Pyromania | The 60th Hunger Games

ONE

The house is on fire. It's not my house, but that doesn't make it any less burnt.

The flames are gentle against the wood, taking their time to grow. Orange and red and yellow over-lapping a handful of ants, a chorus of heat and light intermingling with the crisp bodies of its victims. The heat reaches out to me, stroking my face and embracing me in a blanket against the crisp evening air.

The metal of the lighter in my hand bites at my skin, its cold surface is reminiscent of its days in the workshop where my father had battered it into shape. In my other hand, the wooden handle-bar of the bucket pinches my skin. Somewhere, as the flames began to roar, a voice is shouting my name. They are so quiet that I can barely make out a word they are saying, not that I want to. Who needs words when such a beautiful scene lies before you?

"Put it out!" I turn my face to the side, squinting at Martial- my friend.

He is standing at a distance, out of the shadow of the building, where the setting sun can reach him. His green eyes are dark and restless. Despite any and every effort to move towards me and the scene of utter beauty in front of me, his feet would not budge. The desperation on his face is pitiful, resembling the scared boy I had met so many years ago in the thin woods surrounding the District.

He had wandered through the treeline until a fire started in the treetops. To my surprise, he hadn't run to tell anyone immediately. And the look on his face, one of sheer terror, when I had dropped from the burning treetops with bleeding palms, still brings a smile to my face.

The bucket of water is snatched from my hands and the fire is doused before I have the chance to say goodbye. Beside me, Martial looks up at the scorch mark lining the side of the building. At the top, near the edge of the roof, a bird sings in her nest.

The bird's singing becomes shrill and high-pitched as the side of the nest begins to catch fire. It grows quicker than before and the mother has nothing to do aside from fly away and save herself.

Martial grabs my arm, pulls me across the road and into a dark alley between the two buildings. His hand stifles my protests as he peers out into the street. I bite his hand, to gain some release and follow his gaze. At one end of the street, Peacekeepers are beginning to run for the house as the fire now crawls along the roof. At the other end, coming over the hill, the village's workers were coming home from a day in the mines.

Their shouts echo across the street as they witness the flames climbing higher. I lick my lips. Crouching low in the shadows and watching the scene play out, I can't help the smile on my face. What a wonderful day today has been.

The lead peacekeeper, a man whose name I never care to learn, begins to peer up and down the street, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of the culprit. For a moment, his eyes linger on the shadows where Martial and I are hiding. As he moves on, Martial tugs on my sleeve. He nods to the narrow opening at the other side of the crevice. I glance back at the fire, the only thing that ever truly sparks joy in my life, before following Martial.

I leap silently over a pile of trash and scale the walls in order to climb over the large industrial bin blocking the exit.

This street is also empty, its residents having run straight to the excitement, much to the dismay of the peacekeepers. The houses all looked identical to the other street, their only notable difference being the numbers scratched into a stone plaque next to each door.

Martial and I jogged down the cobblestone street, making a sharp right turn down another alley which led to the back of the village. There was no way we would be leaving this village through its regular exits without the peacekeepers seeing us. Wired fences line each of the villages, allowing a small space for the cluster of trees to grow in-between.