A Perfect Storm (A Fanfiction for "The Hunger Games")

Chapter 5

"It looks real," I tell him, meaning every word. "What's your name?"

"Uh... Joni." And maybe it's because I'm only a few inches taller than him or that I've basically admitted he's better at something than I am or maybe it's just the lack of muscles on my arms, but for some reason he decides to keep talking. "It's easy. I can show you.

"Just dab the colours of the forest or desert onto your arm, but don't smear them." Then more quietly, as though even the thought of what he's about to say terrifies him to the very core,"In the arena you'll have to use mud or sand to do this."

I thank him gratefully and try it out, but find to my dismay that I'm not very good at it. My attempt at tree bark looks more like brown blobs. Luckily I'm meagre so I can fit into many different hiding spots. After trying and failing with several more attempts, I decide to go to the climbing section and test out something more my speed. There are four people there, including the girl from District 7. I scan the area but see that all of them are crowding around the ropes so instead of joining them, I decide to attempt the massive artificial tree in the corner instead. 

After approaching it, I place a hand against the trunk. There are few ridges and it almost feels like and resembles an actual tree. Above my head, I spot a branch within my reach, so I grab on and hold it firmly as I pull my right foot off the ground and place it in a solid support. A slight pain shoots up my hand. My burn is almost completely healed from the long train ride up here and Myra's salve, but it still hurts. I wrap my free arm around the trunk as I don't have another handhold just yet. Using my thighs I pull my other leg up and find another place for my foot a little bit higher than my other, so that my leg is bent at a right angle. This new hold gives me an advantage in lifting my body up. 

I continue like this for a while until I'm about halfway up the tree. Glancing up further I notice that the next handhold I can grab is much too far for me to reach. If I was just a few inches taller... No, there's not a chance of my getting it, not at my height, and I can't afford a twisted ankle in the case that I fall. Instead I switch my focus to a branch a bit below it. I can possibly get it if I use my lower body strength and leap towards it, grabbing it before I fall. 

I bend my legs as much as I can in my position and hop slightly upwards, extending my arm out as far as I can as I do. The moment my feet lift from the bark, I know that my plan is doomed to fail. My hand falls short by a few centimetres and I start to free fall. I don't think that a tribute has ever died in training before, but if I break my neck I might be setting a new record. There's a first time for everything. Just before landing, I manage to grab onto another branch about a metre below. The force of my fall should have popped my shoulders out of their sockets, but I managed to wrap a leg around the tree farther up, allowing my arm to bend. Unfortunately, my hip banged into it as I did this, leaving what I'm sure will become a bruise, and my knees slid down the base, scratching them up. 

A boy standing on a platform beside me starts snickering. A moment after looking at him, I immediately recognize the cocky smirk, muscular build, and sandy hair. He's the career from District 1. Below him, four other tributes, which can only be the other careers from District 1, 2, and 4 start laughing a bit too. I don't know where the last career is -- maybe they decided he wasn't good enough. Underneath his feet, weapons are littered all over the floor and I soon realize he's standing on a platform meant for shooting at targets below. Turning his attention away from me, the career picks up a javelin and twists it in his hand as though he is simply playing with a toy. He looks at me again and grins crookedly before firing it at the wall. It sticks directly in the centre of the target, right through the heart.

Something hot expands in my chest and I try to calm down the little flame of rage, but it's too late. Somehow I know that he's directing that throw at me, as though to say, That'll be you. Reaching across from me, I slide my hand to where a knife is lying haphazardly near the edge of his floating island. I grip the knife firmly in my hand, happy to feel something familiar, and reach out my arm as discretely as possible. Grasping onto the rope, I start to saw at it on an angle, the way it works best. The career's smirk vanishes like a vapour as the ground beneath his feet tips and he topples over the edge onto the floor below. I have to clap my hand over my mouth and turn away to keep myself from laughing. He's lucky he wasn't up higher, or he could have been seriously injured. Slipping the knife in a concealed pocket in my jumpsuit, I wipe the smile off of my face and peek at him.