Part 2: The Arena

I steady myself, clutching my token, my mother's necklace, in my hand. I'm remembering all too well the tribute from a few years ago who dropped her token before the gong even sounded, ending her life in a meaningless explosion. Sweat begins to form on my upper lip as I think about how it could just as easily be me now, dying for no other reason than carelessness.

Focus. I need to focus. Where am I?

There's the cornucopia, shining golden in the mid-morning heat, filled with all the food and weapons you could need to survive. If you know how to get to them. Supplies and weapons circle the cornucopia, the farther away the less worth it has. A box of matches lies at my feet, and I prepare to scoop them up, as well as the purple knapsack about 50 yards in front of me. The rest of the tributes are positioned in a circle around the cornucopia, and I eye up the distance between the competition and myself. I'm not a fast runner, but they're far enough away that I can grab what I need quickly and leave.

There's no hope of surviving the initial blood battle at the cornucopia if I stay longer than that. But where should I run to?

A field of grass sits to my left, undulating in the breeze. No, grass doesn't seem like the best protection for me. The lake just past the cornucopia won't do it either, it's too much in the open. I scan the horizon, just making out a forest of trees in the distance. A forest! I've never been in a forest before. In fact, I've never seen so much green before. In a different life, it might even look pleasant.

But it isn't. There's no telling what traps lie in the arena, what the Gamemakers will do.

The gong sounds, sixty seconds have passed, and I'm flying off my metal plate, wincing slightly, waiting for explosions to go off, before I scoop of the matches and sprint to the knapsack.

And I'm out of here! All around me, tributes are running towards the supplies and blood has already started to pour. I must get out of here quickly before I become the next target. I start heading for the woods in the distance, stumbling over the body of an unfortunate tribute before I start a good pace. I don't look back at who might have been killed, who was under my feet, what's going on behind me. I focus on the woods and nothing else.

For what seems like half an hour, I work on covering as much ground as I possibly can. But each step I take doesn't seem to carry me any closer to my refuge. The hot sun beats down on me, sucking the moisture from my body. My mouth becomes dry and my lungs feel on fire. I don't think I can last much longer at this pace.

Then I remember what my mentor told me. Don't waste all of your energy in the first minutes of sprinting. Pace yourself.

Oh, nice going Loo! I tell myself. How could I forget his words already? How could I have been so stupid? I can already see my face reflected in the sky above me, Loom McGovern, District 8, dead the first day. Not even a threat to the other tributes yet.

I grit my teeth and slow my pace to something resembling a hastened walk. In the distance, I see the swish of a braid disappear into the trees. District 12! This is the girl my mentor warned me about. An almost perfect score and all the sponsors she wants. I imagine what talent she showed the Gamemakers, imagine the well-crafted swish of a sword through my neck or the crippling blow of a skilled fighter. Whatever she's done to deserve such a score, I don't want to find out. I angle away from the section of the forest she entered, and soon break through the trees. But avoidance is easier said than done. And by nightfall, even scarier predators will begin to hunt their pray. The all-powerful Careers with all the supplies they can gather from the Cornucopia.

Survival does not seem to be in my future.