Nineteen-year-old Venus Sentree won the most brutal Hunger Games in all history, and she did so at a cost. Being the first deceased victor, the Capitol did everything they could to save her. That included sacrificing her vocal chords.
What will Ven...
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I THROW A punch at Paula's cheek, sending her head spinning with a loud crunch. She cries out as I shake my fist. Running, I dart back for the tree-line. Her district partner, Syles, isn't far from us and lets out a loud war cry at the sight of Paula falling.
There's still fifteen of us, two months into the games. We are all surrounding the cornucopia, now. Its been too long, and most of us would rather die here than stay any longer in hiding. We've been lured under false pretences of a feast.
There are so many shouts and cries all around me, hatchets landing in the soil, cannons going off one by one. I feel tears running down my cheeks as pure exhaustion kicks in. I can't help but hit the ground.
Syles follows, chasing after me in an almost drunken stupor. He stumbles repeatedly, landing a knee on the ground and attempting to catch up. I roll onto my front, desperately trying to shake my head rush and get back into gear.
If I could only eat one piece of bread, one.
Our games have been going for two months. The longest in our history, and Snow had began to punish us several weeks ago by removing sponsorship gifts. When he'd announced the month mark over the arena, stating our punishment, I had layed down and cried. It felt like these games would never end, like I'd be stuck in here forever, until now.
I felt a searing pain in my back as I scrambled to my knees, and screamed louder than ever before. It knocked me off my feet, and I heard Syles collapse behind me. I reached to my back after lying on the ground momentarily, gathering my wits and holding back my tears. It was located in a hard to grab spot, and I cursed Syles mentally. With the wild swing of my arm, I latched onto the thick leather handle of the blade, and ripped it out of my back.
All of the tributes were tripping and falling, passing out and hitting the ground in pure exhaustion. My eyes widened as I noticed this behind me, and I flipped onto my back to sit up and watch it all unfold.
Up ahead, Paula had crawled to the cornucopia, latching onto the fine woven finish in order to pull her weak body up. She coughed up the contents of her stomach, leaning against it. Dark, almost black blood came where vomit should have been. Like I did, she stared up into the arena surrounding us, realizing not one person was fighting.
"I give up," She sobbed, holding herself on her knees. "I give up! Let us out!"
I crawled onto my feet, looking around in disbelief. I attempted to run forward, to grab the remaining knives out of Syles' hands, noting the girl from three and the boy from twelve wrestling lazily on the ground. I propelled myself towards him, but fell. As did the couple fighting, Twelve rolled off of three, both of them laying there silent. No cannons sound.
"Tributes. This is your final warning." A game-maker grunts into the microphone. His patience wears thin, and he transfers to a loud growl. "Tributes! Get- Up- Now!"
