Contest: Hunger Games Competition #2

Host: CraZCanuck 

The Capitol. It was silver and glistening and splendid. It was terrifying, intimidating, and infuriating. Those who dwelled there were colorful, vibrant, and oblivious to the terrors just outside their lavish lives. They and their comfortable lives could very well be the last thing I ever set my eyes upon that was beautiful and full of life. But it also signified an ending, if not for me then for someone else, but most likely for me.

The Capitol, in all its flamboyant glory, was the first thing I saw when my eyes opened the day of my Reaping. I was lying in a bed on the line between awareness and oblivion, still wearing that stupid pink dress, when I was suddenly plunged into darkness. The abrupt absence of light was enough to pull me out of the abyss of nothingness and back into a life that was growing dimmer by the second.

My first instinct was to find some sort of light, but getting up off the fluffy, too soft bed became my primary defeat, mostly because I caught my foot in that darn dress and toppled over the edge in an ungraceful, pink heap. I moaned as my already vibrating head came in contact with the hard floor, summoning up spots of red that flashed in artistic patterns behind my eyelids.

Then, without warning, the light reappeared and my frustration intensified, awakening a renewed sense of determination. I was Reaped, meaning I was going to have to fight to the death in an arena of hungry killers. I was no longer Nyxi St. Raven, I couldn't be myself; an ignorant girl still pretending she was a child who always saw the glass as half full, not half empty. I lost that right when I thought, enticing karma to turn around and Reap me. If I wanted a life beyond this, I needed to pull myself together. Starting with detangling myself from the web of pink fabric.

I push myself to my feet, hiking the ugly dress up and getting unsteadily to my feet, that's when my eyes land on the beauty of the Capitol, flashing by me in glittering wonders. "You're awake." A deep voice suddenly barks, I yelp with surprise and swirl around, black curly hair tangling in my eyelashes as I do so.

A boy, with an apparent disregard for privacy, stares awkwardly at me, his gray eyes judging. "Who are you?" I question, using my voice for the first time in several days. In the days before the Reaping, I'd grown quiet and somber, something my family took intense notice of-

I gasp, hands flying to my mouth in horror. I never said good-bye! "We left District 11 already?" I ask the boy, ignoring the evidence behind me. He raises one eyebrow and nods, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

He points out the window behind me. "Obviously." A cold, terrible dread spreads through me, originating in my stomach and swirling through my body until it reaches my head, causing an onslaught of heartache and sorrow.

"I never said good-bye." I whisper, too quiet for the boy to hear me.

Despair had always been a comfort for me, I'd lived through the death of my three brothers when they tried to summon up a rebellion after the wrongful death of my youngest sister because she stole fruit from one of the orchards. I'd survived when my best friend, Tanner, was Reaped and killed in the games two years ago. I'd summoned up enough courage to persevere when a wild kitten, whom I'd befriended, was shot by a Peacekeeper after it fell out of a tree and landed on the Peacekeeper's head. But I was in no shape to handle the emotional strain of never getting to speak to my family again if I died in the games. I was in no way prepared for the realization that suddenly hit me with such force I thought I'd fall over; I was all alone.

No family, no friends, no allies, no cute kittens to relieve the pain. I was alone and terrified and unhinged. My mental state was rapidly deteriorating, my mind was ready to implode, and all sane thoughts were merely whispers on the wind in my own personal bubble of anguish.

Abruptly, I feel my legs give way from beneath me and simultaneously, a strong arm slithers around my waist. That's when the girl who had doomed me to this fate entered the room, still clothed in her obnoxious puffy dress. It's also the moment that the train on which I stood inside came screeching to a halt and the sounds of cheering crowds engulfed me in its death hold.

The third, and final person, to invade my room was a man I'd seen many times before. He was old, haggard looking, and his brown eyes held nothing in them but blankness. They were like a canvas that had once been great and proud, but the wear of time and the horrors of life that hardened them. The once beautiful canvas now resembled that of a water stained smudge of color that had turned brown, erasing all signs of life.

"What's the hold up? They're expecting you." The man states, pointing to the crowds in the window. The boy nods, jerking his head at me.

"Her fault, she's acting funny." Under normal circumstances, had we been in District 11, I'd have made a quick retort that would've made him laugh or smile. But here, on the train as I was about to march to my demise, I found that no witty remarks came to mind.

"Well come on, we don't have all day." The man, whose name I couldn't put my finger on, barks in a sharp tone and walks out of the room. The boy looks down at me with his eyebrows raised expectantly. I realize he was waiting for me to put my weight back on my own two feet as opposed to him.

I pull a deep breath in through my nose and gulp thickly, forcing myself to stand up straight and tall. The boy sighs in gratitude and claps his hands together, flashing the puffy dressed woman and me a forced smile.

"Time to face death." He announces, and with those parting words of encouragement, he walks out. I close my eyes and put my head in my hands, taking deep and steady breaths. This was torture, why Panem did this to its citizens I didn't know, no matter what the Reaping video said, I still could not fathom how a president could inflict such pain on his people. The sound of the woman's voice causes me to look up.

"Nyxi, I realize that this is probably a shock for you, though I can't imagine why. Please try not to look so tormented out there, okay?" The woman asks in a sultry voice, clearly indicating that she, in no way, cared for me at all. I knew by the condescending look in her eyes that she had about as much faith in me as I did in the government to act justly and fairly toward its people.

"Right, yeah, sure." I reply, doing my best to keep my voice from quivering. But, of course, that would involve my psyche to be fully functional, and I knew the probability of that was almost nonexistent.

"Good, come along." She says, turning her back on me and walking out the door. I nod to her back, biting my lip so hard I think my teeth slice through one of the nerves that run through my lower lip. It hurts like hell, but it's all that keeps me from throwing myself on the floor and screaming until my throat's raw.

I take a step forward, and then another, and then another until my legs are moving on their own accord, pushing me through the train to the door, where the boy and the man whom I'd summed up to be my mentor are waiting. The boy has his arms crossed anxiously and the man is tapping his foot impatiently by the time I show up. They both toss me an annoyed look before the doors are thrown open and I'm tossed into a world of flashy outfits and an ungodly overload of pink.

The boy beside me flashes a smile and raises his arm to wave at the people watching me, while I simply stare. I can't help it, all my mind can manage is a smile that probably resembles more of a grimace. My brain doesn't have the wits to send the message to my hand that it needs to wave. It fails to communicate with my eyes that showing emotion will only get me killed. It refuses to convince my feet that walking forward is the best option. Instead, it tells me to stay put and stare like my life depends on it.

Someone jabs me in the back, forcing me to walk forward or risk a very ungraceful face plant. My hand finally receives the message to wave and my eyes get the hint to become an empty slate. My mouth twitches and a believable smile stretches itself across my features. All the while, my heart is hammering in my chest, wishing it could just jump up my throat and run away so it didn't have to endure the torture of the games. Or this, for that matter.

The woman ushers the boy, our mentor, and I into a silver shiny building where other tributes mull around on the bottom floor. They're all dressed the same, silver and gray, but the looks on their faces varies from terror to determination to excitement. One girl caught my eye.

I don't know what it was about her that made me watch her as she was led past me and directly into the elevator that would take her to her District's floor. I don't know why I found her so curious to watch, but she drew my attention. The first thing I noticed about her was how skinny she was. It was a problem for her, I could tell because her skin was a sickly color and hugged her bones too closely. She was in no shape to compete against Career tributes.

The boy, whose name I was determined to find out so I could stop referring to him as "the boy", grasps ahold of my wrist and tugs me forward. An unintentional squeal escapes from my mouth, I rip my hand from his grasp and cast him a frustrated glare. "Stop man-handling me," my eyes flit to the man standing partially behind me, "both of you."

Our mentor clenches his jaw, jerking his head at the elevator before me. "Inside." He demands, and despite my new found courage, when confronted by a visibly tormented man who is a lot stronger and who apparently has a short temper, I feel myself retreating back into my protective shell of fear.

I scurry into the elevator, followed closely by the boy, our mentor, and the puffy dressed woman. I stand in the corner, pressing my back against the cold wall and tipping my chin down. It occurs to me, only after the doors have closed, that locking four uncomfortable and possibly unstable individuals in an enclosed space is a very bad idea.

No one speaks as the elevator takes us up to floor eleven, the District 11 suite. I glance over at the puffy dressed woman then at the other tribute and then at the mentor whose eyes are trained on me, as if he might lunge across the elevator and kill me before I even enter the arena. I quickly cast my gaze away from his empty eyes, deciding that the best way to approach this mismatched group of strangers is through small talk.

"So," I clear my throat awkwardly, "I fainted." I state dumbly, of course they know that. The boy snorts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Yes, very classy. I think you really made an impression there Nyxi." I scowl, trying to imitate the courage I exhibited when he grabbed me.

"I hope I did, might be worth something in the games." The old man lets out a harsh laugh and smiles wryly.

"It's worth nothing, it makes you look weak. You want to survive in the games? Toughen up, stop acting like a baby. You're in the hunger games, not picking apples in District eleven."

"I agree with Zoltan." The puffy dressed woman says, gesturing to my mentor. My eyebrows rise at the familiar name, Zoltan. Now that I'd heard it once I could recall hearing it many times from my father's mouth every time he mentioned his old friend who'd "gone to hell and come back scarred", as he'd put it.

"My father knew you." I announce abruptly, cutting off whatever the puffy dressed woman was saying. Zoltan looks at me, eyes narrowed and lips pinched together. "Yo-you were f-friends." I stutter, those cold eyes seeming to stare right through me.

"No, the man who knew your father died in the games." Comes his sharp retort, leaving no room for contradictions. The elevator dings and the doors open, Zoltan is the first to depart, disappearing down a glittering hallway of silver tiling and crystal chandeliers.

"Wow, now this is awesome." The boy comments, stepping into the room.

"Yes, only the best for our tributes." The puffy dressed woman responds, gesturing me out of the elevator with a frustrated flick of her wrist. I step into the room almost in a trance, my eyes darting around the room with lightning speed. So much color, so many foreign objects, so much stuff without a purpose. It makes my head spin, if the Capitol has all this extra money to afford to put objects without purpose in a room for people who are walking to their death, why isn't it using that money to help the districts?

"I'm going to check out my room." The boy says, starting to speed walk away.

"Wait!" I shout, catching the attention of both the boy and the puffy dressed woman. They stare at me expectantly, bored expressions dominating their features. "I never caught your names." I say timidly, suddenly nervous under their intense expressions. The boy raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes.

"Dimitri." He snaps and walks away, a giddy hop in his step. I nod to his retreating form, securing that name in a private corner of my mind. Dimitri. I won't forget that.

"Aphrodite." The puffy dressed woman answers flatly, her face betraying no emotion. Then she whirls away from me in a flurry of color, stalking off down a hallway that I would assume leads to more rooms, possibly ones where I can sleep the rest of this horrid day away and possibly, this entire disastrous situation.

I wander down the hall slowly, stopping to admire the various digital videos decorating the walls. They showcased a variety of different situations, some of which involved creatively dressed people performing odd dance numbers or acting out humorous plays. They were like entertainment on the go, removing the need to attend a function when all a person had to do was look at the wall for readily available, easily accessible entertainment. There was no such thing like this in District 11. The wonders of the Capitol never cease to amaze me.

I push open a closed door, curious as to the contents that lay on the other side. To my surprise, and delight, I find a bedroom ready for my personal use. Suddenly, I yawn, only then realizing how tired I am now that I am being confronted with a way to relax. I step inside and let the door close behind me as I tumble onto the bed, burying my face in the soft pillow and breathing in deeply. It smells fresh and clean, one of the few welcome changes about spending a night in the Capital rather than District 11.

Thoughts of District 11 also brought on thoughts of my two siblings that I left behind. Andrew and Marci were twins, younger than me by five years. I needed to get back to them, my parents wouldn't be able to support them without the money I earned from working too. It took all three of our pay to care for them, they were as troublesome as they came.

I sniffle as tears dribble down my cheeks, the pain of losing so much in one day eating away at my heart. I press my face into the pillow, desperate to push the sorrow away and hide inside a pocket of oblivion forever. I tuck myself under the fluffy covers of the bed and cry myself a river of despair. Thoughts of the family I might never see replay over and over in my head until my body finally shuts itself down from exhaustion.

My attempt to sleep only lasted for an hour or so before the nightmares came and I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart beating a million miles a minute. I sat in the bed, holding my head in my hands and letting the tears fall down my cheeks. Every time it was the same thing: watching helplessly as the Peacekeeper shot my brothers in the head, one by one. Screaming relentlessly until my throat was raw, begging them to stop, offering myself up to take their place, kicking and digging my nails into my father's arm as he held me back. Nothing ever helped me, and the lie that time made it better was just that: a lie.

Once the shaking stopped and I could pull myself together long enough to climb off the bed, I strip that disgustingly pink dress away from my flesh. It falls to the floor in a heap, and I leave it there. It deserves it after everything it's done to me.

On one of the walls is a huge mirror, the sight of it causes me to scream. It's been a long time since I've seen a reflection of myself, a very long time. And time has not been nice to me.

My dark curls were in a messy tangle on top of my head, my dark skin looked sullen and sticky with sweat and tears. My green eyes were dull, empty of life and lacking any drive to survive that I needed if I planned on making it out of the games.

I sigh and slip on the silver and gray clothing left for me, hating how it hugs against my figure. I run my fingers through my hair and pull it away from my face using the worn ribbon I've been using for years.

"Nyxi?" I jerk at the sound of the voice that comes through the door only moments before it opens, revealing Dimitri.

"Excuse me, knocking would be appreciated. I could've been naked." I snap, putting my hands on my hips stubbornly. I was going to hold to the promise I made to myself on the train. It was time to recreate Nyxi St. Raven.

Dimitri shrugs, leaning against the door frame lazily. "Are you ready to head to the training center?" He asks, I frown slightly at the insinuation that he's been waiting for me.

"Yeah, I guess." He nods and moves out of the way for me to slip past.

Upon entrance into the training center, Dimitri immediately ditches me, which I have no problem with. He was annoying and I had no qualms about avoiding him, so long as he returned the favor. I step inside the room, keeping to the wall and letting my eyes browse the tributes already training. I needed an ally. But who?

Instantly, my mind traveled back to the girl I'd watched before, the one who looked starved. She was small and weak, an unlikely fighter. But being small gave her an edge, what she lacked in height and weight she could make up in speed and agility. She'd be an easy kill if push came to shove.

I narrowed my search, looking for petite, short girls with brown hair and eventually, I spotted her by the knives. I made my way over to her, wiping my face blank to imitate a white canvas.

"Hey." I said, not entirely realizing that she was getting ready to throw the knife in her hands until it was too late. She jumps, letting the knife slip from her grasp. I watch as her eyes widen and she bends down, trying to catch the knife before it clatters to the ground. But her hand slithers around the wrong end of the weapon and it slices a perfect line down the center of her palm. I cringe when she's not looking, a speckle of discomfort and worry leaking into my eyes before I can stop it.

"Agh!" She shrieks, fumbling about while her hand drips blood, her eyes were wide and pained and her face twisted into a grimace. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to reach out and help. I couldn't show emotion, it was weakness. And I was not going to be weak. But keeping my distance from someone who clearly needed my help took every ounce of energy I possessed.

"Um, are you okay?" I ask in a flat tone, if I was going to sell this whole I-don't-care-about-anything attitude, I had to stay completely closed off from my emotions. I'd done it before, when my brothers and best friend were murdered at the hands of the Capitol. I'd found comfort in numbness, but that was a closely guarded secret because I never once showed a single soul the amount of hurt that plagued me. I was an ignorant girl pretending she was a child, I gave off the illusion of idiocy, I oozed indifference to complicating topics involving my brother's deaths. I just never imagined that the skills I'd acquired after years of torment would ever become useful.

The girl nods, clenching her teeth together and twisting her shirt around the bloodied hand. I wrinkled my nose just a tiny bit at the action, but it was so subtle I don't think she caught it.

"I'm Lacey, and you are?" She asks, a hint of discomfort leaking into her voice. My jaw twitches involuntarily, I hadn't been expecting that. Obviously she'd want to know what I wanted and who I was, I just thought I'd be the one to start the conversation. Not her. Something about that bugged me.

I raise an eyebrow, attempting to regain control of the situation. I walked up to her, she was talking to me because I was allowing her to. "Nyxi." I respond sharply, wondering how she'll react to my sour attitude. Would she slink away like a weakling or start to show her true colors, allowing her obvious anger at life to overpower the shy persona she hid behind.

"So," She began, a hint of irritation dancing through her eyes. Internally, I praised myself. She'd responded exactly like I'd hoped. "how was your Reaping?" She inquires and my mind shuts down. It's like someone's switched off my ability to function, one question and my whole indifferent façade starts to crumble.

I cross my arms over my chest in a pathetic attempt to protect myself from her invasive questions. My eyes wander to the floor, focusing intensely on the gray coloring. "It was fine." My voice comes out roughly, like I'm trying to swallow sand.

"Okay, how was the train ride over here?" I frown, confusion ripping my mind apart. This girl was standing before me, hand bleeding all over her while she asked me stupid questions. She didn't even care that I'd walked over here and accidentally caused her to slice her palm open. Wasn't she even a bit curious about my intentions? Why not ask me about something useful? Like what the heck I wanted with her?

"I wouldn't know." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, my breath hitches in my throat and I mentally kick myself. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. The less she knew about me, the better, and maybe admitting that I'd fainted at my Reaping was a bad idea. It made me look weak.

"And why not?" I glance up slightly to see her raising her eyebrow at me with evident curiosity in her blue eyes. Something snaps in me, I initiated this conversation. I get to ask the questions.

"How was your train ride?" The iciness emanating from my voice is lost on her. And the complete state of shock that resonates through me causes my mind to freeze up and miss half of the words she says in response to my question. Really? How was your train ride? Why not, "hey, want to be allies?" instead of wasting even more of my precious training time by continuing to drag out this pointless conversation.

"...Now, why don't you know about your train ride?" Again, she asks me the same dumb question again. Well, I guess I deserve it since I didn't have the common sense to change the topic either. I bite my lip and sigh, coming to a frustrating realization that this girl is not going to give up unless I tell her why I missed that stupid train ride. So, swallowing my pride, I open my mouth and whisper two words that could very well be my undoing in the games. The other tributes will see me as pathetic and weak, I'll be dead before the first nightfall when we finally enter the arena.

"I fainted."

"You what?" She whisper shouts, eyes wide. I go to repeat myself when she lets out a yelp and glances down at her hand with pain written all over her face. A trainer looks over and starts running toward us, I take a step back from Lacey as she stumbles forward, suddenly not so steady on her feet. Her eyes lock on mine, as if pleading for me to help. But all too soon she's falling, her knees crashing against the floor followed by her upper body with a thud.

More trainers gather around her, checking her over and lifting her up to remove her from the training center. I watch, slightly dumbstruck by the scene that just unfolded before me. One trainer looks at me curiously, I realize that simply standing here and staring like an idiot is probably not going to help me win over any of the tributes as allies.

I duck my head and walk around the group of trainers huddled around the now unconscious Lacey as they cart her out of the training center. Picking up a knife, I twirl it through my fingers and pull my arm back, feeling the muscles in my arm contract and release as the weapon flies from my fingers, striking the cardboard person in the arm, barely.

It feels good to throw, like reuniting myself with a long lost limb. When Tanner was Reaped and killed in the games, I'd lost my fire to keep fighting. I haven't touched a knife in over two years, let alone thrown one. It's going to take a bit of practice to readjust my arm to the once familiar action.

I pick up another one, feeling the handle's smooth surface and wrapping my hand comfortably around it, allowing the metal to rest in the center of my palm. Tomorrow I would practice archery, but today I was going to revel in the feel of a knife and pretend that I was only doing it for fun, not survival.

I'd also find Lacey and become her ally. I didn't know why I wanted to be her ally but some part of me told me I would need her. She was empty, anyone could've seen that, but maybe that's why she was different. I didn't know if she had any ability with a knife, but before I'd interrupted her she'd looked pretty comfortable with it. Maybe I'd get lucky with her. And she'd be an easy kill.

"Hello." I whirl around, my hold on the knife hilt tightening just a bit. But the girl whom I find standing behind me looks anything but treacherous. She had long dark hair and blue eyes, she was shorter than me and much smaller too. Maybe even smaller than Lacey was, but not by much. I had to wonder how old she was, she looked young, too young to be in the games.

"Hey." I respond, forgetting to remove the emotion from my features and allowing a bit of a smile to leak onto my face. The girl glances at the knife in my hand then at my face, I take a breath and set the knife back down on the table, deciding that for the time being, I was done with practice. This girl was here for a reason, she wanted something from me, and I wanted to know what.

"I'm Ariel. Are you any good with that?" She asks, eyes on the knife now sitting harmlessly on the table. Her question sparks an internal debate. The way I saw things, I had two options. Either I admit that yes, I was good but out of practice or lie and say that no, I wasn't good because it was my first time throwing a knife.

The first option made me look like a decent competitor, maybe enough to cancel out my fainting mishap among the other tributes. But it also meant admitting that I was skilled, even if I needed some time to be good again. The second option was the more reasonable route, it hid my abilities and kept me out of the spotlight.

I took a moment longer to respond, weighing my options carefully. Yes, lying was safer but Ariel didn't look scary and I felt my walls start to shift. Until I realized something; Ariel didn't look scared either. She was young and had been Reaped to fight to the death, she should've had at least a quarter of the fear I'd witnessed in Lacey's eyes. But she didn't and that made me wary, I could tell that Ariel was smart and she had an air of determination about her. She didn't look dangerous, but that didn't mean she wasn't out for blood. Only one person came out of the arena alive, and I had no reason to believe that she wouldn't do anything to be that one.

"No, I'm learning. Are you?" I counter, picking the knife up from the table and offering it to her. She doesn't take it, only ducks her head and pulls anxiously at her sleeves.

"I think so. Maybe. My mom showed me how before...I guess she just wanted me to make it a couple days. I'm not that old. Or that big." I tilt my head slightly, curling my fingers around the cool metal of the knife. When, suddenly, it's no longer there.

I blink as the small, timid girl before me swirls the knife through her fingers and brings her arm back. In one fluid motion, she releases the knife effortlessly, allowing it to strike its mark in the dummy's leg. I raise my eyebrows, glancing back at Ariel. Her dark hair is draped in front of her face, hiding it from view.

I can't stop the look that crosses my face: utter shock. And with good reason too, Tanner familiarized me with knives from age ten up through age fourteen and in that time I learned that in order to throw accurately you needed to make the knife an extension of yourself. Ariel clearly knew how to handle herself, she understood that the knife was her fifth limb and she was good at it too. She meant to hit the leg, it wasn't luck or an accident, she was aiming for it. Her actions were graceful and languid, not choppy and broken like mine probably were after two years of neglect.

"I'm Nyxi," I say, holding out my hand for her to shake properly. "and you've got yourself an ally." I was assuming that was why she had come over here in the first place. That, or she wanted to show off. Either way, I was letting her know up front that I intended to be her ally whether she accepted it or not.

Plus, she was small and timid and I suspected that if she was given the chance to kill me, she'd hesitate. From what I'd seen, she wasn't a big fan of violence. Her obvious disdain was a clear hint, despite the fluidity she possessed. And that would be all I'd need to beat her to the punch.

She took my hand, her blue eyes meeting mine. There was a smile on her face as she said, "Alright."

"I'll see you later then Ariel." I say, releasing her hand and walking past her toward the door. I was done training for today, I was tired and my head was spinning. Ariel was my ally, she was a small but fierce opponent, she held that over the other tributes.

Today's task was done, and tomorrow was yet to come. Tomorrow I would find Lacey and make her my ally too. No one would stand a chance against three small girls with quick fingers and curved knives at our disposal.

But only one came out alive, I needed to remember that.