0.26 ; draw me a picture my dear | ✔

9.3K 311 144

0.26 ; draw me a picture my dear

It is almost two nights later when we finally get any acknowledgement from anyone. And then we notice him.

He almost bypasses my vision, but I catch the end of his heel hobbling off into the forest, and stop dead. "Cato!" I hiss, placing my finger to my lips to tell him to shut up. I take one knife out of my vest, clutching it between my fingers.

It feels good to have it back: I haven't had to use my knives in a few days, and, to be frank, it's been boring. To finally have another tribute to steal the life away from feels great.

Hey, call me morbid and mad, but I've been trained to do this since I was six years old. Who would blame me? Well, nobody at home would, because we're all like that.

I tread lightly through the forest, trying to make the least sound possible as I watch the crippled boy from district 10 from afar. He stumbles around, almost as if he were drunk, and is startled by a small bird taking flight out of the trees.

The sun is setting above us, the bright and beautiful red colour bleeding through the gaps between the tree canopy, almost like blood itself.

Soon enough, there will be blood on the forest floor once again. There hasn't been near enough of that recently.

I edge closer to him, watching him struggle to scale one of the nearby trees. I have to stop myself from laughing at his misfortune: to end up as a cripple and a tribute is a pretty bad life. Hell, he must be just waiting for someone to come an end it for him.

Here I am, my friend, here I am.

Without any warning, I run forwards and leap up towards the boy. I slam straight into him, struggling to climb, and he crashes to the ground, myself beside him. "Hey 10." I say, slowly dragging one knife from my belt, curling my lips into a menacing smile that I'm pretty sure is working. The guy looks terrified. Good enough, that's exactly what I want.

I signal to Cato, and he arrives by my side in seconds, kneeling down beside the boy, struggling under the grip I have on his torso. He tries to kick me off balance, but his good leg is pinned under my own foot, and his crippled one is practically useless: he can't bend it far enough to reach me and unseat me from my spot.

Looks like I'm stuck here for a while.

Well, at least until you're dead.

The boy sighs, defeated, and feebly lifts one hand, panting for breath.

"OK, if you're going to do it, make it quick." he says, his arm falling back to his side as he finds it more and more difficult to breathe, my whole bodyweight pressing down on his chest as I pin him to the ground.

I contemplate his wish for a moment, giving it extra thought through my actions, before curling my lips into a smirk again, and shaking my head slowly, widening my eyes in the scariest way I possibly can. I look behind me, towards Cato, and, as soon as he sees my twisted smile, my disturbing eyes, he laughs like a madman, and joins me. I'm still not entirely sure whether his is an act, or something real, but I have to convince myself that it's just acting, for my own sake at least, because I can't face the facts properly: Cato cannot be turning insane.

Well, more insane than he was before, anyway. I cannot let that happen. We will both make it home. Alive.

 And I'm about to get one step closer.

The boy begs and begs for mercy, but I don't give it to him. I select one of my smallest knives, take the arm closest to me into my lap, and begin to carve patterns into his skin. Like a morbid tattoo, the blood seeps from the patterns and colours the forest floor crimson, tinting my jacket and my hands, but I don't stop.

After both arms, I pick the smallest knife I have from my belt, and carve an intricate design into his left cheek, ignoring his screams and moans of pain.

I don't care. I am an artist. And this boy, this crippled boy from district 10, is my canvas. When he is picked up by the hovercraft, after he has bled out so much that his face becomes pale and colourless, the wounds and scars that make up my piece of art will remain.

At long last, when his screams have faded to whimpers, dying whispers of his life, I select my biggest knife, and plunge it into his chest. The crimson liquid dribbles from his wound, and his eyes roll back into his head. I push both lids down with my fingertips, before slashing across both eyes with one knife.

And finally, as a message to my father, I rip the boy's shirt, and carve the words 'draw me a picture my dear' across his chest. It was something he used to say to me, because he liked it when he could show off his career/artist daughter to the district.

Well, father, you have both at once here: a display of my career skills, and my art.

I hope you're not too scared by the way I've changed.

After the boy's death, Cato doesn't talk much. I think he might have been a little scared by my way of killing the guy. After all, I think I even managed to scare myself: turning the boy into a human block of marble wasn't my original idea.

But, I think the games are changing me. I don't know what it is, but sometimes I get these moments where all I want to do is kill.



Anything that comes my way will die at the hands of me and my knives. We are an unstoppable team.

We reach a clearing, and Cato dumps his pack to the floor and declares it to be our camp for the night. I haul myself into the nearest tree, and am just about to prepare myself to go to sleep, when the Capitol anthem begins to play. The face of the district 10 guy appears in the sky, unmarked by my morbid tattoos, and I shudder, remembering his awful end. The end that I caused.

And then, there is another voice. The voice of Caesar Flickerman. "Attention tributes. There will be a feast tomorrow morning, at the Cornucopia. Something will be waiting for you, something that you need, desperately. Fine dining available, if you want to risk it. I would if I were you." Caesar's voice cuts out, and the sky becomes dark again.

There is a weight pulling my branch down as Cato rests his arms across it, standing up and poking his head over the top. "So, are we going to dine with death?" he asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. I know what he's thinking: if everyone comes to that feast, we could take them all out. We could be home by tomorrow evening.

Home. Just the thought of it makes me feel so normal inside. Like I'm not in a fight to the death with the guy I still have a crush on and a load of other people from different districts that want to murder me.

That thought is enough to make me smile and reply "Of course, I think we deserve a four course meal. Starter, Alyssa, easy going if we can catch her. Fish course, Loverboy-"

"Because killing him will be like spearing fish in a barrel." laughs Cato.

"Yes, exactly!" I continue, my genuine smile growing bigger every second "Thresh for main, because, even though he's probably the biggest, I think we could tear him apart once we've got hold of him....." I trail off for a moment, waiting for my planned finale, waiting for him to ask the question.

"And why is fire girl dessert?" he asks, turning his head to the side, his blue eyes sparkling in the starlight. I smirk evilly without even thinking.

"Because I want revenge. And revenge is sweet."

{proofed and edited 11/11/16 (also i'm terribly sorry i was such a morbid teenager)}