I wake with a jolt as I hear the cannon blast. My heart pounding, I listen intently for any sound of approaching careers, footsteps or voices but no sound comes. It's dark outside and I have a groggy feeling in my head so I imagine that I've only been asleep for around two hours. I rest my head back onto the rucksack that I am using as I pillow and go back to sleep.

When I wake in the morning the sunlight is streaming through the gaps in the leaves. It looks to be just past dawn. My stomach grumbles, not used to the absence of the Capitol food. I have another apple but it doesn't sit well, I really need some protein.

I climb out of the hole, my knives strapped securely into my belt and my rucksack on my shoulder, everything including the fleece stuffed inside. I wince as the sunlight hurts my eyes, I am unbelievably happy with what I got, especially as I didn't think I'd get anything but I can't help hoping for some sunglasses.

Instead I edge close to the hedge, leaving the bush and checking round corners. When I reach the end of this line I notice a trail of food, dried fruit and nuts. These probably came from the cornucopia, meaning that the careers left them. I have the urge to grab and start eating some of the nuts but think better of it, knowing that they could be poisoned.

That gives me an idea; I run back to the bush and pick many of the berries, filling the pockets on my legs. I run back to the trail of food, scattering some berries every now and then in case a desperate tribute gets hungry.

It feels a bit deceptive but it's the only way I will get out, and I'd much rather work this way than plunging swords into people's stomachs. I decide to follow the careers trail in the direction away from the cornucopia as they had the whole night to get closer to the edge of this maze.

I hear birds chirping from within the bushes and catch the occasional wing of birds. I scratch my arm and look closer to the bushes. They look a bit like jabberjays, the Capitol tried to use them to gain information from the rebels but it failed miserably, we worked out pretty quickly what they were and told the rebels in the other districts.

I say we, of course I just mean the rebels, I was never part of it. I scratch my arm more ferociously but these birds look slightly different, like they could be half jabberjay. We don't get many birds in District Three, that's one of the reasons we knew there was something odd about the birds.

I keep walking, following the trail, deeper into the maze or closer to the edge. I look down at my arm and see a collection of small red bumps that I have been absent-mindedly scratching. Insect bites, probably, and their beginning to sting rather than itch now.

I straighten my arms by my side and clench them into fists, determined to not scratch them as I know it will only make them worse. I keep catching myself trying to scratch my neck, arms and cheek where red bumps have appeared. In the end I take my knife out of my belt, leaving the dagger securely in there. Holding it seems to give my hands something to do.

The birds are chirping more now as morning approaches more forcefully. My eyes flit around the hedges as I know that more and more tributes will wake up. I've been walking for about half an hour when I reach a spot in the trail.

Blood is splattered around it and on the hedges to look as though the victim was trying to escape. I recall the cannon that woke me last night and with a gulp I step carefully around it. I decide to deviate away from the trail now, feeling guilty about using the careers trail to my advantage.

I keep walking for the next few hours, there have been no cannon fires so I guess my berry trail failed, I probably should have chosen some less obviously poisonous berries. I find a bush with some sashberries on which are extremely poisonous. Small and blue with the thinnest of green stripes round the centre of the berry that you can only see when you look for it. They often get confused with blueberries until you break them open and the blue appears florescent.

I pick a pocketful and keep walking, hoping to find some use for them. Sweat drips from the back of my neck as temperatures soar, my water bottle is almost empty and at this rate I could be dehydrated by tomorrow.

A cannon blasts overhead and I stop suddenly wondering what could have happened. The birds in the hedges whistle a kind of buzzing hum and a hovercraft materialises overhead, about fifty metres away from me. I stand frozen wondering if their attacker is about to come round the corner, I clutch my knife tighter.

A hook is lowered to the ground and picks up a bloody carcass. I shudder but focus more on my current problem as nobody can help that poor child now.

No noise comes though and my heart beat gradually begins to come back down, having rocketed at the sound of the cannon. I think about turning around and trying a different route but curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself stumbling towards where the hovercraft appeared.

I edge round to the end of this path and peer round the corner of the hedge. All that I see is a dead end splayed with broken items. I look around before stepping in. I find what I'm looking for about three quarters of the way down I see two dark green clips, barely an inch tall in the hedge that I wouldn't have seen if I hadn't been searching.

If I had passed it then I would break the trigger of those clips and set off a pod. At the end of the path is a small pond which suggests why it was first ventured down. Past the clips there are splatters of blood and as I realise in horror, a few small chunks of flesh. Whatever the pod releases I know I don't want to find out.

Instead I focus on what's before the clips; there are many broken items which suggests that the victim was a career. I walk forward and rummage through the items, finding shredded food wrappers, smashed pots and fragments of plastics.

In amongst it though I do find a few useful things and I spend the next couple of hours rifling through the debris. I come away with an extra water bottle, an extra knife, a pair of plastic sunglasses and perhaps the best item, insect repellent spray.

I shove them into some of the side pockets of my rucksack and walk away, the beaten dirt hard underneath my shoes and the sun blisteringly hot once more.

I hear a pounding noise and this time instead of freezing I reach for one of the three knives at my belt and grab the one that is best for throwing. I hear the pounding noise again, this time followed by a light, girly laugh.

I grip the handle tighter and edge closer to the shade of the hedge. There is a slight babble as someone speaks but I can't make out any specific words. I could run but I could end up in a dead end. Two figures turn the corner, girls about my age. I recognise them as the girls that I spoke to on the first day of training, from Five and Nine.

They see me and stop, District Nine holds a long spear like object but with a curved blade at the end, it looks like something to cut crops with, no doubt it will work just as well on my neck. I wonder if she can throw it but instead she starts sprinting towards me, clearly she plans to ram it into me. Her partner from District Five is still fumbling with her slingshot, finding something to put in it. I don't even think about what to do, I throw the knife.

It goes flying through the air and lodges itself in her arm. She yelps, drops the axe, and clutches the wound. She drops to the floor as blood rains down her brown shirt. I avert my gaze from her weeping figure and look instead at the District Nine girl who is still fumbling in her pocket for something to put in her sling shot. I reach to my belt for my dagger, still acting on instinct.

"GO!" yells the girl on the floor, though her voice catches at the end. "Don't be stupid just go!" She screeches and it snaps me back to reality. I look back up to see her blonde curls whipping around the corner.

I walk over to the girl on the floor, my hand shaking as it clutches the dagger. I look at the wound where the knife still sticks. It's deep but it caught the edge of her arm she tries to move it and winces, but at least she can move it. Her feet scramble as though to get away but she's rooted to the spot.

I stand about a foot from her feet, the dagger still in my hand. The blood has stained her shirt, making it glisten a deep maroon colour on one side. Her dark black hair that I last saw dead straight is tied into a braid at her side. Her deep blue eyes glare at me emotionless, my hand shakes more vigorously. She's pretty but I think back to the one conversation we had, she knows it. She reminds me of the cliques at school who think they are better than you because their Dad invented a musical chip, even though they are only interested in the invention in lipstick.

They can't afford it anyway, they make do with homemade versions out of crushed berries. I remember how the peacekeepers laugh at them and talk about how pathetic the people of our district are, they act like they're from the Capitol but most are from District Two, though we aren't supposed to know that.

I stare at the knife wound, then at her throat and then her ribs, where her heart beats. It would be so easy, and I feel the blade of the dagger. One hit to the vein in her neck and she wouldn't know what had happened. But then, why haven't I acted? Why am I still here thinking about how to do it?

The answer hits me and I realise that it's because I physically can't. The seconds tick by and I finally make move. I grab the knife out of her arm and she gasps in pain. The blade drips her warm, sticky blood onto my hand but I don't care because I'm running. Run before she picks up her weapon and run before I realise what I've just done.