I've been out here a week. Maybe more. The days are hotter than ever imaginable, the nights, colder than anything I could have even began to describe. My feet, caked with blood and dirt, my hands, blistered and cut beyond repair. My head snaps around at the sound of a twig snapping, my heart pounding in my chest. Then I see her. Katniss. My first instinct is to take her down with the small set of arrows I carved on the first night, but my body is too weak to stop shaking. Shaking hands made for a clumsy aim. Instead I freeze, standing as still as a deer in headlights. I feel her eyes train on me, as her hand flies to her bows. Professionally made none-the-less, far stronger than my weak, clumsy, hand crafted ones.
"District 10," she growls, her voice cutting through me like a rusted blade. I flinch, my memories suddenly falling onto the boy tribute; my brother. I had killed him myself, after one of the stronger male tributes stabbed him in the stomach, leaving his guts to rot in the hot sun. I knew he'd forgiven me, had he the chance, but I saw it in great need. Lessen my load, so to speak.
"Katniss, please," I whisper, addressing her by name. I had gotten lucky earlier on, when the male from her district let me go, after watching me struggle with the loss of my brother. Though we were out here to fight for our lives, he found sympathy. I wasn't sure that the cold hearted Katniss would do the same.
"One good reason I shouldn't kill you right now," she barked.
"Because I'll die eventually anyway. And I have food, medicine too," I said, only telling a half lie. I could hunt bigger game, sure, after years of working with my father to herd livestock, I had learned a thing or two about taking down big game, and I really did have medicine. I had raided the Careers camp with little success food and supply wise, but they had set all the medicine aside together, making for a fairly easy raid before they found my brother and I. We had silently teamed up, in hopes that come the end, it'd be a family fight to the finish. He was gutted before that could come.
"I don't need your food or medicine," she growls, her hands stay firmly on her bow as my heart races.
I shake my head, the hunger and injuries taking their toll. My father had taught me to be strong, wise, but that didn't help me now. I was a month shy from 19, or close enough to that. I was weak from long days, and even longer nights, and now, my only thought fell to my two younger sisters, who at that moment, rest at home, without a family. Lunarca, only 5, and little baby Bailey, only 6 months old. My mother died the night of her birth, my father, just days before when there was a stampede. A bull sheered him through the stomach, and he died almost instantly.
"Please," I begged, tears in my eyes. "If you let me go, and we make it to the end of the game..." I let the statement drop. She glared at me, her eyes full of fire. Katniss, the girl on fire.
"I'm not like Peeta. I won't let you go," she said matter of factly.
"I have two baby sisters at home. No older than 5. I beg you. Don't let them witness me die so soon after their brother," I whisper. Desperate. One quality I have come to know. I look deeply into her eyes, my own filled with tears. "Please. Luna's not old enough to raise an infant," I whispered, begging.
"What kind of medicine do you have?" she asked, her eyes softening ever so slightly.
"Pain killers, something to settle an upset stomach, burn cream, fever reducer, and I managed to find the herbs I needed to make a pretty strong sedative. Plus I found some thread, I only need a few fish bones for needles. I can't fish, that's the only problem," I said honestly. I made myself seem weak. But that may be enough. Maybe. If she needs any of what I have.
"I need the painkillers, fever reducer, and thread," she said. Then she looked me in the eyes. I could almost feel her searching my soul for an ounce of doubt. That would be all it would take for her to kill me now.
"Come with me, I'll show you where I have it all stashed away," I said as I pushed my bow and arrows into the small backpack I have taken to carrying. My knife still remained hidden in my boot, but I felt if I seemed to be harmless, she'd be less likely to kill me. My hand flew to the white-gold locket that hung around my neck, caked in blood and mud. My token. My last piece of home.
I picked up speed, feeling sick to my stomach. I stopped half way to my hide out, out of breath and woozy. I knew this feeling. My mother had nicknamed it Death's Kiss. And infection getting out of control. I pulled off my tattered jacket, and ripped the fabric of my shirt away, revealing a deep cut, filled with dirt and blackening flesh.
"You're wounded," Katniss observed from four feet away. The flesh smelled like rotten meat, but I knew I'd survive, at least a little longer.
"Do you have any water?" I asked hopelessly. I dug my cracked nails into the wound, tearing the dead flesh away as best I could. I felt dizzy as the scent of blood hit my nose. Unlike my younger sister, I was very weak to the scent of blood, whereas she could help my mother gut a boar with no problem.
"Not with me," Katniss admits. She comes a little closer when she sees that I'm in no state to move, let alone take her down.
"Great," I mutter, reading for my backpack. I knew my water bottle was empty, but there was hope, there had to be. I dug my hands into the dirt, and noted that it was moist. Not muddy, but moist. I took a shaking breath, braced myself, and shoved, forcing my feet to plant firmly on the ground. I gasped and the bottle fell from my fingers as pain sheered my stomach. I stumbled, and nearly fell, but managed to find my footing. Katniss rushed to my side, completely abandoning any fear she felt towards me. She wrapped her arm around me and steadied me the best she could, being a foot shorter than I was, yet about 30 pounds heavier.
"You're really light," she murmured.
"76 last I checked, but that was at least a week or two ago," I admit. That always worked in my advantage, up until I was stabbed.
"Where are your supplies?" she asked urgently.
"Ahead a ways. I...I'll take you to them," I said, my heart racing faster than it should be. "I need to sit first, Oh, oh!" I gasped, bloody tissue seeping between my fingers. I groan as my knees give out, my face crashing into the soft earth.
"Where? Where are they? You're about to bleed to death!" Katniss shrieked.
"They're hidden in a small cave, in the very back, covered by a dead wild dog's hide. They're all there, go. Get them and bring them to Peeta. I know he's been badly wounded. Save him and win," I said, the trees fading in and out of sight. "Katniss," I add in a whisper.
"Yea?" she said lightly.
"If you win, when you win, and they send you on the victory tour, when you get to district 10, can you tell my sisters, Lunarca and Bailey that their big sister, Kenzi, loved them very much, and is very sorry that she didn't make it? Tell them that Josiah loved them dearly, and that eventually, they'll be okay. They just have to believe?" I begged. I felt sick. Now I knew why my mother had called it Death's Kiss. It kills quickly, almost silently.
"I...I promise," Katniss whispered. I felt hands interlock with my left one, as my right fiddles with the latch to my locket. Once I free it, I take Katniss' hand, and place the locket in her palm. "It holds a picture of my sisters," is all I say. I feel the world fade, and know almost immediately that death is near. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my heart flutters, my last memory is that of my father. His hands so strong, his laugh, his voice. His warm arms, his strong face. His wisdom, his courage. His death, his funeral, his cremation. His ashes then being blended with my mother's when she died. My newborn sister, with eyes as blue as sapphires, crying in my arms. My other sister clinging to my legs, begging me to bring their momma back.
"I'm sorry," I moan, with the last breath, my world turns black.
They say death is peaceful. They say that you'll see the white light, and that's it. You sleep. Eternal sleep. But it isn't. No. Death is silent. Black. Forever. Death is nothingness. Death.