The Writer Games | 1 - 3

Finals: Becka

It's the Capitol. I'm stood in the middle of Capitol Square, where I used to come and watch the interviews and the highlights. Now I'm the program. People see me and gasp, shimmying out of the way like I'm diseased, all different colours. I see myself on screen; I'm a mess, covered in blood, eyes wild, clutching a spear desperately.

People are getting out of the way so quickly that I'm all alone in the square before I can even properly take in the candy coloured buildings, so familiar. Now they just seem strange and alien. That's when it hits me. I've seen things as a kid from the districts. I've been in the arena, seen their stories up close. And I can't go back to how I was before. I'll never be able to stand in this spot and cheer and laugh as the Games go by. I've ruined lives, more than they were ruined by my people before, and it feels like I shouldn't be here at all. Everything seems strange, unreal.

I'm a stranger in my own home.

"This is all your fault!" a voice screams from far away. It isn't far away; it's right behind me. A small girl with red hair, carrying a slingshot, with tears streaking down her face. Ellie from District 9. She barely reaches my shoulders; I've not noticed before how young she is. And yet she's nearly died.

"Thanks to you my friends are dead!" she screams, her voice breaking in the middle. I think she shouldn't have made friends in the Games anyway. But it hurts to see a kid like this now. My insides hurt. "How can you live with yourself?" she continues, and still I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. I can't, that's the answer. But I can't bring myself to say that either.

She slaps me.

I can only look at her. She's a wreck, all tears and blood, barely a girl at all. "Goddamn it, defend yourself!" she yells. She'll bring other tributes running, but I don't care. I shake my head, letting the spear drop. "I can't," I whisper, and it's true. I can't do it. I can't rely on my heart of stone. She hits me again, around the head. It hurts, but not as much as some of the wounds I've inflicted on others. "I want to fight you!" she snarls, "I want to see you hurt for what your filthy district has done to me and the others!"

I agree. I'd want to see me hurt too. She strikes me again, in the chest. I wince. "I won't fight back," I promise, "If I fight back, one of us will have to die." The little girl does nothing; I can't imagine what she's going through right now. I have to say something else, something to make her believe me. Because right now I need people to see how I've changed. "I know I've threatened your friends badly..." I begin, but I don't get the chance to finish.

"You know?! I know! I've seen them suffering for all the awful things you've put them through!" That hurts more than the slap. The Games have changed me, but they've broken Ellie. And all the other tributes who have gone through them. Once upon a time it was nothing to do with me. Now I deserve the blame. I stood there and laughed, cheered, betted. How could I? "Yeah, and I deserve it that you're mad at me," I say and this time she lets me continue, her mouth falling open in surprise, "But also, I don't want us to die anymore. Enough blood has been spilled, enough lives given, enough families hurt. Let's stop the fighting and think of them peacefully." I mean it. I think that's what gets her. She closes her mouth, drops her fists, looks me straight in the eyes.

"Shall we make a memorial?" she suggests softly. I nod. It's a beautiful idea, and even if they destroy it, it'll send out a message to the others. The other districts, past victors and future tributes. Look; I've changed. I understand. "I can find some wood, you carve the names." She nods. I go and dismantle one of the pathetic pieces of art propped up in the corner of the square. Not the Tree of Plenty. That stays.

The names go first; all the other tributes. I try not to look at them. Then Ellie asks for another piece of wood and starts again. I peek over her shoulder. It says 'in memorie of Yuki, you're safe now in our harts'. The spelling is bad, but I can't be bothered to correct her. On my request, she adds 'You'll always have a place in my heart'. It sounds sappy, like some stupid little rom-com, but I can't think of anything more elegant and anyway, it's true.

Ellie is carving again. Winston. She's written the memory script, and with a shaking hand is scribbling 'I'll love you forever'. My heart goes out to her, as if it wasn't already. Strange choice for a girl like her, but it makes sense, I suppose. He was no looker, but he was a nice guy. I killed him. Like Yuki. The grief is too huge to feel all at once. Clearly she feels it too because she puts the knife down and covers her mouth. I kneel next to her and add my own carving. 'You've had a bombing life'. No sentiment for him, it would just feel fake. Knowing that I betrayed him, anything sympathetic would be hollow.

On my suggestion, we hang them on the Tree of Plenty. It's fitting; the tree where Panem began, where the districts sprouted from. The tree is older than anything; it has seen everything that has happened, every fight, every interview, every death. And they can try and take them down, but nobody will dare touch the Tree of Plenty. It means too much.

"Ellie..." I say. She looks up at me, no longer crying. The little messages are scrawled in childish writing; it only makes it sadder. I suppose she never had to write in District 9. My writing underneath is neat and swirly and short and looks like it's been tagged on without feeling. That's not true at all. Hopefully the people who see this memorial will understand that. "I want to go and find my family. I've got something to say to them. Will you come with me?"

She sniffs, gazing longingly at our little memorial, scrappy but full of heart. "Family?" she asks quietly, brushing the last shavings from the wood with thin little hands. I wonder if everyone in District 9 is like her. "My mother, my brothers. Will you come?" The other tributes are forgotten. The Capitol is so big they probably won't run into us anyway. And if they do...well, I won't fight back. She nods and stands up. I know where they'll be; at home. Not too far from here. And Ellie needs to come with me, because I have an idea...

"I had a brother," she sniffs, "Dave. He..." She fades out, stifling a small sob, her shoulders shaking. I wish I could comfort her, but I don't know how. "You can tell me," I say. The crowds gathering in front of us part rapidly, making a path for us. It's like they know where I'm going. They're my people, but I've never felt so distant from them in my life. They're rejecting me too; I've played the Games. Even if I win, I'm no better than a district kid, cheap labour and entertainment on a screen. This is a two-way thing. And if they're surprised to see me with Ellie, I don't care. She looks up at me, not the revenge-crazed girl from earlier. Just a girl, and she's sad beyond what I think I can ever feel. "He died. Was killed. They wanted him to be one of them, a Peacekeeper. He didn't want to. I was there..."

I know what that means. I know who 'they' are. "I'm so sorry," I say, "I know that won't bring him back, but I really am. I can't imagine...if anyone did that to my brothers..." It doesn't bear thinking about. It's like there's a physical barrier stopping me. She smiles at me and pats me on the arm. "It's okay. Well, it isn't. But it's not your fault." This is the girl who wanted revenge not half an hour ago, forgiving me for the biggest crime of all. She amazes me. A lump rises in my throat. She gives me a weak grin. "That's part of why I was so angry," she explains, calm again, "You killed Winston" – she has to remind me; it stings like I've pulled the scab off a wound – "He was a bit like Dave." Ah. That explains that then. Now I'm glad of my plan, though I'll be hated for it for sure. Never mind. These people's opinions don't matter to me now.

My house – well, it's a flat really, practically a slum – is exactly how I remember it. Crowded with stuff we don't need. Ellie looks around warily, like she's expecting people to come bursting out of the boxes and attack her. Not on my watch they won't. "It's okay," I assure her, "You're safe here." Someone in the kitchen hears my voice; my mother. "Rebekah!" she shouts, and I realise how much I've missed her, how much I love her. I run through and throw my arms around her. I could have died so many times and never seen her again. I almost cry. But I can't, because now I have to let her down.

"Mother," I say, wiping my eyes fiercely in case there's cameras here too, "I'm so close."

"I know, honey we are so proud of you!" On the little screen in the corner of the room, Drako is leading Sprink and Sycamore through the streets. That's of no interest. "Mom, listen," I whisper. She shuts up. This hurts more than I thought it would, but I've got to be true to myself and not what people want me to be. Ellie looks up at me; she knows I've got something important to say. Is it just me or is there a flicker in her face, a kind of affection? "Mother, I'm so sorry about this. I'll explain later; I don't have the time now. But...if I win, I'm going to live in District 9."