Sara Dales, District Twelve.
His eyes glinted viciously as he approaches me, knife in hand. I had been hiding up a tree, hoping against hope that they would just pass, not notice me. But they did, of course. The Career tributes had me surrounded, various weapons in their grips as they grinned and laughed at the idea of my impending death. One boy, from District 1, had announced that it was his turn to get a kill in. The others had just laughed and stepped back, letting him do the job.
It was only the second day. Two days into the games, and already nearly half of the Tributes dead. Oh, the games. I hate them. I hate the Capitol, and how they enjoy watching children die. They send kids here, forcing them to kill each other. Countless children have died meaningless deaths from these games. And I would be just another one. Just another girl from District twelve, who will be forgotten along with the rest of them. Of course, there are a few people back home who will not forget me. Mother, Papa, Samual. My loving family. And Mak. Oh, Mak. I'll miss him, when I'm dead. I'll miss the way his lips felt on mine, the warm embrace of his arms. But he's in the same position as me, now. He's fighting for his life just as much as I am.
"I'm feeling generous this morning, so I'll let you chose. Heart or head?" The District 1 boy laughs with his friends. I tried to find my voice, to tell my family watching that I loved them.
"Afternoon." I manage to croak out. Oh God, am I really that stupid? But I couldn't stop. I needed to speak, to distract myself and hopefully, them.
"What did you say?" The boy growls, holding the knife to my neck. I whimper as I felt a sharp pain, and the warm, sticky blood dribbles down my skin. But I can't stop talking.
"Afternoon, its afternoon. You said you were feeling generous this morning, when really its afternoon. You can tell by the sun. I thought even a District 1 like you could be able to do that."
Big mistake.
Instead of slicing open my throat, the boy pulls the knife back. For a wonderful split second, I think he's going to spare me.
He plunges it into my stomach.
I scream in pain, the sound making birds from nearby trees fly away on fright. My vision goes blurry, and I fall to my knees. Tears seep out of my eyes, and I am aware of the Careers leaving. The pain is unimaginable. They have taken the knife with them, but they could still be forcing it in, twisting it for the pain I'm going through. My hands are on the wound, and I can feel the blood pouring out. I am going to die. I accepted that the moment my name was called on the day of the reaping. I am going to die.
"Mak... Mak..." His name bubbles to my lips, and I cough blood. The bitter taste of it is on my lips. "Mak. I... Love you... Mak..." My voice is course and rough, feeble and quiet.
"Sara?" That voice. I love that voice. That voice means Mak is here. "Oh, God, Sara, what have they done to you? Please don't die, Sara, I love you too much for you to die!" Mak's voice is pleading, and I feel his hot tears fall in my face. "You're going to win." I whisper as his hand grasps mine. "You'll live. I... love...you..." I trail off quietly. As my eyes flutter close, Mak presses his lips to mine one last time. He gently wipes the hair away from my sweat and blood covered face.
"I love you, Sara. I'll win for you. Don't worry. I'll win for you..." He's crying fully now, the tears falling on my face. I can't move, or talk. But if I could, I'd tell him that I'm alright. The pain is fading now, being replaced with a pleasant numbing sensation. I'd tell him that I can barely feel anything now. I'd tell him I'm happy, and that dying in his arms is just like falling asleep in his arms. Bliss. I feel blissful.
His fingers caressing my face are the last thing I feel.
Then... Nothing.
But I'm happy. In his arms.
This isn't a rip off of the books. In my head, these two told no-one about their relationship. I wrote this ages ago when I was bored. And I dont own the Hunger Games.