Writers Games; Alliances

D12 Female - Seaver Parish - Task 3 [AnonymousRice4‏]

I feel a shiver run down my spine, and grasp either of my arms at the shoulders, watching my breath ripple out in front of me. The room we’ve entered is darker than the last, but it doesn’t seem to phase our apparent ‘leaders’, Tobias and Lumen, as they continue to march forward with an everlasting air of resilience. Mira carries on a bit of small talk with Amabel a couple feet ahead of me. Me, I don’t really care for conversation, not in this death trap. I prefer to remain alert, completely focused on our goal.
   Miles suddenly skips out from my shadow, catching up to me and struggling to keep pace. “Hey.” He says. I acknowledge him only with an irritated glance. But he continues to talk.
   “Pretty crazy, right? Us; the alliance.” He pauses in case I want to chime in. I pretend he isn’t there and continue shivering. “I never thought I’d end up in one this big. I mean, I wanted to ally with that guy from Ten – ”
   “Tobias.” I correct him before realizing I never wanted conversation anyway.
   “Right, Tobias. But when I found out he had all you guys too – well, I had to join. You guys are like, the big leagues.” There’s a small silence in which I truly consider his words, before he breaks it again, in a low whisper.
   “Ever wonder why that blonde chick joined?” He jabs his thumb in Amabel’s general direction. I must have looked confused, because chatty Kathy here decided to explain. “I mean, what’s a Career doing with a bunch of losers from the lower districts?”
   “You mean me.” I say stiffly, fingers gripping around my shoulders without my even realizing it.
    “Us too. I mean, I’m from District Seven. You hardly hear of anyone from Seven coming out victorious. I mean there was of course Johanna, and Blight. But I mean, other than them, my district really has no victors. And Ten, boy, they’re like, almost unessential. The nation might get away with obliterating their occupation altogether. Five is really important, but in the games, not so much. They may have cunning tributes, but at some point, brute strength becomes what is necessary to claim victory. Not many of Five’s tributes have that. Then Twelve, and, well, you know.” His eyes glanced up at mine, searching them to make sure I wasn’t offended. He did have a point, Amabel was really the misfit of the group. What were her motives for joining the rest of us in an alliance?
    I leave Miles’ side to walk up and tap her on the shoulder when suddenly a bright light streams in from in front of us. We’re all blinded, and then it’s chaos as troops march in and take us all away. They’re Peacekeepers, but what I want to know is why. What are they doing in the arena?
   “Get off me!” I kick and flail my legs around, hoping to get one of them where their protective gear doesn’t cover them. “Let me go, what do you want?” I watch my allies struggle to free themselves as they’re each dragged into separate rooms. A heavy door swings shut just as soon as I’m in one of the small, nearly empty rooms; Aside from plain, boring walls and a wooden floor, there are two chairs and a table set up in the center of the room. On the table are refreshments; water, lemon water, some tiny cookies, the likes. I’m pushed down hard into one of the chairs opposite the other, and huff, crossing my arms over my chest. I freeze, my face drained as my eyes catch on a picture frame on the wall ahead of me. I see all the familiar faces of those I love; Granny, Rarity, and Djaq. They seem happy. I wonder where they got the picture, but have no time to ask as part of the wall begins to fold and I see its a door, well hidden in its place.
    “Here.” A Peacekeeper hands me a small hunting knife, and stands stone-still at the end of the room, behind me. I grasp the handle of the knife, getting the feel of it as the person enters the room.
     “Hello.” Before I even raise my eyes to look at her I recognize her voice; it’s Occisora. She strides in wearing fancy boots, leather pants, and a tight, form-fitting bodice of some kind of durable meterial. Her neck is exposed, perhaps if I aim correctly I might slice it open.
   As she takes her seat, smile never fading, she brushes a few strands of her perfectly tamed hair off her shoulder and begins to speak. “How are you finding the Capitol?” I want to strangle her. “Help yourself to the refreshments, we brought them especially for you.” She smiles at me but underneath it is her sadism. I don’t look away as she slides a plate of biscuits across the table, ever so slowly.
    “What do you want?” I growl between my teeth, gripping the knife hidden under the table.
   She places each of her hands delicately in front of her, one on top of the other, so perfect in form I doubt if she'll ever be able to recreate it. “District Twelve is one of our poorer districts, so it must be nice to be pampered for once. You have tasted just a smidge of what it’s like for us every day, while we are stuffing, puking, and re-stuffing ourselves your people starve to death.” I feel my grip on the knife getting stronger; please let me do this, I beg myself. I’m aware of the Peacekeeper’s standing in either corner behind me, but I want to kill this woman so bad I can almost accept whatever consequences they have in store for me.
      I look back to her. She’s smiling, and once she has my attention, she continues her speech. “We have riches, and power aplenty while you and your district are left to rot. If it were up to us;” she smiles sweetly, but sadistically. “your district would burn to the ground.” That is the final straw; I leap across the table with cat-like reflexes, snatching up her collar and pressing the knife close against her exposed skin. One swift move and I would end her life.
     “Keep talking.” I dare her, as she does nothing to remove me from her body.
     “Why do you continue to live if you’re nothing but slaves? No good has ever come from that pit you call home.” She’s struggling to talk with my knife so harshly pressed against her throat. But nonetheless, her eyes taunt me. We both know very well that with her dead the Capitol will only replace her. The Games won’t come to an end, they’ll flourish, more than ever. But I don’t care; I want her gone.
    “We have the power to change that but we choose not to. How angry does that make you feel?” She sounds almost concerned, but the look buried deep within her cold stare remains. “I doubt you’ll make it through this. Even with that alliance. You think they don’t know you’re the underdog? You think they don’t have plans to cut you from the herd, to kill you?” She laughs crazily for a few seconds, before regaining her composure. It's then she realizes; her head turns slightly to the side, my knife coming dangerously close to cutting her. “They already have, haven't they?” She laughs again while I turn my eyes anywhere but at her. The look on my face must have given me away; I recall that conversation in the hall with Miles. Maybe he was being innocently curious, but the reality that he may have been trying to divide the group sinks in and I know I can never fully trust my alliance. I turn my eyes back on her, like an animal studying its prey. She looks sadistically serious.
  “Very few from Twelve have been crowned Victors. Those who were, well, they were cheaters. Don’t try to defy me; it won’t end well for you or those you care about.” My fingers start to slip on her collar; my eyes flicker over to the picture behind her.
       “I have the power to make them suffer, don’t you doubt it for a second. I have the power to make people disappear. Don’t think that those ‘accidents’ in the mines are ever really that; the mines are great places to send people we don’t ever want to see again.” My fingers completely release her collar, and I sit back on my knees across the table. Food lay sprawled all over the table and floor; the drinks have spilled and the odor of the room has changed to something sickly sweet and moist. I stare at Occisora, waiting for her to go on, terrified to make a move lest my family should be destroyed. She pulls herself together, adjusting her shirt collar and tossing her strawberry-blonde curls back over her shoulders. Now, she speaks; in a calmer, less threatening tone, but nonetheless with my rapt attention. “You spent a lot of time at the border, looking over the remains of Thirteen. Don’t doubt that we wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to your home or any other district.” She takes a deep breath and allows her words to slowly soak in. I feel exposed now, the veil over my fears torn away so that I can never regain it. But when I look at her face she just appears to be insane; do her threats hold any truth? I told myself, you better act like they do. Anything you say anything you do next is going to have an impact on your old life; don’t screw things up.
    Occisora’s lips part once again, after I thought her speech was over she has one more thing to add. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds – ” she has to speed up the pace of her words, and yet still cannot finish them, because in an instant I’m on top of her again, this time the knife penetrates her layer of skin and meets the muscle. I don’t let it stop there; I force it deeper and slice it across. In one swift, clean motion her voice is silenced. Her limp head dangles back, and her body slumps down to the floor. I feel a sharp pain on my left shoulder, recalling the onlookers in white uniform behind me. I crumple up at the site of the injection, arching my back just in time for my vision to go black.