Author's Game Entries

Task 5: Phase Two

 Everything felt shattered. Not just his nose, but everything. His mind, his body, his morale. Sam didn't want to go on anymore.

He had left the headphones on the sound board; he did not want to be reminded of his own death any more. Everytime he closed his eyes, he would see the blood dripping down the back of his own head, and while he knew it had been an illusion, he couldn't forget. He had killed himself, clone or not, he'd killed someone in cold blood. And he couldn't... He couldn't handle it.

Stepping out of the the recording studio, Sammy finds himself in the same dark hallway he had been before, unsurprisingly, though he felt as if he was going to end up somewhere else for some reason. He lets out a sigh and waits only a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness before turning and trudging down the black hallway in the same direction he had been going before diverting into the studio.

Tip, tip, tap, tip, tip, tap... He could feel himself slipping into the rhythms of his own footsteps, his brain drifting into an almost autopilot mode and leaving him walking almost like a sleepwalker in a ghost town. Tip, tip, tap, tip, tip, tap, tip, tip, squelch. Sammy blinks, partially pulled out of his haze as he slowly looks down at what he had stepped on, pulling his foot up hesitantly.

It was a hand.

His eyes widen slightly and he follows up the arm it was connected to with his eyes, searching for the source of it in the darkness. The first thing he recognizes is the dead tribute's fiery red hair, fanned out around her head in a way that was almost pretty. If it was not for the gaping hole that had been stabbed into her chest.

Sammy stares at the District 10 girl's body with wide eyes in horror for a long unblinking moment before he turns and races down the hall in the opposite direction, fearing the tribute's killer may still be near by. His thoughts were racing as fast as his feet, and they don't slow down even when his legs start to tire. He was lost in his own rapid thoughts now, stumbling down one of the backstage hallways, completely unknowing and unconcerned with where he was or where he was going.

He eventually ends up slowing to walk, and his thoughts finally start to grow more hazy and molasses coated as they had been before, his mind finally showing the same tiredness his body felt from the possibly days' lack of sleep, and Sammy allows his feet to take him where they wanted. Because of this lack of awareness, he didn't notice the figure stepping towards him slowly from the other end of the hallway, holding something heavy in both hands.

He doesn't notice, that is, until he has the realization that someone was speaking. He couldn't really hear what they were saying though, and his head snaps up, looking up at the person who was now standing a few feet from him. His heart rate sped up at the realization another tribute was nearby, his body instantly going into fight or flight mode. He could hear words being formed, growing louder the longer it went on, but even in his heightened awareness he could still not understand what they were saying.

Darting his gaze up, he tries to find the face of the other tribute, trying to figure out who it was trying to speak to him, but he could not see them in the darkness. He could see their shoulders, illuminated by the offstage blacklights; he could see the base of their neck, but as he moves his gaze up he still could not see a face. Only the darkness behind them.

Sammy's throat constricts and he begins to grow uneasy, taking a step back. He could hear their voice again, the loud incoherent mumbling it was, and this time he could recognise where it was coming from. Whatever the tribute was holding, was speaking. At this realization, Sam's eyes grow wide and his pupils dilate from terror, and he knows then exactly who it is.

Frantically stumbling back, Sammy tries to get away, but the tribute takes another slow step forward, and they -she- reaches her arms out towards him, holding the object right in front of his face. It was a head; the head of Nevia Saille. The very same tribute whose body Sam had seen laying on the ground, bleeding out next to the weapon of her demise, the cymbal.