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We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.
There is a moment when violence rises like a wave. Where it begins to crest higher into the sky and the world fades into a dance of noiseless chaos. In that brief moment of time, there is no sense of reality; there is only death standing by, waiting to claim its next victim. There is only gruesome, savage violence, coupled with death. And there is no hope or prayer that would be able to prevent a single slice from keeping life still breathing, beating. There is no chance of survival when the wave of violence touches the clouds and comes crashing down, knocking soul and body into the dirt.
Cassia thought she had known the silence that came with the violence of the arena. She had thought she knew what it felt like—to kill, to watch someone be killed, to slowly be killed; and yet the Feast was unlike anything she had ever come to know. Nothing in her eighteen years of living could have prepared her for the moment she decided to attend the second bloodbath.
Leading up to the Feast, her and Azalea got along fine. When they woke up the next morning, Cassia instantly checked her wounds. Her finger was dark purple and tinged light green. It felt like a fiery rod had been shoved down the center of her fingernail and twisted back and forth. Trembling, she took deep breaths and checked her cheek, anything to distract from the pain. The cut wasn't great from what she could feel, but it wasn't too deep and decided it would be fine. Her throat was still sore, and her hip was still bruised dark and ached at every slide of her joints.
"You're a mess," Azalea said from the branch across from her, dark eyes watching like a crow.
Cassia rolled her eyes. "Thanks."
Azalea shrugged while fixing her pack. "We should move today. I don't want your friends finding us."
Cassia wanted to correct her, but it was too early and she was too in pain to argue. Plus, the people watching surely thought Cassia was friends with the Careers, so it made sense to hold onto the lie for a little bit longer. Maybe sponsors would pity her. So instead, she replied: "Yeah," and looked down at her hands with a small frown that took a lot of effort to not ruin with a smile.
Azalea said nothing at the gesture, if she had noticed it.
They made their way down the mountain after Cassia told Azalea the Careers were heading Northwest. It was counterintuitive to run from the thing keeping her from going home, but Cassia didn't want to face Griffin, as pathetic as it sounded. She didn't want him to see her all bruised up with her eggplant finger and busted hip. She imagined the comments Clio—if still alive from the arrow shot into her shoulder—would come up with at the sight of the injuries: "You want me to amputate it for you?" or "Damn, I didn't know Griffin liked it rough."
