Young Writers Society

I twist the hem of my shirt as the platform rises up through the tube. My heart’s racing, but I still the tremble in my hands as I ride up into the arena. The lift glides to a stop, jerking me, and settles into place. I glance around at the other Tributes, and notice that I’m between defyingravity and ongoeslife. So, the Gamemakers have us in District order. That couldn’t have helped me more.
I glance at the other Tributes briefly, nodding at the others from my District, then focus on the Cornucopia, scoping the items within. I see little of interest, but then notice the cloak lying next to the rope. Invisible at night…so much terror I could inflict. They’d never see me coming, and I would just appear, strangle or smother them with the cloak, then disappear back into the night.
But then movement in the Cornucopia distracts me. A tail wags around the edge of the wall, and I’m torn in two. That’s the dog the instructors told us about. My skin prickles, and I sense that the Games are about to begin. I only have a split second to decide which item will help me most.
The gong sounds, and I make up my mind.
I race across the long grass towards the Cornucopia, and zero in on the dog. That animal will win me the Games, I think. I swing into the Cornucopia with my fellow tributes and grab the dog’s leash, then sprint away with the dog on my heels. We reach the woods safely, and I meander deeper, the dog brushing my legs as we march inwards. She’s a German Shepherd, I notice, a good breed. Protective, obedient, loyal…sensitive. Intelligent too, by looks and breed, but not a muttation. No, she’s purebred. A tough dog. She’s been trained to quickly identify poisons, and that’ll save precious time during the Games.
I worm past a fallen trunk, then pause. What should I call her? Her harness is black, and so’s her fur. That’ll be nice at night. I smile. Sonar. That’s perfect. I say the name out loud, and her ears perk up, her eyes bright. She knows that’s her name now. Grinning, I lash her to a nearby tree as I get my bearings and breath. She’ll counter all of the other major items except the celebrity, and who cares about them? I can sleep soundly with her by my side, unafraid of what I can’t see and she can smell. That’ll take care of the cloak. Her leash can function as any kind of short rope I need, and if it comes down to me or her I can eat…but only if I have no other choice. And she can distract and attack in a tight spot. Tribute plus angry dog versus lone tribute equals my odds, every time.
I look around, scanning for a water source. I don’t see anything, but I hear the trickle of a creek. I unwind Sonar’s leash and lead her towards the sound. That’s another added bonus. When I don’t have time to test the water for poison, she can sniff and give me an instant evaluation. And her sixth sense can warn me of more than just poison. She’ll sense dangers from the Game Makers or other tributes long before I will (animals always see it coming). And her hackles will warn me if the tribute’s seeking an alliance or trying to kill me.
We break through the tree line, and stumble into a stream. Sonar sneezes the water off her snout, then sniffs the water and starts drinking. Good water, at least. I scoop up a handful and drink the cool, clear water, letting it spill down my throat. Her drink finished, Sonar shakes herself, spraying me with droplets. Her ears snap ramrod straight, and she whips her head upstream. A soft growl grumbles through her throat, and her nape rises. I tighten my grip on the leash and step across the stream, heading back for tree cover. Whatever’s up there isn’t good, and I’m not ready to face other tributes just yet.
The wind chills my damp pant legs, and I wonder about the temperature at night. Of course, I’ll have Sonar, so that will take care of a blanket and heat source, but still…I don’t know what I’m up against yet. But with my dog, I stand a good chance of surviving these Games.

I picked up the long blue cloak for I knew that it would help me in some way or the other. It was night, so I knew it would work well. It smelt like fresh blood and it had a paper stuck in the top. It read "May the odds be ever in our favour." I put on the cloak, which felt really comfortable, and then I felt like I was as light as air. My tributes started questioning where I was to each other. I smiled to myself. I whisper to one of my tributes that I was right there, but they could not hear me, because of the cloak. I was glad that I picked this, because, I saw the others struggling with their cornucopia. One of them was trying to calm the barking dog down, but couldn't and it bit his leg. Another guy was trying to make the genie come out, but couldn't for some reason. Another guy tied the end of a rope to a tree and tried to climb it from the other end. But the rope came loose and he and the rope came tumbling to the ground. He had a few bruises. I walked around the crowd, trying to figure out what else it could do. I pushed one of the guys and he thought that it was some other person standing near him. They got into a big fight and then a girl had to come and calm them down. I hid behind a tree and tried to take the cloak off. But it wouldn't budge. I found a small rope at the top and pulled it. The cloak came loose and it came off. I examined the cloak closely. It was made of silk, which was why it was very comfortable, it was really old and it had a big sword picture at the back. I heard somebody walking through a pile of grass and giggling. I heard him dragging something with him. Then I figured out that it was some guy carrying a rope and trying to tie me up. So I broke a branch and hit him hard on the head. He fell to the floor unconscious. I might be the smallest person in the games but I do have brains like the others. I didn't have to worry about the unconscious guy because he should be used to getting unconscious. This is just the beginning of the games and there were more dangerous dangers coming ahead. The cloak was as light as air and it must have been worn by a priest who lived here hundreds of years ago. The guy on the floor regained his conscious and then he walked away with his rope without saying a word. As he went he turned and gave me a dirty look. I just laughed at him and took my cloak with me to a cabin. It was almost day and my cloak wouldn't be of use anymore. Hopefully the next challenge would be at night. I was sure that my district would win and I was well prepared for the next challenge. I was too excited to sleep so I took a dummy and started practicing with my wooden sword.

The rustling ahead of me grows steadily louder and the ferocity of my pulse rockets up. The night is so dark I feel suffocated so I'm clueless as to the noise's source: a fellow Tribute or something the Gamemakers conjured up. I fear the Gamemakers' creations more but I would much prefer a rabid shark-headed dog to a human I have to kill. I cast my hand right to feel for my companion.
“James?” I whisper.
James growls lowly in reply. I don't know why I was so careless, given the tendency of dogs to bark when they're frightened. Luckily, this particular mutt seems to be so spooked that he has become aware of the danger surrounding him. My stomach has been growling loud enough to wake a coma patient so I don't need James adding to that. I regretted not opting for a pep talk from my idol, James McAvoy, so I gave the Labrador his name as a compromise. I could do with a pep talk right about now.
Abruptly, the rustling becomes a thrashing and is accompanied by a few muffled yet distinctly human shrieks of agony. Clearly whatever is behind the gloomy row of bushes is not coming for me. I beckon James to heel and crawl with him on all fours a few yards to the left. The thrashing is violent, desperate. I am eager to escape whatever has brought a hunting Tribute to their knees.
Once we are at least the length of two swimming pools away I pat James' flank to suggest a rest
“Do you think it's safe to stand up, boy?” I whisper. I don't know what I'm hoping for. James sniffs out poison, not danger.
I ruffle the fur on James' head and find his ears pricked rigidly upwards. I thought the fight over but apparently my inferior human senses of hearing and smell have crept out of range. I stand, weak from the hunger, and rest my hand in the space between James' ears. The cannon declares with a bang the death of my pursuer and yet James still does not move. He waits for what must be at least twenty minutes, before whipping his head around to nuzzle my hand and plodding forwards through the fallen leaves of the forest.
After a few seconds of steady pacing, James seems to have deemed the situation defused. He picks his pace up to a lively trot and yaps at me to follow suit.
“You have four legs and the muscle strength of a champion swimmer,” I grumble, “It's harder for me.”
James yaps louder and ploughs yet further ahead.
“James!” I cry, “Be careful.”
It seems that while James has developed a sufficient sense of danger, he has not been granted any common sense. Why couldn't it have been a poison sniffing cat? It would probably eat me if it got hungry enough but it would also be far less likely to barrel straight into a clearing where a human being has just been murdered by … I don't even want to think by what.
“James?” I huff as I reach the bushes. I screw up my eyes to find him and am rewarded with a gap in the bushes.
I duck under a low hanging branch that I see only a suggestion of in the blanket of shadows. Once through the hedge, I shake off a few twigs and am greeted by James' piercing green eyes shining out to me like a beacon.
“Boy?” I whisper warily, “What happened?”
James nuzzles a limp bundle on the forest floor. I clench my stomach – which is difficult given the pangs that are already cramping it – and sink to the ground. I slide onto my knees and reach out my hands. There is a lanky body beneath my palms. A flat chest with that height means this was a boy and judging by the stocky strength in his arms, I'd have been no match for him.
No. I am not glad that this boy is dead. That thought is very probably worse than trying to kill him. For one thing, I wouldn't have succeeded.
I trace my fingers down his arm to his hand. If he had indeed been hunting me, there was bound to be a weapon in one of his hands – or both. His right hand is sticky from a dark liquid – presumable blood. I don't feel the hilt of anything and as I am reaching over to his left hand it strikes me that so far I have come across no wounds on his body. My entire being tenses but I continue to reach over him. I have to find a weapon. I've been three days in the arena and still not even picked up a dagger.
His left hand is lathered in the same sticky coat as his right but this time I know it isn't blood. Miniature globules of juicy flesh are tumbling out of his hand as I disturb it. Berries. I presume instinctively that they are poisonous and must have killed him. Then, of course, it occurs to me that James is still hovering somewhere nearby.
“James?” I murmur. I am still not totally convinced this boy is dead, despite the cannon.
I feel his paws nudge at me and clamber over me to sniff at the berries. James whimpers but does not bark, as I he has done previously when he has come across dangerous food.
“Are they okay, boy?” I suggest. He has deliberated for quite some time and still does not retreat to let me at the precious nutrition.
James whimpers again but shuffles back to my side. I lunge my outstretched hand in a claw at the berries and scoop up a handful. As I cram them into my mouth, until my cheeks are stretched to their widest possible surface area, I almost choke with dread. The berries didn't kill the boy – and they're not going to kill me – but what did kill him?
“James, go!” I cry.
James nudges forlornly at me but turns to make his escape from an approaching band of fog. The day must have been dull. It would appear the Gamemakers are hunting Tributes out now, one by one. The white smoke – which unfurls through the gap in the hedges that I had wriggled through only moments ago – is sure to be my end. I see glittering motes of a deadly liquid hovering within its clouds and sigh. I am glad it is the Gamemakers taking me out, not a fellow Tribute. Just one less kid to turn into a murderer – two, if you count the fact that I will never be taking anyone's life now. I let my eyes glide shut and await the end.
James' barking is louder than I could ever have imagined. He has a pitifully short branch clamped between his jaws but nonetheless he thrusts one end of it into my palm, which is still running with the juices of the berries – which must have been the sticky coat on the boy's hands. He jerks me onto my back and methodically paces backwards.
I howl in terror as agony seizes me. Is it the fog? Has James been too slow? It would appear not. James grunts (apologetically?) but continues onwards regardless. I think he may have dislocated my shoulder. He picks up his pace, despite my shrieks of pain as I judder over rocks and cracks in the ground. He growls loud enough to frighten off any mortal predator and drags me faster, faster until I am sure we must be flying.
He eventually pants to a stop, having broken pretty much every bone in my body. It doesn't matter though. Capitol citizens adore cute animals. I'm already getting breakfast sent down to me courtesy of James' lopsided canine grin. I am confident that his elevation to hero status will open the gate for a steady stream of painkillers to flow down to me in those deviously charming boxes that hold gifts from the viewers.
James lets out a low pitched whine that I assume is close to a contented sigh. I feel a sharp spike of relief that I did not choose the pep talk from the real James McAvoy. This James may not be able to debate superhero fantasies with me, but his human namesake would definitely never have had the resolve to keep dragging me despite my injuries.
I flop onto the forest floor, which is harder here and with more rocks. James nuzzles under my head and I realise he's assigned himself the role of pillow.
“Thank you, James,” I whisper.
I am too shocked to feel the pain, though I know it will catch me tomorrow. No matter, I have survived one more day – and that's the best I can hope for in here.

My feet shuffle slightly on the podium as I watch the giant yellow numbers count down. Before the claxon set off I look around. I can see the other tributes, mainly careers learning forward ready to run towards the cornucopia. I gulp slightly as it nears in. Four, three, two, one….I start sprinting.

The grass around me stretches off into a darkened wood and it’s then that I know where I’m going. I hear a deafening scream; someone has fallen. I near the cornucopia and see both tributes from nine strewn on the floor, blood still seeping from their necks. I quickly scan my surroundings for whoever attacked them. Nothing. The other tributes are starting to get closer to me so I immediately start scanning the inside of the golden horn.

There is a plethora of sterile iron weapons at the mouth of the horn: daggers, swords, axes are littered across the ground. I reach for one of the swords leant against a crate, but am quickly knocked back by the butt of an axe. The female tribute from six stands above me, axe ready to strike down, that is until an arrow pierces her through the neck. I didn’t look for my saviour but I quickly jump inside the cornucopia to start rummaging for anything that I know will save me. Look Ross, look! I mutter to myself as I’m trudging through daggers and arrows. The sounds from outside reverberate off the high arched walls, screams and laughter echo into a painful melody composed by the Capitol. Then I hear something I wasn’t expecting: a bark. I quickly round to see a King Charles spaniel cowering in the corner. Her coat is white and brown, her ears floppy and long. I can see in her eyes an unimaginable fear, and I know I must look the same.
“Come here girl,” I offer. She tilts her head slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you”

“What is that mutt doing here?!” A male voice spits out, the dog’s head spinning towards her accuser making her whimper even further. I grab the handle of one of the swords by my side and stand up to face him. It’s the boy from 12. He is trying to look tough but he can’t be more than 13 and stands at around 5 foot. He backs off slightly, before tripping over a bag on the floor. It opens up revealing brown medical bandages and a flask of water. Exactly what I need, I think to myself. As I move towards the bag the dog jumps into me knocking me into the side of the cornucopia, winding me slightly. Shorty from 12 has found his feet and has in his hands in backpack. He holds the flask of water in his hands and I want to curse and tackle him until I notice his hands have started to blacken. His pale and pasty hands have started to turn ebony. Like vines it climbs up his arms, it disappears under his black outfit before reappearing at his neck. Poison I think to myself. Within a few seconds his entire body has turned to the colour of coal. He drops the floor leaving a thud which echoes throughout the horn.

The dog barks at the dead tribute on the floor. I look down at the dog who wags her tail and as I do as I realise that she knew it was poisoned. Her eyes have lightened slightly and I think she trusts me. I have an ally that I certainly wasn’t expecting. The screams have subdued and I know the careers will be coming to plunder the horn any second now. I nod to the dog and we sprint out of the horn towards the vast forest before us. As I’m sprinting away I feel a blade dig into the side of my leg, flooring me. I turn to see a career holding handful of daggers. She is smiling, revealing an abundance of sharp teeth, almost like she is a shark and I am her prey.

My eyes close tight, the blackness comforts me as I accept the end is coming. The blade has buried itself deep into the leg and I’m conscious of the fact that there is no point trying to fight it. A blood curdling scream rings out and I expect the end to come. Nothing. After a few moments there is a gentle licking at the hand and I wearily open my eyes to see the career on the floor surrounded by daggers. The dog wags its tail, she is definitely an ally. There is a painful twinge in my leg and I finally look down at the blade, blood seeps from the gash and is running down the handle.

Tightening my hand around the blade I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself screaming as I rip it out. I think I avoided any unwanted attention so force myself to my feet, holding a moment to stop myself blacking out. Colours cascade before my eyes and a sickness sits in my stomach. Remembering the danger I’m in I start into a fast limp whilst taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly. The forest edge draws near just as the pain is becoming excruciating. I make my way through those towering trees with the dog close to my heel and the sun casting elongated nightmarish shadows around me.