Title: Bloodbath Victims

Word Count: 618

x x x x x x x x x x

Thirty seconds.

I stand on the platform, hanks shaking, heart pounding, mind racing. Have to run. Have to run. Have to run. If I stay, I know I'll die. But if I leave without food, I know I'll die. It's a dangerous predicament.

Stay and risk being killed, or leave and risk starving to death? Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Kill to eat? Maybe. Would I? Will I have to decide? I have other things to decide right now. Stay, leave… Stay, leave…

Ten seconds.

I need to decide now. Being killed by a fellow tribute would be a quicker death than starving over a few days. Less painful, too. So this is it, then. How would I rather die? I know I have no chance in these Games anyway, but this is no way to think. Unfortunately, I have to think like this.

Five seconds.

That's it. I'm going in. I'll take my chances against girls who are faster and more clever and boys who are bigger and stronger. I have to. My feet shift; one slides back. My knees bend, my arms are extended. I can do this.

One second.

The gong sounds, and I'm off. My eyes zero in on a bag labeled 'apples.' It's mine. I know I'll be competing against others for that bag of apples. I know I won't survive without it. Will I kill someone who tries to take it before me? I don't know.

To my right, other tributes, the fastest ones, are picking up things off the ground, then veering off into the rocky terrain surrounding the Cornucopia. On my left, a large boy is running in the same direction as I am. His eyes are fixed on the same bag of apples I'm going for. I have a few steps' lead, but getting out will be a problem.

I veer to the left, cutting him off, and scooping up the bag of apples. Continuing in my straight line path, I see a large rock dead ahead. Adrenaline kicks in and my steps speed up and I feel like I'm flying. I've never run this fast in my life. I almost want to smile. But then I remember I'm running for my life.

I'm almost there when I feel a sharp pain in my back. I stumble, breaking my fall with my hands. I roll several times, the bag of apples discarded behind me. I roll to a stop, landing on my stomach. I push up on my elbows and reach for my back. My hand comes back red and wet.

Another something slams into my back, forcing my face into the dirt. Pain shoots up my spine, and I can't move. Shoving my arm against the ground, I roll onto my back, and more pain radiates through my body. There's something under me, shoving through my chest from the back. I see the boy pick up the bag of apples as my heart beats slow. My eyes widen as the knife protrudes out of my chest.

Would I have killed for that bag of apples? I still don't know. But it doesn't matter anymore, because this boy has answered the question for himself. He would kill to eat. And now…

My vision deteriorates, the edges fade to black. My breaths come out quick and shallow. I feel my life draining. As I lay dying, I decide I would not have killed to eat. That isn't who I am. Who am I? I don't know who I was. But not, I'm just another casualty of the Hunger Games. A weakling who was killed off the first day by the better tributes. A victim of the bloodbath.