Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

5. Smalls

Hell on earth, that was the only way to describe my surroundings.

This morning, after I’d been taken to the roof and then flown in a hovercraft to the launch room, I’d known the horror would be unending. Throughout the ride, the windows had been darkened so I hadn’t had even the slightest hint of where we were going.

Foolishly, I’d hoped that the arena would be a repeat, or at least similar, to last year’s where the whole environment had been made of edible things. Silly, yes, to dream such things, but I’d been unable to stop my head from fantasizing.

When we’d gotten to my appointed room, my stylist had merely handed me my package of clothes, pointed to the plate where I was to stand, then left. No goodbye, no wish of good luck, not even a kind lie.

It didn’t matter though, I knew even if everything was against me; the odds, the tributes, the Capitol, I’d never lose hope. I had Macon and Bodey, and together we’d survive. I dressed quickly in the black, durable clothes and then ran to stand at the metal plate.

I shifted nervously, then flinched when the glass tube hummed to life, lowering and eventually encasing me completely. I felt the ground beneath me move as the plate began to rise.

My foolish dreams were shattered. The arena was treacherous; full of collapsed buildings, cracked cement floors, and overturned cars and wreckages everywhere. The cornucopia stood in the center of the arena, partially obstructed from view by the house shambles that surrounded it.

Inside the cornucopia, all I saw were pack of food and other non-lethal supplies. Where were the weapons?

“Let the Hunger Games begin!” I heard the announcer, Claudius Templesmith, decree as the timer began to countdown from sixty seconds.

I glanced around, easily spotting Macon in the distance. He was far, so it would be smarter to meet him, as he’d suggested, outside near the border of the bloodbath.

The seconds ticked, and though I remembered that Macon had said to just run to safety, I couldn’t help but look at the packs. Should I grab one?

It was when I was gazing at a pack near my plate that I realized where the weapons were. Hidden beneath piles of rubble and debris, the handles stuck out and glinted in the sun.  Of course, what fun would it be for the Capitol citizens if there were no bloodshed?

Making up my mind, I decided that I had to pull my weight in our alliance; I couldn’t just let Macon risk himself for me. I stared intently at the pack In front of me, just waiting for the gong to sound.

The loud clang that meant our waiting time was up rang, and I hesitated only for a second. I dove at the pack, looped my arms in the straps, and buckled it on.

Then, unable to lift anything else, I turned and ran. Darting and weaving between fighting bloody bodies, I barely managed to escape from the carnage. I crouched behind an overturned dumpster, trying to see if Macon and Bodey were still in there of if they’d already escaped.

When I saw them, I froze in horror. Macon ran with Bodey in his arms, a shield barely protecting them as someone launched an arrow at them. I stood still, knowing it would be stupid to yell or run towards them.

The girl that had shot an arrow at him must’ve changed her mind because when she saw the shield was in her way, she turned and began to shoot at a different target. Macon, who I suspected had been oblivious to the arrows, was getting closer.

It was when they were within yelling distance that I stood and waved at them, letting them see that I was safe and they should join me.

Macon nodded, then motioned for me to hide. I agreed and ducked back behind the dumpster, still keeping an eye on the two of them.

It was from my hiding spot that I saw the scene unfold; Bodey screamed something to Macon, who then proceeded to throw himself to the floor with his shield up, and then out of nowhere a massive cleaver flew through the air and made a clang as it impacted with the metal.

My eyes darted back, to the bloodbath, and I saw who’d thrown it; the brutish career from one, Bruno.

As if that hadn’t been enough, as soon as Macon sat up to continue running, a knife whizzed through the air, impaling it’s self in his arm. Looking back, I saw that it had been the career from two this time; Flint. Of course they’d had to pair up, it was only commonsense, but did they both have to attack at once?

Macon grunted as he pulled the blade out, then he gathered Bodey and ran again. Afraid that someone had seen me, I took a couple of steps back and hid behind a wrecked car, only coming out when I hear Macon nearby.

His arm still bleeding, Macon put Bodey down and instead pulled us along at a quick pace; away from the ongoing bloodbath.

It felt like we’d been running for hours before we finally stopped to rest. Night was approaching, and it wasn’t safe to be out in the open. After he quickly scouted the area, Macon took us to a nearby building where we climbed up to the fourth story.

Wedging heavy pieces of cement and rock behind the door, we made camp. Macon spread out a sleeping bag on the floor and told us to sleep.

I was about to protest, wanting to tell him I wasn’t that tired, when I saw his eyes. They were red-rimmed, and swam with unshed tears. His body, though still strong, shook ever so slightly. I’d run from the heat of the war, escaping mostly unharmed and without seeing much gore, he’d had to stay and fight his way out.

His posture was tired and weary and I knew, more than wanting us to rest, he needed privacy. He needed space and time to think and try to get over horrific events that, were he to win, would scar him for life.

Bodey too, shook like a leaf, his face still pale and ghastly. I nodded, pulling Bodey along with me when I saw he looked ready to refuse Macon’s order. Bodey, so frail and kind, was emotionally exhausted and needed a good night’s sleep.

I got on the blanket and when Macon flung the second sleeping bag over us, I fell asleep immediately.

My sleep was restless, but every time I startled awake, all I had to do was look around and see that both Macon and Bodey were still there. Then, I’d drift back to sleep, content and secure. Once during the night I did wake for a longer time, I’d heard the cannons; seven dead.

I dreamt of better days, of the boys back home, of my district.

My dreams were cut short, however, when the bang of cannon sounded. Death number eight.