Day 3: Morning

Daisy Jackson
District 6 Female, 15

It's still dark outside, but I know it's the morning. Everything just has that dark greyish quiet hue, coupled with the crisp and energizing air that comes with the dawn.

I peer at Sparkle's sleeping form and have to resist brushing a few strands of platinum blond hair out of her face. The strands sway to the methodical rhythm of her breathing, in and out, and I find myself almost lulled by the movement. For better or for worse, we've decided to stay at the playground. And I like it here because even at night, the lanterns stay illuminated.

Makes it less uninviting that way.

In District 6, you'd always find me near the lights, when I could afford it. Little moth, the owners of the local bars used to call me. Wasn't anything affectionate about it, but it stuck and I kept doing it, because I liked the way the light almost warmed the skin… and how the little droplets of dew would settle, looking like tiny precious crystals.

The yellowish light reflects off of Sparkle's face, as I do nothing but stare. Her bold makeup wore off long ago, leaving behind a youthful fresh face. And when she's sleeping like this, she does look so young. Her forehead is not creased in concentration and displeasure, which is a stark contrast to the near-permanent frown she sported all day yesterday, cursing herself, the Careers and the Capitol.

It's not like she claimed to be a trap expert, but even then. She still managed to more or less conceal snares and ambushes around our encampment. At the very least they'll alert us if anyone, tribute or otherwise, tries to sneak up on us.

A small pimple on her left cheek is the only thing marring her near-perfect skin. She's scrubbed it clean at the expense of the little water we've had bottled. She's so intent on keeping herself clean, even though it means we'll have to go scouting for water and food sooner rather than later.

She said it's about never losing sight of your worth.

How there's no compromises to be made, even in situations like these.

I never really thought of it as that important, but she insisted, so it must be. Never really thought about it that way… but now that there's so much time to think, now that every minute stretches out agonizingly as she sleeps and I'm confronted by my own thoughts and physical discomfort, I see how much stronger she is.

She sees value in herself and in me, and it boggles my mind almost to the point of hysteria.

I pick at the small scabs on my arms before tucking my arms into the small pockets in the hoodie.

Can't.

Can't do that right now.

Gotta stay top-notch, while Sparkle sleeps.

I bring my wobbly knees up to my chin and lock my arms around them, rocking slowly back and forth, to get rid of the stiffness in my joints. Trying to will my stupid ankle into healing itself faster.

Maybe… maybe they'll send gifts. Medication.

I keep clinging to that foolish ideal, even as my stomach protests loudly.

I try to suppress the noise, as Sparkle whimpers something in her sleep. I gnaw at my lip, shuffling as soundlessly as I can.

It's a bunch of bull-crap. They won't send shit.

No food and no medication. We'll just sit here and rot until the others find us and we die, die painfully, die unaccomplished…

I shake my head violently, trying to dispel the negative thoughts right out, squeezing harder around my midsection to stop the pain in my belly, too.

Again, it's all starting all over again.

I shift around, shivering a little bit even in the comfortable summer air.

Sparkle never said it out-loud, but building all those traps yesterday took a toll on her. It's not easy when you take into account the two days of no food and minimal water. And it's not like I could do much, with my ankle still aching dully. The ankle isn't even that bad compared to the pounding in my head and the feeling of something moving right underneath my skin.

I'm always so useless, it seems.

Useless enough to deserve dying in a place like this, where no one would care.

No. I stop myself again. No, Sparkle would care, and that's enough.

Even though I try to stay strong, the ever-present symptoms of withdrawal threaten to overwhelm me at a moment's notice. But I keep scratching and shifting and squeezing so tight that I feel in control, like this useless meat sack I call my body is still mine, not taken over by the animalistic urges that I sometimes can't reign in.

I look at my ally again for what feels like the billionth time tonight.

Sparkle wouldn't like that at all. She'd look a mix of angry and sad, and I'm a loser who was lucky enough to get her as an ally in this shithole. As a friend.

So I need to keep it together. Gotta stay positive. Gotta start by not calling myself a loser.

The breeze is gentle as I look around restlessly and see the horizon getting brighter. It'll be dawn in minutes now. Sparkle will be able to talk some sense into me, and straighten out my thoughts that are so jumbled and in disarray.

Scratch, scratch.

Another bumpy line visible on my left arm.

Ain't no problem in checking the perimeter once again, right?

Instead of staying put in the pirate ship, I shakily rise to my feet and clamber down a small vertical ladder. The steps are tiny, as though for small kids, so I clear them with little difficulty. Even without the use of my injured foot, I land in the sand, limping forward a little.

As I approach the grass slowly, I notice once again the mushrooms peppering the ground.

They've grown bigger, and there's more of them now, poking through the green tufts of grass.

I make sure I'm at a safe distance from all of the tripwires we've set up. That Sparkle set up, I correct myself.

We've discussed the possibility of eating the mushrooms on the second day, when the hunger finally kicked in, with a vengeance. It's like… we can just not-eat, it's a thing, but…

I glance around once again, out of reflex before bending down to inspect the different fungi at their level. Almost by reflex, I scrunch my nose at the slightly tangy odour they emit.

They're mesmerizing.

Some have angulated caps, others have flat ones with bumpy surfaces. All of them have a waxy attractive appearance that looks right out of a storybook.

And seemingly out of nowhere, one little poem from back in the orphanage worms itself into my head, and I can't help but mouth the words.

With berries it's easy, there's not much to say

White and yellow, will kill a fellow.

Purple and blue, good for you.

But if you want to twirl and dance,

Dry the psilo, it brings on a trance

But heed this warning

'Less your ma' be in mourning

No matter how friendly they try to be

If they smell bitter, leave them alone

Unless you want to end up a sad pile o' bones.

The first part was clearly from District 7, their people historically avid gatherers. After all, it's important to know between poisonous and edible things in the woods, if you want to survive in a district that has little by way of imported products. But the second part was all District 6.

I've personally always stuck with synthetic things that would make me feel warm and loved and full of life, but I know of people whose poison of choice were the colourful trips to a fantastical world. From traumatized war veterans to young socialites at parties, I've witnessed these methods of escaping reality.

I shake my head in disbelief. It's not like they'd put an arena full of that. There's literal thirteen year olds running around here…

Not that this ever stopped the Capitol.

Being the most persistent devil's advocate in the universe, my stomach grumbles, my brain helpfully supplying the delicious creamy mushroom soup I've had the luxury to taste, during my short-lived time at the orphanage. It could be just food…

It could be safe and I could be overthinking this. Not everything is drugged or poisonous or dangerous.

I look back at the ground.

Nope, we're not doing that. Sparkle said not to.

But even as I try to convince myself, I reach tentatively towards the largest mushroom, its cap a pale yellow.

I look back at her furtively, squinting at her prone form, struggling to make out her face.

It's not like I'd die from one, right?

It's the Hunger Games, you can die from anything, my brain helpfully supplies and I growl imperceptibly.

In a bid to waste more time (or maybe have Sparkle talk me out of it), I brush my hand under the grass, seeing small white roots going all around and into the blackened dirt. They go deeper into the ground.

It's definitely weird and unlike anything I've seen.

Not that I've had the luxury of prancing around grass-covered earth all that much in the city, but still, this strikes me as unnatural.

I look back at the larger mushroom again, squinting in one last attempt to remember whether I've seen these around in the books at the Center, but that proves to be futile. My brain is just one muddled mess.

In the gleam of the early morning sun, just as some of the rays of sun truly peak through, I make my decision just as I glance over at Sparkle.

I've always believed that the constant desire to do better comes from a simple place. And as of now, with my ankle wrapped up and useless, with my constant shuddering and erratic behaviour, with my weakened bones and frayed mind… I just want to show that I'm a good person. That I bring value to my world, as minimal as it is.

And what the hell…I'm hungry enough that my own dysfunctional stomach keeps twisting and turning. Might as well…

Plus, my brain humourlessly supplies, as I reach down and pluck the hand-sized cap from the soil, if anyone in this arena can handle a dose of poisonous crap, it's me. Pretty sure anything short of horse tranquilizer wouldn't bring me down.

I grimace, as I inspect the frilled bottom of the cap, and then without further ado, I take a sizeable bite.

At first, the mushroom itself is coarse and bitter. Nothing like the rich creamy and flavourful ones in the soup or on the luxurious vegetable plates supplied by the Capitol.

Damn.

But I keep chewing, and coughing lightly from the bitterness, but I swallow it. Just in time to look up and see Sparkle's open eyes and very horrified expression aimed straight at me.

She doesn't say anything, her mouth slightly ajar. I almost giggle at the absurdity.

It feels like a whole hour passes as we just stare at each other.

I almost expect a slew of profanities to escape her lips. Like, hey Daisy you had one goddamn job, are you fucking five years old? I told you a billion times not to eat the goddamn mushrooms and you do exactly that, what the actual fuck, are you a child?

Except, she doesn't say any of that, and it doesn't come out in a string of words all pushed out in a continuous stream of angry ranting.

Instead she blurts out a confused "oh shit" and scrambles to me, almost falling down the stairs.

And that's when the weird shit starts.

Because I try to stumble back to her, smiling idiotically. I wave my hands in front of me, just to assure her that I'm fine, I didn't start foaming at the mouth and that's how it's supposed to go if it's really deadly-poisonous right?

She rushes to me, but I can't focus on her, and what draws my attention instead are the twirling mounds of sand just beyond the pirate ship. Which, on second thought, is starting to elongate and breathe.

Breathe?

Does that make sense?

"No no no, what the hell Daisy, oh my god," Sparkle is somehow already at my side, and I look at her a little confused.

Time's a bit wonky. Oops.

And I'm laying on the grass, because she pushed me down. She's hovering above me. The reds, the blues, the yellows of this place… were they always this amazing? Her face contorts, except it's so bright and pretty and her skin reflects the light.

Has it always Sparkled?

She's Sparkle.

I smile even harder.

Someone grabs my face and it only feels like fingerprints on my skin. No pain, just a pleasant numbness that is overshadowed by how beautiful everything seems to be. How in synchrony I am with the rest of the world.

The sounds all rush together, like a wave, but I can still hear her.

"For fuck's sake, why do you want to die like this… oh god, Daisy, please…"

Something comes up from my mouth and through my nose spasmodically, but I can't stop my eyes from wondering around as the colours around me melt and dance and twirl.

I vaguely register something sticky on my chin and chest, as I sit up, looking around.

"At least… we know they're edible," I slur, as her eyes shine brighter to a point where I can't even look. Her hair keeps curling and twisting, like a never-ending spiral. There's streaks of silver on her cheeks, and it doesn't seem like she understands, but I've got plenty of time to explain it to her.

Diamonds on her skin?

"Oh fuck, oh shit, Daisy, get up…"

Doesn't have to be right now.

"Daisy watch out!"

It's like I'm hearing her through a filter.

I honestly don't know how long I stay there, but when I do get up, things are still moving and the entire world seems to be breathing with me.

Actually, to come to think of it, things are moving much faster.

And there's something flying towards me.

Sparkle screams again, this time much louder, and in my daze I find her. She's on the ground, wrestling with… a bird?

I almost giggle, before more avian screeches pierce the veil of the cloud I seem to be in.

As my eyes follow the horizon, I see a pack of flying monstrosities careening towards us, and something hits me in the shoulder, sending me sprawling on the ground.

Not a hallucination.

Fuck.

The screams of the birds fill the air, and two rush me, picking me off the ground momentarily and dropping me roughing back down.

What the actual fuck is happening?

"Didn't have enough excitement for one goddamn day, huh?" Sparkle screeches behind me, brandishing a piece of wood with nails in it, a poor imitation of the spiky baton at the Cornupioca- Cornu…

I struggle to form complicated words in my own brain, as the small flowers on the ground start oscillating and beating, like a heart.

One particularly big bird bounces up to me, and I stumble back but it grabs onto my face. I can see its talons right near my eyes, and then something digs right beneath my cheekbones and drags down.

I try to scream, but find my voice stuck in my throat.

It's more that I'm surprised.

To come to think of it, it doesn't really hurt.

Nothing does. Huh.

As the monster… bird scratches at my face, I somehow become acutely aware that the pain in my stomach is also completely gone. In a detached sort of way, everything seems fine, cushioned by some sort of fuzzy remedy.

Including my ankle which seems to be working as well as my uninjured one, as I stumble up to my feet and take a few steps in order to disengage the cursed bird from me.

The world spins, but instead of the nice beautiful hues of the morning amplified by whatever drug trip I'm clearly experiencing, all I get is a mouthful of feathers and more pulling, as though the bird is trying to rip off my face.

Something thuds the bird and my nose cracks, my entire head spinning to the side.

The creature lets go and I shake my head to get reoriented. Still, no pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

It's Sparkle, she grabs me by the arms, and looks more distraught than I've ever seen her. She's got scratches all over her.

Bright red. So pretty…

"I thought it was going to take your eyes out, I'm so sorry!"

I want to tell her that it's fine, but I get distracted by the noises around us, as I get incredibly annoyed at the screeching. It grates my ears, like nothing before. It has to stop.

My eyes find a dead bird on the ground, with more blood coming out of it than from Sparkle's arms, chest and face.

It's just lying there, as the two of us stand there, with this not-hallucination bird inferno raging around us. Oddly enough, it reminds me of a full roasted chicken we were served.

Chicken…

"This is food," I announce to her sluggishly, as I feel more liquid, this time hot and salty, running down from my nose.

"W-What?" she asks confused, before ducking and screeching again, as the bird takes hold of her hair, dragging her a few feet away from me.

For a lack of better explanation, I wheel myself around just in time for another bird to rip into my shoulder. It doesn't grab at me as roughly as the others, so I just throw myself on the ground. The bird lets go, bruised and battered by a full human landing on it.

I dust myself off, breathing heavily, my eyes unfocused from all the movement.

"Chicken!"

Comprehension lights up in her eyes, as she honest-to-god beams at me. I throw myself at the bird near her head, and rip it off too.

It yells, its beak gnashing at me and getting a chunk out, but I don't feel anything.

"FOOD."

She got it.

With an animalistic yell, she jumps back to her feet and charges the fray of birds that are screaming and hissing at us. I realize an instant later that she's laughing maniacally now.

"That's what you get, motherfuckers, die!"

Scout Trinian
District 4 Male, 13

"So, you'll circle right back? No detours, no distractions?"

I nod back, trying to refresh the small dirt map that is already fading away on the floor.

Mona is a little groggy this early in the morning, especially after only getting a few hours of sleep in, and she wouldn't appreciate me asking to redraw it for what feels like the gazillionth time.

"Always stay within view of the windows, I need to be able to see you."

It wasn't the peaceful night the two of us were hoping for, but I'm counting my lucky stars we didn't have anyone bust into our little hiding place.

The Careers were on the prowl once again, but they were a few streets off.

Nothing like that first night, and we were holed up proper.

Scary hearing them talking in the distance, though.

Scary hearing the growls coming from the forest, again.

Mona ruffles my hair a little.

"Hey don't look so gloomy, you'll be back with your allies in no time."

I exhale, not realizing I've been holding my breath.

"Do you really think it's the best idea for us to go out… you know, one at a time?"

Mona shrugs, biting her lip.

"I don't like it. But I just… you saw how they keep huntin'."

Her eyes go distant for a second.

"I don't like sending you out there alone, but think about this logically for a second. Your allies don't know I'm with you. It's better that you go scout," she giggles briefly to herself, "uh… what was I saying? Yes, scout the area, and then we move onto the next sector."

Now, it's my turn to bite my lip and wring my hands together.

I know it's the logical thing to do.

And it's easier to run away and disappear if you're alone. I'll only be doing small perimeters visible from whatever house Mona'll be nested in. We've even got our special 'help' call that I can use at any time, and she'll jump whoever's tailing me.

Mona's got her rifle, after all.

She ain't the most accurate, but she can fire a warning shot as well as anyone out here. We're as prepared as we can be for two thirteen-year olds with close to no life experience.

I'm a pretty good runner, and I'll be as stealthy as I can be.

But I still can't help but feel the twisting anguish in my belly.

Just thinking about what my mom must be feeling…

How worried she must be, in front of the television screen. That's if her boss even allowed her to take time off. I silently pray that he did.

Please baby, please make some friends there, okay? It might even be alright.

"Hey what are you thinking about?" Mona asks me, as I close my eyes, remembering my mom's words.

I love you more than anything in the world, Scout. You're my everything.

I purse my lips together in determination. If only for that, I can't afford to get hurt. I need to find Bex and my friends. I need to help Mona the same way she helped me these past few days.

"Ah, uh…" I suddenly feel flustered as tears spring to my eyes. "It's… ah… nothing."

Mona grabs me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes.

"We'll pull this off, I promise you."

"You know what I used to do in the fields when I had to work but really didn't want to? I'd just imagine the one thing I'd get once I got back home," Mona continues soothingly, a determined look in her eyes.

It's not exactly the same stakes, but I let that slide for a second.

"What do you want to get once you meet up with Bexley and the rest?"

I think about it for a second.

"Hmmm… I don't know. I guess I just want to see them and catch up. It's been a crazy few days-"

Mona cuts me off.

"No, this is too general."

I cast my eyes down.

"I just want to not feel so scared… I- we played cards the night before we left for the Games. It was…" I smile fondly at the memory, "It was such a fun game. We can teach you. I think that's what I want. Another game of cards, just to feel…"

I do a gesture, showing all the weight coming off of me in one sweep.

She smiles back. "See? Just focus on the cards. Focus on the shapes you'll see, the colors, the feeling of being together. That's your reward. You fight much harder when you keep it focused and small."

"What are you thinking about?" I ask tentatively, straightening my T-shirt and adjusting the hoodie slung around my waist.

She smirks. "I'm thinking of a nice cup of tea and some tasty fried potatoes."

Before I can say anything else, she interrupts me again. "I know… I know they might not have that stuff, but as long as I believe they do, I'm gonna fight my damnedest to get you there."

She gives me an upraising look one last time.

"Okay. Be careful. Please."

She gives me the tiniest of hugs and I cling to her, afraid to leave the one person who's stayed with me when I was lost and scared.

She pats me on the back. "I'll be in the windows and I'll shoot any bastard that tries anything."

I nod at her and smile.

"Thanks Mona, I'll see you in a bit."

I jog out of the house, and diligently start mentally checking off the easy directions and steps.

Right, right, enter building and check quickly, drop a small red fish-shaped paper on the ground, leave building, right, right.

The fish's for District 4, and it's red because… well, that's the only paper we found and as an afterthought, Mona joked about how it had a double meeting, what with my hair being ginger and all.

When I told her Orla teased me by calling me 'Shrimpie', Mona barely could hold herself together from howling with laughter. I mean… in retrospect I guess it's a little funny, and a lot more sad because Orla's… gone, now.

Anyways, that's why we're leaving these small symbols. To show that I'm still out here, fighting.

If anyone can figure it out it's Cassie. I doubt anyone else will really get the significance. Maybe the boy from One, who heard Orla teasing me. If he finds them and figures it out, then… that's really bad. But I can't think about it, right now.

The plan is to just keep leaving the papers we've ripped into crude fish shapes, so that if we don't find my allies today, maybe they can stumble upon one and follow their trails.

It's counting on a lot of randomness and luck, mind you, but we're doing our best with what we've got.

I grin to myself even as I leave a red fishy under a particularly dusty table in a cart-racing booth. I'm still here guys, and I'm looking for you. And ha! I've got a new ally in tow!

When I get back to the house where Mona is sitting, her rifle angled towards the window, she makes a small squeaking noise as I come back.

"Wow, so fast!"

I laugh a little bit, tapping my feet on the ground.

"One done, twenty-six more blocks to do!"

I try to sound enthusiastic.

We move quickly to the next quadrant we've outlined on our map.

I do the same jig as before. Right on the street, another right, enter the shop, leave a red fish and exit. Circle back to Mona.

After three more blocks, I stop coming back upstairs to Mona, just waving at her through the windows. I'm still careful, but it's a little less nerve-wracking and I fall into a comfortable pattern where I almost forget the hunger in the pit of my stomach.

My thoughts start to wonder a little bit as I keep jogging and leaving small red fish wherever I go.

My mom, she said I was brave.

And I think what I'm doing now is brave. I honestly believe it.

I'm sneaky too, running through the streets like that. Just like Trinity. She could probably sniff out my friends with that special nose of hers.

Where would they be?

Cassie would go somewhere isolated, where they'd be able to protect themselves from any intruders. So, it's a pretty obvious thing that they'd be closer to the entrance of the park, since that's where most of the well closed-off and protectable buildings are.

Mona said as much.

That's why we're starting around here, and I can only keep my fingers and toes crossed that we'll find them before I have to go through all of the twenty six sections we've drawn out.

I mean… I'll do it if I have to, but it would be nice to catch a little break.

"Where are you guys," I whisper to myself, as I keep sneaking and running.

I can almost tune out the music, focusing instead on my footsteps.

Objectively, it's childish, but I can't help imagining myself as one of the heroes in Roizer's cartoons and stories. Hands in fists righteously at my sides, I can feel the air going in and out of my lungs, and this almost becomes exhilarating.

I zip in and out of the houses faster than before, gaining more confidence after each is empty.

It's disappointing because I'd love to find my friends, but it's also good news that there's no random tributes appearing to attack me.

Mona was right, this was the right time and place to start this search.

All I can hope for is that my allies find these symbols meant for them.

That Cassie or Bex or Roizer figure out what they mean.

That I'm coming back to them, and it's happening sooner rather than later.

I keep on running.

Only a few more sectors and I'll get to show Bex who the real card boss is.

Jean Taylor
District 8 Male, 16

The trees finally thin, as we peek into the clearing.

They're no longer twisted deformities, rather straight and pointy daggers out of the ground, with the roots trying to trip me at every step of the way. Everything looks like it can hurt me at a moment's notice, causing me to swivel my entire body at every suspicious step that I take, to make sure nothing dangerous lurks in the crevices of the trees.

All this time we walked haphazardly, dead-tired and scared, and at last when the thick looming mist of the forest dissipated, we know we've made it back.

But it doesn't feel like excitement, in my heart.

Just the same tightness and apprehension as before.

It's like these two days in the forest, leaving us starving and afraid, has scattered my brain and replaced the functional threads of thought and memory with… just fear.

Irrational painful terror that eclipses everything else.

So even as Logan crashes through the trees onto the flat grass that outlines the half-circle around the Cornucopia, I sulk back, my head snapping wildly from side to side for any sign of danger. He falls to the ground, a pitiful sob building its way in his throat before he suppresses it by digging his hands into the overgrown green weeds below his palms.

I glare accusingly.

It's his fault.

No. I can't start that, because even as I try to remember the details of the Bloodbath, things come out confusing and I'm not even sure what's real and what isn't.

Geoff's death was plenty real.

Yes.

I grip the small flashlight for comfort, still somehow working after being dropped multiple times on the unforgiving ground as we were hunted.

Because we were hunted. There's no doubt about it.

Unwanted, the memory of the sharp rows of teeth, the pungent breath, the evil glowing eyes come back to the forefront of my brain and I just want to erase it, at any cost. Even if it meant bleaching my brain with the reeking chemicals used at our factories, even if it meant cutting out my own eyes…

God… I wish I hadn't seen it.

Because I can never erase the unadulterated emotion that took over me and never really left. The strong, pure fear, bright and simple, as though nothing else exists in this world.

Even now, just thinking of the monster, of it, I can taste saliva thickening in my throat and beads of sweat trickling down my spine.

My teeth gnash together to the point where I feel like I shatter something.

That's what I've been reduced to. To a hunted and terrified animal.

Something about this reminds me of the horses that pulled our chariots. Only now do I realize that those magnificent beasts were terrified out of their minds, their teeth clashing together, their eyes wild.

Maybe they've been beaten into submissive terror, too.

I take a few more shaky steps to catch up with Logan, if only for the sake of not being left alone in this forest. Even in the broad light of day, I can't risk being pulled back, and being mauled, eaten, devoured…

I am locked with that demon in my brain, and…

"Jean, come here!"

Logan whispers it urgently as I duck towards him, levelling myself to the ground out of habit.

"What is it?"

"Smells burnt eh?" my ally asks, and I breathe in deeply, catching a waft of burnt plastic, rubber and… something else that is not immediately identifiable. At first I recoil, but then Logan points towards the Cornucopia and I follow his outstretched fingers.

"The Careers are gone, no movement around the Cornucopia," Logan confirms as I scan the area for any stir caused by something alive.

But for better or for worse, no one is alive on this large stretch of grass, where the twenty four of us stood. I can make out darker spots, but no bodies.

Momentarily, the scene flashes back to the Bloodbath, and I close my eyes, breathing heavily. It passes as quickly as it comes.

"- burned the supplies and left, because they probably realized all the tributes ran to the park."

I nod, if only to have the sudden nausea that overtakes me subside. I absentmindedly roll my thumb over the button on the flashlight, as Logan looks over at me concerned.

He doesn't ask me how I'm doing, just kind-of stares for a few seconds before going back to looking at the Cornucopia.

"I reckon that's where all the food is, anyways, but we can try and get to the mouth of the horn and see if there's anything salvageable."

"Yeah, I think that a good idea," I say numbly, the words sticking like sand in my mouth before being forcefully spit out.

We crawl on the grass, trying to avoid going to full-height with the potential of other desperate tributes jumping out at us at any second, but we make it to the horn uninterrupted.

A loud howl coming from the woods causes me to jump up by reflex, brandishing the flashlight. I'm grabbed almost immediately by the collar of my hoodie and yanked down with zero consideration.

"Dude, stay down, you'll risk getting us killed again!"

I don't say anything while dropping to the ground, and Logan is already moving onto other things, skittering around to the mouth of the Cornucopia and sifting through the charred remains of the supplies.

I squint my eyes imperceptibly, glaring daggers at the back of Logan's head. Again?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I try to stay calm, but obviously, I can't just let something like that slide.

"Oh yeah, clearly like that time you made the decision to go into the forest and had us play docile livestock for a psychotic monster-"

Logan interrupts me, clearly impatient. "We're alive, aren't we?"

I want to retort that we're alive right now because there's positively no one in a 3-mile radius or we would have seen them approaching, but I just let it slide.

I ball my hands into fists twice before releasing the tension by quickly flicking my arms, and start searching through the ashes with my bare hands.

Sooner rather than later, we're both covered in soot from head to toe. Logan emerges from his side of the horn with a small half-melted bag of salted beef, and I find myself triumphantly waving a can of what seems to be conserved pickles.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, we exchange small smiles. As though on cue, my stomach growls loudly enough to alert the nearest tributes, and we both crouch instinctively closer to the ground.

Like prey, the unpleasant realization hits me again, but I suppress it.

A silence stretches between us, as our smiles disappear and we're left staring into each others' eyes.

Geoff would have said we've done a good job.

But I can't find the strength in me to congratulate Logan, and it seems like he's in the same headspace. It's hard to congratulate anyone about anything after you've been chased by a creature the size of an armoured truck through the woods for two-days' time.

I find myself closing my eyes again trying to forget the terror, in vain.

Instead, I reach out for Logan's find, which he tosses to me. I catch it and busy myself trying to peel back the melted plastic from the salvageable food.

Logan chuckles.

"What's so funny?" I ask, automatically on the defensive before relaxing when I see him clap his dirty hand on his equally-dirty face.

"Naw… just had the stupidest thought."

He digs the heel of his palm into his eye, creasing his forehead. A small lopsided smile tugs at his lips. When I don't say anything, he clarifies.

"Was just thinking about, you know, how this plastic is melted… just wondering if it's safe to eat and won't give us cancer or something."

I stifle a laugh.

"Yeah, I don't find myself caring about that too much, nowadays."

Logan jerks his head back at the forest and shudders.

"Kinda puts things into perspective, eh?"

I pick out a piece of salted meat and extend it to my ally who grabs it and automatically shoves it into his mouth. I watch him chew the piece and swallow, even as my own belly starts protesting.

But something inside doesn't let me take one for myself.

What if there is something dangerous in that packet?

And like… objectively I know that a few-seconds' delay won't change anything. But I still can't bring myself to take a piece of the tough meat until Logan swallows painfully, his throat probably parched for water.

I see the muscles in his neck working as he forces the salty strip down, knocking himself weakly on the chest in a poor attempt at humour.

I finally relent, taking a piece and chewing on it slowly, even as the flavour makes itself known on my tongue. I almost start crying again.

No matter how much we look though, we don't find any water.

"Goddamn it," Logan rasps to himself, as he finds a warped plastic block, which used to be bright blue. A bottle full of water.

It's not like they could leave me one measly bottle.

No, I had to be chased down the woods by a nightmarish creation which I could only get terrifying glimpses at the periphery of my vision. I had to fall god-knows how many times, scraping my hands and knees.

Apparently all that entertainment wasn't worth even one fucking bottle.

Logan had to go through the same exactly thing, I try to weakly counter the rising anger. But somehow, it's too easy to silence that part of my mind.

Yeah, but he's not the one coming out of this. You are.

You have to, for those pointless little competitions with Safia in Mr. Belcher's shop, to just spend your day admiring the beautiful colours and textures of the dresses and suits of his shop.

After overturning every twisted and ruined box, we simultaneously come to the same conclusion. We need to head for the park, or we're going to die of dehydration here.

Every centimetre of my aching body rebels against the idea, but I nod at Logan when he jerks his grey-tinted thumb towards the doors of the park.

"Let's find anything sharp, and then we'll head into the park?" he asks, uncertain, trying and failing to take on the leader role. I just look back down to the ground.

When did the fire of our alliance go out?

I stop myself from going down that path, because I know exactly what happened.

So when Logan chooses a sharp piece of metal that probably used to be a machete, I quietly slip a dagger into my boot, without telling him.

It's better this way.

All in all, we find two more large knives. Logan wraps his into rags he finds nearly burned to a crisp further away from the Cornucopia, and ties it to the loop on his belt.

I keep mine unsheathed and ready.

It only takes a few minutes to cross the clearing, and the music becomes louder, half-inviting and half-nightmarish.

It strikes me as odd that the forest seemed to drown out all external sounds, and shudder involuntarily at the thought of something as oppressive as those woods, just swallowing you whole…

Stop.

This carnival music seems to become more lively as we make it down the small streets, strolling casually near a game venue, and then a large toy shop.

We don't talk, but I find myself staring at the back of Logan's head.

The weight of everything we've lived through hits me like a sack of first-grade flour from Nine. We haven't slept in over two days. We haven't stopped running.

We've lost our friend.

But walking like this… I know objectively it isn't safe. But I yearn to be at peace once again, to not have my heart squeezed tightly by some invisible force that never lets go.

Little by little, Logan's entire body language shifts and although I'm still fully guarded, his posture relaxes and he even lets his piece of metal drag slightly on the ground.

It seems like it's too good to be true.

Only a few minutes later, our momentary tranquility is shattered when a loud voice, projected from some kind of sound-enhancing system, giggles ominously. The voice is distinctly male, if not a little distorted.

"New visitors!"

We both freeze. Back to survival-mode.

No movement around us, even as the blood rushes through my head and my vision turns sharp and crisp.

What is that, Logan mouths at me, and we find ourselves back to back almost as if we've choreographed this, circling around frantically. Through my own taut back muscles, I can feel Logan trembling.

I want to say that we'll be okay, that we'll be fine, but the useless words die in my throat.

We're a ways away from a small intersection leading to more narrow paths. I catch Logan's attention, his eyes wide as saucers, and point towards that intersection.

I'm making a break for it.

Somehow, the blue eyes staring at me go even larger.

He momentarily looks back where we came from. And that's when a jarring alarm and laughter comes from one of the speakers that played music before.

"New visitors have come to play!"

We break into an uncoordinated sprint, buildings flying past us.

I hear something.

Are those footsteps near us?

Through the storm in my head, I can distinctly hear feet hitting the ground.

Shit.

Three pairs. Mine, Logan's and… someone else's.

They're too quiet to be someone who isn't trained.

If I was a betting man, it's a Career.

We're dead.

An alarm sounds right near our heads. A few days ago, I would have screamed in surprise. But, now it's all instinct as I jump up and run, knife in hand. Logan's laboured breaths behind me are the only indication that we're still together.

The alarms are coordinated. They're… they're herding us. They want to kill us here and now.

The anger that mixes only slightly with the crippling dread, like some emulsion of water and vinegar. They're two distinct entities in my mind, two layers of complex and colourful signals firing simultaneously.

But they also push me to one important conclusion. I won't go down without a fight. I won't cower.

Knife ready, pointed upward slightly, I'm going to do what is required to live, goddamn it. My right hand clenches in a fist, nails digging into the palms of my hands almost to the point of drawing blood.

As we cross another intersection, we slow incrementally as the blaring honking of the alarm sounds further away. But I still hear the feet pattering on the pavement. A street over maybe. Maybe closer in an alleyway.

So light.

Almost concealing the fact that this person who is hunting us is larger and more lethal than either of us.

But I know better.

These are the footsteps of a killer.

We stop completely.

I know they're right around the corner.

I ready my knife, even as Logan pushes himself towards the wall of the building we are staying next to. He puts a hand to his mouth, and I can see tears forming in his eyes as he looks up in silent prayer.

A blur.

And I stab blindly, closing my eyes so that I don't see the person in front of me because even though I hate these Careers, I hate this place so deeply and I hate everything about this situation, I can't find the courage to face my attacker.

It's too much to ask of me. But, I still do what needs to be done and I keep stabbing-

"Jean, no!"

Logan grabs my shoulder and rips me away from the…

It's not a Career in front of me.

Oh god…

The little red-headed boy in front of me produces a pitiful little whimper, staggering back and reaching for his midsection, with my knife protruding outwards at an unnatural angle.

It takes seconds for his whole front to be stained red, as some blood dribbles out of his mouth.

He almost looks surprised rather than pained, his hands gripping the handle of the knife.

What's… what's his name?

My mind is racing at a thousand miles an hour, even as I release short breaths that seem to rattle in my chest.

People say that you see funny things when something truly terrible happens. Almost as if it's your brain playing tricks on you.

First, I see that the little boy dropped a water bottle, and I see dirty hands, my hands, taking it from the ground.

"Oh-god-oh-god, shit-oh-my-god, what have you done, Jean, oh god, do we help him-"

Second, it's impossible for me to reconcile myself with what was done here. So, I don't try justifying it, I don't try rationalizing it. I just allow myself to get pushed away. The last thing I see, before Logan and I run off back to the Cornucopia and towards the woods, is a terrified face in the small building, two small hands on the glass.

And I'm not sure if it's my own brain that is about to boil over through my ears, but I think I hear a muffled wail as we stumble around the building and away from the carnage I've singlehandedly caused.

All I can concentrate on are the sloshing sounds of the water bottle in my hands.

Last time something this bad happened, Logan's hand was on my shoulder, stabilizing me.

Now there's nothing at all.

Notes: Oyyyy…guess who's back after an expected-but-then-things-went-sideways-and-shit-hit-the-fan-to-an-unimaginable-extent hiatus? This gal over here. If I could summarize the absolute clusterfuck of the past few months, it would be something out of a poorly-written sitcom on drugs. The clickbait title would sound something like "woman becomes CEO while not knowing what that acronym stands for, wins big, gets her heart broken by her school's administration, learns to love herself for the multifaceted goblin that she is".

But I digress…I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it took a while to write, but I can't say I'm unsatisfied. Just… maybe a little sad? Definitely more than a little sad. I'd like to make a quick disclaimer: You should never, under no circumstance, absolutely never, gather mushrooms you don't know about. They can kill you or at the very least make you very sick. This is purely meant as fiction, not as a fauna and flora guide of any sorts. Anyways…

What did you think of the death in this chapter? How do you think the involved characters will react? Please let me know, reviews and small messages have been a huge inspiration for me, even when it was a simple hello. Also I just wanna say… me trying to drag out the reveal of what the monster is… basically only fun for me and no one else. But we're rolling with it!

As you can probably tell, this story will be slower to come out because I'm uh.. believe it or not, in charge of a gazillion things, on council, in grad school and also trying for med-school AGAIN (Nygheeeeeeh). But I'm 100% dedicated to seeing it through so I humbly ask you to stick with me. It'll be worth the pay-off… maybe. Hopefully.

Wow these notes really dragged on forever, didn't they?

Peace and love.