Alicia Sykes ~ District Four; 1st Games~ Fin

[charade]

Alicia Sykes
D4F
18
FC: Malese Jow

You killed your first man when you were fourteen. He was on sentry duty, and not much older than you are now. He never saw the knife that slit his throat, just a little lost girl with a muddy dress and a walkie-talkie hidden in her belt. You remember thinking that it was a lot of blood. Faced with the carnage surrounding you now, you decide that it really wasn’t that much coming out of the young man’s neck.

You are not the tallest soldier, but you are among the swiftest. You have always kept your brown hair short. Any longer would be a liability. Your lips are pursed and your eyebrows forever furrowed. You carry yourself grimly. Your parents have hated the Capitol's iron grip since you were a child, and they have taught you well.

Your position is being overrun. Of the fifty rebels that were tasked with holding this section of the district, only seventeen are left. They are coming for you all. But you and your comrades have made them pay for every inch with blood and death. It won't be long now, you think. A mortar round caught Derrick and Yessenia several minutes ago. There's not much left of them other than bloody chunks. Together in death, you suppose. A sniper bullet hit Thompson between the eyes an hour before this, but he's still staring at you.

You should have taken the time to close his eyes.

This is the final fallback position. The ruins of a canning factory. Your back is against the wall and there is nowhere left to run. You have run out of bullets and the enemy is not close enough to strike with your combat knife. Several grenades are lobbed over your makeshift barricade and you steel yourself for the end. You realize after a belated moment that they threw flashbangs. You dive to the blood-soaked floor and cover your face.

***

Your ears are ringing. You wonder if you should be thankful that you can still see. The Capitol lapdogs pin you to the ground. You have enough time to stab one in the foot before a knee digs into your back. Rough hands twist your arms as cold steel clicks shut around your wrists. You retain enough frame of mind to read one man’s lips. “If they look under eighteen, don’t rough’em up too bad. The president has need of such…revolutionaries.

***

Weeks pass.

You grow accustomed to the concrete ceiling above you and the iron bars in front. Occasionally someone on your cellblock is hauled off for questioning. Occasionally, they do not return. One day, the captain of the guard marches everyone that is left to a hall with a screen. You imagine that this is where a final judgement will be decided. A proclamation lights up in front of you.

You did not know how correct you were.

"In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of twelve and eighteen. These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol and transferred into a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains, henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games."


“You sick fucks!” someone shouts before getting hit in the head with a rifle butt.

You agree.

The captain points to nearly everyone in the row and says that they are no longer required. The firing squad is waiting for them. You are left with five others. They are led away to be questioned further.

Then it is only you, and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

The jailor tells you that you were selected for your fighting spirit. For the battles you took part in. For being under the command of one of the leaders they have already publicly executed. As your comrades in arms are led away to their deaths, you are led back to your cell to wait for your part in this new atrocity.

You are left to ruminate about The Hunger Games.

Some of these youths will be civilians, noncombatants. Whether relatives of well-known dissidents or unlucky children plucked off of the streets remains to be seen. Others are likely to have been on the field like you. You wonder if you will see anyone you know. You are not afraid to take more lives if necessary. Someone will need to survive this and strike back. But despite the horror and injustice of it clawing at you, one thing strikes you as morbidly funny.

They really couldn’t come up with a better name for this event?

[L△LIA]

HECK YES. What a badass! All of this war imagery is extra fantastic.

Accepted!