The girl from District Eight fumbled her frozen fingers, opening a matchbox. She extracted a single match and held the little stick up to her face, like it were pure magic. She shaved birchbark strips into a pile and seized the match. She drew it across the side of the box quickly, staring at it intently. A flame rose from the little red match tip. It engulfed the match quickly. The flame singed her fingertips and she threw it down. It smoldered on the dirt. She lit another one and stuck it into the tinder pile.
A fire erupted from the tinder and set the sticks alight. It crackled in the cold breeze, which ran across her face, reminding her of the frigid night. She rubbed her hands over the fire. The light was like glowing lanterns hung on the trees and the heat felt as if she were wrapped in a blanket at home.
Footsteps trampled over leaves behind her. She froze where she was. "He-hello?" she called out quietly. Only the rustle of the leaves answered her. She inched closer to the fire. Snap. A stick cracked.
"Shhh! Cato!"
She turned to see a glinting blade.
"No-no, please..." The girl with the golden braids raised her sword, smirking.
Though she took a moment to realize it; she was shrieking. There was no one to hold her hand and cry with her like she wanted. She was going to die alone in the light of the fire.