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A Single Spark
Towering buildings power over the crowd below, trapping them in the murky gloom of the shadows. You can see them going ecstatic over the tributes riding down the runway on black, steel, gladiator chariots, pulled by dark horses. You know the fate that awaits the twenty four children below: Death (for all but one.)A lone victor.
Trying to illuminate the runway, spot lights do little to keep the darkness at bay. The roar of the crowd battles to be louder than the anthem played on full belt, shaking the ground with such immense volume. Hanging along the sides of the runways are banners, presenting this year’s tributes, mocking them at the misfortune of the terrors that are waiting for them. The path reflects the obscurity of the city, encasing the horrors unknown to the public. A single strong, enormous, powerful black horse charges its way down the runway dragging me and my partner behind in a mighty chariot. Peeta beside me looks so powerful, like nothing in the world could stop him, only the contrary.
The flames of the suit reflects in his eyes, like a fire ignited to destroy. His golden blond hair slicked back carefully, so it won’t catch fire. Underneath the flames I know there is a black fire proof suit, protecting our lives. As I look up to the banners showing our every movement, I see the flames slither across my face. I look majestic. I look like someone else who doesn’t come from somewhere like my background, with rotting small dingy houses. My hair is done so precisely to hang just a few inches off my shoulders in a plat of the multi shades in my hair.
As silent as a whisper I could hear a hiss underneath the volume of the crowd and faintly feel my suit shudder; something’s not right. That fifth sense in the back of my head was ringing on full alert but the crowd around continued their crazy ways as if it was all ok. Sweat started to trickle painfully slowly down my face and into my left eye; I felt as if I was in a desert at midday. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a single spark, jump off my suit and onto the plush red carpet racing beneath the chariot.
As quick as a tiger the fire spread burning the red carpet. Breaking the crowd out of their trance, desperate screams echo, as people rushed about wanting to escape the flames. The banners fall to the ground in ashes and smoke rises suffocating the air. My lungs tighten and my breath comes out in harsh ragged breaths. I see Peeta fall to the floor trying to grasp some vital last gulps of air. Before I can follow, my vision goes white as a cloth covers my mouth blocking out the worst of the smoke. Falling back, I land in the arms of someone behind me, who then starts to drag me out of the fire.
Breaking the crust sealing my eyes closed, the flood of bright white walls burns my eyes; forcing me to look away. Thoughts flooded my head: where am I, what happen to my suit at the parade, who took me out of the smoke? My body aches from sitting upright in this uncomfortable wooden chair for too long. Trying to stretch my stiff arms, I realise that they are tied together with another pair of hands. Peeta! Shaking his hands, a moan escapes his lip then he snaps up awake out of the dream he was stuck in before. A quick glance around the room reveals a steel door and a large mirror covering one side of a large square room. Obviously it must be a one way view mirror, where our capturers can see us but we can only see ourselves. I have been stripped of my fire suit, which has been replaced with a plain, itchy white shirt and trousers. My hair now looks like a bird or rat might live in it. Peeta however looks worse than me: he has a large cut traveling from his forehead, over his eye and onto the top of his right cheek. The blood has crusted up where it’s not been addressed properly (or at all even.)
“Hello” my voice croaks out into the spacious room.
“Can I have a glass of water please?” I ask again, this time trying to sound braver, but only managing to hurt my throat. If someone will come in that will leave the door open to escape, but the only problem is mine and Peeta’s hands are tied. As soon as I thought of the idea I started to wriggle my hands but keeping the harsh rope around our wrists.
“Peeta, Peeta listen to me, we’re going to get out, ok?” I whisper as quietly as I could manage; a squeeze of my hand let me know that Peeta was listening.
“In about 40 seconds someone will come in here with a glass of water. When he opens the door, we’ll knock him over and run out. I’ve loosened the rope around our wrists but don’t move yet because they can see us through the mirror. Got it?” Again Peeta replied with a squeeze of my hand. Taking in a large gulp of air, I heard the lock click open and me and Peeta jumped out of our chairs rushing to the door to get there in time. It seemed to happen in slow motion. The door squeaked open revealing a small man carrying a glass of water. Peeta threw a punch that hit is jaw with an almighty crack, making the innocent man fall to the floor. We rushed past running as fast as our bodies would allow us; we travelled with such speed and grace that our surroundings were just a blur. All I could focus on was the clear glass door in front of us. Barely slowing down, we pushed the door open and stumbled into an open stretch of grass… we’re free!
The bang sounded first. Then I felt it. My body collapsed in agony of the bullet that had entered my back. I did not realise that they would hurt us, otherwise I would have stayed in the room but who knew what they were going to do with us. The pain roared inside me filling every place it could. I rolled over onto my back to try and release the pain, but even more pain erupted inside me. I knew, that was it, as I couldn’t have taken it anymore. My vision started to go blurry then went completely white.