Don't pretend it's such a mystery // Getaway Car day 1

[d11a tsiuri dermott ☕ minie]

Beyond the sculptures was nothing but sand for as long as I could see. Shifting dunes, creating waves of their own making. Familiarity from home where I sat on the cliffs, feet dangling in the cold ocean breeze. The waves would crash into the rock down below me, slowly breaking them and chipping away. The sand shifted at a slower pace, there was not much for them to break. I could feel my legs struggle against the constant change, trying to stay steady as I continued forwards towards the tall blond girl from six.

Her back was turned towards me, I could only assume while I had humored Jupiter for a moment she had met someone else. Another staggering tribute, lost in confusion of what had happened. The answers were still not clear, there were no answers at all. A good number of the tributes had never shown up to the bloodbath. All of us had felt the strange aura it brought with it, seeing the empty podiums, watching as one had even stumbled to his own death.

I’d be lying if five’s death did not bring me some joy.

…Or some peace of mind.

One less person to go, one person closer to home and the countdown had not even reached zero. Oh well.

Had Sera found others in the arena, ones she did not insult with every chance she got. Had I wandered away from her on accident or was she already planning her escape. Playing the same game mother and father did, dropping me off with the other as soon as they had what they wanted. Sera’s mentor had said it himself, maybe Sera would learn that I needed her more than she needed me. What was she even? A friend would be an exaggeration, I tolerated her at best and she did not seem to be much fonder of me.

The only ones who may have cared were back in four. There was no one here I could truly count on, not even Sera. If she was the slightest bit smart, she would place her own best interests above my own. Something I could respect under the spiteful sarcasm and infuriating lack of giving a shit.

As I placed myself next to her, it must have been silly sight to see. If it was any other situation, a stranger walking up behind us could have mistaken us for mother and child. An ironic sight for a stupid thought.

“Jupiter…he’s a handful” I initiated the conversation with a snarky tone of disbelief. Irritated and frustrated by the boy from one, disappointed it was him and not Portia I had found. “Wrong asshole from one I guess- Did you better luck trying to find her”. I already knew we wouldn’t be seeing her again. I just did not want to believe she was such a disappointment to the title of career...or wannabee olympian.

ELEGANT

[Cait]

but in spite of how you feel

it's not the end of the world

sera

keoch

I beat Circe back to the dunes. Not really a surprise. Once Nori started chanting to the high heavens and it was apparent that she was a selfish little turd not willing to share her goody bag with me, I’d dipped pretty quickly. Had wandered around on my own for a bit, half-heartedly looking for Portia, before the call from Flynn had come through and I was released from my meaningless task.

Footsteps in the distance grow closer and closer, but I don’t turn to see who approaches. Flynn’s warning, albeit well-intentioned, had probably only made me less cautious. If half of the other tributes were truly trapped somewhere underground, not even in the Arena, then surely the immediate danger was significantly reduced, right? Besides, if anyone wanted to kill me, I imagine they’d be a lot less inconspicuous about the sound they were making. And there’s only one person I know in this Arena that thinks herself untouchable enough to let herself be heard loud and clear.

“Jupiter… he’s a handful.” I raise my eyebrows at that, struggling to believe that someone like Circe could find her match in anybody.

“What, more of a handful than me?” I ask, only half-joking, almost entertaining a smile for quite possibly the first time since arriving in the Capitol. I turn to look at her, trying not to cough at the sand that flies into my face as the wind picks up. I register the crimson paint splattered across her body, and decide not to ask any further questions.

I reallyyyy don’t want to know.

“Did you have better luck trying to find her?”

My breath catches in my throat at the question. Her. Portia. What had Flynn’s words been again? “She’s gone.”

There was a young girl, once. Black hair, white skin, barely fourteen. A modern-day Snow White. Even died of a broken heart, go figure.

(The autopsy report put it down to juvenile cardiac arrest, but I like this narrative better.)

She wore a moon pendant around her neck, the charm sliding around on the loose silver chain as we gently lifted her body from the grave. My fingers ached in longing, desperately wanting to pull the jewellery free and clasp it around my own neck. But there are rules to our job, and this is one: we always leave the belongings. Let the token treasures be lost to the world for good if their bodies cannot be.

Still, temptation is a bitter pill to swallow – I’m only human after all. In the end, my resolve won out and the pendant remained buried, but it came with the silent judgement of a dead girl watching me from beyond the grave.

I wonder if Portia is dead yet. I wonder if she will harbour any ill intentions towards me, towards Circe.

I wonder why I care so much about any of them.

We’re in the earliest parts of our relationship, Circe and I – the honeymoon phase without any of the infatuation. I’m still trying to figure her out. Don’t know what kind of reaction to expect from her, and I’d never wish death on anybody but for a moment, I find myself wishing she was Colleen Carthwright: comatose and unable to berate me for simply being human.

“Girl. I’ve got bad news.”

And that’s when the cannons begin to fire.

BY CHELSEY