Category: Fan Fiction

Chapter 20

When I wake up I can feel Katniss beside me. Everything seems normal, peaceful, comfortable. For the first time I feel well-rested and, strangely, all the pain in my body has disappeared. I sit up tiredly and see that the swelling in my leg has reduced dramatically, and what used to be a large gash is now a clean scar. That’s when I notice the large needle laying on the ground next to me, empty of its medicine, and the throbbing in my arm where it was injected. The memories from the moments before I was knocked out suddenly flood back to me. I turn to see Katniss beside me. She is lying in a pool of blood; it’s source: a deep cut on her forehead. I fumble out of my sleeping bag and kneel next to her, nudging her softly. I whisper her name, but she shows no signs of hearing me. For a second I think she’s dead, but then I see the slow rise and fall of her chest, and I put my hand an inch away from her mouth and can feel the hot breath escaping it. 

As my heart rate quickens and my mind struggles to comprehend the situation, I run through the facts in my head. Katniss gave me sleeping syrup to knock me out. Against my will, she’d gone to the feast. She got my medicine. She was hurt in the process. She made it back. She fixed my leg. She’s passed out but still alive. I have to help her, like she helped me. 

Katniss’ clothes are soaking wet, so I gently remove her jacket, boots, and socks, and lay them out on a rock in the cave. There’s no sunlight in the cave to dry them, and when I hear a clap of thunder outside, I figure it wouldn’t be much better out there. I take the sleeping bag and carefully tuck her into it, pulling it up to her chin and laying a backpack beneath her head. The medical kit that Katniss had once used to patch me up is laying beside the sleeping bag, and I open it to find the fever medicine, the leaves she used to treat my stings, burn cream, and a small roll of gauze and bandages. Mimicking Katniss’ procedure, I shove a handful of the leaves in my mouth and begin to chew. In the meantime, I escape outside and lift our water bottles to the sky to collect the rain that is pouring down. The downpour seems unnaturally intense, and I know that no weather in the arena is inflicted on accident. The Gammemakers must be trying to torment us, or at least, someone out there who hasn’t been lucky enough to find a cave like ours. Once back inside, I clean Katniss’ wound with water and apply the glob of chewed leaves to the cut. 

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper softly, though I know she can’t hear me. “You took care of me, now it’s your turn.” I hold her hand in mine, and it’s ice cold. I massage to improve the circulation and hold it up to my mouth, blowing hot air onto it. Before I let it go, I kiss the back of her hand and tuck it back into the sleeping bag. 

Once the leaves have somewhat dried, I remove them, clean the wound again, and slowly lift her head to place it on my lap. I place a square of gauze on the wound and wrap bandages around her forehead. Sitting there, arms around her, I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest. I hope and pray that she wakes up soo; I’m longing to see those mesmerizing grey eyes bore back into mine. 

As I sit there, I notice a steady drip of water leaking in from the roof of the cave. I dig into Katniss’ pack to find something to jam the hole, but all I find is a small square of plastic. It’ll have to do. I unfold it and, like a canopy, secure the corners of it in the crevices of rock in the ceiling to catch the droplets. I make a mental note to keep an eye on it and change it out before the water weighs it down.

Even with the thunder and rain, I can just make out the sound of the Anthem. Giving Katniss a kiss on the forehead, I move to the entrance of the cave and peek my head out. I know that Katniss must’ve run into other tributes at the feastーsomeone had to have cut herー but I also know that feasts almost always result in fatalities. That’s the whole point, after all. Katniss made it back, but that leaves Cato, Clove, Foxface, and Thresh. Who faced their demise at this year’s feast?

My question is answered immediately when the death recap is projected in the sky. Clove’s face stares back at mine, that cold glare and evil grin so familiar to me. She has always been relentless, and she’s certainly not the one I would’ve expected to see die today. The fact that I knew her, whether I liked her or not, leaves a pang in my stomach. Could she have been the one to cut Katniss? My mind flashes back to her showing off her knife-throwing skills during training, immediately flagging her as a lethal opponent.

Then it occurs to me that the tribute pack I’d once spent night and day with has been whittled down to one. I wonder where Cato is now. Is he grieving the loss of his fellow tribute from District 2, especially with the new rule allowing two tributes from the same district to go home? Now, Katniss and I are the only remaining team, and with my leg miraculously healed with whatever medicine the feast offered, I feel a surge of hope rush through me. We could go home. That is, if Katniss wakes up. My flutter of hope is soon replaced by a pang of worry.

After the anthem plays again in closing, I return to Katniss’ side in the cave. I’m suddenly aware of how hungry I am. Over the past week I’ve eaten little more than a few nibbles of dried fruit and a couple bowls of stew or broth. For the first time, I’m ready for a feast like the ones we receive daily at the Capitol. My stomach rumbles at the thought of it: warm carrot soup, buttery rolls, juicy lamb chops, chocolate lava cake. I push the thoughts aside and tell myself that if, no, when, we get out of here, I will never feel a hunger like this again.

I rummage through Katniss’ pack again and find the groosling that she’d offered me so many times before that I’d rejected. Now, I could easily eat the whole bird for myself. I start with one piece, trying to conserve our food supply, but that one piece soon turns into three. My stomach, receiving solid food for the first time in ages, begs for more, but I resist. I crawl into the sleeping bag beside Katniss, allowing her heat to become mine and mine to become hers, and I will myself to sleep.

When I awake, I inspect my leg again and see that the swelling and redness has reduced even more. It’s incredible, like Cato’s sword had barely left a mark. The red lines indicating blood poisoning have retreated, and the feeling has fully returned.

I look over hopefully at Katniss but see that she is still unresponsive. I check her boots and clothes that I’d laid out and find that they’re still damp. The rain still hasn’t seized, and pours hard as ever outside. The canopy I’d created with the plastic sheet has collected water, and I tip it out and onto my hands to rinse them off. I take a chug of water and again go outside to refill the bottles, knowing that as soon as Katniss wakes up she’s going to need to drink. 

Now I know how hard it must’ve been for Katniss when I was so close to death. Looking at her, still as a stone, my heart aches for her to come back to me. I wonder if she felt the same way towards me, wondering how in the world she could ever go on if I never opened my eyes again. She must’ve felt something, otherwise she wouldn’t have risked her life at the feast. Or was she only doing that out of obligation and guilt, not out of love? 

I return to her side and brush the hair back from her forehead, stroking her cheek, my heart telling myself that she’ll wake up soon, but my mind trying to come to terms with the possibility that she might not.  

Her eyes move rapidly behind her lids and, ever so slightly, she begins to stir. My heart leaps.

“Katniss,” I whisper. “Katniss, can you hear me?”

Those eyes flutter open and for a moment Katniss’ body tenses up, and she looks like she’s forgotten where she is. Her eyes, more beautiful now than ever, meet mine, and her body relaxes. “Peeta,” she whispers.

“Hey,” I say, stroking her cheek. “Good to see your eyes again.”

“How long have I been out?” she asks, disoriented.

“Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood,” I tell her. “I think it’s stopped finally, but I wouldn’t sit up or anything.”

Knowing she must be dehydrated, I reach for the bottle of water that I’d filled and lift it to her lips. She guzzles it desperately.

When she’s finished, she takes a good look at me, noticing for the first time that I’m moving about without hindrance in my leg. “You’re better,” she observes simply. 

“Much better,” I say. “Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone.” 

“Did you eat?” she asks, still concerned about me, like she has no idea that she’s in need, too.

“I’m sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while,” I tell her, guiltily rubbing my stomach. “Don’t worry, I’m back on a strict diet.”

“No, it’s good. You need to eat,” she says. “I’ll go hunting soon.”

“Not too soon, all right? You just let me take care of you for a while,” I say, rummaging in the pack to retrieve some food for her. I remove the groosling and a handful of dry fruit, and she eats a few bites and drinks the water I offer her again. She’s shivering, and I unzip the sleeping bag and remove my jacket to cover her bare feet. I massage warmth back into them as best I can before zipping her back up. 

“Your boots and socks are still damp, and the weather’s not helping much,” I say, and a clap of thunder and flash of lightning verifies my statement. The storm has been going on for almost a full day, and it’s only getting worse.

“I wonder what brought on this storm? I mean, who’s the target?” I wonder out loud.

“Cato and Thresh,” Katniss answers immediately. “Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove… she cut me and then…”

That explains the gash on her forehead, as I expected. But what happened after that? “I know Clove’s dead. I saw it in the sky last night,” I fill her in. “Did you kill her?”

“No,” she says, recalling a bad memory. “Thresh broke her skull with a rock.”

I cringe at the thought of the pain, thinking of Thresh with his giant-like strength. He’s the only other tribute that stood a chance against the Careers, and it’s clear he’s not going down without a fight. “Lucky he didn’t catch you too,” I say, wondering how in the world Katniss escaped.

“He did,” she says softly, reflectively. “But he let me go.”

“He what?” I ask, perplexed. People don’t let other tributes go in the Games. Not this late, at least. Everyone wants to get home, and no matter who you are, you’re in this to win it at this point, and nothing stands in the way of that. “Why would he do that?”

Katniss sighs, searching for the answer. “Do you remember Rue?” 

I nod, my heart suddenly dropping at the thought of her innocent spirit being gone from this world. 

“Well, she and Thresh, they’re both from Eleven,” she says. “I’m not sure how well they knew each other before all of this, but from what I saw, he treated her like his little sister. Even during training they would eat together.” I remember them sitting at the tables in the dining area, laughing together as if they were best friends on their lunch break at school. 

“Anyway,” Katniss continues, “Rue and I ran into each other in the arena. Actually, she was the one who gave me the idea to drop the tracker jacker nest.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget?” I say teasingly, recalling the excruciating strings.

“Yeah, erm, sorry about that by the way. I really thought you were on their side,” she says.

“It’s okay,” I assure. “I’m glad you did. I thought it was really clever actually. But go on,” I say, urging her to continue her story.

“After that, I suffered quite a few strings myself, and I…” she trails off. “Well, I can’t quite remember. The tracker jacker venom made it hard to know what was real and what was all going on inside my head.” She searches for the memory. “Did you… save me?”

“I told you to run,” I recall, the distorted memories flooding back to me, too. “You took the bow and arrow from Glimmer, but you weren’t moving. I knew Cato was coming back, and I couldn’t let him find you.”

“Well, evidently he found you,” she said, glancing at my leg. I wince at the memory of the pain inflicted by Cato’s wayward sword. “I’m so sorry,” she says, feebly.

“It’s okay. I’m all better now, thanks to you.” She gives me a weak smile. “Anyway, go on with your story. You were saying about Rue?”

Katniss goes on, telling me about how she and Rue became allies. How Rue took care of her while she was passed out from the tracker jacker stings and taught her about the leaves that draw out infection. I remember the two of them hitting it off at the edible plants station during training, and I close my eyes as she talks and hold her hand, trying to picture their friendship forming in the arena. 

“Rue told me about the Career’s stockpile of supplies by the lake, and we decided to take it out. She would set off a series of fires to create smoke and draw the Careers away from the lake, and I would go in. They set up a sort of booby-trap around the supplies and left the boy from District 3 to keep watch. Apparently he’d dug up the twenty-four mines from underneath the tribute pedestals and set them up to keep others out.” I nod, remembering Cato pridefully telling me about their sinister but genius plot. 

“Foxface actually figured out the pattern,” Katniss adds. “She snuck in there and stole supplies while I watched from the forest. We can’t forget about her, either. She’s still out there, too.

Anyway, long story short, I shot an arrow at a sack of apples and they spilled out, setting off one mine after another. All the supplies blew. I lost hearing in one of my ears and felt really disoriented, so I camped out in the trees overnight. Cato killed the boy from Three after he saw what happened. I saw how upset they were and I knew I did my job well, I mean, they’re probably out there right now, wishing they paid more attention at the survival skills stations during training. I bet they have no idea how to make a matchless fire, how to hunt, or how to tell the difference between a blueberry and a nightlock berry.”

I give her an impressed nod, acknowledging the cleverness of their plan and soaking in the hope that comes from knowing Cato is out there, probably in even worse condition than us for the first time since the Games began. “Do you think that’s what they needed from the feast?” I ask. “Supplies that they lost during the explosion?”

“Could be, I’m not sure. But Thresh took their bag, so maybe Cato will have to find him and fight him for it.” District 2, who must be so used to winning year after year, might be getting ready to kiss their last tribute goodbye. 

“Only if we’re lucky,” I observe.”So what happened after that?”

“The next morning I went looking for Rue. Before we parted ways we decided to signal each other through the mockingjays,” she lets out a soft four-note tune that sends chills through my body. “I heard the signal and knew that meant she was okay. But as I got closer, I heard screaming, and I started to run. When I found her she was tangled in a net, and before I could reach her, the boy from District 1 threw a spear that pierced her body.” 

She pauses for a moment, staring glassy-eyed straight ahead of her, and she lets out a sigh before continuing. “I shot an arrow at the boy and he was dead instantly. I held Rue’s hand and sang to herーthe same lullaby I sang to Prim when she was a babyーuntil she died.”

Katniss’ voice sounds weaker now than when she began her story, and I can see the wetness arising in her blank stare as she holds back tears. I grip her hand tighter, rubbing the back of it with my thumb.

“Having you there with her must’ve made all the difference,” I offer, not knowing what words to use to comfort her. I want to tell her there was nothing she could do, that it wasn’t her fault, and I want to hold her until all the pain from that moment has disappeared. But I know that nothing I say or do will take away the hurt that comes from reliving that memory.

She collects herself enough to continue. “I covered her in wildflowers and held up that three-finger salute, wanting to give honor to that little girl and to her family grieving her loss back home. That night, District 11 sent me a gift. A loaf of bread, the small crescent roll sprinkled with seeds like you showed me during training, still warm. It was like they were thanking me.

And that brings us to now. At the feast Clove and I started to fight, and she pinned me, ready to carve me with her knife. Then Thresh showed up. He overheard Clove taunting me about Rue, how they killed her, my ‘little ally,’ and now I was next. He lifted her off of me and smashed her skull with a rock. I closed my eyes and braced myself because I thought I was next. But instead of killing me, as he so easily could’ve, he asked if it was true that Rue and I were allies, like Clove said. I told him we were, that we blew up the Careers’ supplies together, that I was too late to save her, that the boy from One got to her before I could, but I killed him. I told him that I sang to Rue until she died and buried her in flowers, and I told him that District 11 sent me bread. I asked him to kill me fast, but instead, he let me go.” She searches her memory, still in disbelief. “I remember his exact words. ‘Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we’re even now. No more owed.’ Then he told me to run, and I did. I got out of there as fast as I could before he changed his mind.”

I sit there, soaking in everything I’ve heard. “He let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” I ask, trying to make sense of this situation, something so absurd and unheard of this late in the Games.

“Yes,” she says. “I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain.”

“And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” I say, half offended, half knowing that she’s absolutely right.

“It’s like the bread,” she continues. “How I never seem to get over owing you for that.”

“The bread? What? From when we were kids?” My mind flashes back to that rainy night so many years ago. “I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead.”

“But you didn’t know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it’s the first gift that’s always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn’t even have been here to do it if you hadn’t helped me then… why did you, anyway?”

“Why? You know why.” Haven’t I made it obvious enough? I meant what I said during my interview with Caesar. Or does she still think this is all an act to keep us alive? “Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing.”

“Haymitch?” she asks, confused. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“Nothing,” I say, brushing it off and deciding to change the subject. “So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it’s too much to hope that they’ll simultaneously destroy each other?”

Katniss seems unsettled. “I think we would like Thresh. I think he’d be our friend back in District Twelve.”

I picture myself being the reason Thresh doesn’t go home to his family, and it creates a pit at the bottom of my stomach. “Then let’s hope Cato kills him, so we don’t have to.”

Katniss doesn’t respond, but I can see tears welling up in her eyes. 

“What is it?” I ask, inching closer, holding my hand gently to her forehead. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I want to go home, Peeta,” she says, holding back tears. This is the first sign of weakness she’s shown me, and the hard-shelled Katniss that I’ve seen since we left on the train is suddenly wearing away.

“You will,” I say, confident that what I’m saying is true. “I promise.” I lean in and give her a gentle kiss, suddenly remembering that the world is watching and probably hanging on to every vulnerable word and romantic gesture.

“I want to go home now,” she says bleakly.

“Tell you what,” I begin. “You go back to sleep and dream of home, and you’ll be there before you know it. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, nestling into her sleeping bag. “Wake me if you need me to keep watch.”

“I’m good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?”

Katniss has already closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. I listen to the storm rumble outside and sit stark upright, watching the cave entrance for any danger. All I can think is that I have to keep my promise. Katniss has to go home. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to go with her.

Chapter 16

Pitch darkness turns to vivid imagery. 

I’m back at the bakery. Ryean and Rottee are asleep beside me. Suddenly the roof collapses and a hive of tracker jackers falls to the ground, exploding with an angry swarm. Oddly, they don’t charge at me; instead, they surround my brothers until you can’t see an inch of them, buzz around their bodies for a few seconds, and then fly away, their jobs done, and Rotee and Ryean collapse to the ground, looking more like a skeleton-shaped pile of blisters than the healthy, human bodies they were moments before. Like Glimmer, the red welts pulsing over their skin cover any hint of life that there once was, and in the distance I hear a cannon. Or was it a cannon?

I open the door to run downstairs but a burst of fire from the hallway sends me flying backwards. The room floods with flames and there’s another cannon一no, it’s an explosion, and it sends another wave of fire through the door. I can’t get out that way. I make a break for the window and leap out, taking one last look at my brother’s mutilated bodies, tears finally forming from a mixture of grief and the effect of the smoke. 

I jump out of the window and land in a pile of skulls. I pick one up, holding it in the palm of my hands and staring into its sullen eyes, when all of a sudden the bone turns to flesh and the lips curl into a familiar smile. I am holding the head of my best friend, Delly Cartwright. In an instant her face melts away and again reveals the cracked gray, anonymous skull, and I drop it to the ground, where it joins the pile of thousandsー lost people, forever indistinguishable from one another. All of District 12 is desolate, and before I have time to regain my feet, I hear a loud crash and see a bomb strike the cobblestone street in the middle of the square. Again I’m blown backwards, and I crawl to take shelter behind the bakery.

My Father is there, ducking under the windowsill which has just been blasted through.
“Peeta, thank God you’re alive,” he takes me under his arm as if to shield me. “Where are your brothers?”

I can’t speak, but I answer his question with a sob as I bury my face deeper into his chest. 

Suddenly I’m a kid again. Eleven years old. My face is still buried into my father’s shirt, but now it smells of fresh detergent rather than fire and smoke. I look up into his youthful face and he wipes the tears from my eyes. 

“I’m sad too, son,” he says. “It was a tragic, horrible accident.” He pulls me close again.

“What are they going to do now?” I say, sniffling. “They lost their father, there’s no more money. They’re going to starve.”

“Shhhhh,” he coos, ruffling my hair. “They’re not going to stave. They’ll find a way. They have a family of fighters.”

“Can we make them a breadbasket?” I ask, wiping the tears from my eyes. 

“That’s very thoughtful,” he says, turning up my chin so my eyes match his. “Of course we can. Just don’t tell your mother,” he winks.

The scene ripples away, like it’s fast-forwarding a few hours. I can feel a welt on the back of my head from my mother’s rolling pin; as it turned out, she had noticed the missing bread. My father returns home, looking disheveled and depressed. I run up to him, hugging his waist. “What happened?” I ask, desperate for good news but, from his look, expecting the opposite.

“She’s not the same,” he sighs. “She wouldn’t even look at me.”

Everything goes black again and a moment later I’m in the Everdeen’s house. Laying on the floor, I see Katniss, Prim, and their mother wasting away into skeletons, rotting, with rats scampering over their lifeless bodies. 

Gale bursts through the door and walks right through me, as if I were a ghost. He scoops up Katniss and the moment she is in his arms, her body glows, and she springs back to life. She embraces him, and, to my dismay, presses her lips against his. They kiss passionately, as if they were molding into one person. Their lips finally part, and Katniss’ eyes bore directly into mine.

“You are nothing, nothing compared to him,” she pronounces. “You are weak. You are useless. Get out of my sight, baker’s boy.” She turns back to Gale and passionately caresses him, as if I wasn’t there.

A series of explosions rouses me from my nightmares. Though, I can’t quite tell if I’m just entering a new one. Through my eyelids, I can make out the glowing of the sun directly above me. I gradually open my eyes, but the dried mud that I’m coated in restricts me from opening them fully. I don’t how long I’ve been out. Through my narrowed vision, I see that my camouflage is still holding up. In fact, the clay has hardened and, to the untrained eye, I am unquestionably one with the rock. My brain tells my fingers and toes to wiggle, but even that is impossible. From my own weakness and my self-inflicted clay prison, I cannot move. 

I return my thoughts to the explosions. They happened in succession, and though I tried to keep a count of them, I’d lost track. They sound like they’re coming from my left, which I reason is towards the lake. What could’ve caused it? Still woozy, tired, and dehydrated, I can’t bring myself to give it too much thought. I decide whatever it is doesn’t concern me much. Here under this rock shelf, I am as safe as I can be, given the state I’m in. 

For all I know, I could either have been out for several hours or several days. Aside from my nightmares一 likely hallucinations brought on by the tracker jacker venom一 I have no recollection of anything since I passed out. But those dreams are not something I will soon forget. I think of home. My family must be watching. I doubt the cameras are focused on me at the moment, however, especially with those explosions likely wrecking all sorts of havoc somewhere in the distance. My camouflage stillness is not the hot topic of the moment, though I’m sure the cameras feature me every now and then to remind the audience I’m still here, still alive, though barely so. However, I bet my family has already accepted their loss and moved on with their life. I dug my own grave the moment I laid down in this place, and business must go on. I wonder if they’ll bake a cake in my honor, maybe write something cheesy like “Gone from the world but not from our hearts,” in icing. An insincere tribute to my “noble,” or rather, pathetic, death.

Another explosion interrupts my train of thought. Two others follow shorty after. What the heck is that? A cannon booms. Wherever the explosion was, and whatever set it off, seems to have picked off another tribute. Who was it this time? I run through the list of remaining tributes, to the best of my knowledge. But who knows what’s happened since I blacked out? Marvel, Cato, and Clove must’ve escaped the tracker jacker attacks. I never saw their faces in the sky officially, but I assume Glimmer and Koiya are done for. There was no coming back from tracker jacker stings as severe as theirs. District 5… I’m trying to remember their tributes. I know the boy died in the bloodbath. The female tribute… who was it? Ah yes. the red-haired girl. I vaguely remember her interviewー “No weapons can match a brain,” she’d said. Maybe her wits have kept her alive thus far, unless she was killed while I was out. Districts 6 and 7, as I recall, were wiped out on day one as well. I wonder what the citizens of those districts do when all hope is lost so soon. Do they pick favorites from a different district and cheer them on? Do they watch to see the demise of the tribute who killed their children, cheering on their opposition?

I’m sure everyone in District 12 is cheering for Katniss. She’s always been more of a contender, and that move she pulled with the tracker tracker nest was pure geniusー especially considering she hadn’t only wiped out two tributes, but two Careers. And the audience, unlike the rest of the tributes, has probably seen Katniss’ aptitude for shooting. Now that she has a bow, she in unstoppable. Or at least, I can hope she is. 

Again I think of Haymitch. Mentors have to pick favorites, don’t they? Only one of us will live, so why not focus all of the attention, sponsorships, and money on the one that’s had better odds from the beginning? And this is what I asked for; I told Haymitch I wasn’t going home before Katniss, that she had to be the one to win over me. Sitting here on this riverbank, at the edge of my life, I’m as close to receiving a silver parachute with the life-saving medicine from the Capitol as I am to winning these Games. Though I can’t move my head to glance down at my feet, I can imagine that the condition of my leg has only gotten worse. The bleeding must’ve finally stopped, or else I’d probably be dead by now. But the agony is incessant and there is no chance that an injury such as this can heal naturally, let alone in the limited time I have before the Games come to an inevitable end.

I wonder how much longer the Games will last. I try and count the days I’ve been in the arena. As I recall, the tracker jacker incident and my encounter with Cato was the fifth day of the Games. Add on however many days I’ve been passed out, and I conclude that I probably have less than another week or two to live. The Gamemakers rarely allow the Games to last more than a few weeks, depending on how much action they’re getting in a typical day, since they have to keep the audience engaged.

After hours of agony and an inability to go to sleep, the sun finally begins to set. Staring into the orange sky with waves of fluffy pink clouds, I hold on to the only piece of beauty I can capture. The beauty that says this day of pain is ending, but the hope of tomorrow is coming soon. 

The faces of two tributes appear in the sky tonight: the boy from District 3 and the boy from District 10. The last time I saw the former was at the campsite by the lake, teaming with the Careers to set up the bomb trap around the pile of supplies. That’s when it dawns on me… the explosions. Though I’d lost count, I’d bet there were twenty-four of them total.

It occurs to me that this is the first night that I am without a sleeping bag, disregarding the night or nights I was unconscious. The clay around me is hard and cold, encasing me in an ice cube. Nothing I can do could alleviate this numbness. It seems as if all the blood in my bodyー what’s left of it, that isー has stopped flowing. Left to my thoughts, unable to move, and swimming in inescapable pain that I have come to accept, tonight is by far the longest night of my life. 

Chapter 15

I can’t believe I’m still alive. Though I would happily welcome the numbness of death over the pain I’m experiencing, I know I cannot just lay here until I die. And I will, soon enough, whether it be from infection, starvation, tracker jacker poison, or the rest of the Careers coming back to investigate and retrieve Cato. But some inexplicable will inside of me urges me that I will not die here, not like this. I muster every bit of strength I have left to crawl away, heading in a direction I’ve never been before.

Using my forearms and good knee, with my left leg dragging behind, I heave myself through the woods. I cannot imagine where I am headed, but I know any long journey is made one step at a time. I can feel dirt scratching in my open wound, but I fight to resist the urge to scream out in pain. After I feel like I’ve made it far enough out of sight, I allow myself to roll over and finally assess the injury. 

The combination of pain and the sight of my gushing leg are enough to make me lose whatever food I had left in me. The gash cuts down to the bone, and the oozing of dark brown-red blood shows no sign of slowing. Fire ants burst out of wound and crawl up my body, a hot tingling sensation overcomes me, the ants grow larger and larger like balloons, until they become the size of a rabbit and burst into a gush of blood. I try and beat the imaginary ants off of my body but the impact to me leg injury only amplifies the agony. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the ants to go away. I try and focus on what I can do to somehow treat the wound. Not like it will make much of a difference, but dragging it through the dirt obviously isn’t doing it any good.

I wish Katniss were here. Maybe she would know what to do. Not only that, but she has supplies, which I am now sorely lacking. I left all my stuff at the campsite when I ran to flee the tracker jackers. Now I have no weapons, no first-aid, no food, no water. Water. I dream of how refreshing it would feel to take a dip. But there is no way I am going back to the pond. Or the lake. These are both familiar places, but I know they are infested with people who want to kill me. There has to be more water somewhere in this area, I just haven’t found it yet. 

I decide to crawl facing upward, like a crab walk. A crab with three legs. That way my wound isn’t dragging on the ground, and I can keep my head up to see what’s around me better. Not like I’d be able to put up a fight if I saw anything threatening. Just in case, though, I feel around the ground for leaves, mud, sticks, and anything else I can find to attempt to cover myself. If I hear something coming, I’ll bury myself in a pile of foliage and hope for the best.

My face and skin now covered in mud, my wound bandaged with leaves, and my body covered the best I can, I keep crawling. I want to lay down so badly. Every movement aches. But if I stop I know there is no way I’ll be able to get back up. With as bad as I’m feeling right now, it is sure to only get worse. I need to use my last bit of strength to find water and a safe place to hide until… well, I don’t know what. 

I remember the Career’s pile of supplies. Oh how I wish I could have just one sip of water, one bite of food, one dab of medicine. I suddenly remember that along with the rest of Panem, Haymitch is watching. What does he think, seeing me pathetically dragging myself through the forest, without a destination in mind, like a wounded animal just begging to be put out of its misery? I’ve seen the Games before. When a front-runner gets an injury like mine, their popularity is the sole deciding factor between if they live or if they die. If they have a lot of sponsors, they might be sent a silver parachute, which floats into the arena like a gift from heaven containing life-saving supplies. The Capitol has a stockpile of medicine that heals wounds or sickness almost instantly, like a magic potion. If Haymitch was able to round up enough sponsors to send one of those parachutes to me, I could be on my feet and nearly good as new by tomorrow. But I don’t kid myself into expecting any such thing. Yeah, I scored an 8 in my training session. That gets a reasonable “not bad” shrug from the sponsors, but nothing extraordinary. I think I came off as relatively likeable in my interviews, but again, no one bets on the “nice guy.” I certainly made an impression when I confessed my love to Katniss, but again, why would anyone in their right mind want me to go on living but suffer the heartbreak of losing her? Maybe them wanting me to die is their idea of compassion. Sometimes heartbreak is far worse than physical pain. So, with all of those pieces added up, I conclude that I will not be getting so much as a matchstick from any sponsors. For the first time since the gong sounded, I fully recognize just how alone I am.

Nonetheless, I keep moving until the sky begins to turn pink. I need to find a place to rest before sundown. My arms give out for a moment, and I lay flat on the ground, facing the sky. Shades of pink and orange swirl together above me, painting a picture with all my favorite colors. For a moment, the pain slips away as I gaze up into the beauty of the sunset. My eyelids grow heavy and I allow them to rest, just for a moment. I lay in stillness, fully experiencing my other senses. My leg throbs, and sharp twinges of pain, like a million tiny needles being jabbed into my open wound, are incessant. My hands feel around me. The crispy fallen leaves. The soft grass. The gust of breeze sweeping by. The wet mud. The wet mud? 

Suddenly my ears register the far-away sound of flowing water. My eyes shoot open and a surge of energy pulses through me. I flip over and crawl with all my strength towards the sound. The river, less than a hundred feet away, beckons me. 

By the time I reach the water, the sky has grown much darker. I dunk myself in the moment I can reach it, watching the blood escape my leg and join the flow downstream. Painfully, I rub water all over my body: my leg, the burn on my chest, my tracker jacker bumps, and various bruises and scratches whose origins I can’t exactly recall. This will be where I’ll rest. Feeling the workable clay lining the riverbank, I decide this is a perfect place to test my camouflage skills.

I do my face first. Using the dark gray clay, I cover the entirety of my face and arms, caking it on and comparing the shading to the rocks around me. I add small pieces of sandstone to my mixture to create the flakey and jagged appearance of the rock. Perfect. I grab a glob and drag myself up to the rocks a bit further from the water, collecting moss, grasses, twigs, and leaves. I spot a large rock overhanging slightly, creating a perfect slot for me to hide. Crawling over, I settle between the two boulders. I scoot my legs as deep into the small crevice as I can, and the rest I’m able to cover with the moss I’ve collected. Most of my upper body is covered by the overhanging rock, but I make sure to coat all my exposed surfaces with the clay, again using small rocks and sheets of limestone to create texture. Finally, I place the remaining greenery strategically to match the pattern of my surroundings and, using mud as a glue, cover up my dirty blonde hair with it. I lay down my head and settle into my spot right as the sun has finished setting. With one last look at my work, I close my eyes, silently wondering how long I’ll be here, and if this is my final resting place. If I were to die here, bleed out, my body plagued with infection, they would only be able to find me because of the tracker still embedded in my forearm. I let out a massive sigh, in more pain and despair than I’ve felt in my entire life, and everything goes black. Not even the booming sound of the Capitol anthem will wake me up tonight.