I've been running for a long while. My legs hurt, my lungs hurt, but I don't want to stop until my physical pain matches the pain in my chest. Is nothing good in this world? Nothing sacred? What had Maysilee Donner done in her life to deserve that? A cannon sounds. Only three left. Three out of forty-eight. I'm distracted, trip over some underbrush, and faceplant into the dirt. Pounding the ground in frustration, I find tears again leaking from my eyes. My hands are shaking. For a long moment, I curl up into a ball and let myself sob silently.
I wish Heather were here. When I was little and had nightmares she was always there, arms around me, telling me it was going to be all right. As childish as it sounds, I just want to hear those words. Other tributes might be getting gifts from their sponsors or their district to help them through the last hours of the Games, but District 12 was screwed from the start. Our only victor won the 5th Hunger Games and died eight years ago, and the four of us had no mentor. No one in the Capitol was campaigning for any of us.
I let loose a string of quiet curses at the Capitol. Those sick sons of bitches getting off on watching sweet girls bleed out on live television. Maysilee would have something smart to say right now, but all that's left is mediocre me.
She was top of her class at school, with lots of friends. School never held much interest for me. It was going to teach me how to be a miner, which was inevitable, since that's what my father does. I didn't have a load of friends, but Ash Prentice, Flint Satterfield, and I usually sat by each other in class. Flint's sister Hazelle was a friend of my sister. None of them came to visit me after I got reaped. Just my sister and my dad. Heather did most of the talking and crying and reassuring. I think Dad was writing me off as dead, but he shook my hand and said, "Good luck, son."
I am drawn back to the present by yet another cannon blast. I am in the final two. Forty-six children have died. Before this day is out, the Games can be over. My mind returns to Maysilee, dying. "Win. For me." I compose myself and stand up. Either I'll win for her, or I'll join her. Brushing the soft soil off my clothes, I head for the Cornucopia.
Of course, my last competitor would have to be that beast of a girl from District 1, and she would be armed with a humungous ax. "Win. For me." I do have speed and a bit of agility on my side, though my knife looks quite small now. She swings the ax with force, and this means after she's committed to a movement, it's at least a second before she can change direction. There is a lot of circling each other, swipes into the air. I knick her dominant arm, then narrowly escape losing my own. She finally charges, and I lose my footing. I fall backwards and roll quickly to the right. Her ax head buries itself where my head just was. I take the split second opportunity to swing at her head. I succeed in putting out her eye, but she comes back immediately with a hit to my abdomen that forces me to drop my weapon. It's bad. Really bad. But I have an idea.
The trek through the woods is almost unbearable. The pain is overwhelming. I have to keep one hand over my midsection, for fear my entrails will fall out. Did Maysilee hurt this much? Stars prick the corners of my field of vision. I see the hole in the hedge now. It's not much further. There's so much blood. I'm getting really dizzy and losing my sight, but I stay focused. "Win. For me." I wonder if I'll see Mom and baby Hallie when I die. That would be nice. Mom and Hallie and Maysilee.
I reach the edge of the precipice. I hear the girl behind me. I turn as she prepares to throw, and finally let the blackness take me.