"Remember, run for cover," My trainer's voice ran through my mind. I took a deep breath and looked around me at the other tributes. The twenty three who would die, so I could live. I needed to live. My six year old brother needed taken care of, what with my mother having to work twenty four/seven, and my dad a drunken fool. I had also promised my best friend I'd come back, and Grandma and Grandp-
And then the gong sounded.
I froze for a second, but then took off as hard as I could. I was flying toward the trees, wind whistling in my ears, making my eyes water. I felt so powerful, running faster than anything. Faster than a hovercraft. Faster than a bird. Faster than the boy running after me.
But not faster than the knife he threw at me.
It hit me in the middle of my back, and down I went. He punched the air, and I hoped so badly he would get shot in that minute. But there is no justice. He jogged up to me and looked me in the eyes. And smiled.
He put a foot on my back and yanked out the knife. Searing pain shot through me, and I screamed. No one noticed. He wiped the blade off on his shirt, and looked at me again.
"You're number three," he said, and made a nick on his wrist. Then he jogged back to the massacre. And everything was going black. Warm blood coated my back; at least I wouldn't die cold.
Sorry I wasn't able to come back, little brother. Really, really sorry.
And the black closed in.
