Writers' Games - Free Falling {CLOSED}

Jackson Bennett's Bloodbath

I pluck at the navy blue cotton v-neck, impatiently. The whirlwind of butterflies in my stomach disappeared an hour ago, replaced by a feeling anxiousness.

At least this year's outfit are decent, I think to myself. The warm cargo pants are comfortable and the brown leather boots are perfect for running. If only I knew what the habitat I would be in. Rainforest? Maybe. Desert? No, that would be no fun to watch. I think back to one year where large sand dunes stretched out as far as the eye can see. Most tributes died of dehydration or poisonous snake bites that Hunger Games. For all I know, we could end up on a freaking glacier and be eaten by genetically altered polar bears.

"Water?"

I look up to find my stylist, Sandra, in front of me, holding up a crystal glass filled with ice-cold water and topped off with a slice of a green fruit that looks like an orange. Just by one glance you can tell she is from the Capitol; short crimson hair with bangs, glittering red jewels embedded into her skin and bright red lipstick that contrasts against her china white skin. And of course Sandra's distinct high-pitched Capitol accent, which I've mocked so many times before at home.

She thrusts the glass at me and I cautiously accept it. When I set it down on the glass table, parallel to the sofa I'm sitting on, without a second glance she sighs then leaves the room. Five minutes later she returns, a black hoodie in hand. Sandra motions for me to arise from my seat, then wordlessly puts it on me. The material is soft and stretchy, something that is rare in 3. Sandra pulls up the zipper and stands back to admire her work. She nods approvingly, then ushers me on to the metal plate, soon to be lifted into the arena.

"One minute, tributes. One minute." The intercom announcement makes me jump, but Sandra stands there unfazed, staring at me with her big hazel eyes. At least that's one thing she didn't have surgically altered, and I'm glad. They suit her. She opens her mouth then closes it, searching for the right words to say.

Finally she settles on, "Good luck, Jackson Bennett." Then Sandra steps back as the glass tube is lowered, sealing me off from her. I want to reply, to thank her for everything, but suddenly the metal plate is lifting up. I manage to catch a glimpse of her - possibly my last. A flurry of panic arises up in my chest. For about twelve seconds I'm in total darkness, then the metal plate suddenly comes to a halt as we surface fresh air. The sunlight hits me first overwhelming my eyes, then the smell of fresh grass. Before I can take in my surroundings, the gamemaker's voice booms over the loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let 225th Hunger Games begin!"

The sixty-second timer begins and I spin around to get my bearings straight. I am standing on a small island, identical to the other tributes, that is barely big enough to accommodate the small pedestal I'm placed on. Behind us are dozens of islands some big or small, some with a tree or two and some with a forest. Thin rope bridges connect the islands together and directly in front of me, one leads to the Cornucopia. The air is warm but shows no sign of humidity. A scream from the next-door island snaps me back to attention and I watch the male tribute from District 8 lose his balance and stumble onto one of the rope bridges. He looks relieved and stands up to brush himself off. But the timer hasn't gone off yet. In the blink of an eye, the rope bridge disintegrates under his feet and his scream becomes more distant as he hurtles down into the deep expanse of blue. I peer over the edge, horrified, as he disappears then realize something. It's not water around us - it's sky.

The islands are floating in mid-air.

A cannon booms and I look up as the countdown nears the end.

5 4 3 2 1!

I shoot up like a rocket and run as fast I can to the Cornucopia. The swaying of the bridge slows me down, but I make it there before most of the tributes show up. Just enough time to get in and get out and avoid all the fighting. I grab a few knives and a spear before turning around to go. Then on second thought, I lean down and pluck a brown messenger bag from a nearby table. Slinging it over my shoulder, I sprint past a tribute pedestal to an island. Behind me the bloodbath has already initiated. I find a large tree and hide behind it to watch the scene unfold. A burly figure, probably from the Career pack effortlessly throws two knives in the direction of some tributes. Florina Hale and Logan Mellark almost immediately drop to their knees.

Two cannons boom.

Behind them Red Velvet is fighting off Sparrow Falls and Cherry Bruton, and apparently winning. Cherry throws a knife into her shoulder and darts away to an island before Red can advance on her. Sparrow however, doesn't get as lucky. Red grits her teeth and pulls the knife from her shoulder. Then she launches herself at Sparrow. In one swift motion, Red's knee makes contact with Sparrow's chest and Sparrow collapses to the floor. Without hesitation, Red sinks a knife into Sparrow's chest and I watch as her eyes flutter closed for the last time. The cannon fires and Red pulls out the knife then walks back to her fellow Careers. In the few encounters I've had with Red, she seemed fairly nice. Certainly not a ruthless killer.

These people aren't your friends, Jackson. They're your enemies. I remind myself.

The once green grass is now stained with blood and bodies are strewn all around the Cornucopia. Two more cannons sound as Esperanza Sanchez and Elaine Crudvent are taken down by some a scared-looking tribute holding a bow and arrow. She disappears to the island across mine and I watch as the Careers survey the area, making sure no survivors are around. They talk for a little bit then nod and agree. One of them stays at the Cornucopia to guard their heaps of supplies, and the rest walk to another island, hungry for blood.

I get up from my crouched position and brush the dirt of my pants. Time to go before anyone spots me. I make my way to the edge of the island and cross the rope bridge to a larger one, housing a massive forest. I dart through it, hoping the dense underbrush will obscure me. After a few miles my legs give up and I stop for a break, panting. Based on my calculations I should be in the heart of the forest by now. I close my eyes and lean against a tree trunk, taking a short break before I continue on my long trek.

Suddenly, I hear a twig snap nearby. My eyes instantly fly open. My heart is thumping fast in my chest, like a thousand horses stampeding together. My head turns in the direction of the sound and I see a shadow emerge from behind a tree. I cringe as leaves crunch underfoot as I attempt to walk away from the mysterious figure. But no such luck. It follows me. I duck behind a tree as the person comes into view. I can't make out a face, but judging on the large figure I can tell it is a boy. He is tightly holding a katar in his right hand and his left is clenched into a fist.

Without thinking, I grab a knife out of my belt and hurl it at him. I'm targeting his shoulder but thanks to my terrible aim the knife veers off slightly to the right and hits him square in the chest. His knees buckle, and he soundlessly collapses to the ground. A gasp that sound like a wounded animal escapes my lips and I sprint over to his body. I crouch down on my knees and gingerly touch his forehead. Ice cold. I reach out for his his hand to check his pulse. Nothing. I stare at his face trying to remember his name.

Cal? No, Cloud. That's right, Cloud Maize.

I press my hands together and raise them in a silent prayer.

Please don't let him die. Keep Clou-

BOOM. The cannon sounds and I lay there for a moment, shocked. I, Jackson Bennett killed a live human being. I wonder how my family feels, watching this right now. Ashamed that I'm their son? I want to curl up into a ball and weep, but instead I hold my head up high and flip to body over. He has a navy blue backpack. I carefully take his arms out of the straps and sling it over my other shoulder, figuring I could do an itinerary check later. I turn him back over and attempt to pry the katar from his iron grip. After a few minutes of struggling, I give up and take back the knife that ended his life, still sunk in his chest. I get up and abandon the body to find a rough piece of bark to wipe the blood off. Satisfied, I stick it back in my belt, take one last glance at the body, and continue on my way.

Throughout the next two hours I don't encounter anyone, except for a bright green snake which I quickly sprint away from. I'm on a new island now, even bigger than the first, with an even larger forest. I reach a small freshwater stream, and feast on some dried fruit I find in Cloud's pack. I'm careful to ration it equally. Depending on how much longer I plan on living, I wouldn't want to go hungry. The once baby blue sky is now a dark shade of purple and I decide to call it a day. I find a spot at the base of a tree, concealed by some shrubs and rest my head against the tree trunk.

The air has turned crisp and cold, so I clutch my hoodie closer to my body. I know I should look to see if any of the packs contain a blanket, but all the energy has drained out of my body. The Capitol anthem booms, as the faces of the fallen tributes appear in the sky. Seven down, seventeen to go. I sigh and stare at the trees above me. These games have done what I feared - turned me into a killer. But what's done is done and there is nothing I can do to change it. The only thing that I can do from here on out is win, and that's exactly what I'm planning on.