death valley

Author's Games: Insomnia - Task Two

Era Reyes is a sweet girl. In fact, she's one of my most trusted friends, the other being Shiloh Shirogane. She's short compared to the two of us, around 5'3" to be exact. With bright green eyes and a contagious kind-hearted smile, you'd never guess that this one young lady could probably rip all my opponents' guts out with telekinesis. As the platform ascends towards the surface, I think of Era and Shiloh. Individually, they could be geniuses—my grandmother called them prodigies. They're strong, flexible, true leaders under pressure.

But out of all those words, one stands out to me the most: Strong.

I've been taught to think this way, act the way I act. Shiloh and Era have been taught nothing other than to be themselves. Why, compared to two greater minds, am I a part of some of the most important things in District Nine?

I'm not that special.

They should have taken my place in the fields, in the student council, in the reaping. Surely a mayor's daughter, a teacher's pet, wouldn't survive in the Games.

Stop it, I try to order myself, but I don't know if I can. I can command anyone but myself to act. I suppose my hidden depression has risen to the surface, tired of being locked away for so long like a murderer in a jail cell. I continue to argue with myself, doubting my worth in these Games. It's by instinct, the way I chide myself and put myself into the attitude that everyone else knows is to be the true Minerva. It usually works—competition is one of my fortes. But today, even my brain isn't too keen on cheering my heart up. There's this foreboding sense of insecurity within me, and although I do know that it's perfectly normal for me to feel such things, I also know that this is making me anxious.

Alright, I sigh, taking a breath, Let's see if I can do a pep talk to myself.

The platform keeps ascending slowly, not waiting for me to get my nerves together.

You are an Eres.

I'm not because I'm adopted and my real mother's a piece of—

I push the thought away as the anxiety immediately shoots back; at least, that was how I imagined the feeling being put into words at the time. I heave another sigh, but a part of me is relieved. At least, in the midst of my emotional confusion, I still have an attitude.

You are. Now shut the hell up and listen. You don't have a sponsorship—fine! That is totally fine! But, not for a second, should you ever believe that you are not Shiloh's equal. Don't ever believe that you don't live up to your family's name. You are here, in the now—do not dwell on past thoughts!

I suppose I didn't know it at the time, but I was quoting my grandmother. She taught me to think this way.

Suddenly, the pedestal begins to rattle, and a faint screech of metal-on-metal reaches my ears in a soft squeak, crescendoing for a moment, then hissing to a drowsy stop. I'm jerked out of my thoughts. I blink, attempting to see through the darkness, but my eyes have already adjusted to the empty black space in front of me. I can barely see my hands, much less their outline. The moment I attempt to focus on them is when my nerves finally seem to awaken.

The air is cold, like the non-plentiful winters, and it starts to attack my arms. I shudder because of the feeling, and I almost reach up to hug myself—until I realize there is no jacket for me to cling to. I stop mid-action. My left hand momentarily brushes against the bracelet on my upper arm, skimming the smooth surface.

Okay. I've stopped in the middle of the elevation. First order of business: Find an exit.

That seems easy enough. I glance upward even though I can't see where I'm headed, and I reach up. Eventually, when I don't feel any materials, I lift myself onto my toes, grunting quietly with the effort. My middle finger (which is, conveniently, the tallest finger) brushes against metal, and then I know that I'm close to the surface.