Writer Games | Death Wish & 51

Task Seven: The Last Midnight /SF - Epona Jericho [3]

Epona had once been certain that she had experienced everything before she had entered the arena.

Her training had  attempted to prepare her for every possible scenario; she was adept with  all likely weaponry, knew more about survival than she ever thought  possible and was even used to the social detachment that a fight to the  death brought to everyone. In theory, she should have been perfect.  However, there was one thing that even the most rigorous training regime  could not prepare a tribute for:

Death.

Epona had spent her  entire life watching the Games on the television in her house. Despite  analysing every single Victor she could remember, she was always aware  that there were many losses within the competition. Death was more than a  constant threat; it was a part of life once the gong rang out and the  fighting finally began. Even if you made it out of the arena, death  would still haunt you. Epona could never be prepared for that sort of  constant torment.

She had been unable to  stop thinking about it. She had quickly worked out that the torture she  had previously endured was nothing more than a hallucination but she  still never wanted to experience it again. She was beginning to doubt  her own wish, wondering if her desires could really signify the end of  the District that had been her home for her entire life. She still  longed to have the animals of the outside world to be allowed back into  the place that had once been their hunting ground, but if they turned to  take out all the people from District Two then Epona would really never  escape the blood that would be on her hands.

Whatever she thought  about, she knew that over thinking was a weakness. However, that just  lead into a downward spiral as she began to think about the weaknesses  she had never even considered before. It became easy to doubt her own  abilities, to wonder what would await her the next time she found  herself in combat. If she allowed herself to lose focus for even a  second, she would die.

Epona was certain that she had seen this situation before.

She was a strong  tribute, but there was always a handful of tributes with previous  training in every Games before her. They lasted as long as they could  manage, but even then there could only be one final victor by the end.  The strongest tributes would often fall and, as much as Epona did not  want to think about it, that could easily be her. Epona had watched  these Games before in the safety of her own home, and she was sure that  she was due to die.

She could not call who the final victor would be, but it was not going to be her.

The Game-Makers might  even have been targeting her, reminding her of the inevitable death that  she would meet. Epona would not put it past them, knowing their love  for watching the tributes fall apart in their final moments. She could  easily vow to not lose her mind for them, to not be entertainment, but  she knew that it would all be in vain. She could not promise to stay  strong. She would never be able to make that promise again.

She was no sociopath.  Epona did not enjoy the death that she had caused to all of those  tributes she had found. The initial adrenaline rush she felt as the  blood stained her hands may have caused the slightest of smiles but that  first pulse of euphoria was easily overtaken by a much more familiar  emotion: guilt. She had not been trained for the feeling of death,  whether it be her own or caused by her. It was just easier to not feel  any emotion or think about anything, but now Epona was even managing to  fail that. She was weak, and she was dying.

If anyone could see the  thoughts floating in Epona's mind, they would easily tell that she was  slowly falling apart. Epona was very glad that they could only see her,  sitting on the ground with a dagger and a familiar lack of smile. They  would probably assume she was thinking of Isla, the only creature that  had spurred her on forward but now, not even knowing if Isla would still  recognise her, there seemed to be no point for Epona to even try and  fight for her chance to go home.

She had seen these Games  before, with a talented tribute falling apart and losing to the others  who were strong enough to step up and fight. The others would be coping  better, just like the tributes Epona had seen year after year. The  person first considered to be most likely for victor slowly grew worse,  finally admitting they were through and doing everything in their power  to prevent them from surviving. Epona could see exactly where these  Games were going to end up.

She was still brave  enough to say no; she did not want the Games to come to an end in the  way she was both remembering and imagining. If she had the determination  left in her, she would grasp her knife as tight as her grip would  allow. She would clamber to her feet and do what she had always done, go  hunting to bring herself closer to victory. However, something stopped  her. Epona felt that, if she moved, death would find her.

The ending was almost inevitable, and Epona could not walk away from it.