The anchor of love||| Johanna Mason

The games themselves.

The games themselves had been uneventful for me, I had slept in passing, being alerted to any noise and startling awake, there were 9 tributes left, and all I had seen were illusions sent from the capital game room, the lack of natural night and the all pressing glow of lights were making it harder to sleep, creating my brain into a fog of confusion and fatigue,  it was not until today that I heard anything at all, any person at all. 

The distant hum of echoing voices was heard as I hid in a cupboard in my little safe place of heaven, no one had entered yet, I suppose the career tributes were looking, but having to go through every floor and every room was a tedious job, one that although they had not found me, had been successful, as 9 were left. 15 had already been killed, and I had no idea how long I had been in here. No idea. The door opened, leaving me holding my breath as two tributes entered the small room I had called safe, they rummaged around, thankfully not looking in the small cupboard i had managed to fit myself into before using a lock on the door I had yet to see and settle down for some rest. 

Their first mistake, well second after not cheeking the room properly for anyone. anyone like me. 

I know how this must look for the capital, the snotty, crying girl stuck in a room with two better trained tributes, the bets must already be piling in on my demise, yet I knew something they didn't, i knew how to kill. yes animals, but how different really can it be? the spots to hit are the same, the arteries in the same place, I could do this. 

I waited until their snores were filling the room, covering up the distant hum of electronics, and then struck, covering the girls mouth and slicing her throat in one clean motion, not even giving her time to scream, then moved onto the second. The same clean almost clinical procedure, i made sure to grin as i did it, to show i was a threat they did not release me to be, i made sure to grin, even as my hands became bloody and tears were threatening to spill from my eyes, i grinned. Even as my stomach threatened to heave up the food i had managed to eat, i grinned. 

Unlocked the door and grabbed their old weapons, two spears,  and found a new floor to go onto. And locked the door this time. and waited for these games to finally be over, blood now covered my hands, but i made my first kill, my first step into becoming a monster. 

The blood on my hands stained them, I had no way to watch or clean, I had officially become a killer, a monster and there was nothing I could do to stop or prevent it, I had lost the little game I had been playing with myself, the Capitial had won.
the capitial had won.

It was the thought consuming my soul and mind. My chance of getting home was slim, and my will power even slighter. At least I had a chance to get home, now I wasn't sure that I wanted to, after all I had nobody home to see, to praise me, not that I needed praise. But I suppose it would be nice to receive once in a while. I am not sure the price of getting home is worth it. I'm drenched in blood, both metaphorically and literally, I have nothing to wash it off with. Nothing to clean myself. if people saw me now, I must look every bit like the killer they made me into.

if getting home means more innocent people dying, I can't do it. I just can't.

yet, I suppose they die anyway, if not by my name or hand then someone else. if I can keep my hands clean I could justify the death I just caused, I could hide out, wait for the rest to be dead, then strike. then there may be a chance for me. If I can find a way to live with the memories I can do it.

I know being a Victor wasn't a life i wanted for myself, James, the soul victor of 10, always taught us all that, yet I wanted to live.

yes, I wanted to live.

The memories are already clouding my judgment, making me lose focus on what is happening to me, the disorientation of lack of sleep hitting me even worse. yet I am afraid that if I sleep I shall never wake up. I'm losing hope.

I am losing hope.

I am losing hope for my Survival.

yet as that very thought crossed my mind the lights dimmed, giving my eyes a slight respite from the harsh biting lights, and the ceiling seemed to disappear for a split second as a large parcel approached me, floating down to the floor at my feet.

I don't know what to do with it, having spent days without any insite on how people are perceiving me, I assumed I was lost within the heap of deadbeat tributes ready to be killed off. Yet there it was, a sponsor gift. sitting innocently at my feet.

I can't help but stare in amazement, pure fascination.

My pathetic mentor had gotten me sponsors? perhaps my act of the psychotic girl had paid off after all.

looking on its contents it must have cost a small fortune, I knew what it meant. I knew the moment I was it.

James must be speaking to many capitial doners as we speak to afford this, he must be doing the one thing he loudly swears ever year not to do. bring a tribute home. His own rebellion was halted for me? I felt honored, and slightly revolted that he deemed me good enough yet all the people before me in the last 20 or so years not worthy. What made me special?

in the package sat 3 ornate carvel knives, the ones I used at tye butcher's, sharp. deadly so. they sat comfortably and familiar in my hands , this would give me an edge if I were to follow the clear instruction this message meant.

it could only mean one thing. one thing only.

keep killing