SCORE- 7.5 out of 12
A whoosh was all it took to take James away from the warmth of the nice room and up through a stylized tube that went up at a slow but steady pace. The cold was so chilling that even as they rose up on the platforms, James could feel it cutting through his protective clothing. The surplus boots were extra wide to fit his fat feet-as his mother called them-and felt like thick weights on his ankles. Still, he'd figured they would help more than anything. He could feel his pulse quickening as the timer began, as right in front of his vision was the most wonderfully cold landscape he'd ever seen. Nine. Below, about two hundred or so feet below to be exact, was the Cornucopia, almost exactly-eight-the same as it was every other year. Seven. This time, though, there was a large, obsidian lake surrounding it, from which steam was rising fast. Six. As his eyes followed the steam, darting about as he tried to take in the entire arena at once, he noticed a thick, blue cloud that was so hazy it didn't seem quite right. Five.
It's drugged, he realized. Four. They're probably trying to mess with us, to make this faster than last years. Just as he started to wonder how it would affect him the buzzer sounded, a gun-shot noise that shot to his core. Run for cornucopia, or wait for it?
The other tributes decided for him. Most everyone began running, and since he was last he could see everyone else. Meri immediately darted away, probably too scared to actually believe he'd not try to kill her, and others that he'd noticed talking in the training hall were huddling up together. Making plans, by the looks of it.
It was a tough climb down. Anyone could see that, and it scared off several, but James wasn't worried about that. No, from his years of scaling large rocks and building to avoid bullies he'd found that climbing came as naturally to him as devouring a tasteless meat pie. All he had to worry about was moving too fast and running out of breath. That was more common than anything. As he stepped out into the snow, sinking in about a foot deep, he began to jog to the edge and climb down, hands and feet cautious. The ice was rough, but didn't break, and he thought of his younger sister, Perry. She'd eaten ice just a week before he was reaped, and had found it near as amazing as he found it. Cold, nice, and slightly salty as it was used to package meat for the district.
She'd die out here, but I wouldn't, he thought with a chuckle. Look at Ayres...stupid boy can't get a grip. "Having trouble?" he asked, amusement laced into his voice. Ayres jumped. It was all in a flash as his feet slipped, his hands started waving about, and he fell backwards as his eyes got so big they had to hurt straining that much. "Oh, too late," James said.
That was the first cannon-fire, loud and oppressive after Ayres had fallen and cracked his head open on a rock below. The smooth, almost porcelain white snow was pinkish-red down there.
A girl screamed, but he didn't look around to see who it was. His vision blurred for a moment, bits of blue-gray dots flashing on the rocks and snow as he touched it. No matter how far he reached out he couldn't feel it, but he had to be touching them still as when he moved his feet he didn't fall. Numb fingers were better than cold fingers, he figured, but it felt weird for him to move his body so much just to reach something. Each joint felt broken and stiff. He was an old toy that needed to be oiled. Something to be fixed. Something he didn't know how to fix.
On the ground was a broken off forked stick. He took it without thinking, knowing that it'd come in handy. As he continued downward his jacket got caught on rocks and ripped near the edge, revealing a line of rubber string. He pocketed that too.
Little bits of vegetation grew from the ground, smaller and bigger trees alike, and he used the branches to keep himself steady as the rocks became less frequent and the snow became more and more coated with slick ice. Bits of mush fell from the sky, to make it worse, and they weren't snow or ice but something caught inbetween that James had never seen before. The blue came down with it, floating and stripping his vision into pieces of color and black and white. Every feeling he felt was mixed in with the cold, intoxicating and oddly heightened.
A giggle escaped his lips.
Whatever they had placed in the air was screwing with him, he knew it was, but he didn't care. No, he enjoyed it, loved the way it made him feel. Strong, so strong. Able to conquer anything. Nothing could stop him ever again. He was going to win the Games and he could feel it in the air, grasp it in his hands. Or is that the slush snow?
As he got to the bottom and made his way to the bridge he saw a familiar face. Beckett Malen from District Four, with light brown hair and darker brown eyes, and a limp that was clearly showing through the snow. The boy was friendly with everyone, and before he'd overheard him talking about how he didn't want to hurt anyone, let alone kill. A grin stretched across James's face and he made his face into something more innocent than he could have thought. "Beckett!" he called, waving at him. On the ground was a rock, which James picked up and shoved into his pocket before Beckett had turned around.
The boy smiled at him, waving back. "James!"
It didn't take James long to get over to the bridge and walk up to him, grinning at the wide selection of weapons. The better stuff had been picked off before he could get down there, but a few knives and metal pieces hung around. James let one hand casually reach into his pocket, gripping the rock and running his finger over the edge. Blood prickled on the skin, which only made his smile grow.
"You wanna ally?" Beckett asked, looking way too eager to have someone on his side. Guess his allies didn't stick around.
James nodded, trying to keep up the innocent act. It was simple enough, considering he did it with his parents often. "Yeah, yeah...ally."
If his words sounded dark Beckett didn't notice. "Did everyone ditch you too? Hell getting down that mountain."
"Yeah, it was." James let out a sigh, taking a few steps closer to the boy. "It's freezing, isn't it?" Before Beckett could respond the rock was out of his pocket and swinging through the air as James sliced it across the boy's throat. He laughed as Beckett's eyes widened and he gripped his hands around the wound, failing to stop the blood from squirting out--coating both of them and ruining the snow.
The cannon sounded after a minute, and James looked around, not seeing anyone. The Cornucopia had several boxes around it, and it didn't take him long to find himself a good hiding spot with lots of little rocks and metal pieces. The air was warmer there.
Gloxinia, the seductive one with black hair and hotter than hell curves who didn't want to ally with him, had run in, picked up a small pickax and knife, and was going back to the bridge. From his hiding spot, he took the forked twig and tied the rubber string to each edge. The rock he'd chosen wasn't too big, but it would work the same as a bigger one.
Hearing her startled scream, and watching her twist her body back to touch the wound that the rocks sharp edge had carved into her head was worth any pain they'd put him in before. All the bullies, all the hateful idiots who taunted him and ruined his life were there in her scream. Without thinking he loaded another rock, this one bigger but duller, and shot it down at her. It hit her legs, knocking her off balance even more.
With a plop she fell into the water.
That scream was even better. Sadly, it didn't last too long, and blisters had already begun forming. She thrashed about in the water. James didn't really care if she survived that or not, no, his focus has already shifted again. Whatever was in the air was really starting to screw with him. He could hear multiple cannon shots yet knew none had gone off. Blue and green coated his vision, and the bright lights of the Cornucopia blinded him. Squinting, he shoved himself back a little bit further, allowing the shadows to completely cover his body.
A quiet but dark voice cut through his confusion, "She's dead."
James didn't question that the shadows in his hiding place were talking to him. Be it the drugs or the adrenaline that still coursed through him, it seemed perfectly natural. "Who's dead?"
"Aslane. Gloxinia. Beckett and Ayres are dead too, but you already knew that."
James grinned, feeling sick and evil but happy. The boys deserved to die. They didn't like him, he knew, and for that they had to go. Besides, even if he hadn't been there someone else would've ensured the two would die anyways. The Games were about survival. Mine, not theirs.
He didn't realize he was lost in thought until his vision suddenly faded. "Whoa, that's," he started. Whatever he was saying died on his tongue. The words were sticky and cold in his mouth...or perhaps that was the blood and snow.
Gloxinia pulled herself out of the lake. Her body was completely burnt and blackened, bright red and yellow blisters coating her face and hands. Somehow, her jacket had completely fallen off and he could see her skin and shirt, which wasn't wet at all. She grinned up at him, a crooked sort of thing, and began to stumble forward. Despite the fact that one leg was twisted and the other was limping she was fast, getting up to his hiding spot and coming close even as he lined up another rock and hit her with it. That only made her sickening lip movements grow. "James," she called, her voice sickly-sweet.
"You're dead!"
"James, what's wrong...What's wrong?" she asked. She puckered her pretty lips and gave him a half smile that made his stomach twist--and not in a good way. Holding out a bloodied and burnt hand to him, Gloxinia tried to take his arm, to touch him. "Here, let me hold you. You look like you're gonna cry."
"Go away, you're dead," he told her, scooting back even further. Something not quite hard but cold stopped him, sharp parts poking into his back. "Get--get away from here." It wasn't possible for her to be there. It wasn't possible for her slimy hand to touch his cheek, leaving a trail of snow and blood across it, and have a single finger stop at his lips. Her eyes, green and exotic, whispered sweet nothings to him as she held his gaze strong. Behind her was Beckett and Ayres, with the bashed in head and slit open neck laughing at him. They moved in closer as well, until they were right behind her, all reaching out their hands to take him away and rip him to pieces.
He shook his head, breath coming out in short bursts. "You're dead; you can't hurt me. You can't touch me. You'll never get to me again. No one will."
Gloxinia laughed, her voice sharp and hateful. "No, James. Being dead means that you'll never escape us again."