Author Games: Return To Seasons

Task Six: Keep The Home Fires Burning/QF - ❄ Winter Entries ❄

District 10 Female - HOLLY-NOELLE GARNET [4] 

I've been here before so many times - more than I could be bothered to count, actually. The Bonfire square of Ten is a renowned party grounds, usually covered in vast crowds of people through whom it's impossible to make my way. But now, however, the crowds aren't here to celebrate; they're here to fight. There's so much blood, more so than I've ever seen even in my most terrifying dreams. Flames flicker in the distant background as a home which could easily be mine burns down. 

"It's so cold."

The boy next to me - the one from Summer, with the bees, according to his words in the hovercraft on the way here - shivers at my side. It must be difficult for someone born to constant warmth to adapt to the frigidity of Ten. But I feel no regret or remorse for him. This is war. If you aren't strong enough to last the conditions, you aren't fit to fight. And if the frostbite starting at the tip of his nose is any indicator, this boy isn't ready in the slightest.

"Welcome to Winter. It's cold here."

The boy hisses under his breath, too low on energy to do anything more. I look around the battlefield, trying to find somewhere to get evolved; there's no point in looking after Summer when he'll be dead of cold by morning. It happens to at least five people around here every year - usually the very young or the very old, who no longer have the strength to resist the elements. Briefly, I take the time to be grateful for the fur pelts I thought to bring with me to keep me warm. They may not be the best armour, but they'll make sure that, if I die, I die fighting.

I spot them in the distance. Not the rebel generals - if I could get my hands even on Dancer, Anasstasia would be eternally grateful - but the other tributes. The ones who were captured by the rebellion, who weren't given the choice between going home and helping the true leader of this company. They stand there, the reindeer logo sown quite clearly into their shirts. When I see Plumpkin and Cutepid amongst them, I hold my breath. Did I expect them to survive this long? No. Not in the slightest.

I run towards the group, running a quick count in my head. Five of us. Five of them. As far as numbers and statistics go, it'll be a fair fight, but who knows where people's skill levels lie? Surprisingly, when Plumpkin sees me, she doesn't smile. She doesn't wave. She just comes running towards me. There is a silent agreement between us; we fight for different ideals, so we are enemies. When we both fought to live, we were friends. Somewhat. But war has turned us against each other with much more ease than survival had teamed us up.

"Holly-Noelle." She nods at me, a slight hint of civility before we fight. The calm before the storm, in a way.

"Plumpkin." 

And, just like that, we start to fight. Our weapons clash against each other, both wielded with a slight inexperience that is fuelled by passion in our cause. The scythe and the sickle, both tools created to sustain life, now being used to end it. Sparks fly as metal clashes against metal, weapon crashes against weapon, and soul crashes against soul. I have a very clear physical advantage on Plumpkin, being older, stronger, and slightly better trained, and yet she manages to block every single blow of my sickle. It feels as if something is holding me back from delivering the final blow, but I refuse to hesitate any longer.

As our weapons crash against each other yet again, I send a swift kick flying into her stomach. It distracts her long enough that I can knock the scythe out of her hand, and after that it's a piece of cake to pin her against a nearby wall. This is where people would go to rest, once they'd had enough of partying and felt like they'd drop dead if they kept going.

"Do you have any last words?" 

It only seems fair to ask this; there's no point in denying her the right to speak. Plumpkin Pye, contrary to popular belief, was a mighty competitor. And for that she deserves honouring.