The Author Games: Literature

Straight Entries

District 2 Female: Slate Welby 

I walked into the room where all tributes were waiting. They haven't even began killing each other and things were getting bad, it looked like some of the tributes wanted to kill each other right now and we're ready to rip their throats out. I Was not ready. I would kill, I had been trained to, but i hadn't been trained to live for days when I could be slaughtered any moment. How was I supposed to sleep knowing my sister was doomed the moment she curled up in the tree? I couldn't have screamed any louder. Didn't she understand? She had to be the best. My sister could have, yet she was hopeless. She thought she could take a break, then she was killed.

I can't see how I can forgive her. I volunteered because I thought I could beat her. I must. I thought. But the reason our family is bound to this heart wrenching game of war is my father. My father never cared about life. He would risk his whole life as a peace keeper if that means he would be praised like a hero. There is no glue in my family, we tear, break and never come back. I will always hear his voice, even when he is miles away;

You have to win your life.

The next moment will decide my future. Life or death. Win or lose. Pathetic or hero. Though I must put everything on the line I was incredibly undisturbed. I had been always under pressure with everyone having their own ideas about me, so I had to look unruffled.

"Slate Webly District 2 please come into your training," spoke the voice of one of the game makers.I walked with my hands by my side but my boots caused a hollow sound that rippled against the grey walls of the hallway. The hallway was short, and the door swung open when I stepped close to the transparent glass entryway.

Both head game makers had their eyes on me. There were others as well but they had no regard for me, all they seemed to care about was the meat on their plate and the ever refilling wine in their crystal glasses. Paella noded, then turned her head glaring at Pluto. They both seemed very disagreeable, impatient and cruel. Well they were in charge of setting up a game where children kill each other, so they play the part very well. I walked toward hoping to show off my spear throwing skills and bow and arrow. I had always been just okay at shooting, but since my mentor was helping me I really got the hang of it. The spear was hanging on one of the hooks, careful not to rattle anything else I preached my arm when a huge noise came up.

I twisted around, looking for the cause. Bookshelves lined the floor now, heading straight for the ceiling, and handles of weapons were dangling in between books. Book of many colors, genre and full of stories just sat there. We had books, but not this many, there must be thousands, millions of them. Great play game makers, but I will pass. I grabbed the handle of what looked like a spear, luckily it was. With the heavy metal silver spear in my right hand I examined the bookshelf more carefully. It went across the the whole room, so no way going around. But there were ways to go in, three infact, right, left and center.

I was conflicted by this. They could end up at the same place or it could lead some place else. What would the game makers want me to choose?

Left or right, not center. Even I had learned to not take what the gamemakers put in front of me. Why was I shaking? I couldn't get hurt before the games even started. There were no angry tributes here looking for revenge. I decided that I would choose center. Change their tactics because later I know they will change mine. I walked across the room, turning sideways when entering into the skinny tunnel that later I would meet my challenge in.

You have to earn your life. I heard my father's strongest words again. Though these strong words bring me pain every time, and cut me to pieces all the time.

I continued on, these hallways were so like the ones that I had crossed to get to the training center, dark, cold,uncertain. As I reached the end of the hallway I turned a corner. There a figure that couldn't be real; one of the gamemakers invitations. It's whole body was made with books, and it's whole body covering the exit in the maze. The figure looked sad but not enough to leave it's post."You must not pass," ushered the figure, "I will not let you."'