death valley

The Hanging Tree Games: Revisited - Task Five

oh my god, you're underhanded—listen to this beating heart; hear all the greed, the forgery, the only reality!

Leander didn't have to open his eyes to see his situation; after all, the left side of his face was solidly ground into the floor. Writhing under the surprisingly heavy door, he grabbed at the ground and forced his eyes to crack open despite the dirt and grime smeared all over his face. Lee grunted quietly and dug his fingers into the ground, pulling himself out from under the rubble, but suddenly he pulled back his hand, hissing in pain. Every piece of his body felt like melted wax, a cracked, skinned candle with a flame that kept eating away at his being. The adrenaline had faded away, the fear distancing itself from his system. Now, all Lee felt was pain, excruciating physical and emotional agony that surged through his nerves and added onto the concrete weight piled on his back. Leander crawled forward again weakly, spitting up blood.

Then, suddenly—Lee recalled that cold winter night when he pulled himself from the powerful blaze in the fireplace at home, inching forward like a helpless worm with nobody to help him recover from the mental trauma. Meanwhile, Chael snored away soundly in his room upstairs, blissfully and fully aware of the sin he had committed against his little brother. There was the sound of a door clicking open, their parents walking in, and abruptly, Janna cut off her own sentence and screamed in horror, rushing over to her frail little boy while her husband stormed upstairs to acquire a medical kit and an answer from his eldest son.

Leander managed to slide his body out from under the door, turning over so that he faced the sky, his eyes finally cracking open to get a good look at the dawn slowly peeking over the gray, dreary sky. Lee took a few gulps of air, blinking dust out of his eyelashes and welcoming the light that poured into his vision, only to see one of his own blades inches from his nose. Slowly, his gaze trailed upward, along the sword's surface, noticing the extremely shaky, weak grip. Lee then recognized the small pair of hands that held the sword hilt.

"Panem?" he breathed, jumping onto his feet, landing in a crouch, and then slowly staggering to his feet. The little girl only stared back, intimidated by Lee's tall and battered figure, her eyes dancing between the sword blade and him. Gently, Lee placed a hand on the blade.

"Here, I'll take it," he murmured, and, albeit reluctantly, Panem handed over his weapon. Lee sheathed it, then he joined Panem on top of the rubble. He took the time to study all of her features—her wide, scared eyes, her pursed lips that made her look like she was puffing her cheeks a little. There was a nasty scrape on Panem's temple. This was, probably, the only person Lee would sympathize with. This girl was too precious to be thrown into the Games, just like he was once upon a time. If Panem died, Lee would hope that she'd go down swinging—but, of course, he knew that she couldn't fight. That brought a new thought to his mind.

"Panem. Where's your dagger?"

She shook her head timidly, her eyes darting off to the side. Now, Panem looked more ashamed and sad than afraid; Lee sighed quietly, but not in such a manner that would make the girl feel worse.

"That's okay."

He held out a hand, offering to be a guide to her.

"Come on," Lee urged softly, and Panem took it, even going so far as to interlace her small fingers with his. Lee blinked, confused. Such an action was foreign to him, although it wasn't too abnormal that he didn't pull away. Lee led her slowly down the crumbled store front, walking with her onto the path, keeping an eye out for anybody that would attack.

Five minutes passed before Panem spoke up and inquired, "Lee?"

"Hm?"

"Everyone from all the other districts are so nice. How come we have to kill each other?"