Finally-another chapter! Sorry that this was so delayed; I was REALLY busy with school and sports and other stuff. But now it's winter break, so I have much more time. Expect the end of the Games very soon...
When I wake in the morning, the sun is surprisingly high in the sky already. I can't believe I've slept this long—usually my nightmares wake me earlier. I look at the sun through the snow-covered pine needles of my tree, trying to judge the time by its position. It's probably about half past 8 o'clock, maybe closer to 9.
"Oh!" I gasp. I'd completely forgotten-the feast is supposed to be at 9 o'clock sharp this morning! I desperately need a chance to end these Games once and for all—I need to kill the remaining tributes. Fumbling for my basket of eggs, I latch it onto my shoulders and jump down from my tree.
But as my feet hit the ground, I suddenly have doubts. Do I really need to go to this feast? I've told myself I have to go because I want to kill the boy from District 7 and Douglas, from District 4—and that makes me a murderer. I absolutely cannot be a murderer again! I can survive in the arena on my own, no matter how cold it is. I will not kill—I'm already horrible as it is for all the other tributes who died by my hands.
I turn right around and start to climb back up my tree towards safety. But I don't get far. A breeze starts to blow on my face, sending all my hair into my mouth and eyes. I drop my grip on the bark, and try to swipe my dark hair to the side so I can see where I'm going. Then the wind increases even more. Sharp, icy jets of air pummel my front so hard that I have to turn around to shield myself; I can't even keep my eyes open.
I'm hunched over, with my back turned to the oncoming freezing air, when the wind picks up even more. The haunting howling of the wind fills my ears, and it soon turns into a screaming sound as the ever increasing wind whips its way through the bare branches of trees, swirling the snow around into the air. And then the scariest thing happens—I can't feel the ground beneath my feet any more.
I'm not a very small person—average size and build—but even when I'm carrying a package of eggs, the wind is able to lift me off of my feet and carry me along with it, like I'm weightless. I'm moving forward at a very fast pace, but I can't see where I'm going because my hood has fallen over my eyes, which are tightly shut anyway. I feel like a snowflake, being tossed around like this. I think I've been turned completely upside down a few times, too. But there's nothing I can do but wait for the wind to stop.
And eventually, it does. I don't know how long I was carried, but at last I'm dropped into a large snow bank, when the wind abruptly dies down. I lie facedown, tasting the snow on my mouth, for at least five minutes, trying to stop my head from spinning. I think I lost my basket of eggs when I was turned upside down, because the basket is nowhere to be found. I pat my waist and find that my belt of knives is still there, thankfully. But that was no natural wind—it must have been created by the gamemakers—because when I look up out of the snow, I see the golden cornucopia glinting in the sun, just slightly more than 400 meters away.
The feast-it should start in just a few minutes, and the gamemakers must have assured that I'd be there on time. The Hunger Games could be over today if I take action. I can't believe that I almost decided not to come. I have to convince myself that I'm not a murderer—it's the Capitol that's forcing us to kill each other. But I did, just yesterday, trick five tributes into getting mauled by a bear...
The field in which the cornucopia is situated is so different from how I recall it from the first day of the Games. The inside of the cornucopia is picked clean, so it is just an empty, golden dome. But the most striking difference is that a new blanket of snow must have fallen while I was gone, and it covers up the bloodstains of the tributes who died here on the first day.
Then I see something changing. I squint my eyes, trying to look at the cornucopia, and see that the empty mouth of the metal structure is filling up with something. I run forwards a few meters, keeping a sharp lookout for other tributes, to get a better view. Now I can see clearly—the cornucopia is filling up with food. Platters of the most delicious, exotic, Capitol foods are rising up from the ground inside the cornucopia. I can make out a giant ham, a few tureens of what I expect to be soup, bowls of perfectly ripe fruit, and so much more! There's even a selection of desserts: plates of crumbly pastries, intricately frosted cakes, and a chocolate fountain. And all of this food is piled on gold-accented dishware, which in turn is resting on silken tablecloths, covering crystal tables.
I want this food so much—all I've had to eat for days is eggs. But then again, it disgusts me. When I look at the grandeur of the setup, I think of how, for most residents of the Capitol, this is what they eat everyday. And while they're enjoying their delicious meals, everyone in the districts is starving. They would happily eat just the scraps of this meal if they could.
And I have the whole thing at my disposal. I start to move toward the piles of food, drawn in by the delicious smells wafting in my direction. But then I stop short—two silhouetted figures are approaching from opposite ends of the field.
By the way, I can see how many people are viewing my story and NOT reviewing. Review! It means a lot to me.