Writers' Games - Free Falling {CLOSED}

Jackson Bennett's POV

Quick thing guys, I gave this person an extension and totally forgot about it. I assumed that she wasn't going to hand in, and I'm sorry for that mistake. Even though it's late, I'm still accepting it because I didn't check my email until about 5 minutes ago, so it's completely my fault why this wasn't in.

The next morning is quiet, relatively peaceful. The sun shines brightly off the stream, making it shimmer with every small movement. The sky is like a painting; not a cloud obscuring the deep serene. But the images of the bloodbath still haunt me. I rummage through my supplies for breakfast to take my mind off things, but it seems like the picture of Cloud's dead body is engraved into my brain. I'm eating some trail mix on the bank of the stream, when it hits me.

Pain.

So much of it. I double over immediately. White hot, searing through my back worse than any bullet can cause. It blinds me and the images once pulsing through my head have disappeared replaced by one thought; What the hell is going on?

I open my mouth to scream, but no sounds come out. I'm staggering around, blind, and then I feel myself fall. A cold liquid slaps me hard in the face, bringing me back to reality. The pain momentarily subsides and I let out a sigh.

Then, as soon as it arrived, it's gone. My feet find the bottom, and I pull my head out of the stream, gasping for breath. My whole body is submerged in the water. I grab a wet knife from my belt and wave it around in front of me, challenging my attackers. Something brown catches my eye and I spin around to find nothing. I see it again on my right side this time, and lunge at it only to sink back into the water. After a few more minutes with no movement, I decide they must have fled already. I'm about the put the knife away when I notice something in my reflection. Two brown . . . masses come out of each shoulder blade decorated with rows of feathers.

Holy, crap. I think. They're wings.

I climb out of the water and inspect the wings. They are a golden brown, and stretch from my shoulders to my knees. I will them to flap, and suddenly my feet are off the ground and I'm flying. I'm shaky at first, but after some time (and a few collisions with trees) I master the wings and decide to explore the arena from an aerial view. I gather my supplies, making sure nothing is left behind and soar past the treetops.

I let out a low whistle and close my eyes. I feel . . . free. The only thing I can think about is how amazing the landscape looks from so above. For that moment all my worries are put to rest, all my dreams on hold. I almost forget that this is the Hunger Games. Almost.

I fly past the cornucopia, and tribute pedestals, past a huge lake, just keep flying, keep fly . . . then suddenly I'm being pulled down by some invisible magnetic force. It feels like two anvils are resting on my wings. I am no longer in control. Then I notice them. The small specks dotting the horizon. As they come closer I realize they are other tributes with wings, all wearing confused expressions on their faces. I look down and it clicks.

We are all heading to the same place.

These wings weren't meant for our pleasure. They were so the Gamemakers could lure us to the same place to fight it out.

It is like the Bloodbath Part II and I'm jumping head first into it- literally.

We all land on the island roughly around the same time. It's a small area, easy to miss if you are flying above. As soon as my feet touch down on the dying grass, I can tell there is something off about this place. The air is heavy with a sense dread, and I suddenly feel goosebumps on my arms even though it isn't cold. Around me, there are quite a few trees for cover and a huge clearing in the middle with just yellowish-grass. I don't see any bridges connecting to the nearby islands which means one thing; only a few of us are going to make it out alive.