The Fourth Annual Writer Games: Canon

The Assault | Basil Crombie

I wake up in a yellow and grey world. I remember waking before, frozen down to my toes, fading back into sleep only because it's that or collapse, but now it's so hot that my shirt is sticking to me. I peel it off and tie it around my waist. My wound is red and sore and angry. With half-remembered scraps of information I check it for infection and satisfy myself with the fact that if it is infected, it's not obvious enough for me to tell. When I prod it, it hurts.

Of course it does. It's a great big slash in my skin. Idiot.

The headband is wrapped above it, staunching the blood, and I can't quite bring myself to take it off. Not that it matters. When I wipe my hair away from my forehead my fingers come away damp and salty. All it takes to keep my hair off my eyes is to press it down to my scalp. That feels sore too.

Yesterday I walked. Today I'm walking too. The arena must be huge, because I haven't found an edge yet. Nor have I found anything to eat or drink. I've eaten the dried fruit from one of the packs, drunk half the water in another, but I'm trying to be careful with it. I've already had to ditch one of the bags, hanging it on the branch of a tree just before I left them behind, after shoving as much of the contents into this one as possible. I'm still hungry and thirsty, but it's possible to ignore it for now. I can imagine that that will go on forever.

If I look back, I can see the distant tips of the dead forest. Thin columns of smoke wind from it – fires from the heat, or from tributes. If I look forward, there's just this flat endless yellowish dust.

"Go back." Haymitch, again. Now I'm on my own he's got louder and louder and I could almost believe he's walking by my side. I don't look around and I don't go back. "Turn around, kid. Everything else is that way."

"Well, I'm going this way." I keep it quiet, under my breath. I know I'm really talking to myself, telling myself nothing I don't know. Haymitch isn't usually this nice. But there's no reason for the Capitol to know I'm losing it.

"No food. No water. Nothing. But sure, you keep on walking. Maybe you'll fall down a ditch or something-"

"You could stop that," I suggest.

"Oh, is he offended?"

"It sounds like you think I'm stupid."

His voice sighs. "Kid, you're missing the point. I mean well."

"I'm sure you do." But I'm running out of patience with this whole thing; this dumb arena, Gamemaker fuckery, all of it. "But it's not what it means. It's what it sounds like."

"You're doing great," he drawls, heavy with sarcasm. "Have a medal."

It's almost like he's really here.

But he's right, sort of. There's first place or nothing. Coming second is not good enough. Second won't see me home, though Hick has the sense to make sure my family will make big out of it. So yeah, maybe I've done well. Maybe I've done better than anybody would have been expecting, if it wasn't for one Haymitch Abernathy. But none of that matters if I don't win. If Twelve is going to have another victor...

I'm going to keep walking, just the same.

--

The sun streaks across the sky, searing its mark into my skin while the horizon shimmers and wobbles with the heat. Once or twice I think I hear the faintest rattle but when I look there's nothing there. The triumph of the feast has lodged itself with the red in my brain; I'm fearless, unafraid. Any other tribute out here is going to have to work hard to sneak up on me.

Nothing to do but walk, no need to be right on my guard. My mind starts to wander. I try and remember the exact words of my conversation with Juniper on the train. Then I realise I can't remember what she looked like and try and call her features to mind. Light grey eyes, or were they brown? I can picture the gist of her face, delicate, turned-down, sad, but her eyes and nose and mouth elude me. I'll have to see a picture of her, when I get out of here.

I remember Hick's nineteenth birthday, Ma and Pa throwing the doors open to the entire Seam to celebrate their eldest child making it out of the bowls. Someone brought along a creaky old fiddle . A Seam girl with beautiful dark hair, so young I was amazed she could walk, perched on a stool and sang. I was made to dance with Ma. Really I didn't mind, but I had to make a fuss. She was light on her feet and made me think I was too.

I remember Haymitch dropped in. Odd how this only occurs to me now. He wasn't a victor then, just Haymitch from down the road, and he was smiling – maybe that's why I don't remember him. He was smiling and dancing with a girl. If I saw her face it isn't in my head, but I think she was wearing a green dress. He had a hand on her waist. That had made me blush, imagining putting my arm around any of the girls I knew like that. Then Ma span me around the fire again and I lost sight of them and they must have gone away after that. There were so many people there. Felt like the whole Seam had come by. There were plenty of faces I knew and even more I only knew by sight, and the last one didn't leave until the shift started down the mine the next day.

"Who was she?" I ask aloud. "The girl at Hick's birthday?"

Haymitch stays silent. Of course he does. It's not really Haymitch, just my thoughts in a different voice. And if I don't know the answer, I won't get one.

At least Fintan was someone to talk to.

I keep checking my arm, in case it's starting to go green or something. It doesn't look any worse. It still hurts when I prod it, though, and the skin around it is tight and looks shiny. I don't know if that's good or not. I sniff it a few times to see if it smells, but the smell of sweat and blood and dirt on me is so strong that I can't tell. I didn't want to waste any of my water washing it off. I've got used to now, anyway.

Night falls hot and I'm not tired so I keep walking. My feet were hardened long before this and these Capitol boots give no blisters. I can even pick up the pace a bit, my feet thumping along at a good beat as the distance passes. It's good to be moving. To be doing something. I've got the machete through my belt and a bag with some water and some food and there's nobody around. The Gamemakers aren't pulling any of their tricks. Life, somehow, is good. Not perfect, but...

When the anthem plays but no pictures follow it, I decide it's time to sleep. The faint threads of music from Hick's birthday twist and spin in my head, speckled with the rhythm of my feet. They throb along even though I'm lying down. When I fall asleep I dream of shifting sands and the stars over the Meadow, and in the distance the girl from the Seam with the silky black hair sings.

--

Morning. I feel...different. Refreshed, almost. Like I've dunked my head into a pool of water and felt it trickle down my body; suddenly, without any warning, I'm ready to go back. Face whoever is waiting for me. Kill them, if I have to.

I'm going home.