The sweat ran down my face. The hair in my neck was already wet with it. The knife I held in my right hand was blazing in the bright sunlight. And the girl was still struggling.
"Don't scream," I said mockingly.
By now, the girl was weak; she was thirsty and hungry and tired. Not to mention, that boy from 10 had gotten her pretty bad when she so kindly finished him off for me.
She struggled again and she did scream before my knife swiftly drove through her throat. She gave one last gurgling sound before she fell limp and I tossed her to the ground.
"Ladies and gentleman, may I present: the winner of the 69th Annual Hunger Games! Congratulations, Berenice Smitt!"
To be honest, I had always assumed it would feel better. More like victory. But I did not rejoice the way I had always imagined. All I knew was that I had one last thing to do.
I raised the bloody knife. I watched it curiously for a moment, seeing how the red liquid ran down the blade. Then, I brought it to my lips as I had every single time and pressed a swift kiss on the blade. The highest praise I could ever pay to my weapon of choice that had served me so loyally.
I raised my head to see the hovercraft approaching and let the knife drop to the ground. I did not need it anymore. The Games were over.