The dead tributes still haunted Chance as he reached his precious shelter. Images and daydreams of death creeped up on him, watching as he slowly felt his sanity unraveling. Each step cast shadows over him as he entered into the forest. Shadow Forest, or The Forest of Shadows. Either title fit it well, he figured. It's a deadly story to be told after dark.
His grip on the ax was faltering, and the knife felt like it was slipping from his grasp. With a sigh, he stooped down beside a tree trunk twice his size. Vines curled up the side and tiny flowers of black had just begun to blossom there. The blood peeled off with a crunch, pulling his skin taunt before releasing its grip. The knife and ax fell in a clutter to the ground.
Chance felt his strength sapping away. He needed water, but in all his stupidity he hadn't grabbed a bag or even looked for something to drink. In the dark and thick forest there would be no salvation for him unless he happened upon a spring or pond. Piss-fucking-nuts. I can't do this.
He didn't know if he meant it or not. A shiver cut through his skin. I can't, can I? The bark pressed into his back. A nagging, knot-line pain snuck up inside of his throat.
"No, I...I have to get home," he whispered. Saying it out loud meant it was real. Every word in his head was just a guess. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. He wouldn't allow himself to think about what it could mean if his thoughts were true.
Light filtered in piece by piece. Before he could blink it was gone again, leaving his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "I'm going home." Slowly, he understood. The only way to get home was for him to kill more. More. "I'll do anything," he said slowly, "anything to get home."
Tremors raced through him, each speeding up and slowing down on their own accord. Nothing was even. Nothing at all.
Rotten peaches filled the air in thick, wet layers. He breathed them in, felt the sticky juices rolling down his face. The smell clung to his body. "Peaches? Where the hell are peaches at?" he asked. The forest did not answer back.
In the back of his mouth he tasted acid.
"I fucking hate peaches."
Though there was no real peach juice on him he could feel it. It was hot and weird and made him tremble in anticipation with each and every breath he took. His voice fell again to that soft whisper, "There's nothing to be scared of. Nothing."
With cracking bones and leaves crunching under his feet, Chance stood. His weapons were picked back up with little strength as he willed himself to keep going. Birds called to one another, their shrill voices akin to that of a dying human's. He didn't know why his legs knocked or his arms shook. His lips cracked as he licked them with a scarcely wet tongue. Each movement depleted his strength as he continued on further. Don't talk, don't think, just move.
Before his eyes the shadows shifted and moved. They slinked about and followed him. Long, slow, slithering shadows. They spoke of sweet secrets and loving lies that would keep him alive. Tales of Kelsey and Margie. Kelsey's long blond curls and Margie's dark chestnut hair that framed her dark green eyes. Margie, the only child in his family with green eyes. Where they came from was a mystery that he didn't care to solve.
"If Margie had been here, and I watching, she'd be dead," he said aloud. "God, Margie, if you're listening...I'm glad it's me."
But I wish it were you. He didn't tell her that. No, Chance didn't speak his fears aloud. He didn't dare let her know how terrified he was, how he longed to be back home. Every year he watched the Games and never once considered what would happen if he were reaped. If instead of the older kids from school, and even the twelve year old he had known years ago, Chance had been chosen. He could have Volunteered. When that boy, Luke, had been Reaped, Chance had watched. He had been older and stronger and he'd just watched.
"You're a coward," the shadows said. They spoke in low, sliding tones. Words melted into one another in a gentle rhythm. "If Margie had been chosen you would have just watched. You would have watched her die, Chance."
Tears burnt his eyes.
"Little, fourteen year old Margie."
Chance hated himself. The shadows knew. Shadows knew all, as all dark things know the secrets of the universe. They preyed on his insecurities, relishing on the watery truths that rolled down his cheeks.
Each step led him further into the forest. Dead tree limbs crossed his path and he crossed them back. If they had been human he would've done the same. Vines unfurled from trees to reach themselves towards him as bushes filled his path. Foot after foot he pressed onwards.
The shadows crept up behind him; a beast awaiting the kill as dark hands reached out to grasp his neck. Silky strands of infernal flames attached themselves with broken needles and corroded threads. He let out a yell as the pain became real--as the shadows attacked. Bits of impossibly hot skin fell from his shoulders and collar in chunks.
"You would watch Maggie die, Chance."
Cold nails dug into his neck, leaving white trails wherever they touched. Bright red spilled from his skin as it was ripped apart. He hacked at the forest, ripping what he could to shreds, but the shadows controlled it. Broken off stems raised back up to strike.
That genderless, chilling voice set his every cell in edge. "You're a damn coward! You're too afraid to admit the truth. Say it, Chance! Say you're scared!"
His clothing tore apart audibly as his arms flung themselves about. The knife hit the ground in a useless daze as the ax continued to fight for him. Margie, he named it. "Come on," he said to her, "we'll kill them! Margie, we'll kill them!"
"Oh, say her name as if you actually care," they taunted him. "As if you're not a despicable, ugly creature that deserves to rot in the deepest corner of Hell."
The shadows took form before his eyes. Smoke was released as something chemical changed, leaving behind that rotten stench he'd smelt earlier. Peaches. Hands, hands, long dark hands that were almost translucent reached for him. The creature was entirely a blog with humanoid hands.
"I'll get you, Chance. You're going to die," it said. Fucking shit! It has no mouth, no way to talk... "You're going to die. As that last breath of air escapes your throat, you'll cry out. You'll wish it were her dying."
Some had multiple fingers, like the one with seven that grabbed his mouth and worked its way inside. Chance hacked at it with all his might. Two hands gripping the ax he swung over and over again, cutting off pieces.
"You want her to be here, instead of you. You want to be listening to her cries of terror and only see the blood and pain. You want her to die, Chance."
With each one or two slivers that fell came thousands more. "Margie, stay with me!" He was screaming. It went pitches far above what he could ever imagine. Blood dribbled down his cheeks as the nails clawed at him. His eyes became useless and a cough rose in his dry throat.
As he realized that he couldn't cut it down, Chance bolted. Legs locked and his body smacked the dirt floor, kissing it briefly before he kicked himself up. Seconds ticked away, expanding into years as he ran. Trees became his crutch, allowing him to lean against them only momentarily before he began again.
Pins and needles seared into his ankles as the shadowed claws dug deep into him. It had no weight yet it's grip was stronger than iron.
His pace increased with each step until he flew over the ground. He couldn't breathe. The shadows followed him with a graceful ease that wasn't right. It was disturbing and unhealthy and if Chance looked back it'd kill him. There was no way to defeat it. All he could do was run until it caught him. Is this the end?
That wasn't the end--not yet, no. The world was still perfectly intact. It still moved and breathed. Trees and branches, shrubs and flowers lined his path. Though he jumped, stumbled, and hit the ground twice, the creature had yet to catch it, forever just a bit behind.
"How do you stop a fucking shadow?"
It wasn't meant to be answered, yet Margie did. She was accidentally slammed into a thinner tree, and in yanking her out Chance found his answer. Bits of light were found and singed it's form. The shadows hissed and kept itself at a hover behind him. Thank you, Margie.
In a little over half a minute of chopping the tree fell, revealing more light. Chance grinned as the shadows were hit directly. Peaches filled the air once more as they fizzled and popped, darkness dying before his eyes. It cried out as steam rose. Like the heat of a fire it stung his eyes and hurt but he bore the pain well and stared it down, breathing heavily. His shoulders rose and fell in large strokes.
"There, Margie," he told her, "we did it. We did it."
After he was certain it was dead, Chance glanced around again, trying to think of where to go. It was silent in the woods aside from the occasional wind pushing back the leaves and the calls of friendly birds. His breath broke the silence, and with his grip on the ax renewed, Chance once again walked.
It was no more than five minutes that passed before he saw the bodies. They were only a few yards apart, and just looking at them from afar he had to lean up against a tree. That sick, sick smell was back, filling his lungs and mind with terror. Mixed in was the thick hint of rotting flesh that had been destroyed. Fuck. They couldn't escape.
He had to cross them to keep going. There was no way back. Turning back meant giving up. Chance couldn't risk that.
The closest body belonged to the guy from ten, Dan. His torso had been completely ripped apart. Bones jutted out besides the slimy intestines that had been wrapped around his arms as if he's done it to himself. Hell. A mop of dark hair and brown eyes were the only distinguishing features on his face. Chance swallowed hard before adverting his eyes. Less than a foot away from the dead body lie a fully intact peach.
"Pissnuts," he whispered. With a hardened mind he continued walking, passing the boy from five next. Hunter.
Hunter also had dark brown hair and eyes, but his face was entirely different. His mouth was wide open and his dark eyes stared off into the distance, forever caught in shock. The once-proud and cocky boy was completely torn apart. His fingers had been bitten down to the knuckles and one leg had been ripped clean off and placed next to his head, almost symbolically. Beside him was another peach, it's sweet, perfectly orange color sickening.
"I've got to keep moving," he said, "we have to keep going. Come on, Margie. Just a little more now, then we can rest."
A tree swayed as the breeze became violent for a few minutes, pulling him forward. The stench followed him, and as he continued his march of death the peaches stalked close behind.
Just a little more, he repeated inside of his head. His grip tightened on the ax. It's smooth, blood coated handle was warm from his hands. Just a tiny bit more, Margie...and then, then this will be done. I'll kill them...I'll come home.