Triple Crown

[Sonmi-451]

So this is a story I wrote about my character Lizzie, who'll you know if you've read my other book Kodiak. And yes, this is very influenced by the Hunger Games.

My name is Lizzie. Just Lizzie. Well, not just Lizzie, but Lizzie’s all you need to know. Why am I alive? I shouldn’t be alive. It would be easier for everyone – everyone I care about – if I wasn’t. But, unfortunately, I am alive, and now everyone I love gets to watch me fight to the death on national television. I rise to my feet and pace the room I am in, seeing how everything is white. The walls, the furniture, the buildings, even the people, are all so white. Sometimes they are so pale that they seem transparent and I feel like I can look through them. But then I remember that these are the same people paying to watch me die, and I shut away all of those errant thoughts. I freeze when I hear a footstep behind and whip around, drawing my blade and coming within mere inches of slashing the servant girl’s face. Even though she doesn’t talk – she’s either been instructed not to or physically can’t – her eyes express volumes more shock and fear than any words ever could.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just startled,” I tell her, dropping my knife and trying to comfort her, but it doesn’t seem to be working. I’m not exactly a people person after all; that’s how I ended up here.

[Sonmi-451]

Songs relevant to/that I listened to while writing Triple Crown (more will most likely be added as I write more of the story):
Yet
Always
Stars
Survivor Guilt
Re-Education (Through Labor)
Fences
To Them These Streets Belong
Voices Off Camera
Concrete Girl

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

That day had been pretty white too, with thick clouds of snow draping the earth in winter furs and frosting the trees with sugar icing. But that white makeover, the one Mother Nature designed, looked tasteful, not desperate and overdone like this place does. Besides, everything was more beautiful then since I was home. Ah, home. With my dad Tom and my mom Amanda and my little brother Timmy and my twin older brothers Gwillan and Gruffen. Too bad I would probably never see them or my home again. I was walking to school on that snowy morning, relishing the cold, the snow, and, more than everything, the storm. I love storms. I always have, and I should, considering that everyone else in my family does too. In fact, I could sense that something was wrong when the storm instantly started to clear, and I knew something was wrong when the clouds pulled back to reveal more gray. Storms weren’t replaced by more storms when they cleared normally. Which meant this wasn’t a normal storm. I was almost to school when a strange, cloaked figure approached me. This immediately sent off sirens in my head, and my hand crept to my knife in my jacket pocket in case this person wanted any trouble.
“Are you Lizzie?” the figure asked in a low, very male voice, moving his head back and forth to see if there was anyone around us. When I had first spotted this person, I thought he was average height, maybe even a little shorter than average, but he seemed to have grown a foot in the time it took him to cross the street and meet me.
Like I always do when I feel threatened or challenged, I answered defensively, maybe even aggressively. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s it to you?” My fingers curled around the hilt of my dagger and I figured that, even though he was bigger than me, I had to be faster than he was. I am faster than everyone, whether it’s running or reflexes or mentally, I am just faster. Which I intend to use to my advantage when I’m fighting to stay alive.
Instead of answering, he merely snickered. “It’s a pity that you’re so rude. I might have let you off easier if you hadn’t been.”

[Lizzy<3]

Awsome

[CookieRaider]

sounds cool

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I literally started to snarl at this point. “What the hell do you mean you would have let me off easier?! What the hell did I ever do to you that I could’ve been let off easier from to begin with?” I was positively bristling with anger and defensiveness and was about ready to deck the guy in the nose to show who needs to be let off easy, when, in one quick, fluid motion like a snake killing its prey, he stepped forward, grabbed me by the waist and injected something into my arm with a needle he had concealed in his hand. I tried to fight the drug off, I tried to keep awake and alert, I tried to keep fighting his grip as he carried me over his shoulder, but I could feel the drug’s effects almost immediately. The last thing I remembered before everything went black was him laughing under his breath, not a true laugh but a psychotic, twisted, awful laugh that still rings in my dreams every night and makes sleep almost impossible.
When I woke up, everything around me was black, an incredibly stark contrast to where I am now.
Pushing myself up onto my elbows to get a better look around, I heard a man chuckle softly and murmur, “It looks like Lizzie’s awake now,” and, as my heart sunk into my stomach, I realized it was the man from yesterday. Or however long ago that snowy morning was; for all I knew, it could have centuries.
“What do you want?” I snarled back at him, reaching for my knife in my sweatshirt pocket and realizing I have no knife and no sweatshirt.
“Looking for this?” He twirled my knife in his fingers and rose, pulling something from his pocket that flickered one, two, three times before it stayed lit. A lighter. And in the small light of that lighter, I got a first look at my captor. He was huge, as I already knew, with broad shoulders that stretched his black mesh shirt painfully tight, which made me wonder idly how he hadn’t suffocated yet. Even more interesting yet was his face. He had tattoos of fire on his cheeks that were so real I almost thought he was on fire when I first saw him. However, what captured me and held me to that huge, shaved head of his was his eyes. They were even more like flames than his face, their unnatural orange color flickering and dancing, although that seems too light a word, in the lighter’s fire. And then I knew what he was.
“Immortal.” I whispered the word that blessed and cursed us both, feeling a sudden small jolt of companionship for this man with the flames. But how did he end up this like, capturing other immortals?
“You’re a smart girl, Lizzie. Maybe you can put those smarts of yours to some use in the field.” I jerked suddenly upward, knowing exactly what he is talking about. Knowing that he is talking about a battlefield.
“What field?” I shot back, trying to figure out a way to read this man with the flames. His face was a mask of marble; I would never be able to read him that way. But could I read his mind? Thinking that it’s worth a shot at least, I sent out a finger of my mind to probe his, to see if I could maybe discover his secrets. And I was met with a shock of pure solid pain shooting through my brain. I fell to my knees, tears streaming from eyes from the pure physical hurt as I muttered profanities in every language I knew, which was quite a lot.

[Sonmi-451]

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you Lizzie. You might get shocked.” The man began to laugh again, that disturbed, terrible laugh that made me want to curl up on the ground with my hands on my ears.
“Do you want this back?” He waved my knife in front of me after I pulled myself to my feet and told myself that no matter how bad it hurt, I would not cry, I would not even let my eyes water, because that could be interpreted as a sign of weakness.
“Yes.” I lunged out for it, only to have him pull it back just as quickly. This fire-man was fast, that was for sure.
“First, you have to do something for me.” By the way that sick smile crept across his face, I could tell that I wasn’t going to like whatever he was going to have me do.
I tried my best to hide how much that grin unnerved me. “Which is?” I stared him down again, this time out of desperation.
“I have a… problem of sorts,” he told me, meeting my gaze to make sure I am following. Like I wouldn’t be. “I want you to get rid of it.” The way he talked made me think that this problem of his was not an issue but a person. He proved my suspicions right by, a few seconds later, bringing in a little cloaked form. I could see that the person’s feet were bound by the way he or she walked, and I caught a glimpse of brown cord sticking out from one of the sleeves, so his or her hands were bound too. When the fire-man pulled the person’s hood off, I gasped. I had been expecting a dangerous-looking psycho like Fire-man, not the cute little girl that stood before me. She was tiny, four and a half feet tall if she was lucky, and wouldn’t tip the scale at sixty-five pounds soaking wet.
“Kill her,” Fire-man commanded, and I turned towards him with loathing in my eyes. I could not and would not kill her.
“No.” She didn’t look or smell or feel dangerous at all; all she looked and smelled and felt was utterly and completely terrified.
“Well, why not?” Much to my surprise, Fire-man didn’t seem upset or even surprised. I guess he had been expecting my refusal.
“Well, why?” I shot back, thinking I had much less reason to answer his question than he did mine. “Why should I kill this innocent little girl that isn’t dangerous or threatening and looks like she would cry if she hurt a fly?”
“How do you know she’s not dangerous or threatening?” Now it was Fire-man’s turn to stare me down.
“She…” How did I know she wasn’t dangerous? “She… she just isn’t. I can just tell,” was the best response I could come up with, which was incredibly lame, I know.
“Would you kill her if she was trying to kill you?” he asked, his eyes glued on my face to see my reaction.
“Of course,” I answered immediately, all of my assassin and warrior training so ground into me that it replied for me. “Because then it’s me versus her, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be her.”
“Well, Lizzie…” he began, smiling what could only be considered a normal smile. “Maybe you’ll last longer in the field than I thought you would.” Turning towards the little girl, he told her gently, “You can go now. Sorry about this.” She then sprinted amazingly fast away from us, and I was reminded, yet again, that fear is an excellent motivator.
After her slight form disappeared, I asked him suspiciously, “What field are you talking about?” as I narrowed my eyes at him. If he was trying to unnerve me with this psycho-killer then nice-guy act, he was definitely succeeding.
“The Triple Crown battlefield,” he answered calmly, all trace of the mentally unstable person he had just been gone from his face.
“What’s the Triple Crown?” It seemed like every time he answered my questions, he always created more questions than he resolved.
“The Triple Crown is a tournament, televised on national television, where children between the ages of eleven and eighteen fight to the death.” I opened my mouth to interrupt him, but he just held up his hand and continued talking. “There are three events, hence the name. The first is one-on-one fighting to the death, and it starts out with thirty-two fighters. If you kill your competitor, you move up in the bracket, and if you kill everyone you face, you are the champion of that event. If you don’t, however, you are dead because that means someone else has killed you. The second event is much harder than the first. In this event, the same thirty-two of you – they revive the children who get killed in the first round – are thrown out into a wilderness and the last person alive wins. In this event, you can gifts sent to you by betters, or people betting that you will win, and since they want you to win, they will buy supplies that you need in order to keep you alive the longest. The third event is essentially the same as the second, except you are now teamed up in pairs, and the last pair alive wins, and, like the second, you can get gifts from betters in this event, and these gifts may very well keep you alive – or not. This event is the toughest because there is always the high possibility that you will lose your partner, and if you die in the third round, that’s it. There are no revivals.”

[Sonmi-451]

More added. Any comments or poll ideas?

“And I’m supposed to fight in this, aren’t I?” I murmur aloud, feeling my heart sink into the floor below me. Fire-man nodded his assent, confirming what I already knew but hoped against just the same. “But… why do they want me to fight in it? I mean, since I’m immortal, wouldn’t that just make it pointless? They’d already know the outcome and that would take away a lot of the excitement and fun behind it, right?” I looked up at him curiously and found my feeling of kinship for him growing.
“It’s been twenty-five years since they’ve had a Triple Crown winner, and they want another one. That’s why they had me take you,” Fire-man told me, sadness – of all things – tingeing his voice.
“You were the last winner, weren’t you?” The room was completely silent, even the tiny flame coming from the lighter silencing itself to eavesdrop on our conversation.
“You always were a smart one, Lizzie,” he murmured sadly, his eyes of flame looking as if someone has dumped a bucket of water on them.
We sat in silence for a few seconds, as I absorbed the extremity of the situation, until I spoke again. “But I’m not completely immortal. I’ve got a conditional immortality, where I can die from ‘normal’ weapons like swords and spears and arrows but not from anything else. Do they know that?” They – whoever they were – probably did and figured they might as well make it partially fair.
“They – the Triple Crown committee – know that, but they figure that it will be more interesting if there is at least a chance that you will die. That’s how it was for me too, except I can die by the elements and by nothing else.” I smirked slightly when I realized that he had read my mind so he could confirm my suspicions without me having to voice them.
I nodded, not confused anymore but angry, and then abruptly asked, “What’s your name? I’ve been thinking of you as Fire-man but I’m guessing that’s not actually what you’re called.”
“In the Triple Crown, since I had these tattoos back then, my name was Fiero, very original, I know,” he began, his eyes twinkling as he knew I was going to say the same thing about it being original. “My real name is Maximus, Maximus Knight. I’ll be mentoring you – which means trying to keep you alive – during the Triple Crown.” He held out his hand for me to shake and my blade for me to take and I gladly took both of them.
“Well, Maximus, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Lizzie.” I smiled at him, finding him actually pleasant now that he wasn’t trying to freak me out with the psychopath act. If it was an act. “So, do you have any tips about the Triple Crown for me?”
“Yeah; stay alive.” There was no trace of laughter or happiness remaining on his face and I knew that he wasn’t joking at all.
Just as he is about to step forward and inject me with another syringe full of the sleep drug, I cried, almost desperately, not wanting to go under again, “Wait! I have one more question.”
“Which is?” Maximus heard the frantic tone to my voice but didn’t seem to be displeased. Maybe he knew from experience how helpless that drug made you.
“Where am I?” I was guessing I was in another world, since I knew of no place on the earth that I came from that would have thirty-two children fight to the death on television.
“You are in a place called El Tiempo, in a different universe than your own.” This time Max actually did inject me with the sleep drug, and everything went black again.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I scowl as the servant girl rushes out of the room, terror radiating from her body, since I know that I’m going to get my knife taken away now too. So that makes… nearly a dozen weapons confiscated from my possession in only twelve hours. I think that’s a new personal best. Unfortunately.
Sure enough, two guards come to my room within a minute and abscond my knife with a stern, “You know weapons aren’t allowed until the Triple Crown!”
“You know weapons aren’t allowed until the Triple Crown!” I shoot mockingly towards the door after they leave, along with a middle finger.
The same servant girl who turned me in comes back into the room after they leave. I turn away from her in annoyance, thinking that I really can’t trust anyone around here, beside myself, with anything.
She murmurs to me very quietly and sincerely, “I’m sorry. I had to,” and I whip around in surprise, not exactly sure if she’s talking to me. When I meet her gaze, however, I know that she is, and instantly feel bad for being a jerk and blocking her out.
“Oh, it’s ok,” I tell her just as quietly, now scanning her up and down to try and read her. She is tiny, four and a half feet tall if she is lucky, and very young, probably eleven or twelve. She also wouldn’t tip the scale at sixty-five pounds soaking wet. “What’s your name?” I ask her gently, suddenly very intrigued as to why an eleven-year-old is a palace servant. But, since nearly everyone else is starving and you won’t starve working in the palace, I guess her career choice makes sense.
“My name is Abigail, Abigail Williams,” she replies, the facts that she doesn’t speak above a whisper and that her eyes are glued on her feet making it almost impossible for me to hear what she says. She then looks up at me and I see wonder and amazement and still a bit of fear tingeing her forget-me-not blue gaze. “And you’re Lizzie, Lizzie Lightning,” she utters, staring up at me as though she has never seen a person before in her life. I mean, I’m not bad-looking – in fact, being five-eleven and nine percent body fat, I’d say I’m a lot better than bad-looking – but I definitely don’t deserve the admiration this girl is giving me with her eyes and posture.
“Yeah, that’s me. The girl who’s going to die on national television tomorrow.” I sigh, resigning myself to my fate. I’m good; sure, with two and a half years of working as an assassin, maybe I’m even great, but there’s bound to be someone better than me, someone who’s been training their entire life for the glory of winning the Triple Crown.
“I’ve seen what you can do,” Abigail murmurs, her voice becoming stronger as she becomes more comfortable talking to me. “I’ve seen you run and lift and fight, and I’ve seen the other champions run and lift and fight, and…” She pauses, and I can tell she’s not supposed to tell me as much as she has. “…and you’re better than all of them.” She then turns, cleans up the shards of the vase I broke in my fit of rage earlier, and leaves as quietly as she entered.
“Do you really mean it Abigail?” I ask the door she just left out of, and think, that if anything of my initial judgment of her is correct, it’s that she’s not one to lie.

[Sonmi-451]

Should I continue this?