The Hunger Games- What If's: Book Two

Chapter Five

   For whatever reason, I decide to shove my arm further into the machine. There must be something in here, something that can help get me out. This in itself is sort of ironic, really, because I'm getting more and more stuck in order to get out. 

   So I know I'm looking for something. What am I looking for? I have no idea. 

   The overall feel of moving my hand through this huge metal thing is basically like my arm is stuck in some kind of super-thick putty. It's kind of like molten metal, only not, because it's not that hot or even remotely warm, and my hand isn't being cremated. I'm declaring that it's not water based, because it's thicker than a water-based solution would allow. 

   The amount of strain it takes my arm to move through this non-water based solution is imense. I can feel my arm trying to flex all the way down, but it's almost as if the solution has hands, which are wrapping themselves around my arm. This, of course, prevents me from using it to its fullest potential. 

   I know one thing though. Well, I sort of know one thing. That thing is: there has to be something in here. There has to be. If there isn't, then I'm basically screwed and never getting out of this mess. However, if I'm right, then it has to be deeper down. This sounds like a terrible idea, but I've got to get my arm further down. If the Gamemakers were going to put something in this awful machine, they wouldn't make it very easy to find. After all, they like watching the tributes die long, slow, and often painful deaths. Isn't that why they stopped such extreme cold and hot climates? The tributes died too quickly in those arenas.

   Thinking it over, maybe they did put it somewhere easy. After all, once you've reached your arm down into it, there's no hope in coming back up again. That is, without the aid of something. That established, if they placed it at the top, and the tribute continued to shove their arm through the base, then they would have no chance of surviving and would ultimately perish due to the other tribute(s). Then again, that might get tedious. What if the other tribute dies, too? I mean, it's not like there's a ready supply of food and water, just waiting to be consumed. 

   I give up trying to reason what the Gamemakers might think, and decide just to go with the best course of action: I shall search the entire machine, like it's in layers.

   Basically, I'll keep my arm submerged at one point, and then move my hand across the entire field, if you will, until I find something. Or until I don't find something, which would be awful.

   Whatever. All I need to do now is search. I can feel the minutes pass by, slowly ticking as my body is being drained of energy. My arm has just sunk in past my elbow when I feel like I'm never going to find anything. I let my arm go limp, relaxing for a minute. Due to what I'm assuming to be gravity, my arm is pushed further down into the machine.

   For a fraction of a second, I think that suddenly the machine got very cold. Less than half a second later, I realize that it's burning. My hand is burning! I try and yank it out, but my hand can only bend. Thankfully, that's enough. My hand is no longer touching the thing, but I can almost feel the skin peeling back. I do not allow myself the pleasure of yelling out. There would be no use. I look across the room toward the other wall, and see it's still slowly moving. The speed seems to have decreased, though. Do I have someone in the Capitol on my side?

   There's absolutely no way that I could take the thing out of the machine without my hand actually cremate. I should wrap something around it, then maybe I can take it out. I readjust against the machine, and the rustling of my jacket gives me an idea. 

   I remove my free arm from my jacket sleeve, shaking the whole thing off slowly, but it works well enough. I hear the clattering of metal of metal, and look down to my left to see the mockingjay pin has fallen out of my pocket and onto the ground. Good. That way, it won't melt in this deathtrap.

   I work the rest of my jacket around me, until the only part still in it is my arm which is stuck in the machine. "Please work," I whisper to myself as I plunge both the jacket and my other free hand into the machine. 

   I work the jacket down to meet my other hand slowly. What if this doesn't work? What if the thing burns straight through my jacket and I'm stuck? What happens if I get stuck? What if I die here?

   Prim. What would happen to Prim? What about my mother, and Gale, and Peeta's parents? What would happen to them? Would that finally push Haymitch off the edge? After all, I was so close. I still am that close. However, I've heard stories of other winners of the Hunger Games who are just worn out by the Capitol. I've heard my mother talk of them losing their place in "paradise" because they were killers. I'm a killer. Does that mean I don't get this "paradise"? People should not be punished because of something they didn't do willingly. I did not choose to kill. I guess technically I did, but it was either me or my sister. And it was not going to be Prim. 

   Then there's Cinna. What would happen to him? He'd probably be assigned to a different district where the tributes couldn't care less about him or the other stylists. He wouldn't be happy, but through it all, his work would still be outstanding, and that would be the worst part of it all. 

   Why are there people who are destined to starve just because of where they live? Why do we raise our children to want to kill others? Honestly, why are we wasting such precious time on this planet? There was a time before humans came to exist. That was when all things proceeded naturally, without interference. Then, of course, we came along. We robbed the earth of its resources and its hard-earned life. And what do we have to show for it now? Hate. War. Death. Fear. Pain. We also destroyed land countless times. Yes, go us!

   There will be a time after all of us are extinct, so why are we living like we're infinite? Especially the people in the Capitol. They act like they're invincible. They are not. In fact, their government is so weak, it was almost taken down by a small, little bird.

   I shake my head to run these thoughts out of my mind. I need to focus now. Jacket. Heat. Machine. I think I can do this, so while I have even a miniscopic amount of confidence,  I shove both of my wrapped hands around the object.

   At first, the seams begin to fray. I think instantly that this is it, I'm done for. Then after a second, I realize the burning stopped. I try to pull out  the object, but it's not working. I try again. Nothing. Again, again, again, and again. I still don't have any luck. I relax my body, trying to think of something else to do. 

   Lo and behold, that works for some reason that is most likely not gravity. Anyway, now I'm standing with this giant lump of heated metal in my hands. It doesn't even resemble anything; it just is. 

   "What the hell do I do with this?" I say out loud. I readjust the metal thing so it's in one hand, so I can pick up my mockingjay pin and put it in my pants' pocket. I look down at the metal thing again, then glance up at the door. Maybe. . . . 

   I try and ignore the pain ripping through my one hand, which is burnt and blistered. Trying to do so, I walk over to the door and use the super-heated piece of metal to try and cut through the door. It works! What? This is working?!

   A phantom of a smile flickers quickly across my face, but then I once again compose myself. There's a little buzzing noise in the back of my mind, but I try and think nothing of it. It's most likely just excitement. I mean, this is awesome! I am literally cutting through metal with metal right now. 

   The buzzing grows louder, and I try to ignore it still, but that proves to be futile. I glance over my shoulder, and see the machine is glowing a really bright red. As in, more red than blood. I can see it begin to shake, ever-so-slightly. 

   I try and duck, the metal sliding through the door like a hot knife through butter all the way down with me. I'm just in time, because the machine explodes.

   I refuse to let out a scream, so I just tense up and attempt to cover my head in the most efficient way possible, which isn't a very easy task to accomplish. I look up and see remnants of the machine smoking. Did that happen because I took out this hunk of metal? Was that made to injure me? Luckily, I'm unharmed. 

   I pick myself up and dust myself off, and I turn to face the door.

   Damn. 

   Linsky's standing right there. We're face to face. 

   Well, what the hell is supposed to happen now?