D1M- Holland Lennox
DECEASED.
D2M- Dylan Kirsten
And then I wake. Some fleeting moment of uncertainty clouds my thoughts as I scramble up. I'm in a long tube. The platform I'm on rises slowly, and behind the whirring and grinding, I hear a rhythmic booming.
I seem to have forgotten everything. I know my name, I'm Dylan, but the question that threatens to blow my brain apart is seems to hide it's answer. Where am I?
The tube continues to ascend up into wherever it hopes to arrive at. Light suddenly bursts into my vision, sending short violent stabs at my eyes. This moment seems to send everything tumbling back into my mind.
I'm in the Hunger Games. Why? Because I volunteered. I think for a moment that I'm safe from the most violent part of the games, when I realize what I've done. I, Dylan Kirsten, am a murderer.
I mean, the gamemakers probably won't count me shoving a girl into a mutt, but to me, that is equivalent to sending an arrow into somebodies heart.
My eyes are acclimated to the light and I find myself in the same iconic location the games began. This is the cornucopia. This is the same place I recognized my fate. I would join the others, the other fourteen tributes whose fate is concealed, their life already concluded.
I feel gross. I feel like I've stood in front of one of the high-speed trains the Capitol uses for the transportation of tributes. I feel like it's ran over me, then ran over me again. And then again.
I look down at my body, and the evidence seems to concede the thought, for I am covered in blood. The blood comes from the scratches, I can count over ten on my arm, so I could only guess how many remain on the rest of my body.
"You all need something, if you hadn't noticed," comes a giggling voice, "It's so sad, in all of your past obstacles, you have been gathered, but not allowed to kill, seeing of course that we'd kill you. What kind of show is that?! This is your chance to kill, to kill all of those who you'd wish to be dead. Good luck tributes, for you'll be needing it. May the odds be ever in your favor."
With that, the rhythmic booming starts again. I take the remaining time to check my surroundings, see if anything's changed. By the time the countdown reaches twenty, I finish the survey only to see that nothing has changed, this is the same old arena we all know and love.
I find myself panicking as the countdown reaches ten. I am practically reliving the bloodbath, but instead of twenty-four, there are seven of us. And the seven of us have lived more than a couple weeks with each other. We've had some practice with this game, and now we know how to play it.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
And then the gong sounds. It seems to be louder this time, full of the fallen tributes' final screams and pleas. I run for the cornucopia, only to find that I'm dragging along a leg that refuses to work. I let out a muffled groan, but not loud enough that the kid beside me could hear.
To the other side of me, the kid from ten let's out an agonizing yell as he sets his foot down. I ignore him and continue running. This is like training, but worse. I used to train daily, working beyond my breaking point, and then be expected back the next day. When I was twelve, it felt like I was living in hell, but I had gotten used to it. Now, I'm not ready for the pain, but at least I can make it through with experience.
I make it to the cornucopia and grab the nearest thing I can, a small bag. It could contain anything, but this is what the gamemakers call a feast. This is the moment the arena is restocked, and the games seem to start again, and anything you find, there's a ninety-nine percent chance that it is to be used in your favor. We are only halfway through the game, so you've got to hope that this game was worth your time, or else your time is up.
