The Simpson's Hunger Games

Chapter 34

Lisa:

It takes a few days before I stumble across it. Almost hidden, but unmistakable among the mousy-brown dust of the floor. Giving off a metallic tinge and catching the light from the lamps, the relatively small cylinder lies in the dirt at my feet. I stoop to pick it up. I turn it over; it bears the seal of the Capitol. Apprehensively, I twist one end of the container, the lid coming off in my hand easily. I peer inside, eager to discover it's contents. But I am disappointed. Instead of finding some valuable supplies, as I would've expected, there is only a single white rose, just in bloom. I carefully take it out, and inspect it. I don't know much about gardening, but I can tell that this has been taken care of expertly. I stroke one soft petal between my thumb and forefinger, noticing that the thorns on the stem haven't been removed. I try to ignore the painful irony of having such a delicate thing in the Arena.

Gripping the flower, I trudge along the empty passage, figuring out what the Capitol is trying to say to me. It's like trying to fit pieces into an irregular and constantly shifting puzzle. 

****

I feel as if the tunnel is becoming lighter, and airier. It feels like when I first arrived on Floor Four, when the light rays from the skylight reflected off the water and danced patterns onto the tunnel walls. A smile flickers my lips. I've almost forgotten what natural light looks like. If I get home in anything other than a lead-rimmed coffin, I'll go out for walks everyday, whatever the weather. I'll be the healthiest girl in District Five. 

A sudden shriek coming from somewhere distant makes me jump out of my thoughts, causing me to nearly slip up. After a few seconds, however, the sound dies, leaving the passage once again undisturbed. This isn't the first time something like this has happened recently, meaning that there are now more tributes on this floor. I try to ignore the nagging voice in my brain that reminds me that I'll have to face them all very soon. I wonder how many of them have made it this far, and how many I'll actually have to fight. Will there even be some that I'll have to sacrifice myself for? 

****

A carpet of roses greets me as I turn a corner, invading my nose with the scent. I feel slightly light-headed, and drop the now-wilting rose in my hand to the floor. The walls are lined with vines; this could all be mistaken for a scene from ancient mythology, or a fairy tale. My chest tightens. Slowly, I walk down the naturally-beautiful carpet, soaking in the perfume of the plants. It's making me slightly giddy.

Swaying, I reach the end of the trail. The more air I breathe into my lungs, the more my body feels relaxed and calm. Something tells me that this shouldn't be happening, but I ignore it. What can be so harmful about some innocent flowers? My breathing starts to slow, and I blink back my eyes hazily every few seconds.

I walk on wards into a circular clearing, lined around the edge with more flowers and plants. The walls and floor are chalk white; it gives off an almost sterile impression. In the centre is a small podium; another small metal container, bearing the Capitol seal placed on a purple cushion. This is a perfect setting for a finale. My limbs seem to have developed minds of their own. I carry myself to the podium, holding my breath. Is this real? Is this the end? I count down the seconds as I edge nearer to the cylinder. I finally stand in front of it, my mind whirring from the anticipation that this could be the end. I could win. 

Slowly, I put my trembling hand out towards the object, the hairs on the back of my neck rising upwards. I clamp my hand firmly onto the container. 

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Either that, or I was in a state of shock, frozen in horror. This is not the end at all. In fact, it's more of a beginning. As soon as I touched the container, a screeching siren noise rang out all over the Arena, instantly alerting anyone nearby where I was. Of course this was a trap. How could I have been so stupid? It only takes about half a minute for a group of people to come rushing in, their mouths and noses covered by strips of cloth to block out the drugging effect of the plant life. Their battered clothes are dusty from the tunnels, but their faces look neither tired, or scared. All of them carry at least one form of a weapon, apart from someone in the back, who is being half-carried by a masked tribute. The one in the front, the leader I assume, waves a sharp-looking trident at me threateningly.