I got the inspiration for this chapter from a freak snow-storm that hit my city yesterday! It's so weird having a blizzard just a week after having a hurricane...

I'm walking down a street in District 12. I know this street very well—all the cracks in the concrete sidewalk, all the weeds that grow along the edges in the summer—it's the street I walk down to get to school. Now it must be winter, for there are snowdrifts shoveled to the side of the sidewalk, and the street is slick with ice. A peacekeeper's van drives slowly past me, and then turns a corner at the cross street.

Then I hear a screech, a scream, and a crash. I start running towards the noise. My vision is blurry, but I can make out people trying to hold me back, push me away from the overturned van. But I fight through them, and come face to face with my parents. Dead on the ice covered street.

My legs give way, and I fall back into the arms of the people who tried to warn me and black out.

I wake up, shaking. It was just a dream—I'm not in District 12, I'm in the arena, and my parents died when I was ten. But it's weird; I haven't had that nightmare for years. It's true, I was on my way to school when they died, I saw the van that hit them, and I saw their dead bodies. Every night afterwards, I would have the same dream, and I would never be able to save my parents, no matter how much I urged my dream self to run ahead of the peacekeeper's van. But over time, I had that dream less and less, until I thought I had grown out of it. I guess I haven't yet.

Then I realize just how warm I am. When I went to sleep in my makeshift hut, I was chilled to the bone, but now I'm practically toasty. I sit up and, not realizing just how low my ceiling of pine branches is, hit my head on the wood, which sends a shower of snowflakes to the ground. Then I realize that I'm snowed in. It must have snowed at lease three feet—maybe more—last night, and the snow has completely covered my dwelling. I guess the solid layer of flakes kept the heat from escaping.

I wonder where Litta is now. Did she survive the first night? Is she snowed in somewhere, too? Maybe I should seek her out in the arena.

I could stay in the warmth of my lean-to forever—I don't want to go back out in the freezing cold. But my stomach is literally rubbing together, and my throat and lips are parched dry. Since I'm so warm, I risk eating snow for water. Normally, eating snow is a bad thing to do because it lowers your body temperature significantly, but the snow isn't much colder than the stream I discovered yesterday, plus I'm feeling very warm right now. The snow seems clean, and I also stuff a lot into my canteen and put it in my parka pocket to melt.

Food, on the other hand, is a big issue. The snow most likely covered my figure four snare completely, and unless an animal got caught in it before the storm, it won't be of any use. I could follow the stream some more in search of a good fishing place, but that would be very unreliable. I'm in a terrible situation. No food, no snare, and buried under three feet of snow. How long can I last without food, anyway? Given the conditions in District 12, I'm used to eating one meal a day, but usually Sam and I bring home enough food from the woods to have two. But currently, I have absolutely no food options. Maybe I could last a week without food, but my weight would decrease, and I would be an easy kill even if I am found by the weakest tribute. I guess this is why they call these the "Hunger Games."

I finally decide to at least crawl out of my pine branch shack. There's no point in just sitting here doing nothing—I won't get anywhere that way. I move one branch to the side and start pawing through the wall of snow. Unfortunately, I have to dump all of the snow backwards into my shelter, but I'll clean that up later, if I even come back here tonight.

A lot more snow than I had though at first had fallen last night—maybe 130 centimeters. When I finally dig my way out of my hole, I'm surrounded up to my chest with snow. But at least its not falling anymore, though the sky is still overcast. I have to literally swim through it to get anywhere, and I can already feel my strength fading with my hunger. I find my stream easily, though. It's moving too fast for ice to form or snow to stick, and the sound if it rushing is just as loud as before.

There don't seem to be any water plants growing around the edge, but after all, it's winter here in the arena. I know it's far-fetched, but maybe I can find some plant bulbs or tubers lying dormant in the mud. I force myself to take off my mittens, and plunge my hands into the freezing mud. The deeper I dig, the warmer the earth gets. Then my finger touches something slimy—which moves! I grab whatever it is tightly and pull my arm out. Clenched in my hand is a slippery, green frog!