My name is Ana Ewart. I was a tribute from District Four in the 32nd Hunger Games. District Four was often thought of as one of the richest, however the way it really was, is that the margin between the rich and poor was more of a chasm. It was so large. As a daughter of a less fortunate clam-monger, I was part of the latter group.
I was eighteen when my name was drawn at the reaping. I was so lucky to have made it to eighteen before being reaped. The other tribute from my district that year was a young boy of only twelve; he was missing a hand from a diving incident.
I remember little of the time between the reaping and leaving the District. My father hugged me good-bye but could not bring himself to say anything of comfort. And how could he? I held his frail frame, appreciating this last contact until the peacekeepers came to take me away.
There was little the stylists at the Capitol could do for me. I wasn't attractive. My nails were short and rough from years of digging in the sand for clams. My hair was long and matted into long strands in places, accented with shells I'd found over the years. Long hours under the sun had given me a swarthy look. I was a beanpole without much for a womanly figure. I counted myself lucky, though, because I had all of my limbs and I was relatively healthy, unlike my fellow tribute, Rory.
It was easy to tell that Panem pitied Rory, all the while being rather indifferent in their regards to me. He did not gain sponsors, and neither did I. It was a "pitiful year in tributes for District Four".
I was all but resigned to the games. I did not feel anything from the moment I left my father behind. Numbness is the only way I could describe the feeling – or lack thereof. The process was so surreal and my mind could not comprehend it.
As I was lifted into the arena in my glass tube, the fear began to set in. A cold chill ran over me like an early morning spray crashing on the wake. Twenty-three other tributes and myself were lined around a white beach, each of us equidistant from the Cornucopia. Behind the Cornucopia was a tropic forest, and behind that was what looked like a mountain. I had only seen mountains in books. The mountain was steep, at least from the side we were on. The forest sloped up towards the mountain from the beach.
When the countdown ran out and the cannon fired, I realised I didn't have a strategy, a plan, nothing. In training I had half-heartedly tried most of the exercises and succeeded at none.
The other tributes were running towards the Cornucopia, and rather than doing nothing I followed suit. I managed to grab a small black backpack and a strange looking axe before I experienced the first truly frightening moment of my life. My legs snapped together and I fell forwards to the ground, the air forced out of my lungs. Someone had thrown a weapon at me – a rope with two kiwi-sized ball bearings, one on each end. It coiled itself around my knees and the weights smacked my legs painfully. I started to panic. I secured my bag underneath me so none of the other tributes could take it, and began untangling the ropes. It appeared that the tribute that entrapped me had become busy with another, thus allowing me time to free myself.
Once I'd freed my legs I struggled to my feet and ran off into the woods with backpack, axe and roped weapon in tow.
In my panic, I didn't count how many times the cannon went off. To be honest, it was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to stay alive; the concern of others wasn't even a remote possibility for me. I could hear other tributes in the jungle forest – or were they animals? I hadn't thought of that.
I slowed to a jog and started to take note of what my surroundings were. The forest was actually more of a jungle – humid, hot and probably full of dangerous mutts. The ground was covered in a thick layer of moss, and rocks were coated in slimy lichens. The trees were very tall, and the sun was almost blotted out by the high, thick canopy above. The heat and humidity began to work against me. The air was so warm it was hard to breathe.
I began to walk. As I walked, I coiled up the strange rope weapon and looped my arm through it. I noted the ache in my knees from where the heavy ball bearings had connected with my kneecaps. I then looked at the axe I'd found. It was an elongated half-moon shape, with a slit on the flat side, probably to grip it. On the rounded edge, it was razor sharp, and weighted more heavily opposite the grip. Possibly meant for throwing? I had no idea. Might as well have been developed to crack coconuts for all I knew.
Before I had time to examine the contents of my backpack, there was a great thundering sound. It wasn't the cannon signalling a tribute had died, it was much louder and more menacing – it was close. A tremor ran through the ground and I froze in my tracks. It seemed to be coming from the mountain…
I began to run uphill towards the mountain, hoping for a break in the forest so I could see. The thundering got louder and louder and was followed by an exploding sound. I still couldn't see the mountain, but I assumed that it wasn't an ordinary mountain.
Bits of black rock began to fall through the canopy – they were light, but with rough, almost sharp edges. They pelted my skin like hail, and I was soon grateful that I had not made it to the jungles edge. A fine dust-like ash followed the rocks.
Falling rock and ash could only mean that this mountain was not actually a mountain but an active volcano. My heart stopped and it felt like my stomach was doing somersaults. A volcano… So that meant that tributes would die not only at the hands of others but also probably in a lot of pain.
So was the volcano erupting already? What was going to be my strategy now?
Who was I kidding? I didn't have any sponsors, I didn't excel with any sort of weapon, and survival tactics were not fresh in my mind. These thoughts swirled around in my mind and tears started to fall down my cheeks. An overwhelming sense of despair shrouded my mind. What could I possibly do to stay alive?
As the tears streamed down my nose and lips I could taste the salt. Salt. Water. I had to stop crying! As a teen watching the Games, I knew water was always the biggest problem tributes ran into. I immediately wiped the tears away and sniffled a little. Fresh water was going to be a bit of a problem, as the island was surrounded by nothing but seawater.
Boom. Cannon.
The sound spurred me into action. I began to jog through the jungle, careful to avoid rocks and fallen branches. I was silently thankful for the moss, because otherwise I would have been my own worst enemy with my heavy footfalls. Ash was still falling in gentle flakes that turned into mud when it hit my sweating skin. Thankfully the raining rocks had subsided.
I alternated between running and walking. I felt like I was making good headway as I worked my way towards the mountain. Despite the rocks and ash, I felt it was still a good idea to head towards the volcano – maybe I would find a stream or something of the like on the way.
The rest of that day I did not run into any other tributes or mutts. I took refuge that night at the base of a tree. The soil around one side had been eroded by time and the roots had been exposed, leaving a sort of hollow underneath. I climbed in and used some nearby foliage to try and camouflage myself so I could sleep. I had not found any water or food yet and my stomach was growling uneasily.
Sleep did not come easily. My mind was racing and calculating and unable to quiet itself until sheer exhaustion set in. I did not dream.
I was awoken by the cold shock of water. Jerked from my sleep, I hit my head on the roof of my little cavern and my first immediate thought was, "why is there so much water in here?"
I scrambled out of my hiding place and into the dark, my feet slipping in new mud. I couldn't see anything yet, but I could feel water rushing around my ankles. Flash flood. And that meant it was fresh water! I opened my backpack, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I scrambled for a bottle, cup, anything to collect some of the falling rain. Upon finding nothing, I cupped my hands and held them out, drinking thirstily even though the water was tainted with the taste of ash.
Lightning flashed nearby and illuminated the rainforest briefly. My eyes hurt from the sudden light, and they were left with a pinkish impression of light when the lightning subsides, leaving me blinded. More rain continued to fall, and the water rushing around my ankles became stronger and threatened to pull me down. I stopped drinking and carefully made my way back to the tree I was hiding under. There weren't many low hanging branches from what I could feel, so I took my rope weapon and looped it through the roots and around my waist. The water got stronger and stronger but I safely secured myself to the tree.
Boom.
Another tribute dead. Drowned in the flash flood? Pushed out to sea? Killed by a mutt? I'd never know. The screen in the sky must have already played the first day's killings earlier that night, but I'd been asleep. Not that I would have been able to see with the thick canopy above anyways.
I knew in my heart that Rory was most likely dead. Throughout training, he'd been singled out by many other tributes, and I didn't blame them. I was filled with shame upon thinking of Rory. During training, I had even thought to myself that he would have been the easiest kill for anyone, even me. I didn't know him personally, but the fact that he was disabled and from my own district shamed me and my cheeks flamed. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that every other tribute in the arena had probably thought the exact same thing, but it didn't alleviate my contrition.
My sleep was restless, interrupted by the occasional flash of lightning and roll of thunder.
I woke up as the sky began to turn light. It had stopped raining and the clouds had cleared, leaving a pinkening sky behind. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon.
I untied myself from my refuge, and unhappily noted the amount of mud and pebbles that had found their way into my pants and shoes from the driving flash flood. I would have to find a place to wash, and soon. I shook off my irritation at my cleanliness and my lack of rest and began to jog. The forest was still dark under the thick canopy, casting an eerie green gloom over everything.
My stomach gave a gurgling growl I could hear escape from my open, panting mouth.
The truth is, I was afraid to eat any of the fruit or roots or any vegetation for that matter. None of it looked familiar to me, and I was deathly afraid of eating something that could potentially kill me. I suppose the moss would be all right to eat, but despite my dire situation, I couldn't bring myself to eat it. I decided to keep travelling in the hopes that the scenery might change.
I continued steadily upwards to the volcanoes base. As it got closer to midday, the sounds in the jungle became more and more pronounced. "I could always kill and animal and eat it," I thought. But therein also lay a problem; this was a tropical jungle, full of fauna as well as flora that were completely and utterly foreign to me. Surely there were animals that were poisonous, too. In hopes of quelling my appetite, I paused to drink some water from a wide leaf that had collected from the rain last night. I was lucky that it had rained, because I was sure that my pack did not contain any sort of container to collect fresh water with.
I gently, carefully folded the leaf into a point and tipped it into my mouth. God, that was good. Greedily, I drank from another, and another. I was so consumed with drowning my thirst that I didn't notice the snake-like mutt wrapping itself around my ankles. It was freakishly light, and I wasn't aware of its presence until I tried to move on and my legs were trapped together.
I could not stifle a cry of surprise and revulsion. The sound escaped my lips and I instantly regretted it. Not only would my moment of weakness alert other tributes to my location, but also the mutt didn't like it either. It bared its fangs and sunk them deep into my calf muscle. I clapped my hand over my mouth to smother another cry, this time of pain. I was so afraid to touch the mutt with my hands. I remembered my throwing axe with a sickening pang of regret. I must have left it at the tree where I'd rested the night before. It had probably been washed away in the rain anyways.
The mutt was extracting its teeth from my leg, probably to take another bite, when I was struck by the inspiration to grab it just below its skull. In one squeezing and pulling motion, I removed the teeth from my flesh, unfortunately ripping some skin and muscle on the way. The snakes' body tightened around me, thrashing its tail about viciously as its head lolled around trying to find purchase on my hand or arm. I took it in both hands and squeezed as hard as I could.
I felt its life – or whatever artificial force gave it life – extinguish in my hands. I felt my breathing begin to slow, that is until I remembered the mutt had bitten me. I detangled myself from the dead body of the mutt and surveyed the damage. Despite being bitten less than two minutes ago, the wound had begun to blister and swell, as well as bleed profusely. I looked at it, horrified. I couldn't stop now to take care of the wound. I could practically hear other tributes making their way through the forest towards me. I yanked at the seam on my t-shirt and managed to tear a strip off. With the trembling hands of a person pumped full of adrenaline I tied the weak piece of cotton around my calf to staunch the flow of blood.
Taking a final look around me I began to limp away as fast as I could. Suddenly I was also aware of the bruises on my knees from the roped weapon the day before. Dread filled me. It was only the second day and I was low on sleep, nourishment, and now I was injured and aching. And possibly poisoned. The odds were definitely not in my favour.
Making little headway with my leg, I decided to keep on for only another minute or so, and hopefully find somewhere to take refuge, when I emerged at the edge of the jungle. The rough, steep rock face of the volcano was right there, where I'd been meaning to get to this whole time. Encouraged slightly by this new development, I followed the treeline, my legs trembling and somehow abruptly feeling leaden.
I had been travelling in this manner for about a half hour, making slow progress, when I heard a voice. I stopped in my tracks. I heard it yelling again. It couldn't be addressing me, could it? I looked around, and about ten feet away there was a vertical crevice in the face of the volcano. Limping as quickly and as quietly as I could, I made my way over to the crevice, wedged myself inside and narrowly escaped the vision of a tribute. I held my breath.
One, two minutes went by. I was about to poke my head out of the crevice when the tribute came hiking by my hiding spot. It was a burly boy, probably a Career by the looks of his built shoulders. I swear I almost had a heart attack when he walked by. I stood frozen in my spot, uncomfortably, for about another four minutes.
Then I dared to peek out of my refuge. There were no tributes in sight. And, bingo. He'd left tracks. I vowed to myself that I would try to be more aware of my surroundings and signs of my existence.
I weighed my options. I could backtrack and go try to find my throwing axe, but I knew that was a futile quest. I would probably intersect paths with another tribute on my way anyways. I could venture back into the forest, which would leave me vulnerable to more animal attacks as well as tribute attacks. Or, I could follow the volcano face behind the burly boy. This last option had several appealing aspects: since he had already come this way, the boy was unlikely to backtrack – or at least less likely to do so. Following the volcano face also removed one whole side of myself from being attacked. I only had to look in 180 degrees to see if there was a threat versus 360 degrees in the forest.
So, I began to follow the boy, giving him a large berth. I couldn't see him anyways, so I felt a little bit safer. If there were tributes ahead, the boy would either take the heat for me or at least alert me to their presence somehow.
The painful gnawing in my stomach continued relentlessly throughout the afternoon. It was hot again, but since I was exposed to at least a little bit of open air it wasn't so terrible. I also discovered that periodically there were streams of runoff from the storm last night that were slowly dripping off jutting faces of rock from above. Perfect. If only there was some sort of food falling from the heavens!
I tried not to think about it. Rory and I had gleaned no sponsors from our mentors' efforts. Life would be exceptionally hard and considerably shorter for us because of it. It hurt me on a personal level – how come no one wanted to help me stay alive? I didn't have to guess that I wasn't a worthy bet from the start, but I couldn't help such thoughts. The Games were as much a mental game as a physical one. The tributes just had to determine which evil would get the best of them.
Instead I would have to be resourceful. If only I had the initial thought to stay near the open water – I could have easily fished enough food to last me until the end of the Games. In my gut I knew that I wouldn't have lasted if I'd gone that route. The beaches were too open to be a good place to camp. I would have to trust my instincts from now on. So far they had done me well.
The trail around the volcano began to rise steadily, and I clung to the rock face so I wouldn't slip backwards or fall forward on my already tender knees. By now the light was getting dim. I'd just about reached the peak of the incline when I heard combat. It sounded like a sword fight. I resisted the urge to look over my hiding spot, and made myself quiet and relatively not uncomfortable.
The fight did not last long. I assumed one of the tributes was the burly boy whom I'd been following. The other I couldn't figure out just yet.
I quietly removed my roped weapon from my bag just in case, and held each one of the ball bearings in my hands, ready when needed.
A loud clanging alerted me to the fact that one of the tributes lost their weapon. It almost sounded like it echoed.
"Please kill me," a young girls voice said quietly. She can't have been more than fifteen, I thought.
"Kill you?" the boy answered in a much deeper voice. He didn't bother lowering his tone. "Why would I do anything else?"
"Please, just kill me. Please. I can't do this."
The boy laughed. "As you wish."
The next sound I heard was a slap, followed by the girls' head hitting stone. Then a quiet sort of rustling sound. It was too quiet. I carefully peered over the stones hiding my place, and below me, about thirty-five feet, was a sort of cave. The entrance was small, but it must have been deep. I saw a blood stain on the patch of rocks where the tussle was. But there was no body? The boy had moved her body – wait. She wasn't dead yet. The cannon would have announced that. She must have been unconscious when the boy dragged her body away.
I carefully, slowly lowered myself along the steep slope downwards to the cave entrance, wincing when I leaned on my left leg. I was hesitant to step into the entrance of the cave, for fear that the boy inside would see my silhouette.
A sound could be heard from inside the cave. I stood extremely still and strained my ears for the sound. I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like… panting. Grunting? What was going on -
Oh my god. I couldn't be sure, but I had a horrific idea come to mind. But no – why would anyone bother in a race between life and death? Why would that idea even be entertained as a possibility? It couldn't be. I hoped not.
"Why would I do anything else?" The boys words echoed around in my brain like an electron.
My adrenaline kicked in again, and clenching my ball bearings, I entered the cave. There was barely enough light to see into the cave fifteen feet. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I sought solid footing carefully before putting my feet down, trying to be as quiet as I could. The sound was getting louder and louder, and it began to torment me. My sense of hearing was heightened to compensate for my lack of sight.
All of a sudden, I became aware of a dull light, about 20 feet away from my current position. It was a flashlight. I could see the shadow of a figure – the light was facing a rock wall so I could only see the figure of the boy. He was moving strangely… almost like he was on all fours.
I crept closer, slowly, slowly, and upon further inspection, my worst fears had been realized.
He was raping the unconscious girl.
My stomach churned and rage and hatred and remorse all bubbled and stirred violently in my stomach. I started to grind my teeth. He could have just killed the girl and be done with it – but no! He had to fulfill some sick "need" within himself. On national television! The whole country would be watching this in the morning. I wanted to vomit. The poor girls' family. They would be sick with grief and hatred of this boy, whatever district he came from.
I gauged the distance between the boy and myself. The roped weapon was probably about 7 feet long, and there was still a good 15 feet between us. I would either have to try to sneak another 8 feet farther, or startle him somehow and surprise him.
I was plotting the murder of another human being. And I didn't think twice about it. This guy deserved to die and if I had to die in the process to make it easier for another tribute to kill him, so be it.
I measured the pool of light radiating from the torch, emanating and reflecting off the dark stone walls. I figured he would probably see me if I tried to sneak up on him. Not that he was particularly concerned about that at the moment. Startle tactic it was.
I weighed one bearing in my hand. It felt right. Adrenaline pounded in my veins as my rage turned into a calmer anger. I breathed as deeply and as quietly as I could before I let out the most blood-curdling yell I could and made a dash for the boy. Before he had time to look up at me in shock I had thrown the first ball bearing at him, releasing the second in turn. The first connected with his left eyebrow, caving in his eye socket and cracking his skull, while the second connected with his chest, fracturing his sternum.
Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I ripped him away from the girl. He was most likely left for dead already, but I wasn't satisfied. I beat his skull in with the ball bearing repeatedly. I was grateful for the dark because I'm not sure I would have handled the gore very well.
Boom. Tribute dead.
When my anger subsided along with my adrenaline, I sat back against the cave wall and caught my breath. I stared into space until I realised I was looking at the vague shadows of the girls' body. Her lower half was naked. I got up uneasily and covered her up. She was so young and it wrenched my heart. Possibly the worst thing that could have happened to her, did, followed by possibly an even worse event. And she was still alive, unconscious, but still alive. I unwillingly searched the body of the burly boy, and discovered a long hunting machete, about 9 inches long with a serrated and a straight edge.
"Please, I know you're watching right now," I whispered, reaching out to the audience of Panem, who would be watching the next morning. "Please know that this not okay, and I will not, did not stand for it." My voice caught in my throat and tears began to spill over uncontrollably. I took the knife and plunged it into her heart. I did not remove the knife.
Boom.
I began to sob irrepressibly. I knew the girl probably wouldn't live through the Games with the head injury she had. Her parents would almost certainly prefer her dead to any other alternative. I hoped.
These thoughts didn't pacify my conscience. I had just killed two people. The reasons didn't matter to me now; the harsh reality of my actions was almost too alien to comprehend. What have I become? Watching the Games growing up, I hated the tributes that won. All of them. They deemed killing others to ensure their own safety above moral or personal fate. It didn't matter how you tried to justify your means – in the end you were a selfish murderer.
My thoughts tormented me until exhaustion overcame me and my mind went blank.
The flickering of the flashlight woke me from my uneasy slumber. The metallic tang of blood assailed my nostrils and I felt the urge to vomit. I doubled over and heaved, yielding no purge. It was an awful reminder that I would have to eat, and soon, or I may not live to see myself killed. It was an ironic thought that appealed to my dry sense of humour.
I opened my mouth to breathe instead of through my nose to avoid the stench. I supposed the hovercrafts couldn't come in to pick up the dead bodies. I picked up the flashlight and cast it's flickering beam around the cave. The beam passed the bodies of the two tributes, and landed on a backpack. It was much bigger than mine, probably twice the size. I gingerly crawled over and began to examine its contents.
A large square of metallic plastic, a small pot, a compass, a length of rope, two carabiners, a folding knife with various tools, a flare, water purification tablets, a vacuum packed lump of plastic, and a small black plastic bag. I opened the plastic bag to find some kind of dry-cured meat in another smaller bag, and some sort of crackers. My heart soared. I had some food! Using the utility knife, I opened the bags and gorged myself on the rations. The meat was unsalted as well as the crackers – I silently thanked the Gamekeepers for this. I was afraid that I wouldn't have been able to stomach it if it had been salted. After all, I hadn't eaten in about three days, and I was altogether too familiar with the sensation of starvation for my taste from living back home.
I sat and let the food settle in my stomach for a moment, and pondered my next move. I transferred all of the belongings in my small pack into the bigger one, packing everything except the compass. I wondered at the reasoning behind even putting one into a survival pack. After all, would it even point north in the arena?
I stood up and marvelled at the ache in my body. My legs were incredibly sore, especially where the snake had bitten me. Upon further inspection, the pus-filled blister was still there and throbbing, as well as a deep ache within my calf muscle, but I did not feel any different in the rest of my body. So it seemed the snake was not poisonous. I hoped. Perhaps it was slower moving venom than I anticipated. My knees had bruised even further, leaving dark circles around my kneecaps. They throbbed horribly, but I did my best to push the pain to the back of my mind. I coiled my rope weapon and looped it around my shoulder once more, and soldiered on.
When I left the cave, it was mid-morning, judging by the light.
I needed to keep moving, and find a source of food and water that I could exploit. The island was surrounded by open water and I knew that would yield some water, if not food as well. I was sceptical of the animal population of the arena, seeing as I'd ran into one snake and only heard tell of birds in the upper canopies.
Feeling better than I had since my first night in the arena, I began a steady jog through the forest, hopefully towards the water.
The volcano seemed to have quieted down since it's initial explosion, but I was concerned about it's quiet brooding. I didn't trust it, especially since the Gamemakers were in charge of it. It made me feel constantly alert, especially since I had left the cave.
I had no idea where I stood in the Games. I knew I'd killed two, so that left at least twenty-one. I'd lost count of how many times I had heard the cannon – maybe ten times? That didn't count how many times it had gone off while I was unconscious. Maybe if I avoided all the other tributes, they would kill each other and I would survive. Fat chance, but that would be my strategy.
The forest was hot again, and from what I could tell it was before noon still. I slowed to a walk, and admired the tropical flowers around me. "Most of them are probably lethal," I thought to myself sardonically. As I was absent-mindedly admiring the deadly beauty of my surroundings, I became aware of a tribute headed my way. Their footfalls betrayed them to me.
I quickly gauged the best place for me to hide, picking a low-lying rotted log to disguise myself. The center was completely decomposed in the middle where it had fallen over and cracked in half. The tree was large, just about thrice the width of my shoulders, giving me plenty of room to hide myself. It was very damp and smelled strongly of decaying earth matter.
The heavy footfalls came nearer and nearer and stopped on the opposite side of the log I was hidden in. The tribute was panting loudly, obviously out of breath from running. But running from what?
I was answered by the sound of another tribute approaching. The first tribute climbed the log and slid over the other side, struggling with the slippery moss on the decomposing tree. I covered my mouth and sat extremely still inside the log.
"I'm going to get you, you filth!" the approaching tribute yelled. It was a girl.
"Come and get me then!" The first answered. Another girl tribute.
The approaching girl attempted to climb the log – it was quite high, probably four-ish feet tall. I heard her grasp a branch on the log, and pull herself up. She must have been quite heavy, because her booted foot fell through the log and dangled in front of my face. She shrieked, and the other girl laughed. She tried to pull her leg free, but her foot extended in her panic prevented her from freeing herself. Each time she tried to free herself, it brought dead organic matter down on me, but I kept quiet.
"Look at the fat cat," the tribute on the ground laughed. "Stuck it's head in the mouse hole and can't get out." I heard the slow, deliberate unsheathing of what I thought might be a sword. It jingled quietly as it was drawn.
"No! Stop!" The stuck tribute screamed. "L-let's start an alliance! I know where to get food-"
"Shut up, you moron. You think I'm going to let you go free after you killed the boy from my district? I don't think so."
"Wait-"
The stuck tribute's voice was silenced with a swing of the sword. It was followed by a hollow thunk on the tree trunk, and a thud on the mossy jungle floor. The foot hanging in front of my face went limp.
Beheaded. Boom.
I had been sitting and listening so attentively, I hadn't noticed the thumbnail-sized fiery-coloured ants crawling over my legs and arms. I tried to brush them off quietly, but they got angry and began biting and stinging me. It was horribly painful, and I couldn't bear it any longer. I burst from my hiding spot, scratching and batting the insects off my skin and startling the tribute with the sword.
I couldn't think of anything except how painful the ant bites were. They were like white-hot daggers stabbing at my skin.
"Whoa, hey! Stop freaking out for a second!" the girl was yelling at me, but I didn't listen. After all, she was a killer, what would stop her from killing me?
Wailing in pain I danced about trying to swat the ants off my legs and arms, but the ants clung to my hands instead.
The girl sheathed her bloody sword and stooped down to pick up a chunk of moss off the ground. She lobbed it at me and it hit me in the face.
"It'll stop the stinging and the ants will stick in it," she called, and started off in the opposite direction.
Without thinking, I grabbed the moss and frantically scrubbed my appendages with it. She was right – the ants were tangled in the moist mass of moss and it cooled my bites just enough. I breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had already disappeared into the jungle depths, I yelled out my thanks to her. I vaguely wondered which district she was from. I bet she had lots of sponsors.
It was unsettling to see the difference in the tributes actions. She killed one moment, and helped me in the same moment. I wondered at her motivation for helping me. Perhaps she didn't enjoy the suffering of others. Perhaps.
I did not dwell on these thoughts for long, as flight set in again. The scuffle had been loud, and I did not want to be there when less merciful tributes came by.
I ran through the forest as fast as I could, not considering how loud I was being myself. By now it was late afternoon, and the sun began to sink low in the sky.
I slowed and stopped on a rock for a moment to rest a moment when I heard the cannon again.
Boom.
I counted on my fingers. That was at least six cannon shots that I had heard, not including the times it had fired when I was sleeping or how many times during the initial blood bath at the Cornucopia. I estimated that sixteen were dead, leaving eight of us left. I took a few minutes to catch my breath and I started off again.
It was getting dark by the time I reached the edge of the jungle. The sound of the sea – or what was supposed to be the sea – was music to my ears. It sounded like home. I followed the shoreline and looked around for a place to camp for the night. The sun was low on the horizon and I was tiring.
About a kilometer down the beach towards the setting sun, I spotted a large dark rock jutting out from the water. I made my way towards it, quickly, because I wanted to settle down before the sun completely set.
It was a good decision. The rock was more than a rock; it was a large peak of sorts, like a miniature mountain protruding from the sea. It was about 20 feet into the deep water of the sea, with a sharp, steep face that sloped downwards and out to sea. The highest point of the rock was probably forty feet.
Perfect. I secured my backpack and waded out to sea. The water was very cold, but I didn't mind. It felt good to be swimming, like I was back at home in my own element. As I got closer to the rock, the current got stronger, but I could handle it easily, even in my weakened state. The far side of the rock was very flat with very little vegetation. At the top of the rock was a dead tree, it's roots descended down the flat face towards the water. I made camp about halfway up. That way I was protected if the tide magically rose, and no one on the island could see me.
I emptied my pack so its contents could dry out while I slept. I removed the matches with a heart-stopping realization that they were soaked, probably rendering them useless. I sighed and laid them out to dry anyways, hoping that maybe they would be okay to use by morning. I pulled out the vacuum-sealed lump of plastic and slit it open. It was a personal flotation device. Well, that was pretty well useless to me - for swimming anyways. I scooped up some water in my little pot and dropped a water purification tablet in it so I could drink something in the morning. I inflated the flotation device and used it to rest my head on. It wasn't comfortable, but the rock wasn't much for a pillow.
I slept rather fitfully and woke up to an orange sky. I was correct in thinking that the tide might rise overnight, as it was still moving out. I thirstily drank all of the water I purified overnight. Though I was full of water now, I needed to find food. I searched the rocky cliff I'd made camp on for about a half hour, and discovered a suitable stone. It was slightly larger than my palm and sharp along one edge. Perfect.
After leaving my pot full of water to purify again, and my boots left to dry out, with stone in hand, I swam ashore. It was getting light now, so I had to move fast. As the water moved out, I searched for the tell-tale holes and lines in the sand that were characteristic of clams living below the sand.
Once I'd found one, I plunged the rock deep into the sand and pulled upwards, and repeated this action until it was deep enough for me to dig my arm in to reach in and grab the razor clam.
I managed to find three before the cannon boomed again. It startled me so much that I filled the pockets of my pants with the clams, snapped them shut and took off into the water with my plunder.
Back at my hideaway I rinsed the clams in the sea and started a fire with my little pot sitting atop it. I boiled the clams, and I was so hungry I fished them out of the water, pried them open and ate them steaming hot. They were chewy and overcooked but I didn't care. I ate them all greedily, incredibly pleased I was finally able to find some food.
I dozed off, and was awakened in late afternoon by a great thundering and shaking of the earth and sea below me. I shook myself awake and scrambled to the peak of the stone peninsula, looking skyward.
The volcano was erupting. Ash shot into the sky from the summit, turning the sky charcoal grey. The sound was deafening. I stood transfixed, unable to move or speak or even think.
So this is how it ends.
The Gamekeepers knew how to end with a bang. The volcano's eruption was moving quickly – lava gushed from the crater and began to seep down the mountain at an unnatural pace. My eyes practically popped out of my head, the sight was so foreign and frighteningly beautiful.
My eyes began to search the jungle to see if any tributes were fleeing. I could hardly hear myself think for the rolling thundering of the volcanic eruption. Ash filled the sky and blocked out the sun. It rained ash and volcanic rock. The sky darkened further until it seemed night had fallen already.
Boom. Boom. Two more dead.
How many were left? I writhed in my own skin wondering of course if I would survive. There was nowhere to go, and this was probably the best place for me to stay anyways.
The jungle was being consumed by the lava flow, as though it was an organism itself. Trees collapsed as the molten rock moved throughout. A second crater exploded on the mountainside, spewing molten rock into the air. It cooled through the air and rained on me in rocks of varying sizes. The lava was rapidly approaching the shoreline when a tribute bolted from the edge of the jungle and made for the water.
I couldn't make out whom it was. They were carrying a lot of gear to be swimming, but it didn't stop them from fleeing the lava. The tribute barrelled into the water and started to swim towards my haven. Behind them, the lava had hit the water, creating a second strident sound, this time of steam hissing and water boiling. The flow did not stop, however.
"Help-" the tribute screamed at me, spluttering. "Help me!" I recognized the tribute as the girl who had thrown the moss at me. She did not swim well, for whatever reason, and was struggling to stay afloat.
My natural instinct kicked in and I dashed down the south face to my supplies. I grabbed the rope length and the carabiners and rushed back to the tree at the top. I tied a knot through one of the carabiners on one end of the rope and repeated with the other. Creating a slipknot, I looped one end through a sturdy-looking root of the tree, and tossed the other end down to the girl, hoping it was long enough for her to grab hold.
She reached the rock face and climbed one of the low-lying rocks and was able to grab hold of the rope. The lava flow was getting closer and closer, the surface of it starting to grey in the cooling process, but even I could feel the heat emanating from it on my perch.
"Grab hold and I'll pull you up!" I hollered down at her.
"Hurry!"
I began to hoist the girl up, hoping against hope that the lava would cool enough before it reached the rock.
"Hurry!" Her cries became more frantic, and I could feel her trying to scramble up the sheer surface. The rope jerked uncontrollably in my arms and I did my best to sturdy it as the tribute on the opposite end thrashed about in panic.
A cracking sound from my left made my heart sink. The dead tree. The brittle, dried roots couldn't withstand her weight and her flailing. I turned my head in time to see the root detach itself from the rest of the tree. The girl screeched as she fell to her death in the lava flow. I looked down and saw her body being enveloped by the flaming rock.
Boom.
My name is Ana Ewart, and I was the victor of the 32nd Hunger Games.
I know it's not perfect, but I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think?