The cold winds buffeted my face. Salted tears flew from my eyes in a hurry, trying to get away from the horror of it all. My blonde hair which was formally tightly woven into a French braid was coming undone. I screamed for help but the winds stole my voice and carried it up into the sky, destroying it. I looked around for the boy, a frantic voice bobbed around my head screaming
Don't worry about him! If he's not with you already, he's already dead. Forget him!
Over and over I tell myself this is true, but really, something is still gnawing in the deepest corner of my mind, telling me he is alive and needs my help. Suddenly, I felt lighter. I looked down and saw that my feet were no longer touching the ground, but were running in the air. For only a spilt second I thought I was dead, but then I feel a sharp tang of salt in my mouth and I realize I'm crying. My tears have brought me back to my senses. But, what is happening? Why am I flying? Then I realize it: I am in the twister. I faintly hear the sudden boom of a cannon,
Was it the boy?
No, it couldn't be. I had already convinced myself he was dead. Then, in the midst of all the horror I realize I am falling, falling, falling down out of the twister. I feel small grainy pebbles trying to work their way into my raw skin, but by the time they did, it would not matter. I would be dead by the time I hit the ground. I close my eyes, completely ready to accept my death; this is the Hunger Games for goodness sakes. I was going to die eventually, only I didn't. It was the boy. The boy caught me. The boy caught me. The boy caught me right before the spear entered his body. The boy caught me right before I died. The boy caught me when I drove the spear out of his body and into the spear thrower.
The boy caught me as I became a victor.