The Fandom Games

PART III: Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 – ???

A/N: This is your final warning that this is kind of a dark book and gets pretty graphic. Even rereading it to edit it I was a bit disturbed that these words came out of my fingers at some point. In any case, consider yourself warned and enjoy the rest of the story.

I'd decided that the best way to stay alive was to fade into the background and wait for them to forget about me. The Games had been going on for almost a week and even with the vast number of conversations I'd overheard, not one of them had been about me – except on the first day, when Moira said something about me being very violent. I assumed I'd diffused that rumor by not making any moves at all, and hardly being seen. I'd killed a few animals and eaten them raw (I couldn't risk the smoke signaling to where I was), and found a tree hidden very far away from the murky river where everyone always seemed to end up. That tree had berries growing in what had seemed like a never-ending, abundant supply at the start of the game, but I was running low on food and was getting tired of the taste of raw squirrel meat.

So now I was watching the camp that had the tent, waiting for it to be empty so I could take whatever they left behind. In case all else failed, I had a weapon with me.

Hermione was crying in front of a dying fire, muttering to herself and shaking uncontrollably. My guess was that the innocent little girl had made her first kill. How sweet. I only watched, twirling a hand grenade between my fingers, the only thing I'd scavenged from the Cornucopia's remains.

As she cried, her face in her hands, she had no way of seeing Sweeney sneak up behind her. Only, he didn't take advantage of the opportunity he'd been given to kill her right then. Anyone could have snapped her little neck without any trouble while she was in that state! I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion when all he did was pull her hair back behind her shoulders and whisper something into her ear. I couldn't hear whatever he said, but in response, she nodded. Sweeney extracted a short blade from his coat and began cutting her hair.

From what I'd gathered by quietly watching everyone, Sweeney was not an ally of hers. And a girl as well-read as her really should have understood how dangerous it was to trust him. A barber known for killing his customers - now she was letting him cut her hair? She was obviously out of her mind. Still, I squinted my eyes at the scene in front of me. What did he need hair for? Maybe he was thinking hair as thick as hers might insulate a shelter for him if he tried hard enough. Maybe he just thought she'd be too hot in the heat of the arena, and was trying to get on her good side and switch alliances. Maybe all he ever really wanted was to style hair, and wanted to change-

Sweeney slit her throat and as she fell a cannon went off. I raised my eyebrows, mildly impressed. Maybe he hadn't changed so much at all.

Sweeney stared at the body for a moment and slowly, very slowly, began to break down. He paced around the camp, ending up facing her on the opposite side of the fire, now as pale as his victim. He looked even more distraught than Hermione had before he killed her.

I didn't see why he was so messed up about this. People didn't change that dramatically. Maybe he wanted to stop killing, but he had to learn to take a hint from the world that wouldn't let him. Now he was in an arena with twenty-four other people, each one of them prepared to kill and be killed. Did he expect to get through it all without killing a single person, if killing was something he already had experience with? I wasn't going to lie; he was good at what he did. Killing, and hiding the bodies. This time, of course, no hiding was necessary. Everyone expected this of him. His tears were nonsensical now.

I didn't dare make a sound, just kept watching. Sweeney looked between the blade and the corpse of the girl he'd killed multiple times. In one motion he slit his own wrists in misery.

Blood was everywhere now. In the dirt. Between the rocks surrounding the campfire. On the logs. Seeping into the cloth of the tent. Sweeney didn't die right away; we watched his blood mix with hers before he slumped over and another cannon was heard in the distance.

Wow. What a drama I'd just gotten the privilege of seeing firsthand. I'd never know what in the world was going on in either of their minds at the end, and even if I could find out I knew I wouldn't understand it. By being dead, they didn't have to live in the world anymore. The world was a filthy horror show and they were lucky to escape it.

In a sense, the camp was empty. If I was going to get their food, now was the time. But something told me not to go just yet.

Approaching footsteps nearly scared me out of my skin because they were so close. I stayed still, hardly daring to breathe. Christine and Phil were carrying firewood to the camp and walked right past me, talking lightheartedly about something. I wasn't found. Exhale.

I had a choice: watch their looks of horror at the sight of two bleeding bodies when they saw them, or send two more to the other side with the grenade in my hand. A grenade could do so much. Was two enough to satisfy me?

I looked at the bomb in my hand. The tiny little bomb that could destroy so much.

I didn't give it a second thought. I stood, and they turned around in alarm. I pitched the grenade and sprinted in the other direction, no new hiding location in mind but knowing somehow that I couldn't be in hiding anymore after this.