The Panther Girl: 55th Hunger Games

Chapter 10

My night is occupied by strange dreams. I dream of my home, the forest surrounding it, the Training Rooms- even the Remake Center. Everything could be normal, but there is always some element that is twisted, or a hodgepodge of events that disrupts normal life. It's as if mutts have been unleashed upon my sanity.

I find Avoxes laughing out guttural sounds from inside a glass box, walk into a room in which its wooden boards jiggle like fruit jam when I step on them. When I leave, I find myself on a mountain, overlooking a rocky, desolate gorge. Cold air chills my shoulders, and a wind whips me forward. I almost fall into the gorge, and my eyes follow the pebbles my feet disrupt, traveling farther and farther into unknown oblivion. I linger there, unable to take my eyes away from the depth of the dark.

There's something familiar about this place. I turn until I face the opposite direction than the cliff. The majority of the mountain top is covered in powdery white snow, and the few crags of smooth black stone that do show are slick with ice. On the other side of the cliff, there's a silhouette of a person. They are shrouded in a black cloak and if I lean a little bit to the side, I can see that they're kneeling next to something. My curiosity gets the better of me and I creep closer. For some reason, I'm barefoot, and the snow sends shocks of cold up my legs. But something in my gut tells me to keep going. So I do.

Less than ten feet from the figure, the increase in detail clarifies more of the scene. I feel a rush of deja vu. What is going on? My mind demands an explanation, but I can't help feeling familiar with this place. There is no doubt about it.

As if on cue, the figure turns around. I jump. The figure does not acknowledge me, but there's no doubt that he knows I'm there. He turns his head in my direction, and slowly lifts his hood away from his face. It is pale, mercilessly scarred, taut. From starvation, from fear. My eyes travel down, stopping at his waist. The figure is pressing his hands to multiple wounds. From pain.

The figure seems so different, but the hazel eyes- the dark brown hair- I watch the figure tug at the collar of his shirt, a string of wooden beads poking out from underneath-

My heart leaps into my throat, and know instantly what is going on.

That's Ash. Starved, beaten, and exhausted, but nonetheless- it is Ash.

My eyes travel to the mountains around me. This is where Ash claimed the victory of his Hunger Games.

My eyes swivel to the exposed beads on his neck. They are various shades of brown. Made from oak, redwood, spruce. That's the necklace that Henna gave him. His token.

I hesitate, but I have to look at what Ash was kneeling beside. Unfortunately, I already know what's there. My vision lingers on the person, the bloody mess of a person lying in the snow. That is the girl that Ash had to kill to win his Games.

"Yes." My eyes dart to Ash. He speaks as if reading my thoughts. He nods wanly, and then thrusts something into the snow. A knife plants itself hilt-up, and red stains the crystalline white. Ash limps up to me and whispers in my ear.

"There is always a sacrifice to be made."

My eyes flick back over to the dead girl on the ground. I remember watching Ash win; and to think that he, such a gentle person, would kill anyone so brutally, is still beyond my comprehension. I feel my stomach lurch as I take in the body, remembering everything about the girl- her chariot ride, her interview, her performance in the Games. None of that shows up here. Her gaunt, skeletal body does not reflect how beautiful she had looked only a couple of weeks before, with her red interview dress fitting her tiny frame. Her lips, blue with cold, don't seem like they had once been pink with life.