"Hmm…I wonder if Cray's home. He always pays well for wild turkeys," I think as I clomp through the thick, fresh snow. It's Sunday. Normally, I would be delighted, but Katniss is probably with that boy Peeta, telling him about her idiotic plan. I don't see why she likes him. He's pathetic; he only survived the Hunger Games because of her. Katniss…Cousins! Ha! Whose stupid (…brilliant…) idea was that? Now, even if something happens to dear Peeta, I have no chance with her. I'm behind Cray's house now. I reach up to knock on the door…

"What are you doing here?" an unfamiliar man barks. He's wearing a Head Peacekeeper's uniform. What happened to Cray? "You shouldn't be…what's that in your hand?" Crap. He isn't like the other Peacekeepers. I'm gonna get shot.

"A…a turkey, sir," I stutter.

"Where did you get it?"

"It hopped the fence. I stabbed it with a stick." That's a lie. I shot it in the woods; I'd get in even more trouble if I told the truth. He drags me to the square, rips my coat and shirt off of me, and ties me to a whipping post. A crowd is forming. Somebody's bound to protest. He starts counting lashes.

"One." My legs give way under me. How many lashes is he going to give me? How many can I endure?

"Two." My groan is audible; the Peacekeeper looks even more angry. He starts whipping faster.

"Three. Four. Five." I can feel my hot blood running down my torn skin. I force myself not to shudder. I know that it will only make things worse.

"Six. Seven. Eight. Nine." The crowd is huge now. It would be dangerous for Katniss, Rory, Madge, Mother to try to intervene. If any of them comes, they need to leave. Immediately. The Peacekeeper isn't counting anymore. My skin is absolutely shredded; blood is flowing like a waterfall, unceasing.

"Ah!" The whip just ripped into muscle. I thought the lashes on skin were bad; muscle's even worse! Everything's getting hazy. I'm not going to be conscious much longer. I'm on my knees, without the strength to even react to the lashes.

Whoa. When they say "tunnel vision", they aren't kidding. Everything is retreating into a single point, leaving reddish-black nothingness in its wake.

Where am I? Somebody's probing my destroyed back. A strangled moan escapes my lips. Someone, Prim, gives me some sort of medicinal herb. I hear Katniss saying, "That won't be enough, I know how it feels. That will barely knock out a headache," before I retreat to the protection of unconsciousness.