Deadly Waves - The 26th Hunger Games

~Part 1 - Chapter 3

I don't remember how I ended up on the stage. Everything became so blurry. I hardly remember the steps I took to end up here. I don't remember anything that happened today. All I think of is the many ways I might get killed. Ax in the head, knife in the stomach.

I hold my stomach from thinking of it

Arrow in the chest, maybe even two, a sword taking my head, choking, starving, bleeding to death, Stabbed through the heart with a spear,
Throat slit while sleeping, Poisoned food or drink while in an alliance, Pushed off a cliff during a confrontation, Shot with an arrow in the back while fleeing, Ambushed and bludgeoned to death with a rock, Suffocated with a makeshift garrote, Drowned in a river during a struggle.
Strangled with a length of rope, Skull crushed with a heavy rock during combat Impaled on a sharpened stick during a fight Disemboweled with a knife in close combat, Struck repeatedly with a mace or club until dead, Force-fed poison while incapacitated, Neck snapped in a surprise attack, Legs broken and left to die from exposure Eyes gouged out during a struggle, Jaw broken and left unable to defend myself, Burned alive in a campfire ambush, Thrown into a pit of hungry mutts by another tribute, Head bashed against a hard surface until dead, Limbs severed in a vicious melee, Face slashed with a knife in a brutal attack, Back stabbed during a moment of trust, Thrown into a pack of deadly insects as a diversion, Forced to eat poisonous berries by another tribute, Trapped in a snare and left to die Slowly tortured to death for information Eyes blinded with a chemical agent during combat Thrown into a nest of deadly snakes by another tribute, Tongue cut out to prevent screaming during an ambush, Forced to ingest acidic substances by another tribute, Beaten to death with fists and kicks in a brutal melee, Forced into a trap and then abandoned to die Thrown into a patch of deadly thorns by another tribute, Stripped of weapons and then killed in hand-to-hand combat, Skewered through the abdomen with a makeshift spear, Thrown into a pit of spikes by another tribute, Forced into a lethal trap by a cunning opponent.

Somehow, I felt the pain of all of those deaths on my way up to the stage. I don't remember what the rat-man said or if he talked at all, I only remember being taken away. I don't know when that was or how long I stood on the stage. I don't remember anything that happened.

All I could think of is that I will die.

Maybe I'll get a good mentor. Since district 4 only won once, I already know for sure who my mentor is gonna be: Mags Flanagan. She won the 11th Hunger Games. The year after my Aunt Coral died in the Games. I wanted to see her, but every recording of the 10th Hunger Games were ereased. People don't remember exactly what happened back then either. They say there was a girl who sung in the arena. But that's pretty much it. I remember her name being...Lucy...Lucy Bird? Something like that. Mother doesn't talk about what happened. She hated talking about the loss of her little sister. I was born almost at the same time she died so I never got to meet her either. Mother always said that Her sister tried her best to get back to us, to meet me.

She never did

My mind went back to Mags, since she is the only Victor, she didn't do a good job in mentoring. How am I to survive then?

I won't

I remember being pushed into a train wagon

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the air as we were herded into the train wagon, a grim reminder of the fate that awaited us in the heart of the Capitol. The dull ache of resignation settled in my chest as I took in the austere surroundings of our temporary prison.

The bench, though sturdy, offered little comfort against the cold, unyielding metal beneath. Its surface bore the scars of countless journeys, each one a testament to the cruelty of the system that governed our lives. Beside it, a box of provisions sat ominously on the floor, its contents a meager offering in the face of the hunger that gnawed at our bellies.

Mayra's tears flowed unchecked, a silent testament to the anguish that gripped us all. Her sobs reverberated off the walls of the wagon, a haunting melody that underscored the gravity of our situation. I longed to offer her solace, to wrap her in a comforting embrace and shield her from the horrors that lay ahead. But my own voice remained trapped within the confines of my mind, rendered mute by the weight of my fear and uncertainty.

Instead, I found myself retreating into the recesses of my own thoughts, my gaze fixed unseeingly on the horizon beyond the window. The passing landscape blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, a surreal backdrop to the nightmare unfolding within the confines of our prison on wheels.

Hours stretched into eternity as we hurtled towards our unknown destination, each passing moment a testament to the inexorable march of time. Or was it only minutes? The distinction seemed irrelevant in the face of the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air.

And so, I remained silent, a silent witness to the unfolding tragedy of our lives, unable to find the words to articulate the tumult within. In that moment, the only certainty was the uncertainty that lay ahead, an uncertain future fraught with both peril and possibility.

As night descended, a shroud of darkness enveloped the cramped confines of the train wagon, extinguishing the last vestiges of daylight that had filtered through the crack in the wall. The rhythmic cadence of Mayra's breathing filled the air, a stark counterpoint to the tumult of my own thoughts.

Alone with my fears, I found myself consumed by a relentless tide of dread, each wave crashing against the fragile barriers of my mind. In the silence of the night, the specter of death loomed large, casting a long shadow over the uncertain landscape of my thoughts.

The girl sleeping before me, once a stranger, now embodied the greatest threat to my existence. In the twisted logic of the Hunger Games, she could become my executioner, her hands stained with the blood of my demise. The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine, a chilling reminder of the brutality that awaited us all.

For a fleeting moment, the unthinkable crossed my mind—a desperate urge to seize control of my fate, to eliminate the possibility of her betrayal before it could come to pass. But such thoughts were quickly banished, drowned out by the clamor of my conscience and the knowledge that such actions would only perpetuate the cycle of violence that had brought us to this precipice.

And then, with a suddenness that took me by surprise, the contents of my stomach rebelled against the turmoil within. Nausea surged through me like a tidal wave, its force overwhelming as I doubled over in agony. The acrid taste of bile filled my mouth as I retched violently into the corner of the wagon, each convulsion a painful reminder of the fragility of my own mortality.

Exhausted and spent, I slumped against the cold metal floor, my body racked with tremors as darkness closed in around me. In that moment of surrender, I welcomed the oblivion of unconsciousness, a temporary respite from the horrors that awaited me in the waking world.