just a few feet away. A cannon fires, but I couldn't care less. Henri's body still trembles.

He's still alive.

I drop my sword as I crouch down next to the little boy's injured body. I pull him towards myself, resting his head on my leg and trying to put pressure on his wound.

"It'll be okay. It's okay. I've got you. I-I, I got- I got you," I whisper to him, my voice shaking with sobs. I cup his face with one of my hands, clearing a tear trail with my thumb. My hand leaves blood on his skin making me cry more. This sweet, little boy doesn't deserve this. He has to live and see his family and live the long, happy life that he deserves.

"You won," he whispers back, his voice strained.

"No-No. You're still going to win. You can still go home. Just- stay with me." My sobs shake my body.

"Tell them, tell them I love 'em. Tell them. Thank you Ash." He struggles to get the words out. His pain is evident in his voice, which I am so focused on that I miss the nickname he gave me. "Thanks for helping me and being my friend."

"No no no no, just hold on a second. You can still go home."

I grab the dagger from my pocket and hold it up to my neck with my right hand. I take one deep breath in. One last breath. If I'm dead then Henri wins and they have to save him. If I die, then Henri will live.

And then I start to push the dagger into my neck. But, before it can pierce my skin, a sharp, electric shock travels through my whole arm. The dagger falls from my grip and lands in my lap.

I look at my arm, trying to figure out what happened. Nothing is there.

Then I notice the tiny scar from the very beginning of the games when they put my tracker in.

The capital is trying to rig the game. They want me to win.

I quickly grab the dagger again and force it towards my throat. The same thing happens.

I do it again. Same results.

Then Henri starts gasping, struggling to breath. I grab his hand and cup his face again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," I cry. My tears fall from my face and land on his bloodied abdomen.

"It's okay." I barely hear him whisper the words before a cannon fires.

"Nooo!" I scream.

I scream as loud as I can, letting my sobs come out, full force. I scream out over the sound of the game keeper's announcement. I've heard it before and I know what he's saying, but I don't care to listen. I don't care because I can't believe it's true. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you, the winner of the 68th annual Hunger Games: Ayesha Santana."

As my screaming and sobbing dies down, a hovercraft flies into the arena above me. I cling to Henri's body as the hovercraft lifts us and Fred's body up into it.

When I look up from where my head is buried in the young boy's body, I see that I am surrounded by peacekeepers, doctors, and capital officials. Fred's body gets carted away through a door to the left of me. I catch a glimpse of the bloodied mess and feel the metaphorical knife inside of me turn. No longer am I fighting for my survival or the survival of another. All my rage and motivation no longer has a purpose and it starts eating away at my insides.

One of the doctors sets a hand on my shoulders. The man whispers something into my ear, but I don't hear what he says. My mind is too wrapped up in disbelief.

Next, one of the peacekeepers grapes a hold of me, another one attempts to take Henri from underneath me. I try to hold on to the boy as tightly as possible. Though, a sharp poke in the side of my neck causes me to slowly lose my grip on him as my eyelids flutter closed.

The darkness swallows me up. My sadness, the huge weight bearing down on my chest, and the metaphorical knife in my gut all fade away into nothingness as I pass out on the hovercraft.

The last thing I feel is doctors lifting me up, away from Henri, and laying me down on a padded table.