Writer's Games Entries

Task 4: "Cupid's Arrow"

I'm stuck on the exact same spot where I was snatched out of that dream. My entire body just feels so heavy from whatever that thing last night was. It's either affecting my head or my spirit. At this point I can't really tell which, and I don't know if I want to. Everything that motivated me going into these Games suddenly seems so pointless. I always imagined that I would somehow win the Games and make my father proud of me so that we could be father and son again. Whatever that thing in the cocoon last night was, whether it was just a dream or a warning of what was to come, it completely dispirited me.

Nothing has happened since the sun came over the horizon this morning. These Games have lasted for almost twenty-four hours, and I have already lost hope about ever getting back to a better life than what I had if I were to win. I am so dispirited that if a tribute with a sword, spear or whatever, was to come around the corner with the intents of killing me, I would most likely just let them. I just want it all to end. Just kill me and be over with it!

Slowly I am starting to get around to the idea of getting up on my feet. I've been sitting still for far too long, and these are the Hunger Games. A little while longer and I could've gotten my wish fulfilled. It's so quiet that I now get confused about whether or not these are actual Games. First few hours yesterday went by in the typical fashion: the bloodbath, which I survived. I went on to survive throughout the day and night. What's supposed to happen now? Each version of the Games are different when it comes to this stage.

Tributes are supposed to be terrorized by the Gamemakers. That is the trademark of the Games. The calmness that covers the entire Arena is unnerving. The only sound I can hear is the sound of the wind whizzing through the air, and the sand forming small tornados only to disappear. The heat of the Arena would be my doom if it wasn't for the bottle of water in my bag...which brings me to the idea of actually bringing it up and taking a sip. While I do that, my mind travels back to that dream last night, and how something has suddenly shifted inside of me. I no longer feel bound to prove something like I did in the beginning, especially considering that it might not mean a damn thing in the end.

As I sense the water run down my throat, I feel my senses sharpen a little bit. I can only remember having taken one sip from the bottle since the bloodbath before now. My feet feel a little lighter than a few moments ago. I feel a little more refreshed and ready to take on whatever the next stage of these Games is. Whatever depression or darkness that came over me as a result of the dream I had last night, has somehow faded away...if only a little.

"My dear tributes! This is your Gamemakers, the inventors to all of your terror. We thought we'd take a moment of your precious downtime to say a few words. We all should truly admire your spirit and abilities that you have used in order to stay alive", I hear from a voice over the speaker. If I didn't worry about the calm tone of the Games before, I definitely do now. If the Gamemakers are taking the time to announce something to us in person, sort of, there is a very dangerous twist heading our way.

"But because these are Games, we can't waste much time to listen to your personal feelings", the voice continues. I hear noises somewhere close. Something has entered the Arena while the Gamemaker has spoken over the speakers. "We have arranged a little something for each and every one of you", I swallow as the voice continues. It's obvious that I am petrified, because whatever it is, it's designed to try to kill me. "I'm sure you'll recognize them when you come face to face with our little surprise", the voice continues as I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and barely capture the stature of the person. "You are, after all, bound by blood", my eyes widen in shock when I see his face – Aspen!

"Aspen", I say to myself as I'm too stunned to believe that he's actually standing right in front of me. A part of me doesn't quite believe it. This has to be a mutt! They can't bring actual people from the outside into the Arena...can they? For all I know this can be a sick mind-game from the Gamemakers. The closer Aspen gets to me, the more I get to look at him and tell that something is very wrong. As much as I would like to think that he is a mutt, there's something so human about him. No technology in the world could ever be able to recreate that.