Triple Crown

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I don’t pay attention during the other champions’ interviews, not even Abby’s, since it doesn’t really matter what they say anyways. All of El Nieve will be tuning in to hear Luke and me, the star-crossed lovers, and they don’t really care about anyone else, so I don’t either. Of course, I probably wouldn’t have listened even if someone else had cared about what the other champions were saying, because I’d be – and I am – too nervous and stressed out to pay attention. To add to the effect, Luke and I are going last and second-to-last, respectively, so I have to stay calm and sit through thirty other interviews, with the cameras invariably flashing back to me in the breaks between interviews, before I am finally called up to the stage.
Taking a deep breath, I smooth out my dress and give Luke a small smile as I rise to my feet, then cross the stage with my head held high. I hear murmurs starting in the crowd, undoubtedly caused by my dress, and can feel the millions of pairs of eyes on me – I look over to see Marshall Moore’s gaze fixated intensely on me – but the only pair of eyes I care about is Jackson’s golden ones, because I know that he will be watching just as intently as Marshall Moore is. Giving Puck my best fake smile, I sit down gracefully in the chair, adjust my dress ever so slightly, and look at him attentively, wondering idly what kind of questions he’s going to torture me with this time.
“So, Lizzie, I trust that you’ve been keeping busy these last few weeks?” Puck asks, that horrible eternal smile on his face, and I see his gaze flicker in Luke’s direction for a moment. Well, I guess I know now what the majority of El Nieve rumors have been about.
Playing along with the game and thinking that I can manipulate the crowd more easily if I act like the rumors are true, I reply, “Very busy,” and let my own eyes flit onto Luke, who now has a huge smile on his face as he realizes I’m playing everyone again, for a moment. I then find Max in the crowd to see him nod his head in approval and look back at Puck, thinking that sufficed as a very good answer.
“Well, word on the street is Luke isn’t the only guy in your life right now,” Puck begins as he leans toward me, his brown stare calculating and inquisitive as it locks on mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke sit up in attention, and I know he’s wondering about how rumors of Jackson and I got out as well. “Care to tell us a bit more about this blonde, golden-eyed mystery man in your life?”
I give Puck a friendly smile as I lie straight to his face, and very convincingly if I do say so myself, “Oh, Jackson’s just my brother.” Turning to Luke, I tell him with a joking air, even though we both know it’s a definite fabrication, “Don’t worry Luke, you don’t have any competition,” and the audience – as well as Luke – begins to laugh.
“Ok, good,” he says in reply, his eyes twinkling falsely, and I marvel at how Luke can act so amazingly well when it must be excruciatingly painful for him to play along.
“Well that clears things up.” Puck nods, his gaze still locked on mine. “So I take it that’s why you’ve been spending so much time with him?” He knows I’m lying, I could tell from a mile away, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s because he likes the act of deception as much as I hate it.
“Yeah. We’ve always been pretty close siblings.” I hear a small snort come from somewhere to my left, but I don’t even bother to look over, as I know its source: Abby and her knowledge that we’re a lot more than close siblings.
“Well that’s nice.” Puck still has taken his eyes off of mine, as apparently he’s still trying to figure me out, and I feel like I’m being x-rayed and examined from every angle. After a few moments of silence, Puck clears his throat and asks, “So, Lizzie, how will you and Luke face the challenge of One-Person Survival together?”
Instantly I freeze, not knowing what to do or say and even forgetting how to breathe for a few milliseconds. Searching the crowd desperately, I find Mitchell sitting almost directly behind Puck and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. “Well,” I begin, looking back at Puck, “I know at least one of us is going to die, and, if it comes down to a choice of which one of us is going to die, I want it to be me.” My eyes are now locked on Luke’s, and I can tell that he’s resignedly displeased with my answer; he knew I was going to answer with something like that, but he hoped I wouldn’t.
“That’s… very noble of you,” Puck tells me, his eyes full of tears. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief to dab at his eyes, and takes a few moments to collect himself before asking me another question; his remarkable acting makes me wonder if he was perhaps in a Triple Crown himself. “Well, I would like to personally congratulate you again on winning Hand-to-Hand Combat and would like to tell you that you have, yet again, taken the cake for wardrobe.”
As soon as those words are out of Puck’s mouth, I feel a strange, synthetic warmth covering me, and I look down to see that I’m on fire. Not literally of course – it’s the man-made stuff Mitchell showed me a while back – but it still gives everyone in the arena – including me – quite a shock.
“Now I know you’ve taken the cake!” Puck exclaims after he’s recovered from this surprise enough to speak. “I think Mitchell deserves a big pat on the back for this one!” Puck gestures to Mitchell and everyone in the arena rises to their feet to give him a round of applause.
However, even as I clap, my heart is filled with dread because I know that Mitchell has taken a big leap towards his doom. He’s turned me from a spark into a flame, and I know this transformation – and the message Mitchell’s sending – will not be lost on Rush.
But, instead of letting any of the things running through my head show, I merely give Puck a smile and nod my head in Mitchell’s direction, playing along with the dangerous game Mitchell has chosen to involve himself with. After the crowd has calmed down enough for Puck to talk, he says to me, “Lizzie, rumor has it that you can sing. Would you care to demonstrate?”
My breath catches in my throat in shock and anger, and I shoot Max a look. He must have told someone on the Triple Crown committee about this, because there’s no other way for them to have found out. My singing is one of the many things I wanted to keep private and one of the few I thought I actually could, and I don’t want El Nieve to ruin it, like the city has with so many other things for me. So I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “No!” and storm off the stage and not let this white city and its white people corrupt singing for me too, but I can’t do that, so I force a smile onto my face and answer, gritting my teeth at the abhorrent, awful lie the whole time, “Sure.” Rising to my feet, I accept the microphone from Puck and make myself take a few deep breaths, knowing that it wouldn’t help at all if I passed out onstage. Not caring if the song’s political or if Rush is going to hate it, I begin to sing, my voice gaining strength as I hear the song’s melody echo around in my head, “If it doesn’t break/If it doesn’t break/If it doesn’t break/If it doesn’t break your heart it isn’t love/Nah, if it doesn’t break your heart it’s not enough/It’s when you’re breaking down with your insides coming out/That’s when you find out what your heart is made of/And you haven’t lost me yet/No, you haven’t lost me yet/I'll sing until my heart caves in/No, you haven't lost me yet/‘Cause you haven't lost me yet.” I pause for a moment before adding, “From the song Yet, by Switchfoot.” I then hand a completely stunned Puck his microphone back and give the silent crowd one last final smile before walking off the stage to an eruption of applause and cheers.
I feel Luke’s eyes on me as I sit down in my seat off to the side of the stage, and turn to see him staring at me with an utterly shocked look on his face. “That was…” he begins, absolutely blown away, “incredible.” He shakes his head slightly in amazement, his gaze locked on mine the whole time. “Why did you never tell me that you were that good? I mean, that was just… incredible.”
He squeezes my forearm gently, giving me a kind smile, then, when his name is called, he leans over, kisses me lightly on the lips, and walks up to the stage, his eyes immediately finding mine as soon as he’s seated.
“Well, Mr. Gates, it’s nice to see you and Miss Lightning together,” Puck tells Luke, and Luke nods his head in agreement, smiling slightly as his gaze darts onto me for a moment.
“It’s great to be with her,” Luke replies, his ice-blue stare meeting Puck’s, and I realize how truly dashing and gentlemanly Luke looks in the black suit with hints of gold that Mitchell has him wearing.
“So, I think you knew I was going to ask you this from the moment Lizzie opened her mouth,” Puck begins, turning to me momentarily and smiling slightly, “but what do you think of Lizzie’s comment about that she would rather die than have you die?” Puck’s expectant gaze is now back on Luke as he waits for Luke to respond.
“I think – no, I know – that I couldn’t let her do that,” Luke murmurs, his eyes flickering towards me and back onto Puck. “I don’t think I could bear seeing her die in front of me, even if I knew that it wasn’t permanent and that she would be perfectly fine in the end, because I love her too much to let her go, even if only for a little bit.” I feel the iron claws of Luke’s voice sink into my heart and rip open huge gashes, and I sigh, wishing desperately that I didn’t have to feel like this every time he opened his mouth.
I see Puck getting teary-eyed again, and, even in my hurt mood, can’t help but roll my eyes at his over-the-top dramatics. It then occurs to me that he probably likes this, the talking and the acting and the spotlight, and I realize that Puck isn’t so much an interviewer as an actor, a comedian, a public figure that everyone loves. In fact, the fame and his love of acting are probably, even hopefully, the only things that make this job bearable for him. I know Puck’s smart enough and human enough to recognize that the children he interviews are real humans being forced to kill other humans for the entertainment of millions of people, so I’d like to think that Puck feels something for them. I'd like to think that he knows how sick and twisted the system is, and the only reason he works with the system is because he likes acting and he likes fame, not because he actually likes the Triple Crown. Of course, I could be completely off-base and Puck could just be another numb, brainwashed, almost inhuman citizen of El Nieve, but I don’t believe that he is, and generally my judgments of people are right.
After Puck has dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief and taken a few deep breaths to calm himself down, he tells Luke, a tremor of emotion running through his voice, “You are quite the gentleman, Mr. Gates. Lizzie is very lucky to have you.”
At Puck’s comment, I feel the remnants of my bleeding and torn heart free-fall out of my chest to settle somewhere in between my hips, and I sigh. I want to bury my face in my hands and cry, since I know how lucky I am to have Luke but I don’t even love him, or at least not as much as he deserves.
“Puck,” Luke begins, shaking his head and shooting me a warm glance and a furtive grin, “you’ve got it backwards. I’m the one who’s lucky to have her. She’s become my whole world, my reason to live, the thing that keeps me going from day to day, and I know that’s because she’s so wonderful and amazing that I just couldn’t help falling in love with her the first time I laid eyes on her.” His eyes are locked on mine, and he gives me an incredibly kind and loving smile that causes his eyes to twinkle.
Now what’s left of my heart is falling again to stop somewhere around my ankles, and I take a few deep breaths and clench and unclench my fists to calm myself down and prevent myself from breaking down and bawling. I then force myself to give Luke a smile in return and swallow a few times, trying to keep the rising tide of emotions boiling up inside of me from exploding out of me in one huge outburst.
Here Puck starts to cry – and I think these tears might actually be real – and a torrent of water begins to stream down his face and onto his perfect navy-blue suit. It takes a few minutes – during which time Marshall Moore is constantly winking at me and Luke is giving me his most dashing grin – to calm Puck down this time, and, when he’s finally situated with his handkerchief at the ready and his eyes, for the moment, clear of tears, he asks Luke, “Well, I think we’re almost out of time, so is there anything else you’d like to say, Mr. Gates?”
“There is, actually. It’s more of a question, but I figure that’s not going to be an issue,” Luke replies, and all of a sudden I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I think – no, I know – that whatever Luke’s going to say is not going to be good, or at least it’s going to affect me majorly.
Puck then nods for Luke to continue, and, like I thought he would, Luke walks over to me and helps me to my feet, a warm, caring smile on his face that can’t quite mask the hurt and longing in his eyes. “Lizzie,” Luke starts, his stunning ice-blue gaze locked on mine, “you’re it for me. You’re the love of my life, my soul mate if you will, and I know for certain three things about you and me. Number one, I want to spend the rest of my life with you; number two, I could never love anyone else as much as I love you; and number three, I hope to God that you say yes to what I’m about to ask you.” Luke pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket, gets down on one knee, offers me the beautiful silver-and-gold ring nestled in the red velvet of the now-opened box, and asks me, “Lizzie Lightning, will you marry me?”

[Sonmi-451]

Someone else commented, so may I? (I'll delete if I'm not allowed.)

Ah hem...:

YOU ARE SO COMMITTED ITS SCARING MEH!! You have written so much, it makes me feel so bad about myself, since I have totally scrapped all of my stories . . . you are inspirational!

And, an odd thing, hehe: I seriously was going to name two of my charries Jackson and Luke. Five minutes ago, before I came here, I was just typing it up. Weird O.o

Well of course you're allowed to comment. After all, the whole reason behind me putting this story up on CS is to get comments/critiques, so I love it when people actually do comment. You know, the scariest part about my commitment is that I have another two hundred pages typed up that I haven't posted on here yet; the whole story is about 220,000 words and I don't think I'm even half-done with it yet. xD Well, I'm glad to be an inspiration, especially since I didn't really think I actually would be one. It's also nice to know that I'm not completely - but still mostly xD - posting this story for my own benefit and that someone actually reads it.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

For a few milliseconds I can’t breathe, much less think or vocalize a response. As soon as I’ve recovered enough to move, my eyes instantly find Max in the crowd, as I know this has to be his idea, and I see him waving his hand for me to continue and say yes. With my gaze darting back and forth between Max and Luke, I swallow and open my mouth, knowing that I have to say yes but that I truly can’t. I can’t marry Luke, not when it will hurt him every minute of every day to know that it’s all a lie and that I don’t mean it, but I have to, because I can’t cause my family and friends’ deaths by turning him down and reinforcing the idea that I am rebellious, not in love. I also know that it would break Luke’s heart even more than I already have to say no, and, even though I’m going to hurt him either way, I have to say yes, because at least no one dies then.
Giving Luke my best fake smile, I force myself to tell him, “Of course,” and look down as Luke, now with a beaming grin on his face that doesn’t do anything to hide the hurt in his eyes, slips the ring onto the ring finger of my right hand then kisses me passionately, his arms wrapping and tightening around me.
When he pulls back and we stare into each other’s eyes, Luke with weariness in his stare and me with calculation in mine, I ask him in a low, expressionless, quick voice almost without moving my lips, “What are you doing?”
He replies in the same manner, “Keeping us alive,” and puts on his best fake grin as he looks down at me, clearly trying to give the illusion of a happy, newly-engaged couple.
“We’re supposed to be dying, remember?” I murmur in response, also giving my best false smile to cover up our conversation.
“Change of plans. Max’s orders,” he tells me quickly, his gaze locked on mine. After a few moments of silence between us, he adds quietly, with tone and expression in his voice now, “I’m sorry.”
I snort slightly and, as I turn to face the screaming crowd, mutter sarcastically under my breath, “Because you have something to be sorry about.”
As Luke and I walk off of the stage hand-in-hand, giving plenty of fake grins and false laughs, I feel something run full-force into me at about stomach level and don’t even have to look down or hear the girlish squeals of delight to know it’s Abby.
Looking down to find her tiny, blond form clinging to my abdomen, I exclaim, with more than a tint of amusement to my voice, “You’re not even the one who got engaged!”
“Lizzie, you’re getting married, you’re getting married!” Abby screams, simultaneously jumping up and down in excitement and hugging me tightly. She then turns to Luke, with a gravely serious look on her tiny angelic face, and tells him, “You better treat her well.”
Luke laughs sincerely as looks down at me with a mix of caring and pain in his eyes, and he replies, “Abby, the only thing I have going for me is that I treat her well, so trust me, I’m not going to give up on that anytime soon.” He leans in and gently kisses me on the cheek, then wraps his arm around me and pulls me – with Abby still hanging onto my stomach – to him as my heart falls out of my chest and settles somewhere around my hips in guilt at knowing that I don’t feel the same way about Luke that he does about me.
Abby murmurs, tears actually welling up in her eyes, “You guys are such a perfect couple!” and I glance up at Luke and back down at Abby. If she knew the truth...
I can tell Luke’s thinking the same thing, but – thank God – he has the sense to cover for us by agreeing, “Well, she’s perfect for me. I don’t know if I’m perfect for her though.” My heart then free-falls some more to stop at about my knees, and I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down before giving Luke a perfect fake smile.
“Oh, trust me Luke,” I begin, reaching my right hand – the one with the ring on it – up to gently touch Luke’s cheek, “you’re absolutely perfect for me.” Even though I’m not lying, I still feel bad because I know I’m leading Luke on but that I have to so that I’m not responsible for the deaths of my family and friends as well.
I see that look in Luke’s eyes, the one that he had on the rooftop the night before Hand-to-Hand, and I know what he’s going to do before he even does it. Closing my eyes, I feel Luke’s lips against mine and kiss him back gently, hearing Abby say, “Aaaw!” as she hugs me tighter and loses herself in daydreams of true love. If she knew the truth about Luke and I, that it’s all an act for me but that it’s not for Luke, she’d probably hate me for breaking his heart and not loving him back.
When Luke pulls back and smiles down at me, I listen to Abby make a sound in her throat and I look down questioningly to see her staring up at me with happiness and maybe even vindication in her gaze. Giving me a smile of her own, she then tells me, “I knew you’d make the right choice.”
My eyes shoot open in surprise and, even though I think I know what she’s talking about, I ask her anyways, pulling away from Luke and squatting down to look Abby in the eye, “What do you mean?”
“You made the right choice,” she repeats, her gaze flitting between Luke and me, and now I know exactly what she’s talking about. “Luke’s kinder, funnier, gentler, handsomer and just better for you than Jackson,” she adds, and I feel my heart drop all the way out of my body and onto the floor.
“Abby,” I begin quietly, meeting her beautiful dark blue gaze and knowing that I’m telling the truth, even if the circumstances aren’t what Abby thinks they are, “I never had a choice at all.” I then rise to my feet, find Luke’s hand with one of my own, and walk off with him to leave a very happy and completely unknowing Abby behind.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Tomorrow we’re dead,” I say quietly, rolling over to look at Luke’s face to find it made silver by the wave of moonlight creeping through the window.
“We were dead from the moment we set foot in this place,” Luke replies quietly, finding my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. He then smiles at me and reaches his free hand up to caress my cheek. “But I will still always be there,” he whispers, his gaze locked on mine, and leans in to kiss me passionately, simultaneously pulling me to him and scooting towards me. He pulls back for a moment and murmurs, his eyes searching my face, “You are so beautiful,” and kisses me again, this time rolling on top of me and running his hands down my back until they reach the inch-wide sliver of exposed skin between the bottom of shirt and the top of my shorts.
I pull back and push Luke off of me for a moment, looking up at him apprehensively and almost fearfully as I realize that we could be very close to a repeat of earlier, except that his hands could go higher up my shirt this time.
However, instead of apologizing or saying anything, Luke just leans back and kisses my neck, his hands fortunately staying exactly where they are. I’m still kind of uncomfortable with his hands being there to begin with though, so I push him off of me again and tell him quickly, before he can kiss me again, “I’m going up to the roof.” I then slide out from under him, rise to my feet and head towards the door.
When I’m in the doorway, I turn around to see him nod and he catches my gaze for a moment, and he rises to his feet as well and says, “I’m going with you.”
I wait for him and start walking again when I feel his arm wrap around my waist, unfortunately right around the exposed skin of my back and side, but thankfully not any lower. An awkward silence overtakes the air around us as we stand in the elevator together, and I keep my gaze focused on the floor buttons to prevent from screaming out loud because of the hysteria at truly realizing what it means to be getting married for survival that has suddenly taken over me. Clenching my fists, I twist the engagement ring on my finger agitatedly and wish that I could throw it into a furnace and watch it melt into a puddle of metal, or throw it off a fifty-story building and never see it again, or give it back to Luke without a word. Swallowing and gritting my teeth, I look over at Luke to see him watching me concernedly, and quickly avert my gaze. The last thing I want to do right now is get asked and have to answer questions about if I’m ok.
Thankfully Luke has enough tact to see that I’m distressed and keeps his mouth shut, only saying quietly, “We’re here,” when the elevator door opens to let us out onto the roof.
Without saying anything – because I don’t trust myself to say anything – I cross over to the two chairs left from our last visit up here, even though I could have sworn that Luke and I left three up here, and collapse into one, biting my lip and forcing myself not to start screaming in anger and sadness and desperation.
“Lizzie,” Luke begins quietly, and I look over to see him staring at me with a look of apprehensive care in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, and that you’d probably prefer I didn’t ask why, but I have to, I just have to. So, Lizzie, why are you nearly about to scream?”
“Because I’ve realized that I have a paradoxical problem,” I respond quietly, dropping my eyes on the white concrete beneath my feet and searching the swirling patterns of ridges and shadows. I glance up for a moment to see Luke studying me curiously and expectantly, then swallow, look back down at the whiteness under me and continue.
“I have to marry you to save my family and friends and you and maybe even myself, but I can’t marry you because I can’t bear to be reminded every minute of every day by looking down at my hand that it’s all a lie, that I don’t mean it and you do. I think that I could bear everything else, that I could bear the Triple Crown and the situation with Jackson even, if I loved you anywhere near as much as you love me, but I don’t, so everything is made infinitely more painful,” My voice cracks and trails off into nothingness and I shake my head and sigh.
“You know, Lizzie, I wish I didn’t have to marry right now too,” Luke tells me, and something in his voice makes me look up at him and meet his gaze. He purses his lips in thought and takes a few moments to gather himself before adding, “I wanted all of this in the end – the relationship, the proposal on national television, you saying yes, basically just you – but I didn’t want it like this, with you not meaning it.” He pauses to take a deep breath, and I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces.
“You know, when I first saw you, I told myself that I would not have a relationship with you – even if you wanted one with me – if you didn’t mean it, if I was just going to be another one of you for-show boyfriends, but, of course, I don’t have much of a say in that now.” He laughs bitterly, and I swallow with difficulty. This is the exact thing I was trying to avoid and prevent from happening.
“But I’m going to marry you, I know that, because I have to keep you safe, and keeping you safe has been my ultimate goal this whole Triple Crown, although you seem determined to make that goal unattainable.” Now it’s my turn to laugh insincerely, and I glance up again to see Luke staring over at me with the hint of a sad smile on his face.
“I hate it when you laugh like that,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine, “because it means that something awful and not funny at all has just been said. It also means,” he adds, “that you’re not happy, and that’s all I want you to be, happy.”
After a few moments of me saying nothing due to preventing tears from running down my cheeks, he leans over, finds my right hand with one of his own, kisses me on the cheek and whispers in my ear, “I love you, Lizzie Lightning.” Suddenly I feel a tugging feeling and look down in surprise to see Luke taking the engagement ring off of my right ring finger.
“Could we maybe pretend, for even just a couple seconds, that this whole last month never happened?” Luke asks me quietly, and I nod my head wordlessly in a definite yes. Luke then gives me a real smile and pulls my chair closer to his, letting go of me completely when I’m right next to him.
After a few moments of silence, Luke holds his hand out to me and says, “Hi, my name’s Luke. I know yours is Lizzie, and I think we’ve talked some at school.”
I accept his hand and shake it, smiling despite myself at the incredulity of what we’re doing. “Well, it’s nice to see you Luke. You know, I think we even did a project together and I had to go over to your house once.”
“Oh, did we?” Luke’s eyes become falsely distant, and I can tell very clearly that he’s faking not to remember, because that’s what he would do if this last month had never happened and we were back in our own dimension. “I can’t remember,” he adds for effect, and I nearly burst out laughing my fake laugh again since it’s such a blatant lie. I know very well that every moment we’ve ever spent in each other’s company is imprinted on his mind permanently, as I know that he would never let himself forget anything about me, even the tiniest, most insignificant details, especially if it involved him.
Shaking my head, I murmur quietly, deciding that there’s no point in acting anymore, “This is so feeble, so obviously a lie, that’s it not even worth pretending.” I sigh and slide down in my chair, looking out across the city and wishing I could blot the sight out of my mind.
“I know,” Luke replies quietly, his eyes locked on mine as he looks over at me, “but it’s the best we can do, and I think it’s better than not pretending at all.” He then finds my hand, gives it a gentle squeeze and is clearly about to slip the engagement ring back on my finger.
“Luke,” I begin quickly and not without a note of desperation, causing him to pause and look up at me, “could I keep the ring off for a little while longer, please?” I meet his gaze and hope – for once in my life – that the hopelessness and despair I’m feeling comes through in my voice.
“Of course,” he tells me quietly in reply, not surprised at my request at all, and slips the ring back into his pocket. We then just sit in silence for a few moments, me staring out into the blackness dotted with lights and Luke gazing at me, until he pipes up and says, staring over at me, “You know, when I first came up with the star-crossed lovers idea, I thought that somehow it would make you fall in love with me, and everything would turn out fine, and we would both get to go home. Then I found out the star-crossed lovers thing made you angry, not lovestruck, and I killed someone, and now I know neither one of those fantasies will come true.” He pauses for a moment to regard the city, still partially white even in the darkness, sprawling out in front of him, and continues, “I do, however irrational it may be, hope with all of my heart every moment of every day that you’ll just fall in love with me, and that we’ll get to go home and spend the rest of our lives together, and that all of those fantasies I had about you and I will come true.” He purses his lips in thought again, and my heart goes out to him, even though tomorrow I’ll have to be killing him to stay alive myself.
“Why do you think you still hope for all those things, even though it is completely irrational?” I feel myself about to add, “and none of those things will never happen,” and decide not to. After all, one of them might actually be in the process of happening right now.
“I guess...” he begins, searching the landscape in front of him with a distant look in his eyes. “I guess...” he says again, and looks up at me to capture my gaze with his own, “I guess because I have nothing else to hope for, and I need something keep me going long enough to die at the right time.” I give a brief, grim smile here, as I know exactly where he’s coming from, and feel even more sympathy for him.
“Luke, I know what you mean,” I tell him quietly, meeting his stare evenly and forcing myself not to pull away as I see the hurt in his eyes. “Except I cling to the ideas that you, Abby and I are all going to come out of this alive, and that, when you and I go home, everything will the same as it was before we went here, and I’ll get to just forget everything that happened here and pretend that the Triple Crown doesn’t exist and was never part of my life.” I pause, not knowing if I want to continue but also realizing that part of me has to continue. “I also think about seeing my brothers win Heismans, and then seeing Jackson win a Heisman, and then maybe winning one myself, and then seeing my little brother Timmy grow up into a man, and that helps keep me going too.” I glance over to see Luke nodding, a slight smile on his face, and I’m instantly confused. Why is Luke happy? “Why are you...?” I ask him, gesturing in the direction of his grin, and it immediately gets bigger.
“Because I’m happy to see how much you care about them, your friends and family, and because I’d like to think that, even if you cared about me only a hundredth as much as you care about Jackson, you care about me to some extent.” He gazes into my eyes as he finds my hand with one of his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. My heart begins to pound when I see the desire and longing in his eyes and I take a few deep breaths, not allowing myself to pull away for fear of breaking the moment and the honesty that we’re both having with each other. Before I can do anything else or say anything in response, Luke has leaned in and is kissing me slowly and deliberately on the lips.
My first instinct is to push him away and exclaim, “Luke!” and tell him that he should at least give some warning before he does something like that. However, much to my surprise considering all of the things that have just been said and how much my heart aches right now, I’m enjoying it, and find myself locking my arms around the back of his neck and pulling him into me. Luke then draws back and looks down at me with happiness and an even larger amount of desire in his eyes as a small smile flits across his face.
“You know, Miss Lightning, for all that you don’t love me, you sure are an excellent kisser,” Luke tells me, smirking, and kisses me again, this time with more force and passion. I feel his hands work their way down my back to rest on the inch-wide sliver of exposed skin between my shorts and my shirt, and I think that it doesn’t matter if his hands go up my shirt, that it doesn’t matter if he finally earns his sex hair, because we’re dead anyways, because it doesn’t matter what a pair of corpses do because they won’t live long enough to do it again. His hands begin to move up my shirt again and I smile bitterly and defiantly through our kiss, almost hoping that he does a lot more than feel me up. However, as his hands are resting on my upper abdomen, he is suddenly pulled off of me violently and I look up to see a snarling yet familiar rage-filled figure.
Jackson.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Jackson, what are you doing?!” I yell at the top of my lungs, throwing myself on top of him and trying to stop him from hitting Luke again, but it does no use and I just get pushed away gruffly without Jackson even turning to look at me.
“You don’t touch her like that, you don’t touch her like that!” Jackson snarls as he repeatedly punches Luke in the face, and I can tell – which only worries me more – from his tone of voice and the waves of anger just radiating off of him that he’s very close to, if not already having, a rampage again.
“Jackson, Jackson!” I scream, throwing myself on top of him again and this time succeeding in drawing his attention away from Luke. Dropping Luke’s lifeless body to the ground and turning away from it, Jackson pulls me off of his back to pin me against the hard white ground, his hands on my shoulders and a mosaic of emotions swirling through his eyes.
“Lizzie, Lizzie!” he mocks, pure rage and hatred taking over his expression now, and I feel a shot of pure fear course through me as I realize that he could very well want to kill me right now and, if he does, even with my shapeshifting and element powers, I won’t be able to stop him because he’s just as strong as I am. “You betrayed me Lizzie, you betrayed me for him!” he shouts, shaking me violently. “damn it, you’re getting married to him! You should be marrying me, Lizzie, not him!” Jackson stops yelling to take a few deep breaths and seems to regain a little sanity, as some of the loathing and anger has left his eyes now, but he still hasn’t made any indication of getting off of me. “You know, Lizzie,” Jackson begins in a normal voice, his eyes – that still have rage and hatred hiding in them – locked on mine, “I think I’ve finally realized how Alexa could be it for Gwillan and it for me, when almost always only one person is it for one person. It’s because she’s not it for me, Lizzie,” he murmurs, removing one hand off of my shoulder and gently reaching up to caress my cheek, and I feel my heart fall about fifty stories, because I know exactly where he’s going with this. “Lizzie, you’re it for me,” he whispers, his eyes now full of hope and something else, that odd look Luke gets in his eyes sometimes when he’s talking about me or talking to me, and I begin to nearly hyperventilate. This is the worst possible thing that could have happened
“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening,” I tell myself out loud, feeling my chest rise and fall at an unnaturally fast rate, and look up at Jackson, desperately hoping against all logic that this is just some kind of sick joke and that Jackson doesn’t mean a single thing he’s said in the last few minutes and that Luke’s perfectly fine and that Jackson didn’t actually hurt him.
However, Jackson seems to not notice what I say and says quietly, staring down at me with incredible intensity and lust, “I want you, Lizzie Lightning. I want you so bad that it hurts,” then leans in and kisses me surprisingly gently. Removing his hands from my shoulders, he wraps his arms around me tightly and I get the feeling that, if he could, he’d never let me go. His lips find the sensitive skin of my neck and I inhale sharply, although that’s mostly because his hands are now creeping up my shirt and tickling my stomach.
All of a sudden I hear a clatter, and Jackson looks up to see Max running at him with anger and distaste on his face. Max then picks Jackson clean up off of me, hisses at him, “That’s not how you treat a lady,” and punches him straight in the face, so hard that Jackson is immediately knocked unconscious by the force of Max’s fist.
Not bothering to thank Max or check on Jackson, I instantly jump to my feet and run to where Luke is laying facedown in a puddle of his own blood. My heart is threatening to leap out of my chest as I pull him over, onto his back, and feel his neck for a pulse. Although it’s unlikely that Jackson could have killed Luke with a few punches, I know how powerful Jackson is, so if anyone could kill a person with a few punches, it’d be Jackson. However, there is a pulse, faint and flighty but there, and I let out a huge sigh of relief as I bend over Luke and hug him, thanking God a million times over that Luke isn’t dead.
Max comes up behind me and places one huge hand on my shoulder, causing me to turn around in surprise and wariness, as he asks me gently and concernedly, “Are you alright?” When I nod my head yes in response, he questions, gesturing to Luke, “Is he alright?” and I shake my head no, as I still don’t trust myself to speak.
“Lizzie, you have to heal him,” Max tells me urgently, his fiery, worried gaze locked on mine. “You have to give him some of your energy, otherwise he could die!” I see the fear in Max’s eyes and know that, if he’s scared for Luke’s life, then I should be to.
Nodding my head to show that I understand, I move so that I am directly over Luke and kneel down on top of him, placing both hands over his heart. I then begin to force some of the energy out of my body and into Luke’s through my hands, and, even as I get so lightheaded and exhausted that I’m about to fall over, I let out a small cheer at feeling Luke’s heart beat return to normal and seeing the bruises and cuts on his face disappear. In my dreamlike state of fatigue, I glance over to see Max dragging Jackson to his feet - Jackson heals incredibly quickly on his own, so he doesn't need one of us to heal him - and marching him towards the elevator while giving him an incredibly stern talking-to, and for some reason this strikes me as funny, and I burst out laughing. However, the force of my chest vibrating is too much for me to hold, and I instantly fall forward onto Luke, and, even before I can get into a different position, find myself drifting off to sleep.

[Sonmi-451]

OMGosh, that's a long story. . . . And not even halfway done!

Yeah, it kind of is incredibly long; I guess Lizzie just has a long story to tell. xD

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Lizzie, Lizzie,” I hear a voice calling gently, and, not very happy at being pulled from happy dreams of seeing my family again, awake grumpily and rub my eyes to see who has ruined my fantasy.
Much to my surprise, I am actually not on a bed, but in someone’s arms, and glance all around me to find that I am on a blindingly white elevator that’s going down. Looking up, I find Jackson’s intensely handsome smiling face looking down at me, and instantly I begin to breathe quickly as the memories of what happened last night flood my mind. Not wanting to be touched by Jackson, I roll out of his arms onto the cold white tile, but ignore the pain and immediately jump to my feet, my gaze locked on his warily.
“Get away from me!” I snarl, balling my hands into fists as I ready myself to throw punches if it comes down to that. I see the surprise that soon fades into hurt in his eyes, but I ignore it and remind myself that this is the guy who nearly killed Luke last night.
“Lizzie…” he begins, approaching me with his hands in the air and a look of complete shock and pain on his face, but I don’t want to hear his explanations, his excuses for what he did, because none of them will make any difference in the long run since none of them will undo his actions.
“Jackson, I don’t want to hear it!” I shoot back angrily, giving him a look of pure hostility as I run my hands over the wall behind me in an attempt to find the floor buttons or a door.
However, all of a sudden, I notice another, shorter figure standing behind Jackson and stare in amazement as Luke, completely healed and with no signs of the abuse that he suffered last night, steps out from behind him with a smile on his face.
“Luke!” I cry in surprise, and, despite not wanting to be anywhere near Jackson with the memories of last night so fresh in my mind, step forward and embrace Luke in warm hug to feel his arms curl around me as he lets out a sigh of relief. After a few long moments, I pull back to look up at him and ask concernedly, my eyes searching his face for any sigh of the fight he had with Jackson, “Are you ok?”
Luke, with a huge, beaming grin on his face, replies, “I’m fine Lizzie, thanks to you.” All of a sudden my heart falls through the elevator floor as I realize that Luke must now know my secret then, and, looking up at him, prepare to tell him everything when he adds, “Max told me how you fixed me up so well with special healing cream that I don’t even have bruises or anything.”
“No thanks to me,” Jackson murmurs quietly, and I look up at him in surprise. For all that Jackson hates Luke – and yes, he actually does hate Luke because of the intense jealousy he feels for him – he certainly sounds remorseful, for some unknown reason.
Shocking me even further, Luke then looks over at Jackson and tells him dismissively, “Oh, it’s no problem Jackson. No one got hurt, and that’s all that matters.” Turning to me, he then says, with more than a hint of a smile on his face, “Aren’t you proud of me? For once, I’m actually arguing for the ends, not the means,” and I give him a weak smile in return, still very stunned at all of the odd behavior being demonstrated by both of them. Jackson is almost never remorseful to people he strongly dislikes, and I can’t think that Luke would let go of something that severe so quickly. So there must be some other force at play here that’s powerful enough to keep both of their real emotions in check… Max.
“Max put you up to all of this acting, didn’t he?” I ask them both suspiciously, my gaze darting from one to the other as I walk all the way out of Luke’s arms to stand back and study them both warily. Max must have really convincingly threatened them to get these kind of results and cooperation out of them, especially Jackson.
Luke bows his head slightly and Jackson’s gaze wavers away from mine, and I know my suspicions are correct. Muttering to myself, “I knew it,” I turn away from them to face the cold white tile wall of the elevator and the cold white closed marble doors that will soon release me to the outside. Oh, wait… to One-Person Survival.
Glancing down at myself frantically, I find that I am still in my nightclothes and realize that I haven’t been dressed for One-Person yet, so that must be where we’re going. My hand instinctively flies to the wolf’s-head pendant around my neck and my fingers curl around the slightly warm, brown stone as glance desperately around the elevator for a way out that will allow me to avoid the inevitable, looming specter of death that’s now staring me in the face and daring me to face it.
My gaze settles on Luke and I murmur quietly, staring him down and hoping that he understands how serious I am, “Good luck, Mister Gates, and may this crazy white city not get inside of you.” He nods his head and mutters a word of thanks before the doors on his side of the elevator open and a pair of hands with perfectly manicured pink-and-green nails drag him out onto that floor.
Now it’s just me and Jackson in the elevator, and, even though I kind of want to be watching him at all times to make sure he’s not going to do something crazy again, I whirl back around to grimace at the marble doors. Why is he here and Max isn’t?
“Lizzie…” Jackson begins quietly, reaching one cautious hand out to gently touch me on the shoulder and cause me to whip around to face him, “I can’t come up with explanations or excuses or reasons for last night. I know that nothing I can do will ever make it go away or seem like it never happened, so I just want to tell you that I’m sorry it happened, and that I swear on my honor as a Texan that nothing like that will happen ever again.”
I hear the constriction in his voice and look up in shock to see that his intense golden eyes are full of tears of remorse, and, even though I had sworn to myself that I would stay away from him and not let him get to me or guilt-trip me, I feel my heart go out to him and step forward to embrace him in a hug, which I know counts as an “apology accepted” and so much more.
His powerful arms then wrap around me and he sighs a sigh that’s one part unbelievable joy and one part unbearable sadness, and I glance up again to see that he’s even closer to crying now. “I don’t want to lose you Lizzie; I don’t think I could bear losing you, even though I know haven’t really been helping my cause much lately by doing all this [censored].”
Resigning myself to the stupidity of what I’m about to do but realizing that something like this would have happened in the end anyways, I throw my arms around the back of his neck and kiss him, then see him close his eyes and kiss me back so passionately that he walks me back into the wall.
However, as soon as he feels me bump the white tile, he immediately pulls back like he’s been shocked and begins to profusely apologize, desperation and even more remorse in his eyes and voice now, “Oh my God Lizzie, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. There I go breaking my promise already-”
I cut him off by kissing him again, this time my hands creeping up higher to fluff up his hair, and, when I pull back to smirk at him and his complete and utter shock, I tell him, satisfied, “You really say I’m sorry too much.”
Jackson’s expression instantly becomes relieved and he gives me a genuine grin of his own, even though there still is a large amount of hurt and sadness in his gaze. In a very Jackson-esque manner, he replies, his drawl becoming a little more evident, “Well, I’d rather say it too much than say it too little,” and he kisses me gently on the cheek. When he pulls back, he just stares down at me with that look that’s somewhat calmed but mostly incredibly hurt and desperate, and my heart goes out to him again, even though I know that I can’t do anything for him.
“Lizzie,” he begins again, and I gaze up at him with what I hope is a comforting smile that doesn’t show any of the fear or desperation I myself am feeling, “I don’t want to see you die on national television, so, if it’s possible, please do win.”
I burst out laughing that fake laugh that Luke says he hates, and, based off his expression, Jackson doesn’t like much either. However, I just continue to laugh, because I know that I’m going to be crying if I’m not laughing. “I’ll try my best,” I tell Jackson as I reach up to gently caress his cheek and think I’m not the only one who needs to be worrying about surviving to have my thoughts interrupted by the slowly-opening elevator door.
Instantly Jackson and I jump apart. After all, I’m engaged to Luke and that I can’t be seen with any other guy, especially by the assistant stylists, because they like to gossip among themselves about the champions. Sure enough, I see the colors standing there expectantly, Kate with her hands on her hips and one perfectly plucked skinny eyebrow raised, clearly telling me to hurry up.
“Goodbye Jackson,” I force myself to say, even though I feel my throat clogging up and tears developing my eyes, and, in true Lightning style, even give him the salute I gave at the end of Hand-to-Hand that quite possibly directly caused at least some of this rebellion mess.
“Don’t forget Lizzie, you have to win for me,” Jackson tells me, his gaze locked on mine, and, as I see the pleading and hopelessness in his eyes, I know that I have to survive and therefore win, chiefly because it’d hurt him too much if I died.
“Jackson,” I start, giving him an incredibly sad small smile, “I’m a Lightning. I don’t lose if I have a say in it.” I then step forward and give him a hug, closing my eyes, breathing in his scent and letting it intoxicate me. “Goodbye,” I whisper in his ear as he murmurs the same word in mine, but, even as I feel the tears I refuse to let stream down my face well up in my eyes, I feel almost relieved, because at least I got to say goodbye to him this time. I then swallow with difficulty, put on as straight a face as I can manage, and turn around to be led away by Kate and the other two colors, who all, by this time, are about to cry too.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Lizzie, you can win this, just like you won Hand-to-Hand,” Mitchell tells me supportively, laying one large, dark hand on my shoulder, which is currently covered with a shiny golden material on top of a black undershirt that is the uniform of this arena, and giving me a smile. However, his words of encouragement do nothing to change my bad mood, and I just shake my head, denying everything about this place.
“I don’t know if I want to Mitchell,” I murmur in reply, looking up to find him staring down at me with caring and compassion in his warm brown gaze. I see confusion creep its way into his eyes and I add, “Winning means killing more kids, and I don’t think I want to do that. I mean, I know it’s me or them, that if I don’t kill them, they’ll kill me, but I know it’s not worth losing my humanity or betraying my beliefs for survival. To be honest, I’d rather be dead, with my opinions and feelings and identity intact, than alive and stripped of all of those things. I know that I’ll kill in the end, that eventually I’ll become a hypocrite, but, right now, I really don’t want to and don’t think I even could.”
Much to my surprise, Mitchell just nods, his gaze distant as he gazes down at the white tile beneath our feet. “I think I know what you mean,” he says quietly when his now-intense chocolate stare meets my own. “And, you know, that desire to remain human, to die on your feet than live on your knees, that’s what separates you and Luke from the other champions. Yes, Luke,” he confirms upon seeing my confused expression. “I’ve been talking to his stylist Katrina and she says he feels the exact same way as you do: that he’d rather die as himself than live as a pawn of El Nieve and the Triple Crown. By the way,” Mitchell begins, and, as I hear the serious tone of his voice, I know it must be something important, “I know the truth about you and him, that your whole relationship is a fabrication to keep you two alive, except it’s not like that for him, because he actually loves you.” I feel my heart drop out of my body, hit the white tile floor, and shatter into a million pieces, as I know that this discovery of Mitchell’s has probably led his perception of me to change negatively. “But Lizzie, I don’t begrudge you at all for it. I know you didn’t want of this – I mean, who would? – and that you especially didn’t want the whole thing with Luke, so I can’t blame you for continuing the ruse for the sake of saving both of your lives.” He pauses for a moment to reach out and gently grab the pendant around my neck, his large brown fingers curling around the amber wolf’s-head. “Just don’t forget who you are and what you stand for and what this means to you, and, if you can, please don’t forget me either.” I laugh slightly at his last comment, because it’s not like I could ever forget Mitchell, not after all that he’s done for me.
“Don’t worry Mitchell. I promise I won’t forget anything of those things, and I don’t think I could forget you if I tried,” I tell him as I do my best to give him a genuine smile but probably just end up grimacing at him.
However, he makes no indication of the poor quality of my grin and gives me one of his own. “Lizzie, just go out there and do what you want to,” he says to me, his eyes locked on mine. “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose-” – I note sadly that he doesn’t say die – “-because, no matter what happens, you’ll go out in style.” Thinking of the Paramore song Fences and hearing the lyrics, “‘Cause this is your night/So smile/’Cause you’ll go out in style,” echo through my head, my mouth twitches and curves upward for a moment despite myself, which Mitchell, of course, catches on to.
“What’s so funny?” he asks me, looking almost concerned for my well-being, considering that, up until a few moments ago, I had been incredibly sad and retrospective with brief moments of being falsely happy.
“Just something you said reminded me of a song I used to like,” I murmur, dropping my eyes to the floor and looking up again when I hear the clanging of metal on metal to see the solid steel tube in the middle of the room that’s to take me up into the arena opening. Rising to my feet, I turn to look at Mitchell and sigh when I see the sadness in his eyes. “Mitchell,” I begin, wanting to tell him that I’ll be fine, that he won’t have to worry, that he won’t be seeing me die anytime soon, but finding that I can’t because I can’t lie straight to his face. So, all I say to him instead is, “Cheer me on, alright?”
He replies, with a weak smile on his face, “Of course,” then, in a swift movement, steps forward to embrace me in a hug. “As long as you give me something to cheer for,” he tells me, his eyes locked on mine, as he pulls back and gives me a gentle push in the direction of the tube to get me moving.
For the second time today, in the second of the two most painful goodbyes I’ve ever had to do, I respond, trying my best to put on a convincing smirk, “Mitchell, I’m a Lightning. I don’t lose if I have a say in it,” and the last thing I see before I’m whisked upwards by the one-person metallic elevator is Mitchell smiling and waving with the concern and pain on his face clear as day.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

The first thing I think when I see the arena is, “This is no place for a spark.” Looking around me at the lush landscape partially hidden by the pouring rain dumping on us, I see that about three-quarters of the arena is a rainforest, with huge, hundred-foot-tall trees that could hide any number of horrors. The other fourth, where all of us champions are positioned, is a plain full of three-foot-tall grasses that I have no intention of going into, because all I can think of when I look at it is all of the dangers that could be lurking in them. I then turn my gaze to the huge gold crossed hands about forty yards in front of me, on and in which are any number of things that could be used to survive. My eyes flicker to the ground around me and rest on my feet, locked to the ground by a pair of unbreakable steel ankle cuffs that will pop open when the chime sounds to mark the official beginning of One-Person Survival, for a moment before scanning around for any sign of anything useful nearby. Unfortunately, it looks like all of the supplies are at the Giving Hands this year – Max told me the Triple Crown Committee chose hands as a source for supplies to show the generosity of El Nieve, at which I burst out laughing – which means that, if I want anything, I’m going to have to take the Triple Crown Committee’s bait and run straight into the bloodbath. Max specifically warned me to stay away from the Giving Hands so I don’t get killed on the first day, but he hasn’t seen me run a forty-yard dash and doesn’t know that I can get to the Giving Hands in about 4.1 seconds. Glancing around at the other champions, I see Luke directly across from me and Abby about three spots to my right, and I grimace slightly when I look over to find Marshall Moore standing right next to me on the left and winking at me.
“Hey Lizzie,” he calls to me, even daring to reach over and tap me on the arm, but I just ignore him. I will not give him the satisfaction of annoying me. “Would you care to team up? You can do so much better than Gates anyways, because you can get me.” Now I whip my head over to give him a toxic glare, not in the mood for his [censored] and about ready to punch him in the face, when the chime to signal the official start of the Triple Crown goes off.
Suddenly I feel myself forcing my legs to move forward as I see Marshall accelerating in front of me and, after the two seconds it takes me to catch up to him, I leap on top of him, tackle him and shove his face into the dirt, careful to jump and avoid his hands trying to drag me down as I continue to sprint for the Giving Hands, my gaze locked on a beautiful steel-with-gold-hilt broadsword and a basic but very deadly-looking wood bow with a silver quiver full of silver arrows. However, my line of sight on the weapons I want is blocked by a skinny but tall figure, and I don’t need the person to turn around for me to know it’s Danica Roberts.
Running up behind her, I tackle her and shove her into the dirt too, then grab the sword, the bow and quiver of arrows, two large packs filled with hopefully useful things, and begin to climb the wrists of the Giving Hands, since I know that if I can get to the top, I’ll have a clear shot at anyone two hundred yards away or closer. Luckily the Hands are grooved, so, even in the rain, climbing is relatively easy, and I get to the top just in time to turn around and shoot one of the careers who was clearly intending to take me out. I hear the gunshot go off that signifies his death and I turn my gaze onto the ground around me, drawing an arrow and taking out another career champion before he even knows what hit him. For now I avoid the non-career champions, as I know that the careers are a much bigger threat, and, by the time the remaining careers realize what’s happening, I’ve taken out four of the ten careers with arrows alone.
After I’ve made sure all of the champions have cleared out from the Giving Hands or are dead, I slide cautiously down the golden medal to land on my feet and immediately set the packs down and whip the quiver off of my back, expecting to see that I’ve nearly depleted my stock of arrows, to instead find the same number of arrows as I started with. Incredibly puzzled, I take an arrow out of the quiver to see another identical one slide into the vacant spot, and I smile slightly. A technologically advanced quiver that makes its own arrows will definitely be an advantage in combat. I then take off into the rainforest, deciding that I’d rather face the dangers that could be hiding in the trees than all of the the things that could be lurking in the grasses to my right.
As soon as I’ve cleared a tree a few hundred yards away from the forest edge for dangers and am about to climb up it, I hear Puck’s voice, magnified expontentially, announce in a somehow normal tone and echo through the forest, “Section One: Michelle Bach, Michael Smith and Raymond Morris. Section Two: Liam Nicholas. Section Three: Lissa Moors. Section Four: Katherine Sargent. Section Five,” he begins, and I stop climbing, even though I’m probably very vulnerable being only five feet from the ground, and my heart stops beating for a moment as I hope to dear God that I don’t hear Abby’s name get read, “John Mullins and James Armour.”
I let out a sigh of relief and feel my breathing return to normal as I whisper to myself, “She’s alive,” then continue up the tree.
“Section Six: Andrea Sparks and Georgia Lewis. Section Seven: Lyle Hutchinson, Claire Downs and Mitchell Evans.” My eyebrows go up in surprise as I realize that no one from Section Eight died today, despite the fact that I thought for sure that either Sarah or Nick would be taken down early. I know Luke wouldn’t have died so early, since he actually did what Max told us to do and ran from the Giving Hands, not towards them, but it’s still kind of a relief to know for a fact that he’s alive.
“Thirteen down, eighteen to go,” I murmur as I settle myself into a sturdy branch about fifteen feet off the ground that’s concealed by leaves so it can’t be seen from below. Taking off my bow and quiver of arrows to set them on the same branches the packs I grabbed are on and turning to the two packs– which are currently hanging on smaller branches at about my eye level – I am about to break into them and figure out if there’s anything useful in them when suddenly Puck’s voice breaks the freshly still air again.
“The kill leader for today – and overall – is...” he begins, pausing to build up the suspense, and I can’t help but groan, because I know the name he announces is going to be mine, “Lizzie Lightning, with five kills!”
At first I mutter bitterly to myself, “Lovely,” thinking that I’d rather have any other honor in the world than kill leader in the Triple Crown, since not only do I not want to have killed five other children, being announced as the kill leader – along with me taking out four of the careers – will make the other champions single me out as the one to get rid of, but then I realize Puck said five, not four. “Five? I didn’t kill five,” I exclaim to myself, my brow furrowing into a question mark at Puck – well, the Triple Crown committee – getting the numbers wrong. They don’t get anything wrong, much less numbers. However, they might just be exaggerating to single me out and make things more difficult for me and more exciting for the El Nieve audience that actually wholeheartedly believes in the ‘star-crossed lovers’ bullcrap.
I can just see a news broadcast on the Triple Crown, which they actually do after every day to recap and talk about the most exciting moments, with a white reporter saying, “How will Luke react to the fact that his fiancée is a killing machine and has a good chance of killing him? What will Lizzie do about the fact that only one person can survive?”
Gritting my teeth and shaking my head, I force myself to think of different things, as I know that starting a tornado or a hurricane on top of all of the rain – which hasn’t stopped falling ever since One-Person Survival started, just reinforcing the idea that the Triple Crown committee and Rush are trying to tell me that this is no place for a spark – would not only give me away as more than just a ‘normal’ immortal to the Triple Crown committee but would destroy my hiding place, along with the rest of the rainforest, and force me to go into the grasses on the other side of the arena, which I have no intention of doing if I can help it.
My mind then goes back to the puzzle of Puck claiming I killed five other champions instead of five, and all of a sudden I realize he’s right. When I took out the career girl from Three – Lissa Moors is I think what Puck called her – I shot my arrow so hard that it went right through her and took out a non-career girl from Section Six standing behind her as well, whose name Puck said was Andrea Sparks. Oh well; at least Andrea won’t be tortured and eventually die at the hands of the career pack now, which is what most likely would have happened if I hadn’t taken her out.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I hate the careers, and not just because Marshall Moore seems intent on sticking his tongue in my mouth again. On the film that I watched of previous Triple Crowns, the career pack was always sadistic in its kills, just like the careers themselves. They made it out to be some kind of big game, and they always gave the audience good shows with their kills. Of course, all of the careers are from Sections One, Two, Three and Four, the Sections closest to El Nieve geographically and in terms of connections. El Nieve treats those Sections better than the others, so those Sections are closer in beliefs, ideals and mindsets to El Nieve than the rest of the Sections are, which means that citizens of One, Two, Three and Four are more likely to swallow the bullcrap El Nieve spews out – including their mentality regarding the Triple Crown. It’s because of this that there are career champions to begin with, since, because of the El Nieve influence, the citizens of One, Two, Three and Four don’t treat the Triple Crown as a punishment. They treat it as a way to earn money, fame and glory, so specially chosen children, who have made it their lives’ goals to win the Triple Crown, train in academies – even though training for the Triple Crown is technically against the rules – then volunteer to be a champion if their names aren’t drawn.
It’s a sick and twisted process in my mind, since basically One, Two, Three and Four are raising their children to kill other children and most likely die, but it’s very effective in terms of who wins: for the last ten years, the victors have all been careers from One, Two, Three and Four, although, about fifteen years ago, non-careers from the other Sections won three years straight.
Despite the careers’ battle training and much larger size and skill, the non-careers do have one advantage on the careers: the non-careers know how to survive. All of the careers have had enough to eat and drink and clothes to wear and shoes on their feet their whole lives, so they don’t know how to scavenge or hunt or go hungry or thirsty or live on their own as an independent human like all of the malnourished, poor non-careers who have always had to go without. So, when it comes to the Triple Crown, not having to fend for yourself or know what it’s like to go without food or water for long periods of time is actually a bad thing. Unfortunately, One-Person Survival isn’t just about surviving the elements; it’s also about surviving the other champions, which puts the non-careers at a serious disadvantage, since most of them have never touched a weapon before in their lives, much less know how to use one. That’s why I have a definite advantage over all of them. After countless missions, quests and battles, I know how to survive on my own for long periods of time, and I also have considerably more weapon training and real-world experience than even the careers. Of course, this ability of mine to survive and fight – along with that little thing about me being immortal – made the Triple Crown committee kidnap me and make me fight in the Triple Crown to begin with, so I guess it’s a double-edged sword: if I didn’t have that skill, I’d be dead, but I also wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have it.
Shaking my head as I realize that there’s no point in me wishing that I couldn’t fight or survive as well I can because I can’t change that now, I turn to the pack hanging to my left and unzip it to find – thank God almighty – a waterproof blanket and jacket, along with a few dried strips of unidentifiable meat, what appear to be vitamin pills, matches, and an empty plastic gallon jug attached to a small vial with a dropper that’s full of a clear liquid which I presume must be for collecting and purifying water, since, knowing the sick and twisted minds of the people on the Triple Crown committee, the rainwater’s probably poisonous to drink if you don’t treat it. Slipping the jacket on and draping the blanket over my soaked lower body, I put the rest of the supplies back in the pack carefully and turn to the other backpack. Gently shaking all of its contents out onto my lap, I find, much to my surprise and amusement, a pair of waterproof pants that exactly matches the jacket I’m wearing, more of the mystery jerky, a lighter, some strips of dried fruit and vegetables, and another jug with vial for purifying water. As I pull on the waterproof pants and back the blanket back up, I suddenly realize how thirsty I am, grab the lighter, and flick it to start a small flame so I can see if there are any instructions written on the jug regarding the specifics of purifying water. Sure enough, there are a few small words written on the bottleneck, and, by the flickering light of the tiny fire, I read the writing out loud to myself.
“Fill the bottle, add two drops, and let sit for fifteen minutes. Vial contains fifty drops,” I murmur, smiling as I realize that means I have enough to purify fifty gallons of water, which should be more than enough to get me through these two to three weeks of One-Person. Keeping the lighter on, I carefully place one of the jugs in a concealed location where it gets a steady stream of rainwater, then turn back to my packs to fish out some of the unknown dried meat, sniff it warily, and take a cautious bite upon finding nothing off about its scent.
Although it’s dry and tasteless, I savor every bite of the one thin strip I pull out for myself because I know that I have enough supplies to survive for at least three weeks if I ration myself carefully.
In fact, since I’m feeling very happy and even slightly rebellious, despite the obvious message Rush and the Triple Crown committee are sending me with this arena, I give the air in front of me the same salute I gave to the crowd just before I tried to commit a double suicide with Luke in Hand-to-Hand and mutter, a smirk creeping across my face, “Thanks for the jerky Rush, it’s great. I really appreciate your favoritism.”
I can almost see Max banging his huge bald and tattooed head on the table in frustration at me and my very counterproductive behavior, and the image that pops into my head just makes me want to laugh even more. However, my amusement is instantaneously converted into wariness and my hand freezes in its motion towards the packs to get a dried fruit strip out as I hear the unmistakable crack of a twig being broken underfoot.
Sitting upright and straining my eyes in the darkness to see who’s there as one hand creeps to the sword buckled to my waist, I nearly sigh out loud when I see it’s just a very wet, very scared-looking lone non-career girl who’s now sitting down against the base of the tree I’m in and trying to make a fire but so far only producing a lot of smoke.
Wait, smoke! damn it, she’s going to draw the career pack in our direction! Even if they can’t see the smoke through the clouds and rain still falling, they’ll still be able to smell it! Well, one thing’s certain right now: she’s dead, no questions asked. Whether I’m dead too will depend on whether the careers happen to look up after murdering the girl on the ground.
For a moment I contemplate the idea of shooting her now, putting the fire out, and climbing back up the tree before the careers arrive, but I might not get back up into the tree on time, since the careers could be only a few hundred yards away for all I know, and I think this girl needs to learn a lesson about not setting fires in the open so she won’t make the same mistake when it really matters in Team Survival, so I stay put and look around warily with my excellent night vision that comes from being a wolf in disguise, fully prepared to climb higher up the tree if the careers show up. I then add two drops of purifier to each of the water jugs, which are conveniently full, seal them both and place them, along with the packet of jerky strips, in the bags quietly as I keep one eye on the girl to make sure she doesn’t spot me up here, and, rising to my feet with my back to the tree trunk, I hang the bags up and set my bow and quiver on branches about five feet higher than the last ones, zip my jacket up, and place my hands on two sturdy branches so that I can pull myself up in a moment’s notice.
Sure enough, it’s not a minute before I hear more twigs being broken, this time clearly under the feet of multiple people, hear four joking voices, as one of them must have stayed back to guard their camp and supplies, and see the girl fifteen feet below me begin to panic and desperately try to put the fire out. Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I pause for a moment to hear what the careers are saying.
“Ooh, I hope it’s Lightning!” one girl voice, whose owner I’m positive is Danica Roberts, says, and, at the excited murmurs of assent of the rest of the career pack, I feel a wave of coldness slide down my body. They’ve already identified me as their main target. However, I don’t let myself remain frozen for very long and continue my ascent up the tree to move about five feet up so that, even if the careers did look up, they probably wouldn’t be able to see me through the darkness, rain and leaves.
“It wouldn’t be Lightning,” a male voice replies dismissively, and I wonder about who its owner is. “She’s clearly too smart and too well-trained to start such a smoky fire out in the open like that.” I feel my body turn to ice again as I realize who’s speaking: Marshall Moore.
“I hope we get rid of Lightning quickly. She’s our biggest threat,” a deep, sinister male voice murmurs, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from cursing out loud or punching something. There are four, probably five, incredibly well trained warriors that are all determined to kill me and are all unfortunately able to do so, which means that One-Person Survival is going to be a whole hell of a lot harder now.
However, I tell myself that I can’t panic, because panicking right now means death, and glance down to see the non-career girl abandoning her attempt to put out the fire, gathering up her small pack of supplies and taking off away from the careers. Unfortunately for her, the careers hear this and four of them take off running after her, with one of them – Marshall Moore – staying back to search the girl’s abandoned camp for anything useful. Finding nothing but the fire, he shakes his head, displeased but not surprised, sits down and warms his hands over the small blaze.