Breaking Down Bridges ▸ Hunger Games

Chapter Twenty-Five: Shawn Wilson

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Shawn's POV

As soon as I heard that Cyra left, I was flaming mad. She was mine.  I didn't know how many other ways I could say that, and it bugged me when what was rightfully mine escaped.

When I was younger, I lived on the street. I found a dog that I named Sparky.  I took him everywhere with me. One day, he escaped me, and ran off into the District woods. That was also the day I saw Cyra again, who was hunting for a rabbit. Of course, I avoided her and found Sparky laying on the forest floor. His punishment for running away was... Brutal, and let's say he just made dinner even more tasty that night. But I don't think I could exactly kill and eat my wife. My name wasn't Cato Demeir after.

While Alia and Cato were asleep that night, I hurried off into the jungle. Hey, If I could track a dog for ten miles, I could track a wife for even longer. Besides, I sensed her presence as I came closer. I guess that's just the kind of feeling you get when you're deeply in love with someone.

Slowly, I continued down along the jungle, until I came upon a spot where the jungle began to fade away, and sand replaced its presence. I bent over, and placed my finger on the ground, seeing a finger print. Inside the print, was a long wavy black hair. Cyra...

I smirked with satisfaction and ran up the hill of sand, which led out into the deeper part of the desert. The sand dunes had barely any prints remaining, because of the wind, which had pushed the sand around in all sorts of directions. I continued to walk forward, when I spotted something rather odd.

It was a plain old cactus, sitting alone in the desert... with a large knife stabbed all the way through it. Someone had been here before. I ran up to the cactus, and traced my finger along the marks the knife had made. Along the outside of the marks, was the slight smell of blood. But it seemed dried, old. Like it wasn't from the person who had stabbed the tree, but the remaining part of someone they had hurt before. And that's when it came back to me.

Cyra had stabbed Cato earlier today, and his blood was still lingering on her knife. So when she stabbed the cactus, the remains of the blood wiped off and onto the plant. 

Excellent. I was on the right path.

I slowly continued to climb up the dunes of sand. By that time, the sun was beginning to rise, so I sat down for a bit behind a sand dune, in order to avoid the blinding light. After a couple of minutes, I fell asleep to the strangest dream I had had in a long time.

~

I was tied to a chair, in a dark room. Nothing else was in the room, other then me and the chair. Suddenly, I heard a slam from off on my right. My head whipped over to face the sound, but I saw nothing.

 I was just alone with the darkness.

~

And at that moment, I woke up. I was very confused, but I forced myself to shake off the thought and continue forward to find Cyra.

I continued to run over the dunes, when I heard rapid laughter from in front of me. It sounded like three people, two girls and one guy. Clearly, the were all in an alliance; I just couldn't make out who was sitting up there.

Carefully, I crept down on my stomach and dragged myself along the sands hoping they couldn't see me. I paused each moment, to listen in on the conversation.

"Hahaha!" The guy's voice rang out. "Don't be an idiot, Sage, you can't catch a beaver with a trap made of wood."

 "Yes, you can!!" One of the girls, Sage, snapped back. "In District Seven, we do it all the time."

"Sure..." The guy spoke again. "Well, we never even have enough wood for fire, so why waste it on trying to catch a—?"

"Guys... I think someone's watching us," the other girl interrupted.

But this voice, I knew  who this was. She was the girl I was married to, she was my beautiful goddess. What was she doing hanging out with Sage and—?

Finally the thought struck me, and I knew exactly who Cyra was sitting up there with.

Gale Hawthorne.

That was it! I didn't care what my grandfather had told me to do. I was tired of beckoning to his every will. I was taking my girl back, and I was doing it my way.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" I shouted, as I stormed out from behind the sand dune.

Instantly, Gale stood up. His eyes blazed with rage, and the fact that he was taller then me didn't help the fear that had crept in. 

"The real question is, what do you think you're  doing?"

"I'm here for Cyra," I snapped.

"She's my girlfriend."

"She's my  wife."

"But I love her!" Gale roared back, his eyes fierce with rage. 

Knowing what was coming next, I ducked his punch, and rolled to the ground as he picked up his bow and darted after me.

I ran faster into the sands, holding onto my spear tightly. Carefully, I stepped on the sand, my head whipping in each direction to search for where he might attack. As I continued this process, I felt a kick hit me hard in the back, causing me to topple to the ground.

Gale stood behind me, his bow pulled back, his arrow pointed directly at my heart. It would take one shot to kill me.

"Wait!!" Cyra shouted as she ran behind Gale. She had a look of sympathy in her eyes, and her arms were out stretched. 

Instantly, I stood up and ran to Cyra, but Gale jumped in my way and shot an arrow in my leg. I fell to the floor, as Cyra ran over to me. She lifted my chin to meet her eyes. I was confused, as an arrow in my shin couldn't kill me. Why was she suddenly concerned?

Slowly, I looked up to Cyra and I reached out for her to lift me up. "Can you help me?" I cooed. "I love you."

Instantly, Cyra's smile, which I finally realized was a false one, faded into a grin that I hadn't seen in a long time. 

"Well, I'm sorry but..." she whispered, her voice smooth. "The Shawn I loved, was gone long ago."

"But Cyra!" I shouted, trying to squirm away from her.

"Shawn, don't work so hard!!" She shouted suddenly, a giant twisted smile coming over her face. "After all..." She laughed wildly, and neared my face again. "You're about to die."

>> Meanwhile in the Arena Control room

All of the Gamemakers turned apprehensively as Frost enter the room. His face was red, and his eyes were puffy with what seemed to be tears.  Frost walked quickly over to the Gamemaker responsible for watching the tributes' vital signs.

Frost slammed his fist on his table and glared at him, the sadness overtaking his eyes. "Is... is he really...?"

The Gamemaker nodded, and frown stretched over his face. "Yes, Mr. Wilson is dead. His heartbeat has stopped."

Frost fell to his knees, and gave the Gamemaker one final question. "Who... who killed him? The footage from the shot went blurry... It was Mr. Hawthorne, wasn't it...?"

The Gamemaker took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, sir, it wasn't."

Frustrated, Frost stood back up and faced the Gamemaker, his eyes flickering from the controls to the Gamemaker's face. "Who was it, then?"

The Gamemaker paused, and turned over to face Frost. "Miss Merison, sir. She stabbed him in the heart."

Frost, awestruck, he fell to his knees once again. But after a moment, a wicked grin poured over his face.

"Well, Miss Merison, you've just given me another reason to kill you. And believe me, the list just keeps growing. You better watch yourself, sweetie, because nothing can save you anymore..."