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No sooner had I sat down to wait for Peeta, the rain had started to fall, heavy droplets hitting the floor, bouncing off leaves on trees. Under the tree where I have taken refugee, I am mostly sheltered from the rain, but the odd few droplets splatter onto my face. I am grateful for this, though, because It is helping to disguise the salty tears on my face, making me look stronger than I really am, hiding my tears.
I listen for Peeta's voice once more, hoping I will hear him, that he is coming for me, like he said, but the rain has bought with it a blustering wind, loud enough to drown out Peeta's cries for me, and me for him.
"Peeta!" I yell at the top of my lungs. I start to panic when I don't hear a reply from him, the only reply coming from the wind whistling through the trees and the rain pounding on the floor. That's when I start to notice I'm shivering, from cold or fear I'm unsure, but I suddenly find my arms crossed tightly together, trying to keep me warm, but the rain is insistent in freezing me to death.
Getting up from my perch under the tree, knowing I can't stay there, I look up once more, and what I find doesn't really surprise me. The rain seems to have had no effect on the planes and helicopters searching for me, as I can still see them just as clearly as before. But then again, these are capitol helicopters.
"Peeta!" I shout once more, not sure what to expect. I get silence. The silence somehow reminds me of what I am doing here in the first place. We were in the Capitol, me and Peeta, along with some of the other tributes that have won the Hunger Games in the last ten years, most of which were obnoxious, self scented jerks who have no thoughts for anyone else, when we were ambushed. The tall marble walls were smashed and shattered, rubble flying everywhere. Peeta had me shielded from the rubble, on the floor, his body towering over mind protectively. Everyone was forced back by Peacekeepers, dressed in their usual white suits, towards the back wall, which was the only wall still intact. Guns had been shoved at peoples necks, whilst victors demanded why they were being treated in such a manner. Peeta had been roughly shoved away from me, a gun shoved at his neck, stopping him from taking action. I had been frozen in shock, fear and worry at the time, and had done nothing as I was hauled to my feet, arms pinned behind my back, much like Peeta. Then they had started shooting. Me and Peeta were the last to go down, and so therefore, we were the ones to notice that these guns were different. They had produced no visible wound, no blood, and yet each of the victors had collapsed to the floor, not moving. Then they had pointed the guns at me, deciding to leave Peeta till last, making him watch as they shot me down. As they shot down the Mockingjay, the girl on fire. The last thing I remembered was his horrified expression and him shouting my name, before it all went black.
Then I woke up. I woke up alone, still bleary eyed from the gun, which I decided must have been some sort of sedative, when I noticed I was in a forest, a forest with palm trees and eucalyptus trees. There was all sorts of shrubbery adjourning the grassy floor. That's when Peeta had found me, relieved that I was relatively unharmed. We were both wearing a purple jacket with black ends on the sleeves. The trousers were also black, made of a rich material that could only be from the Capitol; no one else could afford it. The under garment was short sleeved and completely black, and would offer no protect from the cold weather. The last part of my attire were the knee length black boots which were of a sturdy build and of a fine quality. Lying next to me, with a full sheath, was a bow and arrows of the highest quality. But why would whoever put us here give me a weapon? Together we had come to the conclusion that the Capitol had attacked us and placed us in some sort of arena. An arena. Another Hunger Games. We had looked around for other tributes, trying to find out exactly what had happened, but we were alone. But if it was just the two of us, how did we win? Then it hit us like a tonne of rocks. One of us would have to kill the other, in the end, if we wanted to go home. I knew Peeta would rather die himself than kill me, so therefore I knew it was down to me what happened next. But I couldn't kill Peeta. I couldn't just put an arrow through his heart and pretend nothing had happened, living at home, hunting with Gale, when I had killed him. I couldn't live without him, no matter how much he tried. We had become to close, although not as close as myself and Prim, and I couldn't kill him jut to save myself. I now knew why I had been given a weapon. To kill Peeta. Peeta had argued his point, however, saying that one of us had to go home and that it should be me, that he would have nothing to live for if I died. Then a thought had occurred to me, something I should have thought of the moment I realised where we were. The Capitol wanted me in here for a reason, for the same reason that there were just two of us in the arena. The Capitol wanted me dead, and would do anything to achieve this goal. It didn't matter if I killed Peeta, the Capitol would just kill me too, efficiently killing two birds with one stone, even though the Capitol had no grudge against Peeta, except for him loving me. I had told this to Peeta, and although he had argued, he knew what I said was true. That's when I knew. I would not leave this arena again, but Peeta might. I would die here.
Except I wouldn't.
I was pulled out of my flashback by the thunder clashing up above. The pelting rain and blustering wind had caused a storm, bright streaks clashing across the sky. It was ironic really. The girl on fire would be defeated by a simple thunderstorm, the Mockingjay to grounded to fly. I wouldn't be surprised if there were gamemakers sat around controlling the weather, making it almost impossible for us to see. I run forwards, bow loaded and ready to fire, not knowing where I am going. I can't help but wonder what's happened to Peeta. Is he safe? Have they captured him? Is he dead? I will my mind away from these thoughts. Peeta is clever enough to look after himself, and as long as I am still alive, he's safe. It's me they're after, not him.
A sudden whooshing sound disrupts me from my less than pleasant thoughts. Looking upwards, I see nothing but grey clouds and feel the rain pelting my face, but the noise remains. I run harder, knowing whatever it is can't be good, when I suddenly find myself flying through the air, hitting the ground hard, temporarily dazed.
As the black spots clear from my vision, I register a blinding painful sensation in my lower left leg, and get get up into a sitting position, and take a glance at my leg. The trouser leg itself was ripped and burning, and it felt oddly uncomfortable as it stuck to my leg with the blood from the wound I had yet to see. I immediately wished I never had. Pulling back the trouser leg, I saw a ghastly sight. A large proportion of my leg, from just above the ankle to a little below the knee, was covered in blood., despite the rain. There was a huge gash in my leg, at least five centimetres deep and about ten centimetres wide, practically oozing blood. The skin around the wound is incredibly tender, sending a fresh wave of pain through my body. With my mother being a healer, I know a bit about medicine and wounds. I know that unless I get adequate medicine and treatment, the best case scenario would be that I lose my leg, but that's not an option, giving the circumstances. Now the Capitol helicopters had a big advantage over me. I wouldn't be able to run. My mind drifts back to how Peeta must have felt, back in the first Arena, when Cato cut his leg. It had been left unattended and had ended up nearly killing him. He couldn't put any weight on the leg, and it was only me going to the feast to get his medicine that saved his life. But there would be no feast this time. No chance for me to get medicine, and even if there was I wouldn't be able to go.
Maybe I can hold out for a while, like Peeta did, but my medical knowledge tells me that my wound is a lot worse than Peeta's was.
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