The first swallow of air after holding your breathe tastes like pure pleasure being pumped into your lungs.

I suck up as much oxygen as I can when I break the surface of the river. I gulp in and out air rapidly. The stress on my lungs is gone. My body can function normally again. I can finally breathe.

When I jumped in the river, I dove under the water and stayed there. I let the current take me. I didn't take break the surface. Titus could be searching for me head to aim at. So I tried to stay under as long as possible while the white water dragged me down. I could see nothing but the blurry rocks underneath the water and the green hue of the river.

When I finally felt like my lungs would burst, I tried swimming up. The fierce pull of the river dragged me under. But I didn't live in District Four for seventeen years for nothing. I kicked my legs and waved my arms underwater frantically to swim. And then my head emerged in the open air and I could breath again.

And here I am, trying to stay afloat in the incredibly strong current. It's getting hard to tread water. My backpack and knives are dragging me down. The shield I stole from Joshua's campsite strapped to my arm pretty much makes my left hand useless in the water. But I conclude, as I glance around, Titus is too far up the river to pose a threat. He's disappeared from view entirely. I'm safe from other tributes, at least for now.

Still struggling to swim in the harsh waters, I crawl over to a shore. My arms pump, trying to gain leverage. I breathe heavily as I make sure my mouth is always above the waterline. I kick my legs pitifully against the current, which seems determined to drown me. Finally, my feet find purchase on the bottom, and I walk myself the rest of the way across, dislodging rocks and mud on the riverbed below.

I collapse on the ground once I emerge from the thinning shallows.

Look around, the territory is roughly the same as where I was before. I'm further away from the mountains, as the river runs closer to the Tower. The massive column looms even more conspicuously over the arena. The shrubbery is still here, a little less dense than before. The boulders are bigger here. It makes it harder to see across the terrain.

With my adrenaline beginning to fade once my immediate threats are gone, pain seeps back. I can no longer ignore the open wound on my leg. Nor the multiple bruises or scrapes up my arms. Or every other crappy thing that's happened to me so far.

The bandage on my leg has torn off completely. The river swallowed it whole. It's gone forever. With the binding gone, the flesh is an angry red, flaring in the open air. Titus punched it, and while the initial pain is long gone, horrible bruises are popping up, lengthening my agony. As the water cools, the exposed flesh bruns uncomfortably.

In a surge of violence, I rip off my knife belt and throw it out of my sight. And my shield. i savor the thud as it scrapes against the rocks to my side. I take off my backpack and pound it against the ground. The anger helps calm me, strange as that sounds. I think about Titus and him killing innocent tributes and eating them. I think about the Gamemakers forcing us into this situation. I think about my parents who raised me to become a killer. I think about myself and how I failed to be what they wanted me to become. I'm not a Career. And if I'm not that, then what am I?

With my supplies lying on the ground and my arms in pain from the effort, I cover my face with my hands. Just a moment, just one moment where the cameras can't see me. Where Panem can't dig my weakness. I cover my ears to block out the sound of the raging river and try to envision myself winning the Games. Beating out cannibalistic Titus and shifty Mara and all the other tributes. It's what I want more than anything. I'm just scared that I'm not strong enough to get it.

Taking a deep breath, I return to the present. I dig through my supplies on the ground. I have a little of the bird meat which I scarf down quickly. A full water bottle. My knives, only twenty one left. My matches are ruined by the river so I toss them into the stream. My rope is still here. And my shield.

It's actually a pretty nice piece of equipment. It's circular, lightweight, and strap onto my arm. it stood up well against Titus's attacks. It's gray, so it will blend in well. I slide my finger along the perfectly round edge and am surprised to see blood pool on my fingertip. It's sharp enough to cut, so it can double as a weapon. Handy.

I take off the shield and put it down next to me. I move aside some rocks to get more comfortable. I wait for the water to dry; I'm freezing. I rub my arms to try and warm myself up. But my goosebumps stay up. I squeeze water out of my long black hair and hope it'll evaporate quickly.

But I don't have time to just lay around. This is the Hunger Games after all.

I take my knives, count them, and put them in my belt, which is wrapped snugly around my waist. I strap on my backpack. My shield is next. The extra weight on my arm is annoying, but I will need it at a moment's notice so on my arm it goes. Then I try to stand up, which proves disastrous.

My leg caves in immediately upon standing. My knee buckles as my thigh is simply too weak to carry me. I hit the ground and catch my fall by throwing my hands out in front of me. I groan as the pain sweeps through my body.

This is bad. Really bad. Titus must have hurt it beyond repair. If my injury has progressed to the point where my leg is incapable of walking I am a sitting duck. Mara and her alliance can kill me in a blink of an eye, Titus could eat me as slowly as he pleased, and any tribute from an outlying district could stand a chance of killing me.

I have only one hope left.

"Scylla," I say, turning my head to the clouds, "I need medicine for my leg, enough to help me walk again. Now." I imagine her pressing buttons on that fancy tablet she totes with her everywhere. How much would medicine be on Day 4 of the Games? From previous experience, most Career tributes can afford it. And I was the third hottest betted contestant in the beginning.

Within five minutes a hovercraft appears out of nowhere. My heart leaps with joy as I see it. I had doubts it would come, but here it is! I struggle to sit up as I wait for the parachute. This is it! My hopes have been restored! Now I can finally become a contender again, not hobbled by a lame leg.

But my wide grin fades as the hovercraft zooms over the river and away from me. Where is it going? Quick as a wink, a claw descends from the vehicle and a bloody body is raised from the arena. Joshua. It has to be him. With the dead boy in its grip, the hovercraft vanishes from sight.

My hopes sink further and further and further the longer I wait. No silver parachute comes, no medicine arrives, nothing can help me. The sky remains calm without hovercrafts coming to give me my prize.

That's it then, I guess. My mistake on the first day, heck, the first minute, of the Games has cost me. Because I spared Jasmine, because I showed mercy, I lost my sponsors and any gifts they might bring. I have hit a new low.

No choice but to power through it. I gather my things and strap them on securely. Gosh, this is getting repetitive. Every day, I feel worse and worse. I'm struggling to keep up with Games. I think they're starting to beat me. I've seen it before. Tributes just get weaker and weaker until they die from the arena. I can't end up like that.

But I don't think I can stop it at this point. My body is crumpling at the strain. My bruises scattered on my arms ache more and more. And my wound is infecting my leg. Sponsors won't help me. No one can. There are sixteen of us left; my chances are miniscule.

Stop it, Annie. You're stronger than this. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.

There's a piece of driftwood about thirty yards away from me. It's long and skinny, just like one of Titus's spears. All I have to do is get to it. I grit my teeth as I slowly make myself stand. I balance on one leg while gripping a rock to my left. I keep my injured leg bent as I ascend. Hopping in place to keep from falling, I start to make my way over to the wood.

I only make it with a series of crawling, hopping, and limping. Still, it takes me over ten minutes to make it the short distance. My blood keeps splattering on the rocks below. This is bad. My injury is making it impossible for me to travel quickly or silently and I'm incredibly easy to track.

I wonder if this is what other tributes feel when hunted; like it's only a matter of time until the inevitable.

Propping up the wood, I put my body weight into it. Thankfully, it's strong enough to support me. Leaning on the crutch, I limp on, using the wood as a. Still the wood digs into my side painfully, and it takes a lot of effort to travel only a few steps. But at least I can walk upright now.

I decide to follow the river. It curves in the direction of the Tower, the river widening as it nears the base of the massive column. As I make my steady way along the bank, the sun descends in the sky. Light glints off the Cornucopia on top of the Tower. The empty sky seems mocking of my failed call for a parachute.

The river runs to my right, but in the opposite direction I'm traveling. It's a good idea to stay right by it because I'm stronger in water than most tributes. I can swim across-not easily, but I can do it- to escape hunters. And I can see danger on both sides of the banks.

I've probably been going for...I don't know...a few hours when I see something up ahead. Crackling noises and hushed voices. The smell of burnt meat and the sound of metal glinting on metal. It's not a fight, no, no one's killing right now. It's a tribute making a campfire-more than one by the voices.

I limp forward, away from the river, to see. It's probably not a good idea, but what do I have to lose?

There's a least two people in a campsite fifty yards away. I can only see one right now. A large boy with his back to me, fiddling with some supplies or something. He stands suddenly, and I see a shock of brown hair. When he turns to face I make out who it is: Thorn.

My eyes widen. My palms break out in a cold sweat. I gulp nervously. The other person, who is it? She comes into the picture suddenly, swinging an ax over her shoulder. I'd recognize that red hair anywhere.

Mara.

My first instinct is to run, to flee. To put as much distance between her and I as possible. She's the very person who's been seeking me this whole time. She tried to kill me on the first day and I've been hurt and in pain ever since. I'm about to turn away from I see something.

There's a medical kit resting just beyond the lip of their camp.

That's what I need. If I can heal my leg and get rid of this stupid crutch I could become a competitor again. Maybe sponsors will come back to me. But those supplies are essential for survival.

What's more, I wonder. My fear of Mara or my fear of infection? If I fail to get the med supplies, I'll die slowly unless a miracle happens. If Mara finds me, my death will be quick.

I've already made up my mind.

I'm absolutely silent as I shuffle around. I lean the crutch against a rock and kneel down. I scoop up a pebble on the ground. I flash back to the bird I killed yesterday. This will require the exact same precision.

About fifty yards in front of me, Thorn and Mara are talking around the campfire. There's a bounty of supplies just stacked next to them. A plethora of weapons too. Everything's just piled up behind the campfire. I wonder how they got everything down from the Tower.

From the relaxed way they are sitting, I guess that they are waiting for night to fall before going hunting.

Mara is sharpening an ax, with her back towards my hiding place. Thorn is poking the fire with his spear; not a smart move for someone so intelligent. He'll see me though, if I stand. I wait for just the right moment...Thorn's turning his back...right about...now.

I stand quickly and whip my arm forward. The rock flies out of my grip and over to my right. I duck back down just as quickly when I hear the thud.

Thorn and Mara go absolutely still as they notice the sound of a possible tribute. There's a slight scrambling sound as they both grab weapons. As they leave the campsite, only the slightest sounds of twigs breaking betray their presence.
This is my chance. I go as fast as I can with one leg and one crutch. Speed is essential. I try not to trip over rocks as I limp around boulders. My right leg, which has been supporting me all this time, is starting to ache from the effort.

I estimate Mara and Thorn are searching for the mystery tribute right now, even though he's not there. I probably only have seconds to find what I need. I move around the campfire, feeling the wonderful heat warm my cold body. I kneel down next to the medical supplies, which is simply a small black bag with a red cross on it.

I open it to find all manner of shots, bandages, ointments, and vials. I don't understand any of it, and I definitely don't have time to read the labels. I take the entire thing and sling it over my shoulder. Time to flee.

I limp as fast as I can outside of the camp. I head in the opposite direction of where Mara and Thorn are currently searching. Hearing their voices as they realize that no one is there is frightening. They're coming back. Now.

I barely make it outside the line of sight when Mara is the first to burst back onto the scene. She throws her ax down just as Thorn comes back too. They're only a few yards away from me. I instantly walk with as much precision and care as I can to make sure they can't hear anything. My feet glide over the ground with as much muffled sound as possible.

"-was there! Are you sure you even heard anything?" Mara exclaims.

I inch slowly away as Thorn replies indignantly, "It's not my fault you're loud enough to scare off every tribute in a one-mile radius!"

Mara sounds mad, "What did you just say?!"

"Sh!"

"Don't shush me!"

"Shut up!" Thorn hisses. And suddenly Mara is quiet. Shee must see what Thorn saw. I know what it is: the missing supplies I stole. Missing supplies means a thief. A thief means a...

"Is there a tribute?" Mara asks quietly. I don't hear anything, so Thorn must have replied nonverbally. In seconds, Mara and Thorn are gathering weapons again, certain there's a tribute nearby. "You go that way!" Mara calls. Oh, now they can work together.

This time, they both run in different directions out of the campsite. They know someone is close, so they are circling the area. It's only a matter of time before I am discovered. Crap, this is bad. All I can hope for is to get out as quickly as I can and hope no one finds me. I start walking again with renewed vigor.

I only make it a few steps when a few twigs break a few yards away. One of them is close. Searching. Hunting. Footsteps betray their presence. Whoever it is isn't trying to be quiet.

I am absolutely still as I take my knife out of my belt. I lower my backpacks to the ground. I walk a few steps over so I can lean against a boulder instead of a rock. I drop my crutch to the ground next to my supplies. I make sure my knives are ready. No point in running. I will have to fight.

I hear my pulse pound as I wait for the signs of the Career. He or she is just behind the boulder. I'm ready. I hold my arm behind me head. Perfect form. All I need is them to take one more step from behind the rock. One more step.

Someone moves and I throw the knife in a spout of aggression. It's a perfect shot. No way it can miss.

My heart skips a beat as the weapon buries itself in Mara's chest.

She looks down. The knife is sticking directly out of her torso, embedded in her breastbone. Mara's mouth widens in pain and shock as she looks at the killing blow. I feel elated. I killed her. I killed Mara. She can't hurt me anymore. I'm finally safe.

I wait for the cannon.

Mara's face doesn't stay on surprise for long. She looks up at me with anger in her eyes. Passion for my death. The fury in her expression makes me quiver. In one quick, fluid motion, she rips the knife out of her breast. She dangles it in front of her, amused at the expression of horror on my face.

"Ouch," Mara says with a wicked grin. "That hurt." She drops the knife to the ground and hefts her mighty ax in front of her. The sun glints on the dagger laying on the ground. There's no blood, no blood on the dagger and no blood in the injury on Mara's body. I look up in terror. What is this thing? What is this thing that should be dead but isn't?

Whatever it is, she's charging me now with intent to kill.