Arena Description [5th Games]

[L△LIA]

The only thing new about the colosseum is the blood stains upon the distressed walls, faint shadows of red tinging the mortar. The stone — which once belonged to other buildings, in other places, filled with lives meant to be lived — still reeks of stolen history, but anyone who looks closely can catch a glimpse of the "reclaimed" stone truly being taken back. Chastity, Malachai, Dmitri, Yejide... A gust of wind sends water lapping at the wall. ...Tarquin, Iris, Anderson, Helena... The names and districts of fallen tributes are carved into the stones of the arena wall, from the bottom up, as if their legacies had always been the very bricks upon which all of this was built. ...Persephone, Ram, Emma, Jett —

From the tiered seating and presidential box far above to the multiple levels of labyrinthine tunnels and dungeons below, the sunken arena is ringed by so much more than archways. The cushioned marble stands are occupied not only by peacekeepers in dress whites seated amongst high ranking government officials, but an ever-growing audience of the Capitol's most elite and enthusiastic, who seized the opportunity to attend when ticket sales were opened to the general public. This year there isn't an empty seat to be seen, the sold out crowd packing the stands to capacity. The familiar faces of Adder Ames, Samiyuq Hernández Huapaya, Babe Adroxis, and Mohamed Al-Amin are unmistakable within the sea of uniforms and ostentatious pops of civilian color. In previous events armed guards separated them, making the sudden portrayal of seating them side-by-side like close comrades a dramatic shift in PR tactics.

Most notably the wooden floor of the arena has been removed. Salt water now floods the space below, deep enough for ships, glimmering as reflected sunlight hints at sunken treasure lost beneath the waves. Four modestly sized brigantines glide past one another, six cannons set into their sides and each ship's dramatic sails flying with their own colors and Jolly Rogers. Throughout the shadows cast by mast and hull, ominous fins cut the surface as sharks prowl this small sea, occasionally sending water soaring into the air that betrays their aggression.

Cage-like medieval holding cells rise up from underground and settle into place, tucked within the shadows of twenty-four evenly spaced archways. When the heavy iron gates imprisoning the tributes rise, their holding cells open directly to the water's surface instead of the usual sand floor. In place of gladiatorial swords there is a simple white buoy awaiting them just out of arm's reach, keeping a cutlass afloat — waiting for them to dive in. Both the swords and the spectators share an eagerness to witness this: The Fifth Annual Hunger Games.