James Gray, District Eight- 16
The Hunger Games were the most exciting thing in the world. Everyone watched them, since it was illegal not to, but I watched them extra hard. I was the one that went back and got the recordings from the library and played them over and over. In my tiny world of factories and buildings, it was wild to imagine wide-open Arenas and a place where your biggest concern wasn't making quota but staying alive.
That was what kept me alive when the Games started. I'd watched so many Bloodbaths to see that first moment of pure chaos and the anarchy that took usually about eight kids before the day was even half-through. I knew that the ones that died were the ones that tried to get things. It didn't do me as much good in this Arena, since more Tributes than usual didn't run into the Bloodbath, but it still helped. Six kids still went in. Since there weren't as many, all of them died. And me? I ran straight in the other direction.
After the Bloodbath, the biggest threat was exposure and dehydration. That wouldn't seem to be a problem here, but looks were deceiving. Food was all over the place if you were brave enough to look. But water was nearly nonexistent. While the Careers reigned supreme in the food court, which I could see when I leaned over the railing one night, the rest of us went thirsty. Water was the first thing I looked for after the Bloodbath. A lot of us were laying low, but I knew from past Games that the Careers usually took about half an hour to sort through weapons and things. That was thirty minutes that I had free run of the Arena. It only took me about fifteen to find water. And if that water was from a toilet tank on the fourth floor, so be it.
Then, I did nothing. Most Tributes got caught when they were out looking for something or another. The Careers were action-oriented and quickly got bored when trying to look through every little hiding place. I popped one of the ceiling tiles out and hid in the crawlspace above the toilets. I rinsed out a bottle of cleaning solution I found under the sinks (which didn't have water, only the toilets, since Capitol primness was larger than Capitol mercy) and drank out of that so I wouldn't have to go down every time.
I took only one risk, and it was necessary. I knew the way I wouldn't need to get food. The Games in such a small space wouldn't last longer than the three weeks I could survive. But I also knew the Gamemakers wouldn't let someone win who hadn't done anything. Sometimes it happened, but usually not. So I went out. I pretended I was getting food, but really I was looking for someone to fight. I kept my eye out for some other Tribute I could interact with. If the Careers had come at that time, I would have died. Instead, I found Abigail. I managed to strike up a conversation. I asked if we could be allies. She said yes. As soon as she turned around, I shoved her over the railing. It wasn't something I would ever be proud of. I was scared. I was trapped. I needed to give them what they wanted. That's the only way anyone wins.
There were a few other little happenings. The Gamemakers sent a mutt after me. They weren't feeling very ambitious, I guess, since it was just a gross nasty spider the size of a cat. We tussled in the dark crawlspace and I squeezed its fat abdomen until it exploded. It wasn't very fast-moving, or it definitely would have bitten me. The Gamemakers hadn't kept in mind that exoskeletons are a lot heavier than endoskeletons.
The finale is the greatest part of any Hunger Games. After so obsessively watching every one that came before, mine passed me by. I was still curled in my crawlspace when Hunter and Shogo fought the last grand battle. Hunter lasted longer, but second place doesn't matter. I felt like a phoney, but I'd done it. I didn't have a great story to tell my adoring audience. I hadn't thrilled them like past Victors had thrilled me. But I was alive, thanks to the tapes I no longer had any desire to watch ever again.