Voices of the Dead: A Hunger Games FanFiction ©

3. Macon

It’s a dummy. It’s not real. Not a breathing, living, human being. Just stab it. Pick up the weapon and use it.

I frowned at the sword in my hand. It felt foreign. I tightened my grip but still, it didn’t feel right. We had three days to train for the games and I’d unsuccessfully wasted a whole day trying to find a weapon I’d be able to use in the arena. Knives, javelins, spears, tridents and maces, I’d tried them all with disastrous results each time.

It wasn’t so much that they were unfamiliar and I didn’t know what to do when I held them; it was more that my own brain got in the way. Even now, as I held the sword and knew I could easily decapitate the dummy before me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The moment I raised a hand to swing I’d lose it; my pulse would race in horror imagining an actual tribute, my hands would get clammy as I prepared to strike, and finally my body would just reject the whole thing.

With a sigh, I put the sword back on its rack, not bothering to swing again. I supposed it wasn’t all bad. On the positive side, my complete lack of skill with weapons and armory had made it so that both the male careers had stopped eyeing me with hungry eyes. Now, they only glanced my way whenever the metallic clanks of falling weapons caught their attention.

I wasn’t to say I was completely defenseless either; I’d actually happily discovered that I fared well with wrestling and hand-to-hand combat. The long work days and hard labor had strengthened me enough so that I was easily able to fling people away from me easily, without ever losing my breath. Plant identification, trapping, and snares had also come somewhat easily. I had a good memory, so I was able to quickly memorize the poisonous vegetation.

Since I’d been herding since I was a child, I also had a knack for snares; really, they were like smaller, sneakier versions of the lassos and ties we used back home. Defensive tactics came easily to me. I considered that it was probably because with these skills, no one was ever really harmed.

I looked at the wall of swords again, then picked up a smaller one that somehow managed to look less deadly in my opinion. I faced the dummy again and raised my arm. I was just about to swing when a voice in the back of my mind realized something else was wrong.

My eyes quickly flit to the left, searching. I only relaxed when I finally saw and heard their bickering. Both the boys from district eight and nine were at the camouflage station, arguing about whose arm looked more realistic as a bush.

The corner of my mouth raised a little as I watched them interact. They were so innocent. When I’d approached them, I hadn’t expected that it’d be so easy to gain their trust. I’d spoken to Bodey, the boy from nine, first.

Not wanting to seem like I was severely underestimating him, I’d proposed an alliance rather than just saying I wanted to look out for him. I figured if he thought we were on even terms, he’d be less likely to be offended and deny my help.

After we spoke for a little though, I doubted he’d have been insulted. He told me his story, why he’d volunteered; his parents had some sort of illness and his older brother had been the one who’d been keeping him and his other brothers fed by working the fields. Bodey knew that if his brother left, they’d all starve and eventually perish. So with what little power he had, he’d taken his brother’s place, giving his life so others could live theirs. His story only helped further set my determination; I’d keep him alive as long as I could.

The other boy Mipe, who actually preferred to go by his last name Smalls, was a little harder to convince. He’d been an orphan when he’d lived in District eight. Without any family, he’d learned to be more hesitant before accepting help from strangers. After I’d suggested we team up, he’d agreed only after a long moment of staring both at me and at Bodey, not really accepting until I’d answered his sole question.