So this just popped into my head when I was reading Catching Fire. And now I can't let it go even though I'm so not going to get involved in another archive… aaah! Anyway. Here goes.

You are screaming, screaming, screaming so loud that you can't hear anything else. If an attacker comes, so be it. And they will because they can probably hear you from miles off.

But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Two minutes ago you and Sal were walking, walking through the woods and nothing was around and then they came… District One… long after the alliance was broken off he came, he came, he came…

Why think about what had already happened? The evidence lies around you, splattered all over everything. It soaks into your pant legs, it sears through your brain, and you know this image will remain long after the hovercraft takes away the remains.

The hovercraft.

You have to get away from here or it might take you too, right? You aren't sure. Thoughts aren't connecting in your brain. And you are screaming, screaming, screaming, and they'll come for you, just like the District One boy—his name was—was—you fought alongside him at the beginning but now his name is gone just like Sal is gone, chopped up and no! you have to get out of here, you have to…

You are only able to run about three feet before you step on something and go sprawling. An oomph cuts off your scream and automatically you turn to see what you tripped on and then the scream is back only this time it is louder, ten times louder.

The blood is gushing from the object too fast, his eyes are dull and lifeless, still open in shock, seeing nothing and there is no neck connected to this head and it is Sal, was Sal, but not anymore and you are screaming…

Away. You have to get away from here and let the hovercraft pick up the pieces of the body. And they have to get rid of the other boy too, the one whose blood is all over your knife. And you remember the feeling of plunging the knife into human flesh, the crunch of the bone, the tear of the skin, the cry of pain, the thud as the body falls…

No! You turn, you run, weaving through the rocks as fast as you can. They dot the landscape, like a ruined city, pieces flung all over, destroyed, killed—

Sal doesn't have time to react as his head goes flying, blood covering his neck as the body falls—

NO! NO! NO!

You run.

It doesn't matter if they find you.

Nothing matters.

You just need to escape.

Because you are done with the Games. You are going home to District Four. You aren't sure if this is even the right direction, but it doesn't really matter. . You will escape from this arena and go home because this was a stupid idea. It was dangerous, didn't they realize? They couldn't make you stay, couldn't make you get killed.

You can see District Four off in the distance, you can see the buildings that make up the familiar skyline.

You just have to get there.

So you keep running.

The water comes out of nowhere. You are swimming, swimming, swimming, still trying to get to where you are sure your home is but you can't see it anymore. But you live in District Four and water is how you work and you are swimming, swimming. It must be a sign that you are closer to home.

Something is banging behind you. Some sort of cannon. Are you under attack? Frantic, you try and speed up, and the water is all around you, pulling you down, but you know how to swim and you are swimming swimming swimming and nothing can stop you.

And the trumpets are blaring and they are calling your name, telling you to come back, and something is grabbing at you and they are trying to keep you from going but no, no, no, you are swimming and you are going to swim home and they can't stop you.