The world moved before anyone could react. Skies fell and stars replaced the heavens as everything grew loud. Insanity took hold--the beginning to a death song played and the cannons sounded with faux grandeur.

Three short bursts.

The last to die only received three short bursts from a cannon to signify their death. There was no grand, bloody fight. Amelia didn't get to risk her life as she battled the final three. No blood was to spatter across her cheeks and chest. No one was to truly see her win.

Just cannons.

"What?" Amelia leaned against a tree in a clearing, her pale pink lips parted in confusion, leaving her mouth ajar. "What?" It's...it's not really over. It can't be.

Music played and the death song was overrun by fireworks and trumpets. "Congratulations," a man's voice began, "on winning the one hundred and second annual Hunger Games!" The sky opened up from the top and slid down the sides. For the first time since entering the Games she could see real sunlight, feel real air.

It was exhilarating.

It was a lie.

A million noises overwhelmed her and she fell to the ground--a fresh wave of pain seeped through her, equally emotionally and physically. Her wound dripped fresh blood and she wondered dimly if there'd be a fourth cannon. I'm dying, the same as they. We're all dead here, all waiting for the Games to claim our lives.

Shirtless, her pants torn, and her shoes heavy, Amelia fell back against the ground and waited. A buzzing filled the air, growing steadily closer as a tornado of wind headed towards her. Air swirled, taking billions of flowers with it. Crowns of gold filled Amelia's mind as she watched them. A black dot grew closer and closer to the arena where she lay.

"Maybe it'll land on me," she mused. The wind grew in velocity and her body trembled from the inside out. Core shaken, Amelia closed her eyes and waited for it to land. The pain spurted out in waves, throbbing to a beat that wasn't quite in tune to her heart.

The sun faded slowly as it set, giving way for the night to take hold. Yellows and golds passionately morphed into purples and deep, dark blues. Sapphire gold glistened in the gentle promise that was perfect. Silence would make the night heavenly.

Everything felt off as a man hopped out of the black helicopter and picked her up. Dressed entirely in gray and wearing a mask, she had no clue what he even looked like. His firm hands carefully brought her into the aircraft and through a haze she could hear him talking. "Congrats," he was telling her, "you've won the Games. We're gonna patch you up, okay?"

Amelia couldn't feel anything as she nodded and closed her eyes against the world. He peeled off her makeshift bandage--There goes Ebony's shirt--and sprayed cold foam over it. Shivers kissed her sides in delight as it ran up the side of her ribs and touched the tips of her bra. Ice spread over her entire left arm as they sealed it up with what felt like glue. It settled in thick and soupy, numbing the pain but amping her senses.

Green eyes flashed open in a breathless gasp as Amelia shot forward, sitting up and crying. The man didn't move. He stood before her, emotionless, watching. The helicopter started up again and the world shifted, ground fading as they too left the arena.

"Is it really over?"

He didn't respond. Can't he hear me? I'm Amelia fucking Montaigne! He should be bending over backwards--ow. Her thoughts ended abruptly as fire shot throughout her head and raced down her spine. Turbulence took over the copter and Amelia had to grab hold of a chair to keep from flying out. There were no doors, just a large gap in the wall where people could get in and out.

"I asked, is it really--"

He moved then, falling against the wall and shouting, "No! It's never over!"

At that moment everything stopped--her heart, the plane, the arena. The lights faded and Amelia was sent hurdling through the air as her fingers lost their hold. Tears fell from her eyes and glinted in the last bits of light as she flew into the darkest pit in the entire arena.

Her body hit the ground and for a moment she was fine. No pain. Then, tingles throughout her legs. The feeling grew and as she tried to sit up it became obvious what had happened.

Amelia's legs were paralyzed.

To make it worse, the ground under her fingers was slipping and Amelia's arms were sinking in the sand. What the fuck? She struggled to move and within seconds her feet were sliding in foot after foot as the Mickey boots weighed her down. The strings were tied tight and no matter how much she strained, Amelia couldn't reach down to untie them. Her body was sinking and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Maybe this is it," Amelia whispered. Her head fell back in the sand and she floated there, feeling the cool water trickle into her ear. "Maybe it's time I die too. No one can live forever." It was only a matter of time before her cannon sounded.

Eternities passed in dim reflection as it slowly sucked her under. Hair floated around her as the sand bubbled up and popped every so often. Reds stood out against the brown and ugly oranges of the gritty earth. Amelia was losing herself in the mush as she floated, feeling herself sinking further. There was no use in struggling, for she knew that would only lead to her drowning and the fight for air to become real. Her legs were falling the fastest and she had no way to reach them. Her left side stung and was entirely stiff from whatever it was they had sprayed on her. It was as though the arena didn't want her to win.

"Why should I have won?"

It was a question with no real answer. A want, a desire, to know more than what she did.

"How did they die?"

Amelia wanted their deaths to be special. She wanted her death to be special. Life had other plans, though, and she was left in despair. This is shit! I'm supposed to be the best damn girl here and I'm left to die? Where's my rescue team? Where's my escape?

Her winners speech was already in plan. Amelia could see it. There, she was taken out of the arena and they would patch her up. She'd receive a hot bath and a meal fit for a Queen. They would groom her hair and moisturize her until she was in a world of bliss. Not sand, but lavender water with extra bubbles would surround her. Every breath she took wouldn't be labored, but soft and soothing to her throat. Only ease would befall her and there wouldn't be a single worry.

"Did you expect to win?" they'd ask her.

Smugly she'd wave a soapy arm in the air and reply with, "Of course."

"Did you enjoy killing them?"

"God, it was delightful. I wouldn't say I enjoyed it, but," she'd give them a delightful scoff here, "I enjoyed not dying."

"What did you think when you realized you left your allies behind and they died?"

"I..." Amelia paused. Try as she might, her mind refused to think of a good answer to that. What type of question is that?

"Do you think you won because you ditched them and let them kill themselves?"

No answer. Now, they were the ones with the questions and she with no answers. It was a twist she hadn't wanted nor expected to find herself caught in. This--stop it, Amelia! Quit thinking about this! You need to be trying to find a way out, not trapping yourself while you--you--think of idiotic things like this.

Even mentally, Amelia was growing tired. Her ankles were beginning to swell and she knew that if she didn't get the boots off it would be the end. No one was coming, and even if they were they wouldn't make it back in time to save her. She was going to have to save herself, or die trying.

"I am Death," she whispered. "I am Death! I cannot die. I can't fucking die because I am Death. I won. I fucking won the Hunger Games and I'm getting out of here and going to my dammed home."

Leaning towards her right, Amelia dug her hand into the sand. Slowly she moved in deeper, reaching into the depths in hope of escape. Taking a deep breath, Amelia closed her eyes and shot her arm through the waters until she reached the top of her boots. The sand sucked her neck under and lapped against her chin. Her legs were still and if not for her fingers, Amelia wouldn't have been able to know where they were.

"Fuck," she cursed. The knot was tighter than expected and in her movements the quicksand began to suck her under faster than before. It slurped against her body and threatened to pull her under any seconds. The entirety of her stomach was under and her chest was next. With a plop, one of the heavy boots fell and the sand gave way for a second.

It tickled her throat and ears. Soon, it would claim her life, the weight bending against her lungs until they burst and splattered against nothing.

Arm moving wildly, she paddled around, trying to keep her body afloat. It was a deadly game that threatened to drop at any second. Bits of water touched her lips and she could feel the pull growing stronger every second. There wasn't anything she could do to get out, for no matter how hard she paddled, Amelia was a good four feet away from what seemed to be solid ground.

"Save me," she shouted to the heavens. The arena was dark enough for her to see the stars, each one of them small and meaningless if she couldn't get out to see them again. "Save me!"

I'm not going to cry. Pain shot through her body in waves, suddenly growing. Sharp, blistering heat intensified as Amelia's left arm caught on a root and sunk further than her body, dragging her into the death pit. I won't! The tears formed and they too sought escape from the pain as they fell down her cheeks in streams. The stars winked, telling her that she was doomed.

"Please," she whispered.

No choice left, Amelia reached out a final time with her left hand. Like pulling it through molasses, it took her an entire minute to bring it up and out of the sand. Air touched it and a breeze passed by, taking with it a long tendril from one of the millions of trees that surrounded her. Just barely brushing past her fingers, for a moment she let it go.

Then her teeth grit and Amelia took hold, pulling and tugging until she'd wrapped it entirely around her hand. Pain exploded as her left side popped and something did burst. Wet strands ran down her side but Amelia didn't bother with the pain.

Instead, she used the pain to carry herself up. Amelia was one hundred and nineteen pounds of flesh with a boot that weighed around five, and coated with sand. It suctioned against her, a giant vacuum of weight. Let go! She voiced her pain and strike in one long grunt, screaming at the top of her lungs as she managed to pull half of herself out. Her arm was a mangled mess of broken bone. Useless.

If luck was the reason why she lived, Amelia was thanking it. The other boot fell off in the struggle, sinking down as her legs came up. Amelia hopped up further on the tendril, using it to keep herself from going back in. A necklace of dried sand still collected around her neck, a painful reminder of a death sure to come.

Finally she managed to swing herself out, landing on the shore with a moan and tears of joy. She had no control over anything, especially not her emotions. As she laid back on solid ground, Amelia looked to the sky. My legs are still stiff, she thought. My arm is ruined. I'm broken.

That wasn't exactly true, though, as she could feel something in one of her legs. It bit and pinched like storm muscle. She sighed, used to the arena's torture by then.

With one final glance to the sky, Amelia saw a hovercraft flying down towards her. The sleek design was painted soft gray and she couldn't help but smile the slightest bit. "Of course," she said, spite lining every word, "you wait until after I'm out to save me. Frickin' bastards."

It landed gently twenty yards away and a team of men stormed out, carrying what seemed to be a long sheet of white. A stretcher. Help had arrived. I'm going home.

Before, all Amelia wanted was to control others. She was snarky, manipulative, and she let everyone believe that there wasn't the smallest active brain cell in her entire head. Amelia no longer wanted that. She wanted to be known for her, she wanted to be in control of herself, and she wanted people to know her. Though she'd gone into the arena willingly, all Amelia wanted was to escape it and never return again.

"Amelia Selene Montaigne?" they asked.

She nodded, breathless and exhausted. Eyelids fluttered as her vision became a blur and they became unbearably heavy. "That's me," she muttered, "I'm Death."

As they took her in and strapped her to the stretcher, Amelia's head fell back and her eyes closed. Still she waited on that last cannon to sound. Only then would she finally be free.

p~vN{