I'm back. Today, I went floating on the River with my older sister, and gosh, it was such a fun day. I feel weird mentioning this, but everyone was drinking and laughing and having a good time. AND I was hanging out with an underwear model.

Goodness, he was so gorgeous.

But other than that, my day hasn't been crazy like usual.

So, before I start, I would love it if you guys would check out my new story Tranquility on Fictionpress. I got inspiration to write an original story, and I thought that a fresh start with new characters would help me expand my writing knowledge. I've never written my own story with my own characters before and published it on a site, so I would love some feedback. (: Thank you!

Here we go. Carry on Buttercups.

But if you send for me you know I'll come,

And if you call for me you know I'll run.

I'll run to you, I'll run to you,

I'll run, run, run.

Lana Del Rey, "Old Money."

Katniss' POV

The body is rotten, eaten out by bugs and animals. Some bones are visible and some aren't. I screamed, and then realized that Alyssa was with me. Finnick tumbles out from the forest, over to the general area that the grave is in.

"Finnick!" I yell, to help him find a way to the hole. It's overgrown with weeds and a couple spiders linger here and there. In a mere second, I look up to see his head looking into the grave. He's nodding in approval at my way of staying hidden.

"Nice call, Everdeen," he says while smirking. But his smirk is short lived, as he sees the dead body in the other corner. His smile turns serious, and I pick Alyssa up.

"Help her out first," I say, handing her to his outstretched arms. But the more I look on the body, there's something etched into the chest. It's one part of the body that hasn't been eaten, so I look more closely.

It's the District Thirteen crest.

"Finnick," I say quickly. He looks down, curiosity etched into his features. Etched into part of the breast bone is an arrow pointing the direction we were headed and the number 60.

Sixty miles until District Thirteen.

My mind goes haywire and the first time in days, I smile; teeth and everything. It's a big smile, and I look up at Finnick with it. He grins and nods.

"Sixty miles!" I shout up giddily. "Sixty! If we walk a bit faster, we'll be there in a couple days!" He extends his arm down, pulling me up with strength I never knew he could acquire. I step up from the grave and we all gather our belongings quickly. You never know when the hovercraft will return.

With my first step back into the woods, it's as if I'm back in my woods. I can't see anything, but everything smells the same. The oaks and pines intertwine, blending to make the perfect forest. The night is dark, but the lights of the city are far gone. The sky above me is so alive, the stars shimmering with such delicacy.

My father used to tell me stories of the sky; the stars particularly. He said that even if the government took everything away from me, the sky would stay the same. He said to always hang on the sky.

The patterns in the stars were what interested me the most. I knew there was an archer and a large ladle, but my father told me that there were thousands of patterns in the sky.

So, if everything crumbed, I could count on the stars.

It was so beautiful; through the trees, it reminded me of District Twelve. I wondered how my home was holding up, and from this thought I became worried. What if Snow had taken Gale? Hazelle?

Madge?

The thought of these people being harmed helps egg me on to keep the pace up.

Throughout our walk, I began to notice little similarities that connected these woods from my woods. The height of the trees, the plants, the ferns, even the soil was the same. I knew that we were getting close, even though the closest we were was another two days worth of walking.

As the hours passed, I felt my strength begin to leave me. The past month and a half have been traumatic, something I wish to never relive. The memories were horrid; the thought of them repulses me, despite growing such a strong bond with this group.

The girls remind me so much of Prim; all but Amanda. Amanda was the girl who was a lot like me; she didn't talk to anyone, she took care of her sisters, and brought them up from the dead practically. And she held her family together, keeping her sisters safe while her parents were arrested and killed.

And for that, I feel the need to protect her more than anything.

The night carries on in a silent manner, knowing these woods pose not only a form of shelter for us, but could shelter other things. So we walk silently, small talk only made if needed. And after another hour, we decide to camp for a night. The sleep schedule that we've established can't be ruined.

Finding a large oak with lots of leaves, we huddle together and sleep.

There's going to be a long day ahead of us.

I wake up to a small bird chirping in the near silent woods. Animals communicate and the leaves sway side to side, making everything a pleasant sight. The sun peaks through the trees, little specks of light finding the cracks and pour through. It's roughly ten am from the angle of the sun, so I wake everyone else up. Today is going to be a long day, as we have at least another forty five miles until we reach Thirteen. If we can travel another twenty five to thirty, we're golden.

Gathering my bow and arrows from the large pack that District Eight gave us, I prepare to shoot any game that passes by. We need nutrition to travel the long distance, and it's going to wear us down. Needing the energy, I tell Finnick and the girls to prepare a fire before I venture into the woods.

Everything is so familiar to Twelve; it's haunting. Last night, there was already enough resemblance, but today, it's remarkable. The only difference is where I hunted, there were mountains. Long ago, they were called the Appalachian Mountains, although they were more giant rolling hills. As far as the eye could see, they stretched out. From my guess, we were on a smaller part of the mountain, since the slope was anything but steep.

While hunting, I manage to catch a groosling and a couple squirrels before heading back. I memorized the path I took, looking for certain trees I had marked along the way. In a few minutes, I'm back at the camp, the fire ready for the meat. I skin the animals easy behind the tree, not wanting Arianna or Alyssa to have a similar reaction to Prim. Prim had cried for me to spare a poor animal before I had killed it, but I specifically told her that it was what kept us alive. She still wasn't happy about it, and silently cried for the creature.

After skinning it and rinsing it off, I laid the slabs over the flames on a branch. The scent is mouthwatering towards the end, when the meat is going from a red to a darker brown. The color of the meat is darker, showing it's not dry like turkeys I've caught in the past. That's a good sign.

Once the groosling is fully cooked, we take it off the fire and dish out the legs and other parts. The taste is amazing as the meat hits my mouth. I seasily eat it in seconds, my body hungering for food. When we were in District Eight, they fed us enough to be full, yet my ribs still protruded from my shirt. My muscle still held onto my arms, but a lot of it had been eaten away from the starvation we faced for a few days in the plains.

After a few servings, we cook the squirrels and then pack them into a container given to us. The rest of the food is made of things that won't go bad easily: nuts, dried berries, things of that kind. Nothing was unpleasant, but it wasn't the kind of food to keep us full; only to keep us alive.

Today, we start heading up steeper terrain, officially making it to the mountains. The trees cover us, although a few spaces are void of trees. My legs ache after a few hours, when the sun has changed its position in the sky. It's around four pm, hot as ever. Thankfully the foliage provides shade and streams on the mountains are everywhere.

When we take a ten minute rest, we slump against a few trucks, our muscles shaking from the uphill hike. I intake deep breaths, trying to calm my heart rate. Everyone is panting-even Finnick, as fit as he is. We all eat a bit of the dried cranberries, and decide to cook the squirrels before they go bad. I skin them quickly and wash them before setting them on the rocks above the fire. They're fully cooked within minutes, so we grab the meat after a couple minutes and head on our way.

While eating, we talk about our families. Amanda, Arianna, and Alyssa reveal that their Aunt had snuck away before she was arrested, and they said she was going to Thirteen. They hope when we get there, that they can look for her. Finnick talks about another victor, Annie Cresta. She was a mad girl, with brown hair and sea green eyes. He talks about her in a way that reminds me of myself. And it's there that I realize he doesn't love the women in the Capitol that visit him. He doesn't love the people he flirts with constantly.

He loves a mad girl who can't defend herself; one who equally loves him back.

And after he's finished, it's my turn. At first, I talk about Gale, my mother and sister, and the Hawthorne's, but my mind somehow moves to Cato. I tell them that he's been shot, which Finnick and Amanda had known, unlike Arianna and Alyssa. They gawk at me, and after I tell them that he's the love of my life, they tell me something that warms my heart. Alyssa says it in a small, childlike voice:

"He's gonna live; all the love stories my mama told me always end up in a happily ever after!"

And this sends me into my train of thoughts once more. Will he live? Will everything be okay? Nothing is rainbows and butterflies on this earth, but from a small child who has hope, why can't you have hope?

I think on what Alyssa says and then I realize that it will be okay.

I hope.

Hoped you all liked the chapter! I've been delaying for a few days, but here it is. I would love it if you all would leave a review! I'm needing feedback.

Oh, and here's the synopsis for my story on FictionPress, called Tranquility:

Genevieve Bellerose is the quiet girl who talks to no one but her best friend, and her old grandmother. She's the kind of girl who separates herself from the crowd, enjoying the company of a good book, a cup of tea, and a large window. And with a dark past, Genevieve is determined to keep her life exactly the way it is-thus isolating herself. That is, until she meets Darren.

I'm trying to see how well I can write a story before I ever try writing a novel. I think, with feedback, it could broaden my mind on developing my own characters the right way.

R & R!

~HeyoMyFellowReaders101