The Great War.

XXI

"Untainted Hearts."

One of the few happy memories I have from my childhood is the time when I was about four years old, walking down the street with my mother. I can still vividly recall her gentle touch, as her thumb caressed the back of my hand. Her face, full of freckles, being bathed in the warm glow of the evening sunlight, and her long jet-black hair dancing gracefully in the wind. The memory of her carefree and even joyful expression is what comes to mind as I fall to the ground, and one of those strange creatures scratches my face, with its long and sharp claws.

The burning sensation on my right cheek, accompanied by the feeling of blood trickling down my face, leaves me completely defenseless. That beast is no ordinary wolf; it's a mutation created by the Gamemakers, a genetically altered creature. If I stop to think about it, it makes sense: they want a spectacle, a shocking finale. What extravagance could they get from four teenagers whose bodies are succumbing to malnutrition and exhaustion?

The beast places both paws on my shoulders, and I know it's about to kill me slowly and painfully. I have no way to get it off me because it's way too heavy, even though I'm sure that it's not putting its entire bodyweight on me. I let out a scream as its claws dug into my shoulders. I look up, and my soul shatters into a thousand little pieces. Those sky-blue eyes, which could never belong to a real wolf in a million years, glare at me with rage. The smooth, blond fur, the collar around its neck with a number one engraved in jewels... It's Marvel.

I can barely connect the dots in my mind when I hear the creature howling in pain. It collapses to the ground, and I notice the spear embedded in its left side. Cato shouts at me to keep running, and I struggle to get up. Marvel's eyes on that creature have left me breathless. Were those truly his eyes? Does that beast hold his memories? Did they turn him into that monster?

I keep on running, spotting the cornucopia around sixty feet ahead. Climbing a tree is out of the question, as it would give the mutations enough time to catch up with me. With each step on the steep path, I feel my leg muscles tearing apart, and the nauseating scent of blood overwhelms me. A sharp pain shoots through my shoulders and neck with every step that I take.

I step into the clearing and glance at Cato, who signals me to climb on top of the cornucopia as soon as I reach it. Two human silhouettes stand in our way: the tributes from District 12. An arrow hits my chest and bounces off my armour; the impact nearly stops me, but the howl of one of those creatures shakes the thought from my head. Unintentionally, I collide with the girl from District 12, causing her bow to fall to the ground. She grabs my arm, but instead of attacking her, a single word escapes from my lips.

"Run."

I turn towards the forest and see one of those creatures leap out into the clearing, landing on its back legs. If the mutation that attacked me was Marvel, I assume the other fallen tributes are now part of the pack. I sprint back to the cornucopia; the tributes from District 12 are the smallest of my concerns at this moment. The pure golden surface of the cornucopia has small ridges and seams to hold onto, but as soon as I place my hand on it, my skin starts to burn. I have to either burn my hands or face those beasts; the decision is quite obvious.

Cato appears by my side and climbs faster than I do. He grabs my forearm and pulls me up without any hesitation. We reach the top of the horn, but he falls face-first and screams when his skin touches the surface of the cornucopia. The mutations have gathered at the base of the cornucopia, about six meters below us, trying to find a way to climb.

I hear the tributes from District 12 screaming at each other, but I can't focus on anything other than those mutations. My throat starts burning, and I lean over to throw up. The bitter taste of the vomit mixes with the metallic taste of blood that keeps on trickling from my right cheek.