Song: The Tourist by Radiohead

Skeeter is a smart girl. Very smart. She's done well so far – I imagine she will continue to do well, so long as she stays out of trouble. Though the girl from One's death went to the boy from Four, as he delivered the killing blow, some credit does go to Skeeter – the girl would never have died if it weren't for her traps. I expected her to be more upset over it – but she seems fine.

As of right now, she is huddled in the little nest she made for herself, in a ruined building. She is shivering, but is not silly enough to risk a fire – though it may have been fine, as there are many open fires in this city which would have concealed the smoke from hers.

There's a clang from outside – a power line slammed into the side of a building, tipped from the harsh wind whistling through the buildings. Skeeter startles awake, her eyes flying open, wild with fear. Her hand goes for the rapier that used to belong to Citrine from One. She rushes to the door of the little room she's in, rapier in hand – looking back and forth out of the door. She then runs to the open part in the wall, where the bricks have crumbled away, and peers outside, pausing for a moment to scan the street below.

After a moment, she seems to realise there is nothing there. She sighs – it was the first time she had been able to get any sleep since the Games started. The poor thing is pale, dark purple circles under her bloodshot eyes.

"She's not a pretty one, is she," Rosemary says. I startle – there she is, leaning in the doorway.

"No," I reply, not sure where she's going with that statement.

"But clever. Very clever."

"Yes. She most certainly is."

"Seems she took a page out of your book – and Wiress'. What with all those traps."

"Many tributes from Three use traps. They are our strength, after all. Skeeter is nothing special." As I said those words, I knew they were untrue. Skeeter is special. Any of our tributes who survives past the first day is special. But is she special enough to win? Time will tell.

Rosemary shrugs. "Whatever you say. In any case, she's done a number on my three. They've not stopped worrying about the traps since they entered the city."

"Your three?"

"The girl from Nine is mine now, too. My tributes like her. She's mine."

"What do Brandy and Wheaton think about that?"

"We've been working together."

"Hm," I say. I'm not very good at holding conversation – it makes me nervous. I never know what to say, unless there's a specific topic on the table – I cannot do small talk. Sometimes, I cannot talk at all. I turn back to the screen, where Skeeter is checking her rat traps for snacks.

"Ah, I understand."

"Pardon?" I ask, not turning around.

"No, I get it."

"What do you get?"

"You're not interested."

"In what?"

"In an alliance."

"You have never mentioned an alliance before now."

"Well, I'm mentioning it now."

"How was I supposed to know that's what you were aiming for?"

Rosemary shrugs. Sometimes I think she says things in her head and expects everyone else to somehow know. Well, I don't know. And I want her to leave.

"Where's Wiress?"

"Penthouse."

"Ah," Rosemary says, drifting off. Her eyes glaze over and I can tell she's gone somewhere else – it happens to all of us from time to time. We leave the present. In a way, we're time travellers. President Snow ordered Wiress and I a couple of years ago to try and find some way to travel through time – evidently, he doesn't know that we Victors already do that constantly. We leap between the past and the present – sometimes, it is as if my present and my past don't exist. Sometimes I am suspended in between, as if stuck on the bridge between our reality and whatever lies beyond.

It's a while before Rosemary speaks again – I watch as she slowly comes back, as her eyes clear, as she realises, suddenly, where and when she is. "You know, I never liked you much at first."

I remain silent.

"But I think… well, you're all right, you know? I admire your intelligence."

"Thank you. And I yours."

She laughs. Though it is loud and brash, it's not an unpleasant sound – it reminds me vaguely of the turning of gears "Oh, you're funny."

Skeeter found a rat in one of the traps. It is not a large one – skinny, hardly any meat. Not to worry. She wrings its neck, and takes out her knife to begin skinning it.

Rosemary takes a step closer to me. My heart begins to pound – Wiress is the only person I allow into my personal space. Rosemary is too close. "Rosemary, you're too close."

She scowls, but does, thankfully, step back. "I only wanted to see what Skeeter was doing. You know, I think she'd benefit from an alliance. With my three."

"I disagree."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She is doing perfectly fine on her own."

Rosemary raises an eyebrow, and glances between me and the screen, where Skeeter has begun cooking the rat on an already-burning fire in the building opposite. "She's eating a rat."

"She's resourceful." For a moment I wondered why she hadn't just set up camp in the building with the fire – certainly she would benefit from another heat source. But I realise she was right not to – he building does not look safe in the slightest. It creaks and sways disconcertingly with every gust of wind, looking as though it might topple down at any moment like a tower of toy bricks. Skeeter looks quite uncomfortable as she waits for her rat to cook – I can tell she wants nothing more than to flee from this fragile place, go back to her little nest.

Rosemary makes a noise of disgust as Skeeter begins sewing the rat's skin into something vaguely resembling a hat. Very, very vaguely. "Oh, look at her. She's keeping the skin. Good on her."

I sigh. "Please leave me be."

"Fine," she says. "I only though you'd be interested, you know?"

"It's alright. However, I would like to focus on my tribute now, if you please."

Rosemary shrugs. "If you change your mind about that alliance, you know where to find me." With that, she turns and exits the District Three booth. I exhale slowly. I didn't realise I'd been holding my breath – didn't pick up on the knot of anxiety in my chest either. I am glad she left.

Skeeter has impaled the rat with a makeshift skewer – a thin, cylindrical piece of metal she found and cleaned. Many people think it's disgusting, but it is not unheard of in Three to eat rats. There are often food shortages. Even the upper-class (who only make up about 1% of our district's population) struggle. Money can't buy you any food if there's no food to buy. And so people find other ways to eat. We trap rats. Feral dogs and cats. Pigeons. I do not need to anymore now that I have a Victor's pension – but no-one in my district is unfamiliar with the taste of cooked rat.

Skeeter takes the rat out of the fire, slicing it open in the middle to ensure it has been cooked properly. Clever girl. Food poisoning would not do her any good. When she is satisfied it's done cooking, she takes a bite, finishing it off in four bites. Juice runs down her chin, and she wipes it on the tattered hem of her dress, her fingers leaving greasy streaks on the filthy garment.

I would like to send her some better clothes – some thermal pants perhaps – but there is nowhere near enough money. Perhaps if her traps take out another tribute – but we can't send her anything yet. There is enough money for some food and a small first aid kit, but she doesn't need those things. She needs proper clothes – a warm jacket, some boots. She's been shivering every night, curled up into a tiny ball in a desperate attempt to stay warm.

We must figure out a way to generate more sponsor money. Otherwise our girl will die.

Sorry I haven't updated since last month, I've been really overwhelmed with school stuff.

Hope you're well 3