The Writer Games | Once In A Lifetime & World Edition

For Lack Of A Better Name Entries: Females

Alessandra Armando: District One

Only ten of us left I  think as the bats fly out of the cave. Ten out of the twenty-four  tributes who entered the arena only a few weeks ago are still alive, and  I was the cause of some of those deaths. I smell the breath of death  for the first time since all this hardship began, and it scares me. I  can't even imagine what the friends and family of the tributes I killed  are thinking. The family crying over the limp, lifeless body in that  wooden box, their friends cursing my name and thirsting for my blood.  Oh, and the hands of the pitiful mother as she prepares her child for  the grave. I've been here a few weeks, by now I probably look like a  slovenly mess. This would be unacceptable back home. I check my  belongings: a backpack with a quart sized water bottle, matches, a few  pieces of food, and my precious knives. It seems like the Sponsors have  abandoned me, hoping to leave us poor and destitute for more  entertainment. I get up and walk out into the cool air outside. That's  when I hear the faint sobs coming from the cavern in front of me. I  cautiously creep over to the cavern; not wanting to disturb the poor  injured soul inside. I head into the cavern only to find Samuel. He's  curled up with his legs tucked in his arms facing the wall. His is  rocking on the cave floor reassuring him self everything's okay. His  hollow eyes stare blankly at the wall in front of him, his lips quiver  as a soft moan slips out. The sight if the quivering boy makes me sick  with disgust. No man in District 1 would act like this because of a  memory. For they come from wealthy families. Burly and tall, not fearing  anything, But something stricken me with grief and sympathy for the  poor boy. He's lost his senses, scared by the jarring memories that have  corrupted his mind. "Come on Sam we have to get out," I say. He jerks  away not wanting to go anywhere but here. But I know if we stay here any  longer we will be lying on our death beds.

The flames are nipping  at my heels as I'm practically at the cave opening.  I get inside and  sigh of relief I know I sighed too soon when I hear the blade of a sword  come out. I look up to see the elderly lady from thirteen.

"Well, well, well if it  isn't a little career girl," she says I take out the biggest knife I  have and aim it at her.  "I never liked careers in the first place. I  especially despise them if they intrude my camp," the lady says.

"Get away," I say. She  charges at me, sward positioned at my heart. She slashes my arm all the  way from my shoulder to my elbow. I throw my knife and hope for the  best. I close my eyes and wait for the agony to follow but nothing  happens. I open my eyes to see the head of Meme Lakeside sitting on my  lap. Her piercing green eyes stare into mine. I take her body and head  and throw them into the flames, which have died down. The earthquake  stops and I am safe, now to tackle my shoulder.

Meme was well stocked.  She had everything from food to weapons even a sewing kit. I find a  bright orange medical kit and open it. It's extremely complex stuff.  There's an assortment of bandages, disinfectant, and even a few  stainless steel medical tools. I look at my wound. My shoulder isn't  that bad, but as you go down to my elbow gets even worse. The wound near  my elbow is bad. The red, angry flesh is starting to flare up, I can  see a small bit of the bone, and worst of all the metallic sent of my  own blood. I dress the area from shoulder to mid- triceps in gauze. I  know I'll need to stich my self up but then what. I rip open a medical  needle and thread and start to stich my self up. "In and out in and  out," I say to my self-trying to get my mind off of the excruciating  pain with ever prick. I finally finish. I smear the disinfectant cream  over the jagged row of stiches, and cover it with a piece of gauze. I  don't dare to go through. I bring him to his feet and we trudge out of  the cave. "Stop, stop," he says in a gruff voice.

I ignore him. I know if  we stay out here, out in the open, will make us more vulnerable more  prize worthy to other tributes. We trudge about t five more yards when  yet again he stops.