It was as if my brain no longer functioned. I was on my feet and off my pedestal the instant the gong sounded the beginning of the Games. I let my legs mindlessly lead me to the base of the rock hill. It wasn't blood running through my veins as much as it was pure adrenaline.

Tributes brushed past me to go clambering up the hill, but I wasn't making a move towards the Cornucopia. Instead, I bent down and scooped up a large black knapsack that was lying on the ground about fifty feet from my starting position. I didn't even slow my pace to pick it up. I grabbed it, slung it over my shoulder as I kept running, and began turning away.

Juno, as well as several Tributes, were still making the difficult climb upward. Only two or three were doing what I was doing: scavenging at the base and hoping to run off before arrows and swords started flying. None of us would try and provoke one another. We were more concerned with ourselves. The payoff as far as 'loot' went would not be as high, but the more important payoff was worth anything…our survival.

Just as the first screams started ringing out from above, I began bolting away from the scene entirely. Another Tribute followed my lead, and we began to fan outward into the open arena. I made my way down an alley and over a wire fence to cut through a block of buildings and gain more distance. I was still letting my legs lead me as I ran further and further out with a large bag slung over my shoulder, and a smaller box (about the size of my mother's purse) in my left hand. I ran for what seemed like hours. I couldn't see shapes. All I saw were colors, blurred and bleeding into one another. I was running through an abstract painting, with no clue where I was going or if I was even making any progress forward.

Finally, my chest felt like it was about to implode or ignite, so I ducked behind a brick wall to rest. Despite the rain not letting up, I chose to take the rest to see what exactly I had grabbed. The knapsack, I soon discovered, contained three tins of fish, a small clip of matches, a sleeve of crackers, a large canteen, a pair of binoculars, and a switchblade. The blade was not serrated, but it was long and sharp, about the length of my hand from wrist to the tip of my index finger. It might've served me in combat, but as far as surviving, it wouldn't have much use.

In the smaller box was a folded sheet of plastic…a tarp. This would get some serious use if it kept raining like it was.

I quickly packed everything neatly so it would all fit in the knapsack. I left the box by the wall, and decided to keep going in the direction I'd been heading in the first place. I seemed alone, so I was safe, for now. I didn't run, but rather walked briskly. I did so for nearly an hour.

Maybe I could duck inside one of these buildings to get out of the rain…

Suddenly, a cannon went off. My first instinct was to duck, before I remembered that the sound of a cannon meant a dead Tribute. I held my breath and counted each cannon blast, hoping none of them were for Intel or Tatsuya. This meant the bloodbath was over, the Careers had probably claimed the Cornucopia, and the Games were officially on…

…and I had officially outlived ten of my fellow Tributes.

Ten! Ten of us dead within the first hour and a half! It seemed terrible, until I recalled how, in Beetee's Game, the initial death toll had been sixteen. Supposedly, the record was eighteen dead after one day, leaving only six survivors to fight into day two. So, really, ten was a lower number. I was one of fourteen remaining Tributes.

A large part of me wanted to look for Intel, as we had promised one another to stick together if we both made it. But Intel could've been ANYWHERE in this arena. It wouldn't be practical, or safe, to hunt for him until I got a better look at the arena as a whole (which would be easy with binoculars).

I finally allowed myself to stop putting distance between myself and the Cornucopia, and slid into a four-story brick building that was in relatively good shape through a window. The place was littered with broken chairs, flipped tables, and strewed with dinnerware remnants. Clearly, this had once been an eatery. Perhaps the floors above had been apartments. It occurred to me that I could raid said apartments for any spare supplies. Immediately, I toured each floor, taking my time and avoiding windows.

Alas, the Gamemakers had been careful to remove anything that might've been useful as far as survival or weaponry. There wasn't even any hint of food in the kitchen behind the eatery counter. I found nothing but the shelter the building could provide.

The rain was letting up, and daylight was beginning to fade. I knew if I were to survey the arena, it would have to be now. I made my way onto the roof, crawled to the ledge, trying not to appear as a target to anyone who might be below, and took out my binoculars.

From what I was able to see, the arena was, in fact, a ruined city. Not a speck of green was visible. I could see the mound where the Cornucopia was placed on the very distant horizon. My position was, at my estimate, about two miles out. As one got further away from the center, the buildings got more and more stable and intact, but there were no skyscrapers. The clouds of the arena hung quite low over us.

In truth, I was rather fortunate to have one of the more standard urban arenas. Sometimes the Gamemakers got very creative, which proved difficult for some tributes to survive in. One year when I was very little, the arena was a treeless prairie with very few hiding spots or food sources. That arena held the record for the briefest Game to date: the Victor was determined in three days. Before I was born, during the 9th Games, the arena was waist-deep in salt water. The Victor was a fourteen year old girl from Four (of course) who, from what I saw in the Capitol, suffered psychologically and was entirely mute.

No, I was lucky. I grew up in a city. I knew how to navigate streets and listen for frayed powerlines. I was more likely to adapt faster and live longer than a wildling tribute who only knew countryside.

This arena wasn't even very 'special' considering what I'd seen of it thus far. No hidden caverns, no traps, trip wires, or nuclear hotspots as far as I saw. It did make me suspicious...this could indicate the Gamemakers planning some intense 'hazards' if things got boring. I would have to keep an eye out for such things.

I moved back inside when the rain began picking up again. The top floor of the tenement had one large suite as opposed to several small apartments, so I chose to stay there and lock the door. I thought it would be wise to stay by a window but not directly in the window, where I would be an easy target. However, I was compelled to stay near a place where I could see if Intel was passing by, so I could flag him down. The fact that only ten tributes were dead to begin with gave me some hope. The odds were somewhat in his favor, right?

Anyhow, I established a little lookout nook for myself by the west-facing window. Afterward, the rain stopped again, and twilight began to fall (yet still no sun, it seemed). I decided it was suppertime, and took out a few crackers and some dried meat I found tucked into a corner of the knapsack. The beef was surprisingly more salty than the saltines. I decided to only nibble on the jerky sparingly...salt dehydrated, and until I found a steady supply of water (perhaps in a water tower), I would have to be extremely careful. I did, however, swallow my better judgment and scoop some of the residue rainwater from the windowsill outside for a drink. It tasted normal, and I didn't react to anything in if it happened to be poisoned. I filled my canteen with any extra water I could syphon off of the gutters and other sills. As long as it wasn't acidic or poisonous, it would be my best hope for fresh water.

As I watched the night set in, I began to hear the Panem National Anthem play, as if over a loudspeaker. A clear spot in the cloud cover over the center of the sky formed, just big enough to fit the appearing projection that materialized. It was the National Seal with the subtitle "The Fallen." I held my breath. The death toll as of now. I didn't hear any additional cannons fire after the initial bloodbath victims, so I was ready to count ten of my peers. I knew this was one of their tricks...the purpose of these daily counts was to intimidate us and anger us.

It worked on me, because the first image that the screen projected was Intel's, subtitled 'District 3.' His portrait was deceptively proud, strong, and brave, It was almost comical. Of course, I didn't react with a laugh so much as a sudden onset of sobs. Intel knew he would die if he went to the bloodbath...why didn't he do what I did? Why didn't he avoid the danger and run?

I averted tears so I could read the other nine dead tributes. District Four and Five lost their females. District Seven lost both. District Ten lost both, Eleven lost it's male, and Twelve lost both.

After the Seal faded, the anthem ceased, and the clouds almost instantly reformed over the projection spot, I let it go. Intel, who believed in God, who believed that there was enough goodness to warrant such a faith, hadn't even had a chance to live. Slaughtered, probably by a Career (I would never know).
For a long time, probably upwards of two hours, I sat in the corner of the top floor of the building, underneath the window, and cried, rocking back and forth, Intel's last smile to me engraved into my retinas. His last joke. His suggestion that Beetee had romantic feelings for me. He was fourteen. His body had been scooped up by now by a hovercraft and was lying in the Capitol, being dressed by a coroner to be shipped home for burial. Intel. A human. A child.
No, a man. Intel was more of a man than I was a woman.


Crying was a tiring activity, as evidenced by the fact that I'd passed out at some point during the first half of the night. The sound of heavy boots on stairs woke me with a jolt.

Someone was here. No, two...

...from the sounds of the foot steps, four. Maybe five. And only one alliance could form so quickly in the Games.

Swiftly, I gathered my belongings into my knapsack and slung it over my back. I began tip-toeing to all of the windows, seeing if maybe there was a fire escape I could use. When I couldn't find one, I realized that I was trapped unless I could sneak out into the hallway and find a way to get to the ground floor without using the stairwell.

The footsteps came from below. I decided that planning my escape and getting a feel for what the Careers were doing here would be more beneficial to me than just running for my life. I sank to the floor by the front door to the apartment and leaned an ear to the ground. Most of the dialogue was muffled.

"...rain stopped..."
"...are there any beds?"
"Only ten...slow start...embarrassing..."
"sHH! Someone's in here...upstairs!"

I sat up quickly. How could they have possibly heard me?!

Darting to my feet, I dashed into the hallway. I needed to leave, NOW.

Footsteps were already pounding up the stairwell. My head turned to the left of the landing, and there was an old elevator shaft...no doors, no carriage. Just the ropes and pulleys that would've made it operate once upon a time.

"Up here! Quick!" a deep, masculine voice bade his companions. I vaguely recognized the voice. It was Janus' voice, the male from District 2.

When I saw his head beginning to rise into my view, I stopped hesitating. Some things happen to quickly to need analyzation. I acted on a whim in that moment to save my own life.

I leapt into the elevator shaft. I was able to grab the rope with both hands and wrap my legs around it to begin sliding down.

"Hey, she jumped!" Janus hollered. "Hurry up, damnit! Get the machete!"

They were going to cut the rope and send me falling to my death.

I shimmied down until I made it to the second floor landing. My hands were burning and chafed. With a few good swings for momentum, I was able to hop onto the second floor.

"She made it to the second floor up! Juno! Sheen! Head her off! I think it's the girl from Three!"

Like the bloodbath twelve hours prior, the moments that followed are nearly impossible to recall with much accuracy. All I remember is jumping out of the second-floor window, feeling a terrible twinge in my ankle as I landed below, rolling, then shooting upward and running off like lightning into the night.

In spite of my semi-drowsy state, the adrenaline flow in my veins kept me running like a cheetah away...away...away from the Careers. If they pursued me, they didn't get too close, and I couldn't hear them chasing after me.

When the adrenaline finally wore off, I found myself (thankfully, alone) in an open square. An old stone fountain, dried up and covered in weeds, sat in the middle. A few wrought-iron park benches were scattered around it, some even overturned. I didn't like being out in the open, even in the dark. So I looked around for a hiding place. Something about my experience with the building back there made me hesitant against choosing another building to take shelter in. There were so many potential places for a Career or someone else with a sword to hide and snipe an unsuspecting person looking for a stable place to stay.

A two-story billboard stood beyond the fountain. It was only slghtly listed, and it was a three-sided piece. It would do for tonight, I felt.

Despite my hands still burning, I was able to climb up the metal pole and onto the iron grid that connected the three sides of the board. I would not be well sheltered if it began to rain again. However, I would be concealed, and if anyone were to come up after me, I would be able to hear them climbing up the pipe in time to leap down...the fall would only be about fifteen feet.

I leaned against one of the signs and took off my knapsack, fluffing it up as if it were a pillow and setting it beside me.

My ankle was throbbing (not broken but definitely sprained), and my hands were raw. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute, and I was still emotionally distraught over Intel's death. But, for the moment, I was safe enough to allow myself to lay on my side and drift off into a light sleep.

Just before my consciousness left me, a single cannon fired into the air from some distance away. I was one of thirteen left.


Beetee's Journal

Night 1 of 44th Games

As of 1:07am, Capitol Time, there are thirteen left. Intel was the third tribute to die at the Cornucopia. He didn't even appear to be in any hurry to survive. The Girl from One bludgeoned him with an aluminum bat. It was terrible to watch.

Wiress was smarter...she made off with some rudimentary survival supplies and was able to hide. She was even able to elude a Career attack. As of now (presently3:30am CT) she is sleeping in a billboard in the southern quadrant of the arena. There aren't any tributes within nearly a mile of her, and no one appears to be on the move, so she will see the sun rise again. She's injured, but she doesn't seem too badly damaged.

Tonight as I'm sitting here with the mentors of the surviving tributes holding vigil for them in silence, I think of her family back home in Three, keeping awake in this dark hour, eyes unblinking, focused on the constant Games updates and footage. Especially her father, the dentst with the gentle hand, who seemed to prefer his daughter to anyone else. How is Dr. Ohmstead tonight?

I hope I'm doing right by him by doing right by her.