Capitol Pawns

I have to leave Booker behind to hunt today. He’s been strong for so long, but something hit him after Caraway died and he’s fallen apart at the seams since. I’m trying to hold us together during his moment of downfall because, to be honest, I haven’t proven any worth in the arena. I’ve skated through, depending on Booker to help me through the hard times, but now it’s time to prove I’m a fighter.

My fingers fumble over the snares I try to rig. I’ve watched Booker do them so many times before that this should be second nature to me, but I become increasingly frustrated as they fail to come together like I want. Like I need.

It’s been days since we’ve had any real food and I know it’s only time before starvation and dehydration kills us before another tribute does.

After moments of frustrated struggles, I rig a successful snare and make a mental note of where I leave it, hoping to come back to it later and find some sort of meal in its grasp. For the next hour, I move silently through the area, setting snares before continuing to move.

I check on Booker twice during my endeavors and excitedly tell him how I’ve managed to set the same snares he normally does, but he only stares back blankly at me. Even my excitement isn’t enough to woo him out of his numb state which is entirely out of character. I’m worried about him. This isn’t the Booker I’ve come to know. The Booker I know is strong, loving, and level-headed. This Booker is caught up in the loss of his teammate – and trust me, I know that kind of pain – and has lost all sense of fight.

Booker’s lack of interest in his survival is starting to irk me and it makes me wonder if he felt the same way when I lost all will to survive. For the past – hell, I don’t know how many days we’ve been in the arena – he’s been my rock, my go-to guy, my protector. He’s held me together even when I didn’t want to be alive. He’s not allowed to be weak. He can’t be weak; he’s Booker.

“Are you gonna say anything?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips as I stare down at him. He merely sits there and stares back at me with his melancholy grey eyes, but no words escape his lips. “Fine, I’ll hold us together like you always have. I’ll go get us food because I owe it to you, but I can’t imagine going on in these games without you, okay? So please, please just pull yourself together.”

He closes his eyes and grimaces like it’s not what he wants to hear, but I don’t care anymore. It’s the truth.

As I turn to leave, I feel something on my shoulder and I turn slowly to see Booker holding out his bow to me.

“Take it,” He instructs quietly. “I don’t need this anymore.”

Rather than fight him on it, I sling the quiver over my shoulder and shakily take the bow from his hands.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” I say confidently. “I love you, Booker.”

“I love you too, Scout,” He answers, smiling slightly. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

I nod and turn away, heading in the direction of my snares on a mission for a meal. My stomach is so empty that it no longer begs for food. It merely accepts defeat and sits in an unhappy state of emptiness that has become the norm. Still, my mouth waters at the thought of a skewered squirrel or other game the forest has to offer and I find the energy to trek through the overgrowth.

The first few snares are empty and my heart drops a little bit each time I come across another empty one, but still I fight to continue. My muscles ache in the worst way possible, but I can’t give up hope now; Booker needs me to be strong. I need me to be strong. I’m here in the top 8 and I know better than anyone that I’ve done nothing to earn my place. This is the time to step up and show everyone that I am the little spitfire I marketed myself as during training. I need to show them that I belong here and that I have what it takes to win.

As I approach my last snare and my hopes for dinner are dwindling, movement catches my eye. I tiptoe closer; making sure the trees can hide me from view, and scout out the scene. There’s a boy standing over a squirrel that’s found its way into my snare and I step forth boldly with an arrow readied in Booker’s bow.

“That’s mine,” I growl, hunger getting the best of me.

The boy looks up and his deep brown eyes beg for forgiveness. His cheeks are hollow and his hair is clumped together with earth. He backs away slowly with both hands out in front of him.

“I’m s-sorry,” He says and I recognize him as the boy from 4 – the same boy who I’ve questioned this entire game.

Despite his athletic build and brute strength, I’ve always questioned why he volunteered. Ever since I first saw him on the screen, he looked distant and indifferent to his part in the games and I lower the bow slowly.

“Where are the other Careers? Why are you alone?” I ask, cautiously. The arrow is still loaded in case it needs to be used, but I’m genuinely curious as to where the other Careers are.

“The Careers fell apart a long time ago,” He laughs slightly. “District 1 ran off almost immediately and I haven’t seen or heard from them since. My partners dead,” His voice quivers at this piece of information. “And the tributes from 2 are somewhere out there, sadistically plotting.”

“Why aren’t you with 2, then?”

He shakes his head and his brown eyes beg me to stop asking questions. “If you’re gonna kill me, kill me.”

“I just wanna know,” I explain. “I kinda wanna know why you’re here.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Because it’s what’s expected; I have to bring glory to my family.”

“So why’d you leave the other Careers?” I ask again. “If you want a strong team, they’re your best bet.”

“Not at this point, they’re not. They’re the best bet at getting killed,” He puts his hands up in defense and takes a few steps forward. I raise the bow and take aim in preparation, but let him continue. “The only way to win at this point is to seek to help elsewhere.”

“Why’d you let Rogue kill the girl from 10 that first night?” I ask, still aiming the arrow at his throat. “I saw you; you looked like you wanted to be anywhere but there.”

I catch him off guard and he looks at me with desperation in his eyes. He closes his eyes and turns away momentarily to collect himself.

“I’ve been trained my entire life to kill, but when I looked her in the eyes, I just couldn’t do it,” He says and tears threaten to escape his eyes. He throws his hands into the air. “I know, right? A Career from District 4 can’t even kill a measly little girl from 10; but I couldn’t. I’m not a ruthless killing machine. I can’t even bring myself to hunt which is why I was gonna steal your squirrel.”

When I told Booker I’d be back for dinner, I don’t think he expected me to bring company. But as the squirrel roasts over the fire he’d prepared for my arrival, the three of us sit in a happy silence and for once, I feel like I’ve done something important.