#aoparena1

[loganbaxwoll-blog]

A Little Bit of Running all Night Long, A Little Bit of Food is All I Need - (Part 2) | Logan

"What the fuck! I repeat. What. The. Fuck!"

A few minutes ago, Logan had stepped foot in the Jungle. It was still dark, but as far as his eyes could see, he was surrounded by dark, tall figures, that looked like trees. Having already passed hanging vines, he knew plants and berries had to have been here. It made him overjoyed, even smiled widely for the first time since he entered the Arena. But as he moved around the area, he kept hearing rustling. Rustling turned into laughter and rustling. As Logan listened more closely, the laughter sounded more like screeching. He took a few more steps and then stopped. He stood still, only moving his eyes and head to see if a tribute was approaching him. When he stopped turning and focused his attention on something in the distance coming towards him, it wasn't a tribute. He couldn't see what it was until the creatures were feet away from him.

They were something equivalent to monkeys.

With wings.

Flying.

Yellow eyed.

Blue Monkeys.

And they could fly faster than the trains of District Six, and easily run as fast or faster than Logan, himself.

These were the creatures Logan had been dealing with, since he arrived.

He could hear them screech in his ear, as some of the monkeys now ran next to him, while the rest flew above and beside him. " Nice monkey muttations," he started nervously, glancing at all of the monkeys surrounding him, " nice killing...ugly monkey muttations!" One of the running monkeys screeched at him. Shouldn't have said that.

The running monkey that had just screeched at him, jumped and grabbed hold of his right leg. It's claws wrapped around it as the creature hugged it tightly, baring it's teeth to bite down into his leg. Logan tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't let go. Then, the monkey flying above his head, landed on his head. Logan used his small knife to slash the monkey's back, holding onto his leg. The monkey let go and rolled past the other running monkeys, by his side.

The monkey on his head was able to stay there by using it's claws to clench onto the top of Logan's head. Logan used his other hand to try and pull the monkey off his head, but he misjudged how the monkey was sitting on his head. Pulling it off, the monkey managed to scrape three long cuts onto the top right side of his head. He felt a sharp pain as he pulled the monkey, off. He hadn't known the damage, but feeling no blood trickle down the back of his neck, he guessed the skin just opened up and blood hadn't fallen out. Yet.

He threw the monkey back, behind him, as another flying monkey flew in front of him, and used one of it's claws to slash at his left cheek. Logan's head turned, as if he'd been slapped, blood starting to fall from this injury. Logan used his knife to stab the monkey, but it was too quick, and flew over him this time. Logan tripped over something on the ground and his body tumbled forward until his back hit a thick branch and stopped his movement.

It took a few seconds for Logan to come back from the sudden hit, and notice all of the monkeys, running or flying towards him, ready to kill him. He raised his knife, forcing himself to defend himself. With his injuries and now weak body, Logan thought this was it. He wasn't going to be able to kill all of the monkey muttations. They were too fast and he was outnumbered. But he kept his knife raised anyway, more than willing to take a few down with him, if he could. " Come on," he said, quietly. " COME ON!"  he shouted, as they were a few inches from him.

Just as they all came in to attack at once, there was another sudden sound. 

All of the monkey muttations stopped, beside and in front of Logan. He looked at the creatures and he had seen they had turned thier attention to another direction. He looked their same direction. He saw nothing. But he did hear sounds coming from the same direction. He just couldn't make out who or what it was they were reacting too. One of the monkey's screeched, and suddenly, they all followed towards the sounds they heard. Logan still had his knife raised, as if they would come back. But when they didn't, he sighed and let his entire body relax as he lied on the ground.

He wasn't sure what made them react. Another tribute? Sounds in general? Whatever it was, he couldn't hear their rustling, anymore. He wanted to get up and move, but he was exhausted. He was still hungry and he barely had any energy left to do anything. He forced his heavy eyelids to stay open, to avoid the nightmares. He decided, since he could barely move, to use this time to grab the attention of his sponsors and ask for a sponsor gift. He wasn't sure which would be more helpful: water or food, so he asked for the one that first came to mind.

"Food," he said quietly, looking up into the sky, not looking for any particular camera. He felt like he just had to voice it loud enough. He gulped, feeling nothing in his dry throat and repeated: " Food!" but louder this time.

[loganbaxwoll-blog]

A Little Bit of Running all Night Long, A Little Bit of Food is All I Need - (Part 1) | Logan

After he mourned Irma's death, Logan got back up on his feet. He was wide awake now. Even if he desperately needed a few more hours of sleep, he never wanted to shut his eyes ever again. He knew if he did, Irma would be the center of his nightmares. He'd try to remember the good memories with her, but he had no doubt that nightmares surrounding her death, would follow.

It was dark, but his small pack was close enough to his body to see. He moved his arms through the straps of the pack, so it hung from his shoulders. He did his best to cover his tracks by taking apart his shelter and placing the bushes back where they belonged, kicking dirt over the holes dug. He left the berries marks on the ground. He wasn't coming back to the floating islands. He planned to move on the morning of Day Two, but since he was afraid of what sleeping would bring him, he decided to move at night.

Logan worked his legs since the bloodbath, and since he was restless and hungry for so long, it started to take a toll on his body. He carefully made his way across the next rickety bridge as quickly as he could, but Logan knew he wasn't moving as fast as he was used to. He didn't look very happy to make it to the last floating island, but he was. He started to turn, looking for any edible plants or berries he could eat, when he saw a glimpse of light, floating in the air.

He turned back to see he hadn't imagined it. It really was a light, floating in the air. Logan was drawn to it. He slowly walked towards it, then stopped, waiting for it to meet him on the floating island. To Logan, it looked like something that could be found in the sea of District Four. Irma. He wanted to turn his back on it, when he thought of her. But he thought of using the light, to better see the plants and berries on the island. He didn't want to waste his matches doing that. When the light reached the island, Logan stretched out his arm to touch it, before he could see behind it that the single light wasn't alone.

Logan lowered his arm and jumped back. As they spread from behind the first light, Logan panicked and started counting how many there were, with his eyes. He didn't know what to do now, but when he could see them all, he could see the lights start to float faster, towards him. He didn't have much time to think as the first light was nearing his body, so he decided to do what he knew best:run.

He wasn't as careful, rushing through the rickety bridge that lead downward. One of the planks broke off just as stepped off the plank, making his body stagger, before making himself stop so he could regain his balance. He lost time when he stopped, and the floating lights easily caught up with him. Logan started to jog now, not paying attention to the planks below his feet. Another plank fell below his right foot and his leg would've fallen all the way through, if he hadn't planted his left foot down and grabbed the hold of the sides of the bridge in time.

The lights had reached him, as he slowly tried to pull himself up onto the bridge. As he made his way up, one of the creatures attached itself to his neck. Logan shouted out in pain and gripped the sides of the bridge, as it's body stung like fire. When he made it back on the bridge, he immediately brought his small knife down on the small enclosed area of creature, ripping it out, and watching the small creature fall from his neck. The others followed after all other parts of his body, but Logan was on the move again.

He was able to keep a little distance between the lights and himself, for the rest of the bridge jog. When he made it to the end, he raised his knife, ready to attack, but the creatures just turned away from him, going back the way he came. It was when the first light attacked him, did he realize they were mutts, and for some reason, they couldn't go passed that point. Logan sighed in relief and used the reflection off his small knife as a mirror, to see the damage done. He couldn't see much, but he was burned on the side of his neck. Logan sighed at the damage, and frowned when he almost dropped his knife. His body was weak. He needed something in his stomach. Anything.

Logan turned around in the darkness. Maybe the place he was standing in now had an all-you-can-eat edible plants and berries, buffet.

[loganbaxwoll-blog]

The Girl by the Sea | Logan

He woke up again, eyes watery and body sweating from the repeating nightmare. This time, he was fully alert when he looked up in the sky for the victims of the last three cannons that roared. He watched anxiously, afraid of the names and faces he might find, up there. He'd try for the next few minutes to focus on who had died and what district they were from. The first was Breehana from District Eight. He'd never met her, but he knew her family had just lost a child in here, just like the next tribute: Barton from District Nine. Both lives could have been extended, possibly happier, if they hadn't competed in this years Games. Logan couldn't help but feel relieved that the last two tributes weren't the three girls he'd grown closer to. He could've gone to sleep, without restlessness, if the last name he'd seen wasn't Irma Forks.

Irma. Irma's gone.

When the anthem ended, Logan could still be seen staring up at the sky. Like Irma's picture was still there, but instead of looking serious or frowning, she was smiling. Which made it harder on Logan's emotional state. Staring out into the night sky, he let a single tear quickly trail down his right cheek. " No," he stated, in denial of her own death, while rubbing his hair in frustration. He stopped, feeling his bottom lip tremble and another tear race down his left cheek. "No..." he said again, in a quiet high pitched tone, as he began to weep for the girl he'd lost.

He brought his knees to his chest and crossed his arms on his knees, burying his face in his arms as he cried. His breathing was uneven as he cried for her, his face wet with tears. He tried to make himself stop, several times, but everytime he tried, he'd just cry harder. Not only had Logan seen Irma as one of his friends, but she was his first friend that had ever been killed. None of his friends were ever killed. Yeah, they come and go, but none of them were ever killed. Until now.

As he sobbed, he couldn't help but remember the girl he met. The conversations they had, the laughter they shared in the cafeteria and the Climbing station. “I would like to be like you. You seem so self-confident.”  More tears continued to pour out. “That’s a thing I don’t want to happen. Get to the end with you. But I don’t wanna think about that.”  Logan raised his head, unevenly breathing again, as he wiped away the tears from his wet, before he left his hand on his face, and continued to cry. "I'm kinda shy. And I don't trust people easily. I'm not good at making friends." He couldn't stop crying. "I’m just the weird girl who everyone ignores....You know this the last night I can be with you like this. You know, free, not under pressure-”  " I'M SORRY IRMA!" he cried out, trying to silence her voice in his head. " I'm so sorry!" he continued to cry. 

He began to blame himself. He should've formed an alliance with her. He should've looked passed her title as a career and helped to protect her. He knew she would've done the same for him. They weren't that different. He should've tried harder. All that was left of her family was her mother and herself. And now Irma was gone. He suddenly stopped crying and had this dead look in his eyes. He wanted so badly to squeeze the life out of the one who killed her. If he could crush the face of her killer, then break every bone in thier body, with his hands, he would. But Logan wasn't a killer. He wasn't a killer, but he wanted someone to pay for Irma's death. He wiped his face one more time of the wet tears, before he cried, no more. He would never know if the screams of the girl hours ago was Breehana's or Irma's, but he knew Irma probably let out screams as she was being killed. Logan could only hope someone was there for her, at her last moments of life, before she died.

Logan couldn't help it. He was hungry for food, just as much as he was hungry to find Irma's killer. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, after he found them, but right now, he could only set his mind on killing them. Irma was now another reason he would try to win the Games.

Logan stared up into the sky, knowing there had to be a camera, up there. A sadness, determination, and rage could all be seen from his brown eyes. His voice was determined as he stared up, into the sky.

" For Irma," he said, before turning away.

[loganbaxwoll-blog]

Let Em' Rip | Logan

The roar of the seventh cannon suddenly awoke Logan from his nightmare. In the nightmare, he'd lost the three people he'd like to call his friends. Barely able to hear a girl's screams, he immediately jumped over his shelter of bushes, and ran towards the direction the screams came from. All three of the people were girls, but the one Logan most worried for was Irma since she was younger than him.

He would've died if he hadn't looked down at where he marked the cut off, and stopped. He shaped his mouth, ready to shout out the names of three girls to see if he'd get a response: Irma, Larka, and Rowan. But he stopped himself, remembering the Sponsors was watching. And realizing, if he shouted their names and someone else could hear him, he'd give away his location. He could hear his fast heartbeat ring through his ears as he tried to think of what to do,next. He forced himself to turn around and walk back to his shelter, worry easily seen in his eyes.

Lying down on his back and looking up at the night sky, Logan wished he could turn off his friendly personality. Turn off his worry for those he cared about, not gotten to know them to the point that he was afraid to lose them. Now, his nightmare may have become reality. That cannon could have been one of their's, and the screams, the last he heard come out of their mouth. He wouldn't know until one of their faces had shown in the sky.

Logan started to close his eyes as the hunger started to come back. He wouldn't rest easy, tonight. The girl's screams would haunt his thoughts, and enter his nightmare, giving all three girls the same screaming voice. He wouldn't rest easy, until he knew which girl was killed.

As he slept, just to wake up numerous times sweating to the same nightmare, he watched as each of the three girls repeated the screams he heard, just before they were murdered right in front of his eyes.

[loganbaxwoll-blog]

No Rest for the Logan | Day One - Arena

He made it. Logan Baxwoll of District 6 made it passed the Bloodbath. He was still focusing on his breathing on the outside, but he was smiling on the inside. Logan could take as many small battles won in the Arena, as he could get.

Closing his eyes, he realized that his uneven breathing could've easily been fixed with water. He suddenly opened his eyes and started rummaging through his small pack. He dumped the contents of the bag out, and sat looking at: two matches, a plastic sheet, and a water bottle. His eyes lit up at the sight of the bottle. He quickly loosened the top and brought the water bottle to his lips. Tilting it upward so he could feel the water, rush through his throat. When nothing came out, he stared at it, then turned it upside down to see nothing was in the bottle. " Shit!" he quietly cursed, throwing the bottle at the pack.

He got to his feet and walked towards the edge. He stopped short, looking out at the floating islands. From the number of islands he set foot on, all of them were floating. Their cliffs and rocky bottoms were extraordinary, but deadly for any tribute on top of them. He already glanced down at the bottom while running, and he knew. Any tribute that fell from that height would be lucky if they died, in the air. Logan wasn’t going to stay long. He decided he’d stay for a day, build some kind of shelter, keep himself hidden, then be on his way. There was nothing behind him, but there was another bridge on the next island that led downward. Logan hoped it would lead him to the ground but, whether it did or not, he was going to take that chance.

Logan spent the rest of the day surveying the island and preparing himself. The berries on the island were poisonous, which frustrated him as much as the empty water bottle. He threw one of the berries at one of the trees, and the juices inside the berry trailed down the wood. The juices gave him an idea. He collected a handful of the berries. He walked a distance away from the cliffs, but just enough to see where the land, cut off. Using his hands, he marked where the most dangerous cut offs of land by placing a few berries down on the ground and smashing them with his hand. When he was done, one of his hands were a bluish purple. The clean up was messy, and a little gross for the viewers, as he used saliva from spitting and a leaf to wipe of any trace of the berries on his hand.

There were bushes on higher ground that he used for shelter. He walked around, breaking off the branches of where the bushes grew out from, with his boots. He used his knife to cut a small holes in the ground and push the bushes’ branches down in them, until they stood up. It wasn’t anything special, not prepared enough to be perfect shelter, but enough to keep his entire body hidden while lying down.

He took frequent naps throughout the day, to keep his mind off his hunger. He’d never gone a day without something in his stomach, even if it was just water. He would go to sleep, hungry, just to wake up to a few free minutes, before the hunger kicked in again. He finally called it a day, collecting his materials. The contents on the small pack went back inside it. The wire inside one of his pants pockets, and the knife in his hand. He settled into his small shelter, surrounded by bushes on all sides of his body, while he stared up at the sky. He turned his body and cut a small hole through the bushes, so he could see if any other tributes came along on the island. Lying back on his back, he sighed, before he fell into a deep sleep that lasted several hours, before the anthem of the Capitol woke him up again.

He woke up, startled, at the sound of the anthem. He raised half way up, with his knife in hand, looking around, until he looked up to the sky. He lowered his weapon and watched the faces and names of those who had fallen during the Bloodbath. He counted six deaths, which included Ismene. He wasn’t friends with her, but still felt saddened. He knew the Mayor would be mourning the death of another one of his daughters, but he was just happy he didn’t have to be the one who killed her. When the anthem ended, Logan knew Rowan, Irma, and Larka were still alive. That was good. Apart of him thought he could’ve been good friends with them, if they all lived in the same district.

He lied down on his back again, placing his knife clenching fist on his stomach. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep past the sounds of the island at night.

[little-red-finch]

This is it, boys; this is war. || Day One

Six cannons have rang.

Six victims have become casualities in this bloody battle, and I am not one of those six. For that, I am thankful.

But my feet have been sore in these boots I wear, but I cannot afford to quit moving. The sounds behind me have faded and the Bloodbath has ended, but I am still in danger. Yet I'm in danger no matter how far I travel. Not only are these now eighteen other people threats to me, but this environment has become my enemy as well. And I must keep moving.

I can feel a breeze. It's small but it grows as I try to get my feet to take just one more step one after the other. It's simple logic. The breeze means I'm nearing the edge of the forest, and all things must end after time. This also poses a choice. Do I want to continue to see what I find? No, no I can't do that because I need food. There's a gnawing beginning to grow in my stomach, and I wish I'd ate more than could this morning that seems like days ago instead of hours.

These trees are different. This entire arena is different from what I know, but at the same time it's the same. The knife in my hand is alive and ready. I feel on end, and paranoia is strong from weariness. I keep along the edge; just enough hidden but far from the others. Along the path I recognize berries. They're safe, I know, and I'm glad I spent so much time at that station with Logan. And that makes me think. I wonder who those cannons are; where is Logan and Larka and Atlas and the boy with those brown eyes I can still feel holding me tight. Perhaps they were one of those cannons. Perhaps they think I was one of them.

The berries fill my stomach with what little they can, and I decide I need to set up camp. Trees. I can manage with trees. I sink my knife into their bark and pull myself up it's trunk, my hands and feet gripping for something to hold. And soon I'm up in it, and I feel home among the branches and leaves some twenty feet above the ground. In the middle of where the sturdy limbs meet, I cram myself into not wanting to fall from it.

And here I await, eating my berries and my knife is slung through my belt hole. It's like me, I think: small and fragile, yet determined. And here I sit awaiting the night and the dead tributes it brings.