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Alliances: Part 1

Carrie's POV

It was the third day of the catastrophic and extremely lethal epitome that was the hunger games. I was tremendously surprised that I had survived thus far, and wasn't expecting such miraculous fortune in the succeeding events. Three tributes were already dead:Hannah from 7, and Troye and Tyler from 9.They had endeavored their quietus so traumatically in violent, aggressive manners, that even having experienced none primarily, I shuddered involuntarily when contemplating them. I desired nothing greater than to escape this horrific, nightmarish recreation, but it was a feat comprised impossible. And I didn't even have any acquaintances with whom to endure it; I was perpetually alone, secluded in this treacherous forest.

I had previously considered collaborating with Dan, the other tribute from my district, but hadn't encountered him since the Games initiated. Therefore, I walked, forlorn and lacking objective, wandering and often loitering, unsure as to what it was I was searching for.

This was when, quite unexpectedly, two anonymous figures ambushed me, spontaneously attacking so quickly that I was incapable of interpreting the situation until I was uncomfortably forced to the ground. I panicked and fruitlessly attempted to escape, writhing against hands clasped against my throat, but to no avail. It did not aid that my face was directly plunged into the earthy floor, so I was unable to identify my assailants, nor scream for assistance through my muffled situation. Death was imminent. Unavoidable. I was considerably certain that I had instigated my demise, when suddenly, my murderers inexplicably loosened their grip upon my stifled form. I hesitated momentarily, unsure of what was occurring, and then, still provided no explanation for the spontaneous onslaught, I immediately stood and prepared to run. From my peripheral vision, I indirectly noticed their expressions, and recognized them as the two girls I'd seen associating prevalently with Hannah prior to the games: Grace and Mamrie. I inferred that the three had developed a substantial friendship before the Hunger Games, or at least a correspondence.

Their countenances expressed shock, indecisiveness, and slight embarrassment. They'd obtained weapons, but were not protruding them, seemingly too startled. I abandoned my instinctive decision to run, noting that the situation was void of any discernible threat, and my curiosity coerced action.

I turned to look at them inquisitively, and, after a significant amount of time, Grace responded by stating, "We thought you were Marzia."

"Murderer!" Mamrie snapped apparently involuntarily. 

Several moments of silence followed

I glanced at both of them, contemplating the circumstances and pondering how to reply.

"You were good friends, then, yes?"

Grace promptly dropped her head, staring intently at the ground, and Mamrie whispered, practically inaudibly, "the three of us have known each other since we were toddlers." She  addressed Grace, still fixated on the floor, by nodding in her relative direction, "Hannah and Grace are my best friends outside my district, and probably including 8 as well."

"And she killed  her," Grace muttered in addition.

I nodded empathetically, "I understand," I sympathized, offering my extended arm toward them without reluctance. I was instinctively attracted to those requiring emotional assistance, experiencing melancholy and enclosed in depression. I felt unconventionally urged to soothe them, even if they were beyond my service and compensation. As both girls simultaneously began sobbing upon what was implied realization that they would never again interact with their friend, that she was eternally gone, I sat and listened, absorbing the wails and complaints, remaining there and temporarily forgetting where I was.