The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games

Chapter 3

I stand as still as I possibly can under the circumstances. Jerrith has a sword to the back of my neck; if I even so much as turn around, it will most likely draw blood. I have been the victim of some slight hostility due to my relatives before, but never anything as outright as this. What had Snow done to this boy?

"Your grandfather murdered my little brother. He was lured to the circle. He was promised safety in the mansion! You promised him he could escape the war!" No, my grandfather did. The poor boy, he must have been bombed in the circle. "Johanna warned me you were in the games; I just didn't think you'd have the guts to go flaunting your name around." Adrenaline shoots through me; the anger I'd been harbouring since the beginning of the war rises to the surface. In the space of three seconds, I take a step away from the sword, spin around, kick the hilt, and listen to it clatter as it hits the concrete floor.

I'm sick of being blamed for this! If I could have changed anything, or saved anyone, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I raise my fist, not completely aware of what I was going to do. "I am not my grandfather!" I growl, connecting my fist with Jerrith's chin, and regretting it almost immediately.

As soon as the anger passes, I crouch down beside a bleeding Jerrith. He's cupping his hand over his mouth and blood trickles down the side of his bottom lip. How could I lose control like that? I just punched an older sibling because he was consumed with grief! Nothing justifies this, nothing I can do will ever make this right. But I'm going to try anyway, and right now there is only one way I can do that.

A trainer pulls me up off the ground and drags me away from the tributes gathered around Jerrith. He shakes me, and yells 'No fighting outside the arena' twice. Once in each ear. He lets go of my arms and walks over to Jerrith, helping him off the floor and leading him out of the room.

Slowly the other tributes stop staring at me, and one by one they return to the training stations. I sigh, and figure I should probably train; it would take my mind off things for a while. I decide to try archery, it seemed to work for Katniss, maybe it would work for me. I grab a bow and a few arrows then stand two or three metres away from the training dummies. How hard could this be? Clip the arrow on to the wire, pull it back and-

"Miss it!" Someone shrieks in my right ear, causing me to let go off the arrow too early. It hits the leg of the dummy, nowhere near the target on its chest. I turn my head to see who screamed and find myself looking at the girl from the elevator. Once again, her eyes were bearing into my skull, only this time she had a cheeky grin on her face.

"So you’re the infamous 'Goddaughter' then?" She asks.

"Granddaughter and I guess so," I correct. The girl shifts her weight to her left leg and puts her hand on her hip.

"Huh, The Goddaughter sounds so much more intimidating, though. Anyway, I'm Kiely-Anne, and I want you as an ally." She says this matter-of-factly, like she expects me to jump at the chance. I say nothing, too taken aback by the offer to answer her.

"Why?" I manage to say. Kiely-Anne rolled her eyes as if nothing could be more obvious.

"Because half the tributes are terrified of you. I swear I saw like five people wet themselves when you punched that kid!" she clarifies.

Having allies would mean I'm trying to win, I'm not trying to win, for the simple reason: I can't. Looking around the room, I can see some of these kids are naturally talented. There's one girl who's been fighting a trainer with a rapier for the past few minutes and has already disarmed him three times. Rico has been throwing things left, right, and centre since my scene died down. Isaac has managed to light a fire and build shelter, all in the space of fifteen minutes; even the small skinny boy from the elevator can almost hit the middle of his target every time he throws a knife. I have no chance, so why bother? Why not stay true to my morals and harm no-one in the arena? I could just run, and patiently wait for someone to take me out.

I could.

"Trust me, you'd do better by yourself," I say, returning the bow and arrows to their original places on the weapon stand. Kiely-Anne wanders away to another station, muttering something as she does so.

I decide to throw myself into training, ignoring the other tributes. I'm not usually the type to give people the silent treatment, under the current circumstances however, this system is more for the benefit of anyone who attempts to strike up a conversation with me.

First things first, I've got to find a weapon that I'm capable of handling with some amount of skill. Walking over to the weapon rack, I decide to try using a sword. Needless to say, it probably won't go well, might as well get it out of the way. I pick up a long, narrow sword; I was originally planning to hold it in my right hand but as soon as it leaves the rack, I realize my left hand will have to help. Even holding the hilt with two hands, the sword points down towards the ground.

Disadvantage No. 94: Lacks any sort of upper-body strength.

I manage to return the sword to the rack without dropping it in the process.  I can see Rico laughing out of the corner of my eye, no doubt amused by my pathetic excuse for arms. My running and hiding tactic is starting to look better and better with every passing minute. I grab a dagger and already love it so much more than the sword. I can actually hold it, for one. I grab another with my left hand.

"That's probably more suitable."

I spin around to see Rico, standing with his left leg behind the right and holding a large sword over his shoulder, like he was trying to emanate intimidating strength. Was it a show? The frightening glares and harsh grunts? Was it a tactic? Whether he's putting it on or not, I've got a strict no-talking rule at the moment, so I ignore the comment and wait, figuring he will get bored and leave.

He doesn't.

He raises his sword above his head, and begins to bring it down towards me. My reflexes kick in and I dodge his attack by stumbling to the left. He attacks again, but I block it by making an 'x' shape with my daggers. Quickly, I duck under his sword and hit the hilt with my knee, bringing a dagger down on the tip at the same time. Rico's sword is spun into the air. I am about to announce myself the winner of our little duel when he grabs an axe and swings it to the right, hitting both daggers out of my hands in one swift movement.

I ready myself for another attack, but it never comes. Instead, I see the corners of Rico's lips turn up ever-so-slightly, forming the tiniest smile I have ever seen.

"How about we call this one a draw, Snake-eyes?" he asks, panting. His referral to me as 'Snake-eyes' throws me for a second, but I decide to let it go. Rico hadn't meant it as an insult, more like a nickname. I nod, also struggling to catch my breath.

"Allies?" he asks quietly.

I've been quick to say I dislike Rico, but he may not be so bad. Unlike everyone else, he doesn't care about my last name, or the terror that might follow it. Rico wants me as an ally because he thinks I have the potential to get him some-way through the games, not because he hopes I'll scare everyone half to death.

"Okay, allies."