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Everything in the arena is bright. Colorful. It's pure temptation from the moment my eyes adjust to the sight.
The arena is wrong, I can just tell. The gamemakers have made our deathbeds, of all things, alluring. The sad part is that it’s working.
All the tributes that I can see seem dazzled. Mystified by the false beauty before them. Even the air itself has a potent scent to it that I can’t describe. It’s rich in a way that reminds me of the thick air down in the mines.
Looking around at the other tributes, I begin calculating their odds. It’s happening before I can stop it due to the pressure of such a high stakes environment. The feeling, all too familiar to the moments my Pa would drag me into the betting room for my thoughts on any last minute changes. You know… like these.
Maysilee, Lou Lou and Haymitch are to my right. The careers too. Something I’d already considered, because the games are traditionally set up in the same circle organized by district. It’s why I don’t bother to worry about the tributes to my left.
As standoffish as District Eleven has been, I know they are of no threat to us. The Careers however are, but their odds are dwindling with the smarts needed to survive a rainbow minefield of what I’m guessing are toxins… or hallucinogens. Whatever alters someone’s mind.
Ampert and Wiress might have been onto something about brains over brawn. Together, the Newcomers combined knowledge increases everyone’s chances of survival here. We all have different experiences that can be applied to the wrongness of the arena.
Haymitch seems to have already figured out something's not quite right with the air. He is breathing in from his mouth. Not that that makes any sort of difference. You’re breathing it in either way. The awareness is good though.
Maysilee seems to be trying to shake herself, and I can’t be sure of why. Maybe she’s just trying to believe the sight before her eyes. A false beauty that might tempt her. She could be feeling disoriented, fuzzy in the head, the way I had at first.
Lou Lou. Oh how my heart hurts for the little girl. Both of her eyes are wide with wonder and she’s placed a hand over her chest in disbelief. No doubt oblivious to the dangers such colors present.
I’m not an idiot. I know Lou Lou’s going to die. I just hope it’s not a painfully long way that she will have to endure.
The Capitol may classify me as a child, another kid for the reaping, but I ain’t that anymore. By all means outside of the games, I’m an adult. A man. Unfortunately not a heartless one like my Pa either.
If I’m doomed to die, the least I can do is help someone else in the process. Whether Louella believed it or not, I’m good. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. So I can protect one of my own from the likes of the Careers. Our true enemies in the arena, besides the gamemakers themselves.
As soon as the gong sounds a mixture of movement erupts. Some people stumble off their pedestals, still shocked by our surroundings. Others take off in a run… lamely as they try to find their footing. Confirmation that something hangs heavy in the air of the arena.
Unbothered by my looming death, I decide to take the time to orient myself a little more to what’s happening. Haymitch is making good pace across the field. It looks like he is going to the cornucopia, but that could be the sun blinding me by shining off the gold of it. Either way his path seems promising as I’m forced to look away.
Maysilee is stumbling, but moving towards the right cautiously. As the Careers clear out, making for the weapons of the cornucopia, it will give her space to follow the group of Newcomers that seem to be heading that way too. A mountain is in that direction, making it a good idea if it has fresh water running from any springs like ours at home. Until the yellow bunny that causes her to trip reminds me there isn’t going to be anything safe for us here.
Lou Lou, to her credit, tries to run like everyone else. Unfortunately it’s towards the cornucopia… or maybe following Haymitch. Whatever the reason, that way is about to be a guaranteed gruesome bloodbath any second.
The best chance Lou Lou has to stay safe a little longer is to be with the other Newcomers. People that will take a bit of pity on her, like a two year old unable to understand the harsh reality of a situation. Even District Eleven now feels a certain sadness for her.
Yards in front of me to the right a bit I watch Lou Lou trip. Unlike Maysilee she doesn’t find her balance… almost willingly. She manages to fall happily, like a child falling down in the meadow on a bed of flowers. If we let her, she might just stay there. Confirmed by the way I watch her roll onto her back, spreading her arms out as if she were basking in the sun. A harsh contrast of black, amongst a sea of color.
“Lou Lou!” I holler, moving and finding that things finally feel a little more steady as I finally move. “Lou Lou, you need to get up!”
I try to watch who is grabbing what from the cornucopia as I run to Lou Lou. Knowledge is power. The information will be important for the others to know. It will allow for a strategy, because preparing for a bow and arrow or trident is a lot different than a small knife.
Once I reach her, I offer my hands down to Lou Lou hoping she will naturally grab them to help herself up. She visibly brightens at my presence, maybe comforted by the kindness I’ve shown her. Unlike the majority I've encountered over the years, who instantly look at me with distaste and judgement… knowing I’m one of the Booker’s Boys.
“Lou Lou, come on, get up,” I tell her and to my surprise she actually takes my hands, letting me help her to her feet.
The victory is short lived because it’s like Lou Lou is a toddler again. Twirling, attempting to get me to swirl around in the field with her. Dancing, and simply amazed at the world around her. Maybe in another setting it would be sweet. As it is, it’s just sad.
“Lou Lou,” I plead, tugging her towards the right where a few Newcomers have already disappeared. “We can uh, play later okay? We just need to get out of the open.”
How do you really handle children? I’ve never really thought about them more than in passing or when my Pa mentions the dark deeds happening during the Hunger Games year after year. All I can think of then, is how I will never be gambling on them.
Why would I want children when there is the reaping to consider? It doesn’t matter since I’m dying, but having some kind of partner I’d want to have them with is crucial. I’ve never had any form of a serious relationship. Emotional or physical.
As difficult as it is to get Lou Lou to pay attention, I know I would have enjoyed a child of my own one day. As sure as I know, I’d get shot by a Peacekeeper before letting them drag them off to the games. Unlike my family, who were too busy squabbling with each other to think of the actual me standing before them. My last minutes with them, spent listening to old familiar arguments.
Letting myself be spun in a circle, making me kind of dizzy again, I decide to plant my feet firmly on the ground with my back to the mountain. Using my weight, I tug Lou Lou with me. She doesn’t weigh much more than a stick. If I need to, I can just throw her over my shoulder.
I’ve seen a fair few kids, throwing a tantrum on their Pa’s shoulder though. Kicking the legs in the air and beating their fist on their back while screaming. We need to avoid attention and I can’t trust Lou Lou not to default to fear.
“Wyatt!” Maysilee shouts from a distance.
My eyes find Maysille past Lou Lou and closer to the cornucopia than I remember. She’s pointing towards something, or more accurately someone as I follow her finger. A sinking feeling settles into my gut, seeing Panache running our way. He slows, seeming to realize we aren’t going to give him the thrill of a chase.
Automatically I step in front of Lou Lou and push her behind me. I hadn’t noticed the constant hum she’d been producing until it’s cut off by the abrupt movement, possibly taking her out of her blissful state. Of course I feel bad, but it’s better than being stabbed by Panache’s sword. The silver glimmering in the sun, bright like its surroundings.
“Where’d he go?” Panache growls, face in a deep scowl and already beaded with sweat. “I want him!”
It must be Haymitch that Panache’s looking for. He did a fantastic job of pissing him off. Of course we, as his fellow District Twelve members, must know where he’s gone. A logical conclusion actually, but very wrong.
Where is Haymitch going? He wouldn’t tell us, but he wouldn’t know before seeing the arena itself anyways. It’s a fair wager to say he’s going in the opposite direction of the Newcomers, since he doesn’t want us targeted because of him. Not that I’m going to tell anyone that, least of all a Career out for his blood.
I could argue. Play oblivious and plead. It wouldn’t do me any good in the end, besides lose me some dignity and please the audience. Maybe it could spare Lou Lou some time though, because I’ve felt her take a few steps away from where she’d been against my back. The loss, I have no right to feel sad about.
“I don’t know,” I admit truthfully.
Off to the left I see movement in my peripheral vision. It’s not Lou Lou, I know. The high distressed noise in her throat is vivid to my ears… nights now spent homed in on her pitch as the people of the Capitol tortured her from afar. Still, I don’t take my eyes off Panache as he stomps towards us.
“I guess you’ll have to do then,” Panache warns, pointing his sword at me and I long for Lou Lou’s hands in mine again for the few ounces of appreciation she’s shown me.
Death by sword isn’t the worst way to go as long it’s deep, instead of a cut that would be prone to infection. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than poisoning, dehydration or starvation. The most likely ways to die, followed by mutts.
Okay, maybe death by mutts is the true horror, but I’ve been stabbed before. The price of having Pa for my Pa. A few bets went wrong and three guys weren’t very happy with the outcome. It never helps that my Pa gets pretty smug when he’s pleased.
Turnabout’s fair play, as they had said. Right or wrong, they didn’t care. Emotions leave room for error. Not that men betting on kids getting killed in the games, care much about stabbing a fifteen year old themselves.
Eighteen isn’t fifteen. A short kitchen knife aiming for the kidney, isn’t the same as a sharp battle sword piercing your entire abdomen. It’s a lot less scary to accept and easier to understand.
Emotions weren’t necessarily my strong suit, but the bright artificial world is better than the darkness of night in coal dusted streets consuming my vision. The sound of girls shouting growing distant under Panache’s deep growl, a relief instead of my own pitiful sobs. A heavy weight in my chest, torso, a welcome feeling replacing the self-loathing and disgust that was my own life before.