A gust of wind and ice-cold water shakes me out of the best dream I've had for months... I was back home; not the orphanage, but the real home I had before my father died – I remember the furniture, the photographs on the walls; even the softness of the bed I used to sleep in. There was a smell of fried fish, and mom's voice calling me for dinner. We were a family back then, the three of us; ten years ago. The happy times before too many strokes of fate, and now it is probably just time for it to strike me in the most literal possible sense: bolts of lightning coming down near and far, lighting up the world around me for split seconds each.
The tarpaulin is still fixed to his tent, but some of the stones I used to pin it to the ground must have fallen off somehow, as that end of it is fluttering violently in the wind. At least I have the contents of my pack keep me somewhat warm as I slide out of my shelter to see if I can repair the damage.
"Awake again?", a strong, familiar voice asks: Thresh.
"Obviously. How long did I sleep?", I want to know.
"I don't know... long enough, I'd say. Did the anthem wake you?", he replies.
"The anthem?", I ask, "No; didn't notice it. All I know is that a chilly splash of water somehow found its way into my face.". I point to the gaping hole.
"Not much to miss... Clove is dead. The District 2 girl; the one I killed. Hers was the only face.", he states.
"Did anything unusual happen during your watch?", I ask.
"Besides the sudden thunderstorm, you mean? No, nothing I'd remember. Not a sign of Cato, or any other tribute. You were right about him, too.", he says.
"Want me to take over now?", I ask.
"Yeah. Sure. Let's eat something before.", he answers, tossing me a MRE ration. As I open it, I cannot believe my eyes: fried fish!
"You got something special?", he asks, staring at the expression in my face.
"Fried fish.", I say, "Reminds me of home. Believe it or not; I was even dreaming about that before I woke up. Want to have some?".
"No, that's yours. I've never tasted fish before, but to you it means something.", he replies.
"It's not about the fish, you know? It's about what it reminds me of; about the time before I lost my family. And about how we shared our meals back then. It's the sharing, not the eating itself... you're the closest to a friend I've ever had since they took me away from Five. Would you mind if we ate together this time?", I answer; getting sentimental. All the days I've survived inside this arena with nothing but pure, cold logic at my disposal... I miss everything, and everyone. And above all, I miss Serena.
We were more than friends; we were like sisters, or even twins: inseparable, after knowing each other for barely three years... next month, we'd have our anniversary, but she's so far away; almost unreachable. She was the first to come storming through that door to bid farewell, eyes red and swollen from crying. I know she must be watching me right now; I guess she hardly ever slept since the day the games began., still begging and hoping for me to return. Will I? And if I did; would I remain the same person? In order to win, all others have to die: Cato; I could certainly live with killing Cato. He's more the Capitol's mutt and lapdog to me than anything human. But what about the others? Fire Girl, the one who volunteered to save her little sister? Her district partner? Could I end their lives? And what about Thresh?
He has accepted my offer; we are sitting together in the dry, sharing my fish and his unidentified, but certainly edible variety of grilled meat between us.
"What about more?", he asks, "I'm still hungry.". I nod; so we divide the contents of the next pack (some kind of long noodles, together with a sauce flavoring of tomatoes) as well – after that, I am as full as I could possibly get. As Thresh retreats into his tent for his well-deserved sleep, I prepare myself for the long night to come.
It is dark and cold and wet; and loud. There are the noises of the storm itself: the heavy rain lashing against anything in its way... every now and then interrupted by a deafening clap of thunder. And there might be something, or someone worse around: Mutts. Or Cato. Peeking out into the darkness, I do my best to scan the area during the flashes, looking for the only tribute taller and larger than even Thresh, but there is no sign of him. He couldn't have hoped for better cover.
Does he think his opponent was still awake, expecting such a move? Does he want to exhaust him, not knowing I am there to share the watches? Or is he in reality mere feet away, Sword ready to cut first my own throat and then Thresh's? I'm slowly becoming paranoid.
I always thought that the greatest danger was to overlook something, and, as I know from the recordings of previous Hunger Games, falling asleep. In a night like this, the latter poses no difficulty at all – and for the first part, it's just the other way round: I notice too much. Someone (or something) moving through the grass, or is it nothing but the wind? I cannot tell; the light is gone before I could take a closer look.
And there are hours of this ahead.