I've never descended to path down the Nut with only my slanted shadow and I. Miscelle and I would trekk the specious trail in unison. My last time will be at this moment, isolated with the near future of myself volunteering for some darts and pure faith; The Hunger Games. Why should I even go in for it? For her? If that's the case, I'm not as independent as I pictured myself as. Maybe it's my unconscious mind doing what it's been taught for two years. My hiking turns to bounding and bounding turns into a chaotic hurry of my legs.
Then I saw them.
Their appearance didn't bellow "Peacekeepers" like the infinite soldiers of the Capitol. No, they looked somewhat like the plastic surgeons on the never-lasting promos Panem airs. Discussing each revolting procedure in gruesome detail. The best word that paired with the bunch was "scientists", even "doctors". They stand nonchalantly at the entrance of the Nut where the Panems's military arsenal is kept.
"How...we...lucky!" With my vulnerable hearing, I only collect a few snip-its of words.
Call it intuition. Hell, even call it a gut-feeling. Something in the atmosphere and it's colleagues of air particles didn't exactly flow agilely with these scientists. As if my last spur of bravery were the remaining dregs of a cup, I take it in and proceed to inch closer to the examiners. Soon, the mismatched words link with their mouths and I begin to hear.
"We didn't even need to plant mines, it's a volcano in and of itself. Who knew?" one of the three disheveled doctors sighs.
"We should start drilling and pour this stuff in it. I think The Reaping alarm already went off." Another one presents a container filled to the brim with bleak fluid. Her thread-like eyebrows raise like a sunrise; a ghastly sunrise. She seems to verify an agreement through the two because she gathers a lethal drill from an angle I couldn't see.
I've felt fear before. The emotion leaked from my brain (not from my heart. I don't believe a heart can control that horrid of a feeling.) and glazed over my face like a dense sheeting of fog in September. For my vanishing parents. For the remaining tributes of a Game. And now, for District 2, as it's adored Nut turns into the blazing weapon that will demolish it all. Not by itself, oh no. If The Nut was a human being, it'd do just the opposite; protect its land from destruction. This is going to happen because of that devilish trio. Are they even working for the Capitol?
I should interrupt them somehow. No, that'd be a suicide wish. I should make District 2 aware to evacuate. Before the thought of deciding even ceased to exist, the nauseating sound of a running drill smothers the silence.
And, I'm running.
"Hey, where's that kid going?!"
But, now I'm practically hurdling through my steps.
There was a rumble, then a split at the drumming ground, and lastly the eruption. The sky seems to leak embers and earth as they follow eachother's tails down to their landing. Which is right underneath me. They char my skin as if they were the falling debris of victor fireworks. I catch a glimpse behind me at the fast pace lava creeping downhill the Nut. I scamper to get my body moving again even more rapid than before. By the time I made it on smooth land, The liquid has followed my tracks. The south side of District 2 is now aware of the situation (since it's closest to the Nut). Mothers smothering their children into their shoulders. Men grabbing people by the dozen toward the North side. I pass by the panicking citizens before they can evacuate.
The upper side of 2 seems to be in another realm. Daily life is proceeding like usual. Masons socking at numerous metals. Unaware that there will come heavy magma creeping their houses. With or without their extinction, I grab the attention of the closet person near me. An elderly man.
"Sir,The Nut just exploded! Grab your family and evcauate!"
"Yeah, like the Capitol's man source of protection would just combust. Screw your head on, son."
With that, he continues to haul a barrel of annoyingly huge chunks of gold, and continues downhill to his death.