The girl is clever, very clever. As soon as the gong went, she… jumped away and ran. Was lucky enough to grab a backpack off a dead tribute who had died near her pedestal… they had an arrow in the middle of their forehead. Just like… just like…
She ran and ran and ran until she was deep into the city, where she is now. Clever girl. District Three is a city… she knows her way around. She didn't stop to rest, even though the little thing was sweaty and panting and no doubt terrified. She immediately started on her traps – that's what I did. I made traps and lured people into them. Skeeter is doing the same, I think. She said she would. She said, 'I look like easy bait, and they're not going to know I'm more than bait until it's too late.' I like how she talks. She rhymes. And she's right – she does look like easy bait… fifteen but could easily pass for twelve, malnourished and stunted in growth, poor thing.
There was rope in the backpack. Which is lucky. She has begun to collect sharp pieces of metal and sticks to use in the traps… will they work, I wonder?
Beetee's tribute, Michael, is already dead. Silly boy died for a pair of boots. Silly, silly… poor child.
Skeeter is doing fine, but she doesn't have much. There is not a lot of food in the backpack – only a packet of jerky. I hope she remembered things from training. But maybe… maybe we can send her something – we don't need to divide the funds between two people anymore –
There isn't much money. What if she gets sick and needs medicine? What if she hurts herself? What if she trips and spills her water? She doesn't have boots, but she was lucky enough to wear flats for her interview. They will be alright for now, I think. They won't… last long on the harsh terrain, but until then…
"Wiress," Beetee says, and I jump – I had forgotten where I was. Sometimes I think so deeply about my tributes, it's like I become them – and I can almost feel the rubble under my feet, the bright sun beating down on my skin. Skeeter stares into the camera and into my eyes and deep into my soul. Her eyes are not eyes… they're lasers… they burn.
"I'm here now…" I tell him, and he nods. He understands. "She doesn't…"
"Need anything," Beetee, says, finishing my sentence for me. "Yet."
I am saving the money for later.
Kinda struggled with this, I've never written Wiress before. I tried to write in a disjointed, somewhat confusing way, like how Wiress talks. I'm sorry if it was hard to read.