Young Writers Society

Prompt: Write a short story about what you would grab from the cornucopia and why.

The options were seemingly endless. The cornucopia, piled high with food, weapons, and general provisions stood tall and ominous in front of me. I shifted uneasily, clenching my fists. I surveyed the objects closest to my side of the black-iron cornucopia.

There were many of food items, but many of them didn't look safe to eat. There were strips of meat jerked from the body of some unidentified animal, blocks of cheese that stank so badly I could smell them from where I stood when the wind shifted in my direction, and strange loaves of bread. The bread was particularly interesting.

The loaves were as white as my abdomen— nothing like the seaweed and salt bread we had back home— and unshaped; just stretched out blobs of dough that someone baked. I wasn’t sure that I particularly wanted to try any. Give me little fish shaped loaves of bread and salted trout any day.

My eyes flicked away from the food to assess the weapons that offered their handles to me; their number were few. There was a bow, unstrung, lying on the ground to the right, a quiver of arrows spilling out beside it. It was no good. I didn’t know the first thing about bows. I couldn’t shoot one if my life depended on it, as it very soon might, and I certainly couldn’t put the string on a bow.

There was a large sledgehammer to my left, partly hidden by a simple brown leather bag. I glanced up at the other tributes; some were big, strong guys with chests and arms rippling with muscles. They could do some damage with the hammer. I couldn’t. There was little need for such large hammers on the ships and my body wasn’t used to swinging anything so heavy. I doubted I would even be able to lift it, once I got tired or injured.

The countdown started. I felt my muscles grow tense as a loud voice, seemingly coming from the sky, began counting backward from fifty seconds. The voice seemed mocking to me, as he announced the exact remainder of how much time was left before I would be in the battle of my life. A battle for my life. I wet my lips and I looked at the other provisions nearby, knowing I’d need to make a choice soon.

My eyes flitted across a piece of canvas, folded on top of a wooden slat crate. I couldn’t tell what was in the crate. In front of it sat several nylon drawstring bags, bright orange, bulging from whatever was stuffed inside them. An extra windbreaker jacket with matching pants were out in the open a few yards in front of them, easily accessible. Easily identifiable. A bright red color; they’d mark me in an instant.

“Twenty-five… twenty-four… twenty-three…”

A spearhead glinted in the afternoon light. My eyes locked on it. Spears I knew how to use. Tridents, harpoons, spears — all were used for sport fishing back home, in District Four, and I was well known for my ability with a spear. I glanced at the distance I had to cover to reach the spear. It was hopeless. The spear was near the point of the cornucopia and all of the crates, and bags, and bowls of food stood between me and it. I sighed.

The countdown flashed in the sky. Fifteen… fourteen… thirteen…

My heart was racing. I swallowed hard, rubbing my palms on my pant legs, frantically searching for something I could get and then run to safety. I knew I didn’t have anything to worry about from the other Careers. At least I hoped I didn’t. I proved myself in training and my father’s friend in the Capitol promised to sponsor me. By extension, his friend offered support to anyone who sided with me.

I made sure all the Careers knew of that promise.

My eyes landed on a dark, mottled gray cloak. It was large; far too large for my small frame. The cloak could fit one of the big, sledgehammer wielding boys, from the looks of it. Still, I was pretty sure I knew what it was; and if it was what I thought it was, then I definitely wanted it.

Seven… six… five…

The citizens of the Capitol would be going wild. My district would be watching with bated breath, trying to catch a glimpse of their tributes. Of me. I swallowed hard again, forcing my face into a glare, unwilling to look weak when so many of my friends were watching. When I was about engage in what my Uncle trained me for my entire life.

Three… Two…

A quick glance at the other tributes. My heart was in my throat, beating so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. My vision swam. The Games were suddenly far more real, and far scarier, than they’d ever been before. Cloak. I locked my eyes on it. If it was the same cloak I’d seen in the Games a few years before, it would make me invisible at night.

One…

If it was the same cloak I’d seen in the Games before, it was worth the risk. I could walk with no more noise than a ghost, when there was time for me to consider where I placed my feet. If I could be as invisible as I was silent, there would be no stopping me.

A loud buzzer.

I sprinted from the platform where I was standing. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The next few moments went whizzing past me too fast for me to realize what was happening. I was so dizzy. So sick, as a spray of hot blood splashed into my face. I hesitated, rubbing my face. It wasn’t mine. I ran. Faster than I’d ever run before, I started toward the gray and green cloak.

Ten strides in front of me. The fabric looked rough and worn, but in good condition. Five strides. I jerked to the side at the last moment, a girl from District One suddenly standing squarely in front of me, a small, scrawny boy from District Eight in her grasp. She brought her knife down on him. I turned my head to the side as I leapt around them, unwilling to watch, suddenly queasy from the bloodshed. I mentally kicked myself. Two strides.

I leapt forward, diving for it, my arms stretched out in front of me. My fingers wrapped around the course fabric and tucked my head. As soon as I stopped rolling I pushed myself backward until I was leaning against the wall of the cornucopia, being sure that a large box hid me from view as I hugged the cloak close to my chest.

It was a lot heavier than it looked on the screen when I watched all those years ago from a stool in the tavern, and far heavier than I anticipated as I snatched it off the crate. Giving it a closer look I realized that it was just a dull green cloak, but small bits of fabric sewed to it in blacks, and grays, and browns gave it a mottled look. I slid my hand inside the cloak and was pleasantly surprised to realize it was lined with thick black satin.

I heard a footstep coming nearer to me. A shadow falling behind me on the wall. Suddenly I was jerked out of my happy thoughts about the cloak; was thrust back into the middle of a blood bath. I scrambled for the sharpest thing near me—just a small knife, the blade no longer than the width of my hand. It would do. I grabbed it and did my best to silently push myself into a less vulnerable position, my heart racing once more.

Before I could move very far, the boy from District Two was standing over me with a large rapier. I kept my arm back and ready to attack, stiffly, but didn’t move—just stared at him breathlessly to see if we were still friends, now that the scent of blood was in the air. He just looked at me a long moment before sneering, “Aw, how cute. She brought her blankie with her.”

He walked away. I let my arm fall and head drop backward. Sighing, I rubbed my face and looked at the cloak. It would make a good blanket when it got cold… if I wasn’t using it to hide me as I slaughtered people in their sleep. Either way, I’d be warm. If I didn’t die before I got the chance.

I shook my head, trying to get my breathing under control. Sure I looked weak, and embarrassed myself in front of not only the other Careers but in front of my whole District. But I’d survived the Blood Bath, and that was all that mattered right now.