Your name is John Egbert. You are from District Seven. You are sixteen. And you have just entered the Hunger Games.
There's 60 seconds on the clock in the sky, and you take the time to look around, you first look at each tribute, they all scare you. Your gaze lingers on a boy with platinum blonde hair and fiery red eyes. You recall his first name is Dave, and he got an 11 in the finial evaluation. You make a mental note to avoid him at all costs. Your eyes flicker back to the clock in the sky and it's 12 seconds until you're allowed to step off of your metal plate. You get ready to sprint out of there; you don't want to even risk it, even though it's almost certain that you're going to die in these retched games. You make a quick game plan in your head; run, find shelter, and maybe water. Avoid everyone at all costs, even your fellow tribute Jade. 7, 6, 5... You get ready to sprint into the deep forests that surround you. 3, 2, 1. Go. You bolt off of your plate and spring towards the forest, adrenaline pushing you forward. You glance back at the Cornucopia, and see carnage that drives you faster into the woods. You don't stop until you're sure that no one has followed you. You take this time to think. You're probably not anyone's goal to kill, no one from your district is very important. And you yourself most likely didn't stand out very much, in the dress-up contest, as you like to call it, or the final scorings. You got a six, so you're average, the Careers probably expect that you're already having a hard time out here, trying to find food, shelter, and most importantly, water. You don't know how to track any of these things. It's not like you can go back and gather some supplies, you've watched enough of the games to know that the Careers are guarding them like dogs. It's either that or they're on the hunt. You don't know which one you like less. You've considered going back and stealing some of those precious, life saving bags, like in that one game, where the red-head lived off of the others like a letch, she, of course, ended up dying. But that's not the point. She did make it far, her wits protecting her from the dim Careers. You try to remember what district she was from, her personality might tell you about this year's. After a second or two, you give up, sighing. It's not like it matters; you're going to die out here anyways. You decide to go ahead with your stealing plan, it's the only sensible thing you can bring yourself to do, even if it isn't very sensible. You trudge back the way you came. The sun is falling and you need to get this stuff fast before it's too late and you have to find shelter. Your senses are in full gear and you pick up every sound and movement. You are on survival mode. Once you see the Cornucopia in the dim light, your mind goes blank. You wanted to grab some stuff that could save your life, but now it seems all too risky. There must be come Careers watching and waiting for someone like you to pop up hoping for the same deal. You look around from your hiding place, a clump of bushes, and you see nothing, no movement whatsoever. You take a quite step towards the loot, and there's a lot of it. You glance around again, and then sprint towards the supplies in full view. It's a make it or break it situation. Once you get to the pile, you quickly search around for some big bags. You find that the Careers have taken most of the good stuff along with their hunt, but they have left a few bags, you're about to take the biggest one when you hear a shuffle in the bushes. You freeze, debating in your mind whether to take the bag and run or leave it and run. You look around you without moving and see that blonde hair. You're dead. Your bones lock together in fear, you can't move, and he moves towards you quickly, the glint the falling sun makes his eyes seem like they're made of blood. A cannon sounds and it jolts you out of your fear. You grab the bag and bolt, not looking behind you for the boy that was about to kill you. You hear the sound of someone else running and you try to quicken your pace, and you trip. You let out a sharp cry as you fall and you see the thin but strong build of your to-be killer. He stands over you and you squeeze your eyes shut. You see Dave standing over you, but he hasn't killed you yet. He tells you to get up in an almost emotionless voice. You get up quickly, though you get ready to run if it's needed. You think he's trying to make a team with you. That or he's playing dirty. You shiver at the thought and want to run away, now not trusting him at all. You find that you're glaring at him now; you're not sure where all this confidence came from. You are in no place to be nasty, even if it is the Hunger Games. You're not going to become a mindless killer. You're about to snarl an insult when his head whips around and then he's looking at you with frantic eyes.
"We need to go, now." You don't need to be told twice. You grab your bag and wheel around. You hear his ragged breathing behind you. You take a swift turn and look behind you, half of you wishing he's following you, the other wanting him to go his own way. You see him trying to catch up, but he looks really worn out. He must've been in that fight, you think. You slow down and then come to a stop into a small clearing. It's nicely concealed and you don't want to go any further, so you stop here.
"Are you alright?" You ask nervously. You eyes are searching his body for anything life threatening. He has a few cuts and a gash on his side. You're surprised you didn't see it before. He glares at you with feigned fierceness. You can tell. You can usually always tell when someone's faking it. You walk towards him carefully, "You know, it's okay to need help." You say kindly as you sit down on the ground beside him, you're hoping he'll do the same. He looks down at you and snaps at you, saying he doesn't need anything. You recoil from the sharp comment but you still think he needs the help. You ask him to at least sit down. He does reluctantly, and now you can take a good look at the cut that must be painful. It's still oozing blood and the edges are a sickly looking green. You start to unzip the backpack that you were gripping so tightly, it contains; sleeping bag, a rope, a small loaf of bread, and a metal water bottle. Nothing to help Dave. You glance his way apologetically and see him glaring at you. You look down at the stuff and grab the water bottle, shaking it. There's nothing in there. Nothing to subdue the pain that he must be going though. You sigh as you start putting your positions away. "I guess we're going to have to look for water." You grumble. You're annoyed at the gamemakers for not giving you some water. It's not like anyone can track the stuff. He gets up wordlessly and looks at you with a deadpan face, but it doesn't reach his eyes. There is fear and pain swimming around in those red depths. You try to hide your empathy as your trudge along in the forest. You wonder if you can chew on leaves to keep your hydration up. You look around and see that the only leaves are high up. You know you can't climb even if you tried. You keep trotting along, looking behind you to see how your new friend is holding up. He's starting to show more signs of fatigue and pain. He's drenched in sweat and is expression is pinched. You slow to a stop and tell Dave it's time to rest. He instantly denies it, trying to sound powerful and full of energy, though he sounds sick and weak to you. He must notice your sad expression because he's glaring at you harder.
"I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you." You say finally. You're hoping he'll stay with you, seeing as you're partners. He lets out an exaggerated sigh as he slumps down. You have this impulse to take care of him, you're not sure why. You inch towards him to see if you can take care of him one more time. You know this is pointless and you've got nothing to actually help him, but you're seriously worried. You're about to open your mouth but he's already on to you.
"Jesus fucking Christ I don't need help." He snarls at you. You look down momentarily before you think it's time to go. It's dark out and now you need to find a good place to sleep.
"I think we should find a better place to rest, you know?" You offer kindly. You feel sorry for him but you don't know why. The way he shoves you away makes you curious and sad at the same time. You hope to find out why. You've already decided that he's the one you want to win. You think he has something to go back to. He's good looking, you guess. You've never been the one to be able to judge or even care about how other boys, or girls, look. He must have a lot of friends, though you don't really find him charismatic. You know he's just hiding everything because it's the Hunger Games. If it were different circumstances, you think he wouldn't be so nasty to you. You push up from your sitting position and grab your backpack. You're about to look back but think better of it, Dave seems to hate it when you show you care in the slightest ways. You start to walk directionless though the woods. You're hoping you'll just walk into a place to sleep, or water. You can't hunt so you're going to have to suck it up and scrape by with what you have. You look up at the sky and have a mini panic attack. It's dark now, you aren't helping Dave with all this wondering, you look behind you to see your companion falling asleep on his feet.
"Hey, uh, Dave? I think we should get some rest. I can take first watch, alright?" You ask sheepishly, you're so scared that he's going to go off on his own because of all this fussing, though, to be honest, this isn't much compared to what you usually are like. You're quite obsessive in that way, everyone needs to be okay before anything else. It's sort of second nature for you when someone's upset or hurt. You dance around the problems trying to figure out how to fix them the best way possible. Dave looks like he's about to argue with you but then thinks better of it, he looks so tired that even talking would wear him out more then he already is.
"Sure, fine, whatever. Wake me when you need to sleep." He grumbles as he lowers himself to the ground. You note that he's still hugging his hurt side. It must be so painful, you think. You bite your lip as you wish you could help, this is stressing you out; you've never actually not been able to help at all. You sigh as you sit down and take your night shift.