Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

6. Bruno

To be remembered was to be immortal.

Every human’s life ended the same way, but what made the difference? Simple, the details of how that person lived and how they died were the key to distinguishing one from the other. I knew I’d die at some point, whether by natural causes or even here in these games; there was always the off-chance that a single blunder could cause my demise. I wasn’t scared though, not of dying, I was scared of not making an impact.

I wanted to be known throughout Panem; for my bravery, for my cunning, for my skill. I wanted every person, young and old, to know and respect my name.

When we’d killed the girl a few nights ago, I’d seen her eyes; she’d never thought she’d win, she had failure written all over her features. True, I had little respect for the other district tributes, but it wasn’t simply because of where they’d been born.

In the Academy, we’d been taught many things, and one that had stuck with me the most had been this; the lower districts, they didn’t always lose just because they were underfed, they lost because before the real games even began they considered themselves already dead. Even if they attempted to put up a tough front, deep down, they expected to lose; and therefore they lost.

The Hunger Games were more than physical, they were metal.

With this in mind Flint and I never acted just on a whim; every move had an intended purpose. The girl we’d killed? Her limbs and blood had been splattered across the campsite. Our purpose; to entertain the citizens of the Capitol and gain sponsors, and to plant the seeds of fear into anyone that would stumble upon her camp. Intimidation was key.

Keeping count through the days that passed, I noted that there were fourteen of us left in the arena. Our days and nights consisted of hunting down the tributes that’d scattered after the bloodbath. Flint and I had devised a plan so that we only stopped to rest when absolutely necessary; taking only one hour naps and then immediately moving forward. We had little to worry about; food wasn’t a problem, since we’d had our pick at the cornucopia.

As the night began to fall, we paused in our pursuit of some of the tracks we’d found and decided to make camp. We built a pit for a fire and set out our sleeping bags, then we each filled ourselves with a package of rehydrated food.

“We’ll probably find whoever left these by tomorrow,” I said as I lit a match and started a small fire.

“Yeah, seems like it’s a male this time,” Flint nodded eagerly. Then he stretched and laid down to try and sleep.

After having spent so much time with Flint, I’d quickly come to understand him as a person. He was overconfident, menacing, and vicious; a true career. It was easy for me to see what motivated him. While I fought mostly for my own behalf, he truly seemed to feel that the weight of his district lay on his shoulders.

 The other night, when the faces had appeared in the night sky, his district partner had appeared. I’d expected anything but a sigh of relief and a smirk. I couldn’t help but feel intrigued. As I whittled a random twig I’d picked up, I found myself searching for answers. I wanted to understand him; not for mere friendship, but so that when the time came, I’d know just how to strike.

After a few minutes of wriggling and shaking his feet, Flint rose from his blanket and joined me by the fire. “Too excited,” he explained, holding out his hands to warm them by the fire.

I nodded and continued to whittle my stick, trying to find a way to bring up the topic and have my question answered. Unable to find the right words, I decided to be blunt. “Did you know your district partner died?” I asked, watching for his reaction.