The Starving Artist: Hunger Games 2015

ENTRY: Percy Cole

Percy grimaced at the bitter taste of little white objects soaking on his tongue. With difficulty, he swallowed his daily dosage, already feeling the effects take their toll as they dissolved in his stomach. The tremors of pain that usually rippled through his body numbed considerably, and his raucous wheezes faded to normal breaths. His heart rate slowed. He could still feel each pulse, the pumping of boiling blood travelling through his veins, burning his insides every time he moved.

And another one for good luck, he thought as he popped another pill in his mouth. The taste overwhelmed his taste-buds, reminding him he wasn't normal, not since he'd been lifted out of the arena from his death bed. Constant anxiety was something he was accustomed to, and fits weren't uncommon. Every night he'd wake with a start. It was always at its worst on the day of the Reaping. Today was that day.

There hadn't been a victor from Four since Percy. At first he bonded with tributes he mentored, only to have his heart tossed in the meat grinder within mere moments of the Games. Whether he would submit himself to the same painful experience this year, he hadn't decided. Whatever happened, he wasn't looking forward to it. What was there to look forward to?

Nigel. Nigel was something to look forward to. As if on cue, he appeared in the doorway. "I heard you screaming this morning," he said. "You kept saying you were trapped in shackles. I had to restrain you so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

"Again?" Percy asked, lifting himself from the bed he'd had so many nightmares in. He hated that bed with a passion. I hope it burns. The mention of burning sent a barrage of images flashing across his vision and he stumbled. Nigel lurched to catch him before he could hit the ground. Lord only knew how much that'd hurt.

"Take it easy," Nigel said, sadly smiling. "Reaping's today. Did you take your--"

"Yes, Nigel, I took my pills, just like every damned day. I can't even move without them," Percy snapped.

"Sorry..." Nigel said.

Percy immediately regret snapping and brought his brother into a tight hug. He ignored the pain that shot through his abdomen. "We come from dirt. It is dirt that defines us," he whispered.

"It's dirt from which all things grow," Nigel finished. Clapping him on the back, Percy went off to prepare for the days events, the word burn still engraved in his mind. He wished for a distraction desperately.

But the images remained. They stayed as he dressed, as he trudged down the stairs, waited for him to enter the sweltering heat of the district. They weaved around his brain, pricked his flesh, swirled in his lungs. They came to life before him as he and Nigel traversed the beach. Sunlight gave the impression of flame, building an inferno out of waves. They licked and leapt, catching his jacket, journeying along his arms in a fiery trail that materialized from his imagination, only stopping when they reached his stomach.

Percy clawed at his shirt, yanking it up in trepidation. A large scar sat in the center of his otherwise unblemished skin. In seconds he was devoured by a vicious world, one much more palpable than his current reality.

'Akari is dead. Ian is alive. I'm dying. Akari took her final breaths last night. Then Ian showed up. And now I'm dying in the early morning sunlight peeking around the Cornucopia, now devoid of any supplies. I don't know how the girl felt as she died, but I know right now, in this moment, that the pain is excruciating, and I no longer want this. Please, someone, something, kill me.'

A single tear trailed down Percy's face as he thought in silence, a blood-stained hand draped across a deep wound in his stomach. Crimson oozed between his fingers as he tried to staunch the blood flow as best he could, to no avail. This wound was fatal. Percy was dying. He coughed, specks of red soaking his shirt.

"I'm truly sorry about this turn of events," Ian said, a hand cupped over his left eye. Blood trickled down his face from under his palm. Percy strangled his token, the thing that caused the destruction of Ian's eye: the sharp end of a seashell. "But you know the rules. Only one of us can win." His remaining eye stared with scorn. He backed away, his eye still trained on Percy's weakening body.

As if I can do anything, Percy thought.

"I would've preferred to make it painless, but given the circumstance..." Ian pointed to his face, "Let's just say I don't feel too bad about what I did."

"Get away from me," Percy said, weakly. "Just go and wait it out. Won't take long."

Ian either frowned or gave a twisted smile. Percy couldn't tell. "Fine." He retreated, but just as he was turning around he must've tripped over something because he ended up face-planting into the moist dirt. Percy shifted his head slightly so he could see what had paused his withdrawal. His foot was snagged in a rope of vine that was tied to a thick root. One Percy had made on his way to the center as a stress-reliever and laid down as a probable trap.

Ian tugged at the rope with his foot, only to tighten its hold on him. Hints of hysteria showed through his actions. Frantic tugging, pointless yanking. He was only worsening his condition.

Somehow Percy managed to sit, his back pressed against the opening of the Cornucopia. "Looks like you're in a bit of a tizzy," he spat. A low chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. "You managed to get stuck in the last few minutes of the game. Good job, you."

Ian glared. "Shut up. You're dead anyway."

Percy exhaled. "Right. Guess I should crack open this sponsor now. Curiosity is killing me." He unscrewed the reflective lid. "My brother sent me this, y'know. I hope..." He crinkled his nose. What use was a single match now?

He could practically hear his brother screaming at him. "You idiot!" he would say, "Find a way!"

Then it clicked. The small flame was warm, so warm compared to his chilled skin. As he breathed, he saw his breath form and dissipate in the radius of the match. A malicious grin painted Percy's face, his eyes darting up to meet Ian's.

Ian swayed."Please, don't--"

"Nothing will change the fact we're screwed," Percy uttered. The match slipped from his fingers, and Ian screamed.

As the ravenous flames thrived, Percy slumped to the ground, and the world went dark at the sound of a cannon vibrating through his skull.

"Sierra Greenthorn."

A gasp erupted from a suddenly aware Percy. Stage. Crowd. Fish dress. The Reaping. A blonde girl marched on stage. The familiarity was haunting: a spitting image of Layla. Chains wrapped around his lungs, squeezing the life out of him. Has to be a coincidence...has to.

With anxious fervor, he awaited the next name. He was near hyperventilating by then. Sweat spilled from his pores.

"Nigel Cole."

A stab of pain crashed through Percy's chest. He met his brother's terrified gaze, before the ground came rushing up to meet him, flames welcoming him into their arms once more.