Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - Reign of Blood and Promise (BM)

The first thing Beckett took notice of was the cold. It was fierce, and bit his bare face and fingers. They'd supplied gloves with the fingers cut off, which wasn't much, but at least it was something, and he was thankful. White pieces of fluff fell from the sky and landed in powdery piles surrounding the pedestal. It sparkled in the oranges and yellows of the sun falling in the horizon. So this is snow? He found himself entranced in the beauty of the land, the pure white blanketing the ground. But visions of the pureness being tainted by red was enough to bring him out of la-la land. He couldn't afford to daydream.

A gust of wind blew past him and he shivered. After living his whole life in the heat, this was definitely a change. An uncomfortable one. He found himself craving the sweat on his skin, the burn of the ground on his bare feet. This frozen dreamscape made that impossible.

Beckett didn't put much thought into any decision. He'd told himself repeatedly to run away from the Cornucopia. Nothing would change his mind about it. He positioned himself in the opposite direction of the future bloodshed, prepared to run. There was a pretty large mound of rocks but nothing he couldn't handle, and past that was an endless expanse of trees he'd never seen before. He actually felt a little excited about this completely new world.

The gong rang out and he shot forward. The first rock was under his palm. Just as he was preparing to ascend, someone rammed into him from the side. He slipped, but caught himself before he could hit the ground. Looks like I'm the first target. Great. Just what I wanted.

Roxanne grinned maliciously at him, blocking the path he'd planned to take. Before he could think of another course of action she charged at him. Naturally he took off in the other direction, oblivious to the sudden drop-off. When he came to it he teetered and stuck his arms out for balance, barely avoiding a fall to his death. A sigh of relief escaped him, then the air was knocked out of his lungs when Roxanne slammed into him from behind.

An involuntary shriek passed his lips as he fell forward. He swung his arms out, clutching for something, anything to save him. His nails threatened to tear off as they dug into the rocky ledge of the cliff. Roxanne hadn't been so lucky, and her screams faded out until a cannon went off, shaking the arena. The first cannon.

"Oh-crap-oh-crap-oh-crap," he rushed out. He was quite literally hanging on by a few fingers. Following the same fate as Roxanne seemed inevitable. Did he really suck bad enough to die this early on? I don't wanna die just yet, not yet, please, just another day.

Using the majority of his strength, he managed to latch onto a protruding rock by his shoulder. Looking down, he saw similar protrusions. You're kidding me. He pressed his forehead against a rock and mentally cursed. The only way was down. And so, he began the backbreaking journey. The snow thinned out and he saw many other tributes had the same idea. From a distance he saw the other Nine tribute lose his footing and fall much like his district partner.

Beckett gulped and focused only on his own venture. It was deafeningly quiet. That is, until another scream pierced the air. He dared look to the source: Aslane from Eight was shaking her head frantically as she descended, swatting the empty air with a single hand. "Get them away!" Her voice was a mixture of a screech and a growl and sent the hair on the back of Beckett's neck springing upwards. His breathing rate spiked and he turned his head away as she let go of the cliff entirely. A third cannon sounded.

Beckett hurried down until his feet hit stable ground. The sheer solace the snow-packed floor gave was overwhelming. But when he turned, the solace disappeared and he was sucked right back into worry. The world swirled, it tilted and twisted the Cornucopia, and when he took a step he stomped the ground because he thought there was a step in front of him. He clutched the sides of his head, trying to steady it. The problem was in his eyes. A bittersweet taste coated his tongue and puffs of fog whirled around him like a tornado.