Thoughts are in italics.
Told from the point of view of Amber Finching. (Foxface)
I awaken hidden in a shallow hole behind some shrubbery covered by dry cakey mud and leaves. I sit up silently, desperately avoiding a single leaf crackling and giving away my location. Graciously, I manage not to disturb a single leaf. My silence is awkwardly ended when my stomach growls loudly; the single notice that I can't control. I haven't eaten in so long. I had initially thought that the girl from 12 destroying the careers' supplies was a good thing. I thought that it would kill off the careers, which for the most part it did. I didn't expect to nearly starve. Foolish, I suppose. Where there are sharks, there are fish. The food and water that I used to be able to gather off the land independently seems to have vanished. I guess they're trying to weed out the weaker tributes. They want a good finale. Somehow I know that I won't find anything to eat, but I insist upon searching for some. For some reason I have a feeling I won't need it either. I slowly rise to my feet silently and trek through the woods with the footsteps of a hunter. For some odd reason I can't seem to stop analyzing everything I see. It's like I'm going entirely insane. I continue on, uncontrollably analyzing my surroundings; Plants, animals, anything. I wonder if I'll be like this for the rest of whatever remains of my life. Then I notice. Human footsteps. Nothing to lose. I follow the mysterious tracks to a plastic square I recall seeing at the cornucopia on the first day. District twelve. I breathe an inaudible sigh of relief at the fact that it isn't the boy from two. I am still very apprehensive because this may be a trap. Sitting atop the plastic is a small pile of recognizable berries. Nightlock. I pick up one of the berries and roll it through my fingers perplexedly. In the shiny berry I vaguely see my reflection and am shocked at what I see. An emaciated and mentally unstable girl. A devastating revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. How long can I last? The main water source is the lake, and there's no way I can go there without earning myself a sword impaled through my abdomen. It's too risky to try the stream because the girl who got an 11 and her boyfriend or whatever are right there practically guarding it. Food is incredibly scarce. I'm starting to wonder if the Gamemakers are simply tired of me. That they want a quick and easy victor that will service them well and be done with the rest of us. Even If I luck out and manage to scrape by into the final two, what will happen to me when I'm face to face with an armed and capable career that wants to kill me? The odds are not in my favor on that one, but they never have been. The odds always seem to be against the Finchings. My mother and father were both killed by electrocution in the same accident at the power plant when I was 5. My older sister Marie happens to have had the most dangerous job at the plant; she is the one that has to dispose of our cracked power rods. Having that job position is basically the same as being the village idiot in district 5. It was the most dangerous job in the entire plant – Nobody was ever fired from that job. They all died in accidents one by one. But she was killed in the 73rd hunger games. She got a job later in her life but since it's usually only given to those viewed as totally worthless, she made next to nothing and we had no choice but to beg for food. I never liked begging, but from a very young age I knew I would starve without it. We would go door to door in the larger wealthier part of town and ask for food, cloth, - anything, really. We would even ask for broken light bulbs and electricity control panels to recycle. And every time they would laugh in our faces and slam the door as passers by would yell vulgar insults. The worst part was when they'd remember me walking past me in town. It was tough to forget me – I was the only one in the district with red hair, and my sister happened to be the disposal jockey. We were infamous laughing stocks. They would call us names and throw trash at me and Marie. I was bullied to my breaking point at school, and eventually, I just stopped speaking. I would only talk to Marie. One day when I was 9 and my sister was 14, in the peak of winter we were officially homeless. For lack of anything to do other than lie down and die, we went door-to-door asking for help again. We received the usual cold reactions, until we met an old woman named Demetria. Demetria wasn't doing much better than us, but she was enormously generous to us. She took us in and raised Marie and I just like we were her own. One day 2 years later, she died. She left everything to us in our will and Marie had secured a job as disposal jockey by then, so we managed to scrape by for the following year up until Marie was reaped for the 73rd annual hunger games. She was killed by the boy from district two in the bloodbath while I watched helplessly. I feel tears streaming silently down my cheeks but ignore them. Growing up like that around so much death, pain and suffering has taught me just how fragile and precious life really is. And how easily it is taken away. If I somehow don't starve by then, I don't think I can stand a chance in a fight with Cato. I have no weapons or any special skills, really. I might even be too weak and dehydrated to fight. I shudder at the thought of what Cato might do to me with his sword. I come to a stunning realization; Cato is going to kill me, and there's nothing I can do about it. I will soon suffer a slow, painful death. Cato is no doubt going to make my death a spectacle, talked about ages later at future hunger games. Unless… I have discovered a second choice; a way out. The nightlock. My loved ones are all dead… No one would miss me. The capitol isn't getting a show tonight. I won't let them. I scoop up the berries into my mouth, and swallow confidently. I lie down on a soft patch of fallen leaves and graciously await my death. I'm coming home.