#43task7

At some point, Axel had fallen asleep in the night but he couldn’t remember when. At some point he’d had something to eat but he couldn’t remember what. The morning passed by in a blur that went by to quickly. He’d been spending every moment he could get with Amity but he was soon forced away from the other after they woke up.

Now he was being ‘put together’ so as to look right for the games. Apparently it was very important that they look good before they committed murder. That allow showed you how messed up this who system was. 

Eli undid her hair and wiped off her makeup, staring at her reflection in the mirror. How many more chances would she have to look at herself after tomorrow? She sighed and let her mind wander about everything that was, is, and could be.

She knew three things.

The Games were tomorrow. She couldn’t get out of that one.

Death was still a possibility.

She would probably lose Nozomi in the arena.

As much as she wanted to think about the last one, she couldn’t. It was her fault she got attached. She never sought any sort of emotional connections to anyone, especially weird what she could somewhat define as romantic ones. She was fine being isolated, she convinced herself. Until someone decided that isolation was not going to be the way she would be spending her final days before the Games. And in order for Eli to survive, she would have to lose Nozomi.

And the last scrap of humanity Eli had left.

Winning meant coming home, returning. Returning to place where people wouldn’t make eye contact with her in public. Returning to a place that sent her away.

She knew it wasn’t fate that sent her to the arena. That didn’t mean that she wanted the plans of the Peacekeepers to all go according to keikaku (note: keikaku means plan). She needed to return to prove that she wasn’t someone who was weak. She had to prove that she wasn’t going down without a fight and that she was better than what her district thought of her.

Shortly after having thought that about Panem, he reiterated his very idea, seeing as the odds of him surviving the hell to come was still higher than some of the other tributes he’d walk across in the train or in the building, going to the training center. 

He could be remembered in the books as a mere number, or he could make himself worth his very name.

Everything in Ecthelion’s body felt heavy from the lack of sleep he’d gotten lately, eyes burning due to the continuous effort he pulled to keep them open. The young man’s legs hurt every time he put a foot on one step at a time, as he headed back to his floor. Soon enough for his sake, he would be in his apartments, once again trying to fall asleep.

His energy was drained in a way that kept him from doing anything that wasn’t his mind wandering, and him going towards his bed. Sleep couldn’t wait, the arena though had to , no matter how early they’d be shipped to the battle to death in the morning. 

Ecthelion allowed himself to fall head first on his bed, crawling to his pillows, not bothering to turn the light off. If his life was to be wasted by the Capitol, he could surely waste some of the resources the capital took away from the districts without giving anything decent in return. A last fleeting thought about how he wished to bring slaughter onto at least one tribute the next morning surfaced his mind, the reminder of how his mindset truly hadn’t changed much no matter what he’d gotten himself into.

Closing her eyes, she sat in a chair, facing the bars that were placed outside the glass window. To prevent escapees. Of course. The Capitol would never accept the fact of losing one of their precious pawns in their game of chess. She let out a silent sigh. Bringing her hand to touch the stone cold glass, her digit gently traced a single mark.

Nine hundred eighty five. Plus fourteen. Nine hundred ninety nine.         ‘Would you ever remember me?’

It was only a matter of time before Ayase-san would be dead. Her body would be beaten, battered, destroyed, ripped apart. She would consider herself lucky if the other tributes did not disassemble her limbs and cook her for dinner. Or just for fun. Depending on how psychotically driven they would become after a couple days.

Maybe it would be herself she would find splattered with blood, a weapon in her hand, killing without any remorse. As of right now, she did not see that happening. But like the others, she was just as vulnerable. Never have been trained, having the agility and the endurance of a goldfish. Lacking faith and belief in her own abilities despite going to train each night.

‘Just a lost cause.’

That was not how she always thought about herself. After the illness, she lacked the motivation to do anything. Always destined to fail at the very end. Having her body fail at the times where she needed it the most. The malice of The Games drawing closer and closer, as if inching into her mind resulted in her insomnia worsening. Simply unable to escape the many thoughts in her head.

No amendment could fix her at this point. No medication. Nothing. At this point, she was just as good as dead. Within her soul, lived someone who would believe in her, whether or not they were aware of it or not. They would fuel her strength for less than half of her life. 

And they would help her through this.                                Help her until the beating in her chest came to a stop.                      Until her last breath escaped her lips.                                     Until....                                                 Her long awaited death.