Here's a scene featuring a boy who is clueless in the ways of survival know-how. If you are a nice person, you will review. Kudos to the nice peoples. Prove to me that you guys exist. ;)
Ever since he lost his way into the forest, a selective collection of colorful words were brimming against the dam of his lips. The trees were thick, and he doubted anyone could get far with finding him. However, the spongy, damp and rotten log he was sitting on wasn't going to pop up and protect him from an ambush anytime soon. Should one exasperated piece of vulgar slip, a Career with ever keen trained ears might locate the source and perform the often graceless art of execution.
He had run from the cornucopia once the gong sounded; it would be pointless to stay and be slaughtered at the opening scene of The Hunger Games. There was no chance to collect weapons, supplies, and was thus bare of any form of defense. The sun was starting to dim, and the cold was creeping through his soaked behind. He clutched his knees, wrapping his arms around them. Panic was replacing the organs in his chest, thick and solid like lead.
Training before the Games was certainly helpful. The tasks were difficult but teachable and he knew how to do it then, he knew he could survive- but in the training room everything was at his fingertips. Paint for the camouflage, arrows for the bows, and dry wood for the fires. Here, nothing but the sky helped him at all. Obviously daytime light is useful in dark places. Dirt, wet logs, and endless trees don't do much. Magnitude had set in. He did not know what to do. How would he survive even the first night?