I was running as hard as I could, but he was faster. Stronger. The perfect killer; trained as soon as he could walk. Unlike me.

I dodged through the trees, their bare branches scratching me through my uniform. My lungs were on fire, a much worse pain then the burning in my legs. The dead grass scratched my ankles, little paper cuts that I hardly noticed, and never really would. Because I was about to die.

I ducked below a rock overhang, and dread hit me. In about a hundred yards, there was a cliff. A cliff that had rocks below. A cliff with a fall that you wouldn't survive.

I didn't want to die; no one does. But I was the first in my family to go into the Hunger Games; and I was eighteen. It was so unfair… I almost made it. My sister made it, my brothers made it, my mom never went, and my dad never went. No one. Until me. And they would all watch me die.

I wanted to live. I had a boyfriend, a family, a good life… for someone in a poorer district, that is. And now that was all going to be thrown away. My life was about to end, and it filled my with a terror I can't describe.

Now I was hitting pebbly ground. I had a choice… jump off or get stabbed. Which was a better way to die?

I was so close… the final two. I had a chance. And then I blew it.

I could see the edge of the cliff. The water off on the horizon. It was sunset, and it was beautiful. The last sunset I would ever see…. It's funny how your mind slows down like this when you're about to die.

Jump?

Was my family watching me?

Or stabbed?

I was only ten yards away.

What do I do?

I don't want to die!

I decided to jump. He liked torture. Slow death. I knew this from watching my ally die.

I bent down a little… I could jump seven feet. How hard could it be? I was five foot eight. I could do this. I could kill myself.

I heard him grunt. I've heard that grunt. He threw a knife. I wouldn't have to choose now.

I felt a searing stab- no pun intended- of pain as the knife entered my back. Gasping, I was overcome with a wave of needles, and my legs gave out. I tripped, and rolled over. I was two feet from the edge of the cliff. I should roll. Just two rolls, not that many. But the knife was still in my back.

I looked to my left; he was only ten feet away. Still running at full speed.

Closer.

Closer.

But he didn't stop. I saw his eyes widen in panic as he tried to stop in time. He couldn't.

And he tripped over me and went over the cliff. A cannon fired three seconds later.

I couldn't believe it.

I won.