Death is a blessing in the hunger games. Especially when you are with the one you love. I say love - Call it whatever you want. Schoolgirl crush, cute, ridiculous. But, you know what? I cant control what I feel. And besides, it wasn't just me, loads of people liked him. Marissa Woolcott was a lucky, lucky girl. That's what everyone said - me, now I didn't see it. Wasn't until he shook my hand on that stage, not until I looked into his eyes not until I was sentenced to most probable death did I get the reason why everyone was obsessed with him. I felt as if my whole life suddenly had shifted, the meaning of existence had changed. I know what you're thinking, but I was young, scared and alone. Those things do crazy things to you. The next week was almost enjoyable - nice food, big bed . Then it all changed. The arena was hell on earth. I was to busy staring at him to hear the gong, so I was the last one off the podiums, immediately destroying any small chance I had of getting something from the cornucopia. Now, all I could do was run. And run I did. I ran and ran and ran. Sleeping under leaves. How I survived 9 nights is a mystery to me. On the eighth day I now know people where getting excited. A 13 year old with no supplies or food, only drinking tiny bits of rain water managing to get this far? They nicknamed me miracle girl. I was the youngest girl ever to be in the last half of contestants in hunger games histroy. Most 13 year old girls die within days - but it wasn't the need to survive that had kept me going. It was the need to see him again. Every night I would lie waiting for the anthem, praying his face wouldn't show up. Funny really. I had hardly spoken two words to him but the fear and stress of those wretched games had made me value his life more than my own. I woke up on the ninth day in a pool of vomit and sweat. My body was failing - I had started to shake and hadn't passed any urine since arriving. I shouldn't have been alive, and I was stated to wish I wasn't either. I had given up running, and had resorted to walking, then dragging. His voice in the distance made me run though. He was in a clearing fighting a career, and from what I could tell losing. I stood on the edge watching, hoping that he would survive. Sane enough to know not to intervene, too weak to help even if I hadn't known better. It was fierce, violent and hard to watch. At home if I ever a fight scene came on I would turn away, but here I watched intently, silently. I don't think they noticed me. Too engaged in trying to kill each other. It finished as quickly as it had started - the spear left his hand and buried itself into the throat of the career, but not before the career lobbed a dagger at him, aiming for his stomach, where if it got there would cause a long and painful death.. But it didn't. It ended up in my chest instead. When I saw what was going to happen, I did the only thing I could. I ran and threw myself in front of him. He stayed with me while I died, even held my hand. I had never experienced pain like it, but at the same time had never been happier in my life. While I lay there I told him my name. I told him I had just turned 13. I told him I loved him. He nodded and held my hand tighter. My dying sight was of his perfect face, in a horrible place. My name was Tawnie Saymoor, and after my death I was known as the martyr of the quell. Sacrificing myself for the one person I had loved. Yes, loved, not had a crush on, loved. I died for Haymitch Abernathy. I hope he is glad I did it. I know I am.