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Coral had been under the impression that she and the other tributes would be safe, at least up until the games.
Well, perhaps not safe, exactly. Alive, more so. Because sure, the peacekeepers would give them a beating or the odd Capitol citizen would chuck a piece of food at their heads, but surely, they'd be kept alive for the games, wouldn't they?
That's what she'd thought.
And then she'd watched the District Ten girl's bullet-filled body crumple to the ground and she'd realised just how wrong she'd been.
It was in the early hours of the morning when Coral woke. She'd tried to stay awake for Mizzen's sake, keeping him company while he struggled to sleep thanks to the hunger pains and bad memories, and then once he'd finally nodded off, she'd stayed up to keep the rats off him (the little fuckers were everywhere and if she wasn't mistaken, she was pretty sure they'd actually bitten the boy from Twelve) but eventually she'd reached her limit too and given in to sleep.
Though it hadn't kept her for long and what could only have been a meagre few hours later, she was wide awake again, drained and miserable.
So, she settled for staring blankly at the bars of the enclosure and she played with Mizzen's hair while he slept in her lap until he too began to stir and finally jolted awake; sitting upright very abruptly and taking a quick survey of his surroundings before relaxing somewhat and letting his head flop onto her shoulder.
"You good?" She asked him quietly, still breaking in her voice after sitting in silence for so long.
He hummed vaguely, the sound vibrating softly against her shoulder. "Nightmare."
It was a little difficult with her shackled wrists but she brushed her bruised knuckles against his own before slipping her hand into his and giving a small squeeze. "Yeah, I know." She muttered sympathetically. "It'll pass."
Neither of them had been sleeping well. It was to be expected upon being reaped for the Hunger Games, Coral was sure nobody was sleeping well, and it was understandable. The thought of the games had been plaguing her for days and days, Mizzen too, and after the first night of little sleep he'd sheepishly admitted to her that he couldn't sleep without his favourite stuffed octopus — which was of course, back home — so he'd had to settle for clinging to her arm and she'd done the best she could to help him sleep
But if that hadn't been bad enough, sleep had become even more difficult after what had happened to that poor girl from Ten.
Of course, it was disturbing for all of them. Sure, they'd witnessed plenty of executions in their already short lifespans, but being right there in the line of fire was a totally different experience to watching from the crowd and they'd all been plenty spooked.
But Coral and Mizzen especially had not coped well. While they hadn't known each other back then, they were both now bonded over their shared experience of losing their parents. Five years ago, Mizzen's father and both of Coral's parents had all been executed for treason after a failed rebellion from the fishermen in Four and both children had been forced to stand there and watch as their loved ones were shot.
Keyword: shot.
Like that girl.
Needless to say, it brought back some memories. None of which were particularly nice.
And then, of course, with bad memories came nightmares, and with nightmares came even more struggle to sleep, and with little sleep came even worse memories, and so, they were stuck in a miserable cycle.
Coral gently fiddled with the shackles on Mizzen's wrists, trying to examine his wounds. The restraints were far too tight, much too small for even him, and so, they'd begun to rub bloody rings around his wrists. Not that the peacekeepers cared. The shackles they'd used on the rest of the kids had been too big for some of the younger ones — mainly Mizzen and the girls from Eleven and Eight — and so their wrists had been squeezed into tiny restraints, probably meant for the monkeys that had previously inhabited the enclosure.
Mizzen winced as she worked the shackle up his arm, away from his wrist, revealing the bloody remains of deep red, irritated skin beneath.
Coral cringed but persevered, bunching up the end of her sleeve in her hand and dabbing it on the injury, attempting to soak up some of the blood, but barely a few seconds later, Mizzen whimpered in pain and she realised she wasn't cut out of this and relented, leaving the wound alone.
She sighed and rested the side of her head on top of his. Being hungry was tiring and they were both starving. Even before the violent ends of the girl from Ten and her mentor had driven away their audience just a few days ago, neither of them had received much food. Coral's mentor had been almost entirely absent and Mizzen's mentor had only thought to bring meagre offerings like small fruits and cookies, nothing very substantial. And on top of that, Coral's rather... harsh nature had managed to scare off many of the spectators, and so they'd received little food from them either.
They'd gone days now without food and though both were rather familiar with hunger, it didn't make it much easier.
Coral had begun to prepare for the worst. The peacekeepers or that irritating showman might have mentioned when the games were but she'd lost track of the days by now so had no real idea of how much longer they'd have to rot away in this enclosure. But if they still had a few more days to go, they'd need to eat.
She'd noted the size of the rats scurrying around the cage.
It was always an option...
But she wouldn't degrade herself to that level. Not yet, at least. She could hold out a little longer. It was Mizzen she was worried about.
He could probably endure starvation for a while. He'd had very little complaints thus far despite being in pain. He was a tough kid. But she didn't think she'd be able to endure seeing him suffer.
She hadn't expected to become so attached but little kids had always been her weakness. Everything he did reminded her of her brothers back home who were probably just as starved by now. Every pained sound reminded her of when a peacekeeper had lost his temper and taken it out on Tyne. Every weak cough reminded her of Marin, lying sick in bed. Every grimace reminded her of how Irving had tried to stay strong for her even when they'd all been on the verge of starvation. Every time he clung to her arm, she was reminded of how clingy Hali had been ever since their parents' deaths. He was the same age as Ronan...
But he was also his own person and he held his own unique traits which made Coral's heart ache just as much. He liked starfish and he'd been able to distract her from this whole mess on more than one occasion just with his rambles. He desperately sought her approval, like he was looking up to an older kid at school and trying to seem as cool as possible. It was very endearing. He was tough too, Coral knew very few people, even adults, who'd be able to handle what he had and he'd taken it on the chin and kept going.
She wasn't one for heartfelt declarations but she couldn't deny that he'd become just as much a brother as the other five she had back home.
Needless to say, seeing him suffer like this was not easy.
She laced her fingers with his once again and let out a long, heavy sigh. She'd try not to prepare for the imaginary. They'd just wait and see how things went.
But they needn't bother. At that moment, the big metal doors at the back of the enclosure scraped open and in marched peacekeepers, guns grasped tightly to their chests.
Coral and Mizzen both shot up and so did many of the other kids, scrambling to their feet and backing away as far as they could. Coral subconsciously put herself in front of Mizzen and shifted him to stand behind her. His hands bunched up in her jacket sleeve. She could feel them shaking.
The peacekeepers came to a halt in the middle of the enclosure and surveyed the tributes. It was still for a moment and it reminded Coral of the split second of anticipation before spearing a fish with her trident. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Then the peacekeepers stormed towards them and yanked them towards the door. Coral tried to keep a hold of Mizzen's arm but a peacekeeper slammed the butt of his gun into her wrist, forcing her to release her grip, and tugged Mizzen away, paying no mind to the cries of pain from the boy when he was tugged along by his restraints.
Coral tried to wrestle the peacekeeper off of him but was quickly overpowered by another and hauled away like everyone else.
The tributes were dragged out of the enclosure and unlike the previous times where they'd been tossed in an old truck and carted around, they were instead led a short distance through the streets of the Capitol.
They were given a wide berth by the people who inhabited these streets, garnering frantic whispers and disgusted glares. Coral tried not to be phased by them but even she began to shrink under the attention.
A few times she tried to barge past the other tributes and peacekeepers to get to Mizzen who had ended up near the front of the group but each time the peacekeeper guarding her tugged her back into place and eventually, a whack of his gun to the back of her knee was enough to get her to stop.
Maybe ten minutes or so of walking later they were brought to a truck, affixed with a tall crane with what at first glance appeared to be a flag tied to the top. Coral paid it little mind as they were shackled down to the truck bed, more concerned with getting back over to Mizzen though when she noticed the look on his face, she hesitated. He was as pale as a sheet, staring up at the top of the crane in absolute horror, and when she finally took a closer look at the 'flag' up there, she understood why.
Because it wasn't a flag strung up on the top of the crane. It was the dead body of the girl from Ten.
Coral suppressed a gag.
"That's her... body..." Mizzen mumbled, barely able to get his words out.
Neither registered the truck beginning to move, both unable to tear their gazes away from the dead body, still poc-marked with bullet wounds, her clothes stained with dark red polka dots and her skin entirely drained of its colour.
Now that she had noticed the body dangling above them, Coral found it impossible to ignore the smell. At first, she'd assumed it was just the other kids, the stench of days and days, sweltering under the unbearable sun. But now, she knew it was much worse than that. The girl was decomposing and it stank.
The truck hit a bump in the road and both kids were knocked to their knees, the body swaying dangerously above them. Coral tried to get back on her feet — which proved to be a rather difficult task due to the length of the restraints — but Mizzen accepted his fate and stayed kneeling on the truck bed. Eventually, they hit another bump in the road and Coral was forced to join him.
However, in a minuscule act of defiance, she sat up as straight as she could, keeping one hand in her lap and the other on Mizzen's back to rub comforting circles against the fabric of his sweater.
But this didn't go unchallenged as the truck turned a corner onto a big open street and Coral realised it had been lined with hundreds, maybe even thousands of spectators, staring daggers at her.
Like some nightmarish fever dream, they were the spectacle of this procession, every single pair of eyes glued to the truck, baring into them, watching. Her skin itched and her face burned.
The street had been adorned in flowers, petals dancing gracefully across the cobblestone, far too pristine to be anything naturally grown. As fake as every other damn thing in the Capitol. If anything, they were consistent.
It wasn't until Coral took a peek over her shoulder that she realised what the meaning of this display was. Behind the truck was an ornate wagon, pulled along by a quartet of horses (better taken care of than any of the tributes, mind you) and on top of the wagon sat a pure white coffin.
This was a funeral. And not for Brandy.
Coral felt Mizzen shaking under her hand and when she chanced a glance down, she realised he was crying, biting his lip to desperately try and stifle his sobs while he stared stubbornly down at the truck bed, determined not to let the Capitol have the satisfaction of seeing what they'd done to him though he'd given them exactly what they were looking for as soon as that first tear had fallen. Coral felt her own eyes prick with tears.
The entire thing only brought them back to those horrible memories that had been plaguing them over the past few days. The execution.
Coral could recall the entire thing in sickening detail. It was ridiculous, how she could picture the exact details of her parents' deaths but not their faces.
They'd been missing for a whole day by that point and Coral had assumed the worst. As soon as they'd set off to join the other fishermen, she'd known her entire life would change and ever the pessimist (though she'd argue realist), she'd only been able to picture it going horrifically wrong.
And she'd been right.
The fishermen's attempt at an uprising had started off promising. Weapons stolen, key buildings seized, they'd even managed to break into the peacekeeper barracks.
And then the Capitol had sent reinforcements. They'd been crushed before the sun rose.
And then a day later, the entire district had been rounded up in the square and Coral had known exactly what to expect.
As they were led onto the stage, some of the rebels went peacefully, accepting their fates, but not Coral's parents. Much like their daughter, they refused to go down without a fight, and so, they'd kicked and screamed and Coral had watched, totally numb, as they were beaten within an inch of their lives on the stage.
As she'd held her brothers' shaking hands and silently comforted their cries, she found that she resented her parents for what they'd done. She loved them, of course, but she would never be able to forgive this. Not when they'd abandoned her, left her to take care of five kids, not when they'd forced her brothers to watch their punishment because they were too damn stubborn to just give up.
As the peacekeepers readied their guns, Coral's eyes wandered to the crowd around her. She couldn't help but feel judged, expecting all eyes to be on her, watching and waiting for her to give them even a sliver of a reaction. But they weren't. All eyes were glued to the stage. Well, not all.
Coral met the gaze of another pair of vacant eyes. A little boy, a fair bit younger than her. He had damp brown hair which looked to have grown out and now brushed the back of his neck. He wore dark blue overalls on top of a stripy shirt which was a little too big around the wrists, engulfing his little hands which were bunched in the fabric of his mother's dress. As the pair looked at each other, the boy's hand let go to fiddle with a piece of sea glass — shaped like a star — that had been tied around his neck with a piece of thick thread.
It was only when a man up on stage shouted something that the boy looked away, his eyes flickering back to the stage and the vacant look fading into fear as his eyes filled with tears. It wouldn't be till later on that night that Coral would realise the man had shouted a name.
Mizzen.
Much like how she'd done for her brothers back during the execution, Coral put an arm around Mizzen and pulled him close to her side. He shifted where he knelt, a small whimper escaping him despite his best attempts to stifle it, and he buried his face in her jacket.
Maybe it was an instinct. Even back then she'd wanted to protect him. Wrap him up and put him away somewhere safe. And she hadn't even known him.
Now she did, or at least, she felt she did, and it had become less of an instinct and more personal.
He was her friend, like her own damn brother, and she wanted to keep him safe.
She wouldn't be able to kill him in the games.
And that was an issue. But an issue for later.
The bashing of drums made both of them flinch but Coral was intent to maintain her composure so she tried to show no reaction to this. Though that was made much more difficult thanks to the sounds of Mizzen crying beside her. Everything he did seemed to tug at her heartstrings.
And to make things more difficult, Coral barely had the chance to register the blur flying towards her out of the corner of her vision before it hit her in the side of the head. She ducked too late and watched a bruised apple roll across the truck bed in front of her. She glared up at whoever could have thrown it but there were far too many hateful faces in the crowd to differentiate from. She hung her head and pocketed the apple for later. Shame ached in her throat.
The truck turned and swung lazily around a corner. Coral had to reach for the side of the truck to steady herself before the vehicle righted itself and continued down a new street towards a grand podium waiting patiently at the other end.
A rather old and withered man — the president, as Coral remembered from the few times she'd bothered to tune into the Capitol propaganda on TV — began to speak. "Two days ago, Arachne Crane's young and precious life was ended, and so we mourn another victim of the criminal rebellion that yet besieges us."
Coral scoffed. Brandy was no rebel. She was just a girl.
"Her death was as valiant as any on the battlefield, her loss more profound as we claim to be at peace. But no peace will exist while this disease eats away at all that is good and noble in our country. Today we honour her sacrifice with a reminder that while evil exists, it does not prevail. And once again, we bear witness as our great Capitol brings justice to Panem."
Coral wanted to scream. She wanted to shriek and wail and demand to know what she'd done, what any of them had done, to deserve this. Just because of some stupid rebellion years ago, they all had to pay? She'd only been seven when the war had ended! Mizzen had been three!
Despite her parents, Coral had never been much of a rebel. Of course, she hated the current regime but she couldn't afford to fight it. Not when she had people relying on her and she refused to be as selfish as her damn parents and leave her brothers on their own. So instead, she did what she could to live a normal life with the little she had. Was that really deserving of this fate?
A woman with mad hair and a freaky eye took to the podium next and the truck continued its sluggish journey down the street. "Arachne Crane, we, your fellow citizens of Panem, vow that your death will not be in vain. When one of ours is hit, we hit back twice as hard. The Hunger Games will go forward, with more energy and commitment than ever before, as we add your name to the long list of the innocent who died defending a righteous and just land. Your friends, family, and fellow citizens salute you and dedicate the Tenth Anual Hunger Games to your memory."
So they were mourning death with more death?
That girl had not died defending shit, other than her ridiculously large ego. She'd played with fire and she'd gotten burnt, as simple as that. The one really deserving of this funeral was Brandy, the poor girl who had been taunted with the promise of food and been shunned by the world for lashing out.
But it didn't matter who was 'deserving'. Capitol would always trump district.
Coral had watched children wither away on the streets from their own hunger, fishermen get caught in nets and drown, her own fucking parents shot on stage. But no matter how 'innocent' they were, they'd never be rewarded this sort of remembrance by the Capitol.
Instead, it was reserved for some stupid girl who'd fucked around and found out.
The truck was full of crying children, dirty and defeated, and around them the Capitolites drank and ate and celebrated the life of this poor, poor girl.
Coral's stomach ached unbearably.
She removed the apple from her pocket and with her head hung in shame, she took a bite.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.