WARNING: rape, violence, abuse
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Hacking through bushes of thorns and thickets, I will my legs to keep going, although they feel like stone. The sun glares down, teasing my dire thirst. Just a little longer. Just a little more mindless, endless wandering, and I'll find some water. Maybe.
Don't think about the maybe's.
Instead, I focus on the one person I've promised to survive for. Our last conversation, just seconds before I was whisked away to this eternal paradise.
Not last, Rissa, not the last conversation.
I can still hear the sweet nothings he whispered into my ear, secret from the Capitol's prying ears and eyes.
"focus on your end goal, not what might or might not happen.... come out alive, for me." He whispered
"I love you, Nerissa Alvaro, remember that." As friends, I think. Heck, as a sister even. Little does he know, all I want is to push his pretty face onto mine and taste his sugar-coated lips, to caress the man I would die for everyday. Arguably, yes, like every other woman also desires.
"Forgetting your charming self would be quite the struggle, even for someone as strong as me, Odair."
"Nevertheless... I lo-" I start to say it back, it's only polite? Not to mention that its not very far from the truth.
"Stop. Don't say it." I'm cut off and start to regret my almost-confession. Fin and me, we've been best friends since birth, talk about our love for each other wasn't new. But this time, it was different. I'm literally lying on my deathbed, even though he would never admit it. Despite his undying confidence in me, one trip, one mistake, could cause the end of it all. The end of everything, and Finnick, I don't know how he would take it.
"I want to hear you say it to me, but only when you come back from that arena, Rissa."
One hand on my waist, and one with its fingers softly rubbing circles on my tear-stained cheek. This time it was different. He looked at me as though he was trying to memorize every flaw and every perfection of mine. Never wanting to forget the feeling of me in his hold.
Millions of unspoken words, millions more unspoken actions, but right then, just enjoying the feeling of being with one another. Feeling his heartbeat. Staring at his oceanic eyes, the way they stare into mine and unravel me, so all my weaknesses are left obvious. The way they know everything about me, but still try to solve me like an impossible puzzle. His fingers against my waist make me feel safe, and the ones dancing on my cheek tell me I'm the most precious thing in his world.
A rush of footsteps to my right break me out of my daydream. Acting on instinct, I hurry to hide but realize there's nowhere to conceal myself, my attire, consisting of skintight, dark beige cargo pants, and a darker blue jacket, would have done well to camouflage me in different circumstances. However, my chosen arena just had to be a giant Labyrinth. The Cornucopia is in an open place in the center, whilst the Maze can of course change over time. But the biggest threat here isn't "Willow from District Two", or "Quill from District One". The biggest threat is the Minotaur muttations. I've seen one. I saw one when I turned a corner five minutes ago. Now I'm just praying that I smell so foul that I don't smell human.
A loud growl comes from the end of the passage I stand in. So much for praying. Seven feet tall, bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like steel balls under vein-webbed skin. He wears no clothes except underwear—which would look funny, except that the top half of his body is terrifying. Coarse brown hair starting at about his belly button gets thicker as it reaches his shoulders.
His neck is a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which has a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just can't get from any Capitol nails.
He lowers his head and charges, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.
The fear in my stomach makes me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I hold my ground, and at the last moment, I jump to the side.
The bull-man charges too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I try to dodge.
Time slows down.
My legs tense . I can't jump sideways, so I leap straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck.
The bull-man staggers around, trying to shake me. I lock my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. The smell of rotten meat burning my nostrils.
The monster shakes himself around and bucks like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the wall and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward. I get both hands around one horn and I pull backward with all my might. The monster tenses, gives a surprised grunt, then—snap!
The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock and a deep cut adorns my arm. When I sit up, my vision is blurry, but I have a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon ten times longer than the kukri knife in my pocket.
The mutt charges.
Without thinking, I roll to one side and come up kneeling. As the monster barrels past, I drive the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.
The bull-man roars in agony. He flails, clawing at his chest, then falls to the barren floor, endless blood oozing out of his body.
The Minotaur is gone.
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I lean against a wall, my breath coming in short gasps, after running for what felt like hours and I'm still trapped in this damn labyrinth. Raising my head, I look around, "Help, please?" I ask, hoping that my weak attempt at getting sponsors would work, and I let out a strangled cry. There was no response. I imagine Finnick watching me from home, the whole world seeing me as weak and vulnerable is frightening, but the thought of showing the boy I love how pathetic I really am is enough to get myself to toughen up.
Part of me knows that there is not way I'll get out alive. There is no way I'll be able to hug my sister once more. There is no way I'll ever be able to hear Fin's soothing hum in my ears. I now clung to the hope that someone would jump out from behind the wall and finish me off quickly.
Behind me, I hear the gentle scuffle of someone approaching, and stand up from the wall, my feet are aching, but I have to continue forward. I can't go down without a fight.
I start walking at a slow pace, it's better than nothing. My mouth is dry and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The thin but deep cut on my arm still burning, but I'm strong enough to be able to ignore it for the most part. My t-shirt and pants, clean when I began, are already dirty and stained. As is my innocence.
I don't know where Anson has gone, my brother was separated from me as soon as the bloodbath ended. I guess it is what he wanted, to be apart, because we both know the games end with just one victor. It's lucky, me and my one brother happened to be reaped together. I don't know if he's still alive, but it would be less painful to be dead. Anson is two years older than me, but everyone knows he won't survive. It's horrible. My brother hasn't even died and people are already considering him dead. Never being a fighter like me and father, he always preferred to go sailing, just to hear the gentle strum of the river, and loved to take care of the horses back at District 4. It's what I love about him. His gentleness and his peaceful view on life. He didn't deserve this. Anson deserved to fall in love, to get married and have beautiful children.
My brother deserves to live a million more times than I ever did.
The walls of the labyrinth are smooth and grey, and stretch up into the sky, at least twenty feet tall, cold to the touch and far too smooth to climb. The ground of the maze is made of the same grey rock as the walls, but it isn't smooth, instead, filled with cracks and dips, each one just waiting to snag an unwary foot.
"If it isn't Nerissa Alvaro, the daughter of the sea, capitol's new gorgeous girl?"
I stay silent.
"Well, didn't I get lucky, getting the most beautiful girl in the kingdom all to myself?"
"Not like you to be silent, where's your pretty voice gone?"
I can't move. Everything aches. My eyes are blurry. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that if I open my mouth, I'll start crying like a two year old.
Midas, from District One. District of luxuries.
"Well, you're probably used to getting everything handed to you on a silver plate" I spit at him, I couldn't help it, had to give him the satisfaction of hearing my witty remark.
"that's true, gorgeous, and now I've had you handed to me, haven't I, darling?"
Then, he does something completely unexpected. A hit to my head, with the back of his axe. But if he wanted to kill me, with didn't he just chop my head off, or impale my stomach?
My vision gets darker, and darker, as I drift asleep to the song of his manic laughter...
I awake, tied up in a completely different location to the one I fell unconscious in. The ropes that have me tied up to a wooden post are so tight that I'm unable to feel my hands.
Midas walks towards me as I glare at him. His pale blonde hair reaches his shoulders, and I can feel his green eyes undressing me as I sit, helpless. I can tell from the blood on his face that he's either been hunting, or had a recent encounter with another tribute. My heart aches for Anson.
"There you are, princess, I've been waiting."
"What do you want?" I want this to be over.
"You."
I'm confused until I see what he's doing. He unzips my pants and, leaving them on, he puts his hand inside. I cry, biting my lip so hard, tasting my blood on my tongue.
I wish I was still unconscious.
I have never, ever felt so weak. Is the Capitol recording this? Are they watching me suffer in a way the games were never intended for? Are they broadcasting this, showing my parents?
I feel sick. I feel so sick.
My cleithrophobia kicks in, and my breathing rapidly picks up.
It hurts and I cry out loud.
"Sounds like you're enjoying this."
"Stop it, please, just kill me." I beg repeatedly, trying to stabilize my short breaths.
"I'll do that once I'm finished, have a little patience darling."
Suddenly, a spear is thrown into Midas' head. He looks at me. Lifeless and bloody. Dropping to the floor in a fetus position.
I look to my right, and there stands Fern, from District 7. She slowly walks over to me.
I notice how skinny she is. Not having payed her much attention during training, I wasn't in the mood to socialize with kids I would be forced to kill in less that a few days.
She looks as though she hasn't eaten in days. Her short black hair remains clean of any dirt, suggesting she had the time to wash recently.
"Oh my god. Are you okay?" She asks me, genuinely concerned.
Her dark eyes bore into mine, and I see kindness and concern. Not blood-thirst and violence.
"I don't know, are you planning on killing me?" I can't trust her. Don't trust anyone in the games.
"I'm not, I'm not. I'm going to untie you, okay?"
She cuts the rope, and I rub my wrists. If there's one thing I hate, it's being tied up. Mainly because of my cleithrophobia. I can cope with a lot of things, but being restrained and not able to move is something that I fear more than death.
I stare at the floor, too shocked. Too many things are happening.
She looks at me and puts her arms around my shoulders. At first, I panic, but then realize that she's trying to comfort me.
"You need a wash!" She scrunches her nose in disgust. I probably do, to be honest. The amount of sweat, mud, and blood I feel on myself is enough to make me thankful the games don't provide us with mirrors.
"I tell you what, if you promise not to kill me, I'll wash your hair?" I let my guard down. She's around twelve, not too much younger than me, and there's no way that the pain in my arm will let me wash it.
"Okay" I whisper back, with a smile.
I sit in the side of a stream, kneeling on a rock, whilst Fern cleanses my scalp. We're lucky we found a stream, situated in a corner passage of the labyrinth, I groan with pleasure, causing her to giggle.
"Why are you doing this for me?" I ask her. Surely she'd rather stay on her own than risk her life?
"You remind me of my older sister, and you look like a princess" She replies with a shrug.
I chuckle and think about her older sister. If my little sister was sent into the games, I wouldn't be able to live knowing it.
"What's your sister like?" I ask, curious.
"She's nice to everyone, and loves making cookies when it snows."
"She would've volunteered for me, you know. If she was young enough."
I stare at my feet. It's all so cruel. It's all so unfair.
Fern is just a young girl, she doesn't deserve a life this short. I feel tears falling down my cheeks, and Fern turns my head to hers.
"What's wrong, why are you crying?"
"It's just, if my little sister, Cordelia, was sent here. I don't know what I would've done. And my own brother, I couldn't help him when he was reaped. I was helpless. I felt useless."
"I know how your sister feels, Fern. I'm so, so sorry."
"Fern, you deserve to win more than anyone else here. You deserve to fall in love, to get married, and have children. And, and it's all been taken away from you. Your life, it's been taken from you."
My tears are uncontrollable now, I'm sobbing as I stroke her cheek.
"When you win, can you tell my sister I love her, give her a hug for me? Please?" She asks me, tears running down her soft cheeks too. My heart breaks.
"Of course, of course I willl Fern. You're sister is incredibly brave."
"My best friend was sent into the games once. My best friend that I'm completely head over heels for. It was horrible, not watching him kill, but watching him suffer. Watching him suffer whilst I was sitting in the comfort of my own home. Knowing that just one trip could lead to his death. The anxiety, the helplessness I felt was so, so much. Too much."
"This friend of yours, did he die?"
"I find myself asking myself that everyday, Fern." I say with a dry laugh.
She looks at me, but with a look of pain. Pain and shock and, and suddenly, no life. I panic, confused, but then see the arrow wedged in her back. The blood oozing out of her frail body.
"NO" I scream. I hold her back in my arms, not wanting the arrow to be pushed further into her back.
I look around, but whoever shot the arrow is nowhere to be seen.
Her eyes stare at the roof, as she holds my hand. Her grip becoming looser and looser.
"Fern, you're at peace now" I tell her running my hand through her black hair. The water around me starts to become a tinge of red.
I open my mouth, and begin to sing. A song in her honor. A song for the young girl who went out of her way to save me, but who I couldn't save in return. A song for a girl who didn't get to have her last look at the outside sky before leaving.
(NGL, I didn't know what song to use :P)
The sound of a canon echoes throughout the maze.
I lay her next to the stream, braid her hair, clean her face, and kiss her forehead.
It isn't long before the section of the labyrinth ceiling opens up, and a hovercraft hovers over our heads, I give Fern another kiss on her forehead, a squeeze to her lifeless hand, a whisper of 'thank you' and 'I love you', before walking away from the girl, watching her be lifted into the hovercraft.
I wipe my eyes, check my inventory, and begin walking, hoping to get some time to myself and my thoughts.
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I decide to sit on the side of a wall, right next to a window looking out to the opposite side. Unable to sleep. Hugging my knees tightly to my chest, and my kukri tightly in my fist, I get lost in my thoughts.
Eleven kills.
Nerissa has murdered eleven people.
I have killed 11 people.
I'm a fucking murderer.
I'm pretty sure that I've broken a record. I'm not proud. I'd rather add to it and murder myself too. Never once have I thought that I could murder a human. Never mind murdering a human without thinking about it even twice. What would my family think of me? I know what I would think if I was them. I'd be sick to my stomach. I wouldn't even be able to look myself in my eyes again, forget trying to sleep in the same home as a murderer.
Now there's one tribute left. Though, I don't know who. I can't bring myself to check when the faces appear in the sky. I can't bring myself to look at the face of my murderer. Or worse, my next victim.
Anyway, I know my mother would have rather my brother survive, instead of me. He's always been more useful anyway. Whereas me? Does sneaking out at night and spending all my time with Finnick, teaching him how to catch fish with his trident, and him teaching me how to throw a trident count as useful to her?
And after Finnick returned from his games, he become closed off. He didn't want to talk to me, and I felt unwanted. I wanted things to be normal. I wanted him to laugh and make fun of me like he did before he was sent to that arena.
So in return, I became unresponsive. I felt responsible for the way he acted and jealous of the capital.
Jealous of Cesar for being able to make him laugh, the way I once used to.
Jealous of the capitol women for pining after him when they knew nothing about him.
Jealous of all the attention he gave to his adoring fans, whilst all I received was ignorance.
Our relationship, once tighter than the rope knots he would try to teach me, became looser my failed ones.
For nearly more than a year, all the communication we had was through the stares he would give me whenever we happened to be selling at the market at the same time. The slight glances he'd make when I went fishing with my other friends.
But it wasn't until I was reaped, that I finally understood the reason for his secretiveness. After being forced to mentor me, he cried to me one night.
He cried to me about being forced to sell his body.
He cried to me about not being able to sleep due to the monsters at night.
He cried to me because he was afraid. Afraid that I was scared of him.
Afraid that I was scared of the way he pierced tributes with his trident and didn't look back twice.
I would have felt the same.
I'm scared to die. I'm scared because I'll never be able to see my family again. I'll never be able to feel the warmth of Finnick's touch again. I'm scared to die.... but I'm scared to survive. I've seen the aftermath of surviving the games. I've seen the way they've broken my best friend.
The capitol have teared him to pieces, only to tape him back up again.
Suddenly, loud thuds against the thick window interrupt my conflicting thoughts. My first instinct is too run away and hide. But, curiosity gets the better of me as I stand on my tiptoes to see the culprit of the noise, I see him.
It's Anson.
He looks scared. Frightened. Not the Anson he was the last time I saw him. Not the sweet, innocent young man that went out of his way to protect me even when I reassured him I was fine.
He wasn't worried about himself going into the games. Despite being way less experienced in combat than me, I was all his worries were about.
"Anson! Anson, I can't hear you!"
I shout his name, I scream. I thought he was dead. I thought I'd never see my brother again.
"Anson!" I scream and sob until my throat goes sore. He looks at me and to his left, his expression of relief as his hand rests on mine, the window being the only thing separating us from touching, turns into one of panic.
Like a deer in headlights, his eyes widen and he looks at me. He shouts something. Something I can't make out. Something that looks a bit like "well done".
I stare at him, confused as fuck. Well done? What's he looking at? Why is he apologising? I don't want to win. I want my brother to live. I want my brother to have the future he deserves.
I stare at him and before I can think straight, a large, dark figure lunges at him from his right.
I scream, doing everything I can to get to him. Punching my bare knuckles onto the glass pane, trying to break it. Not caring about what I look like as I pull fistfuls of my hair. As I watch my brother being clawed to pieces like an old cloth.
"No! Anson! Anson, you need to live!"
"Leave him alone. No don't.... NO!" I beg at the monster, it's stupid. It's stupid because I know it's too late. It's stupid because flesh and blood and organs litter the dusty floor. The flesh, organs and blood of my brother.
Of my Anson.
"NO ANSON. NO. No, no, no, no, no."
That can't be him. That cannot be the remnants of his rosey cheeks, his charming smile that resembled mine, his long eyelashes that girls in District 4 used to yearn for.
He's dead.
My brother is dead.
And I.... I couldn't save him.
I watched him die.
The loud voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts out of invisible speakers.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am incredibly pleased to announce the victor of the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games, our beautiful and brave, Nerissa Alvaro of District 4!"
I fall to my knees
A deep hum of a large hovercraft becomes louder as the ceilings of the labyrinth begin to fold outwards and collapse. The dust filling the air enters my lungs as I begun to cough uncontrollably.
Coughing and crying. I stay kneeling on the floor of the nightmarish maze.
It all feels like a dream. No. A nightmare.
I want to pinch myself and wake up to the smell of breakfast in the morning. Walk down the stairs and have Anson yell at me to help him butter bread. My mother agreeing with him, whilst scrubbing at the dishes. Cordelia giving me a playful shove as she walks down the stairs after me. Finnick turning up at the door, the former Finnick. Before-the-games Finnick.
I'm picked up from the floor by two peacekeepers, and taken into the hovercraft.
I pinch myself.
Nothing happens.
This isn't a dream.
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I've wanted to write a Finnick Odair story for ages, especially since I've read almost all the ones on here, and you can expect updates everyday, since lockdown is leaving me with too much time on my hands.
So, I don't really know where this is going to be going, but, nevertheless... enjoy!
4281 WORDS...tf??