Escaping my thoughts and going back to reality, I go back to my original problem, food and water, or the lack of it. Water is a must, I see, as I watch the temperature section of my watch lower, the snow freeze more, and the sky... Wait! The snow... I grab a handful off a nearby rock (gray, of course), not minding the frozen pain in my excitement. I throw it into the metal canteen that once held water, and will again. I arrange sticks to hold it up, over the fire. It quickly melts, giving me fresh water, a throat that is less on fire, and a smile. As I grin and almost laugh, I realize I haven't done so in a while. It feels good.

After filling the canteen with snow, I gulp some down, the hot liquid burning my sore throat, like a lake suddenly overflowing a dam and becoming a waterfall. Ah, it feels so good, but it is a gray and dirty waterfall. My stomach churns in relief and offense as the first substance its held in hours enters it. The rest of the liquid, still boiling, I stick in some nearby snow. There it will sit, until the next morning, if I live that long. I laugh in irony at that last thought.

The world seems to fade away as I grab a nearby plant and boil it. It's safe, I know that for a fact. It tastes like grayness and sorrow. I laugh bitterly and humorlessly again. I quickly munch it up, my stomach churning again. I boil more and more until it's gone and I'm full. Tomorrow's meal will probably not be as easy to spot, and will probably be poisonous. I know that much from watching the Hunger Games, planning my survival. Although, the cameras never really stayed on people surviving. Mostly the shots were of the bloodbath or someone in pain.

The frozen trees around me rustle as frozen leaves fall off. I go back to the bag and fish out the last item- A bag of trail mix. Why would they give me that? Weren't we supposed to "fend for ourselves"? I decide not to eat it.

The blanket is cozy around my cold, shaking body. I realize I got the best part of the deal of everyone. A blanket, water, trail mix? Most people are lucky to get an arrow, let alone a bow and a whole quiver of arrows. I lay down on the cold, hard, ground. It knocks the breath out of me, how flat and hard and cold it is, a virtual steel plate!

My mind wanders to Daisy. Far from the cheerful connotation her name held for her, she had a hard life. I only knew her for a couple of hours, and I already knew that...

She was twelve years old. From District Eight. One of the poorest. She had worked in a mill her whole life, almost, only getting days where they were all caught up off, which was seldom. She was the reason I was here. Luckily, my parents hadn't been paying attention when I escaped from our pink home. All the years I had tried to escape viewing of the reaping, they had literally tied me to a chair to watch people's families being saddened, angered. But now, I was free. Free to relieve someone of the terror of competing in the deadly arena.

I had heard crying and had entered the place the names were chosen. For District Eight, it was the field right outside the main textile mill. I had walked in right when she was Chosen. "Do we have any volunteers for this young tribute here?" a voice boomed in the microphone. Low buzz and murmurs went through the crowd. I had suprised myself and shouted "YES!" The murmurs turned to gasps and buzz turned to talk as suprised faces turned toward me.

Daisy wasn't famous, exceptionally good at her job, or really exceptionally anything, but I had saved her and her family. That was what mattered.

I was surprised at my self and the situation. I knew I would do this for someone, and had planned it for months, but now here it was, actually happening. Daisy had fainted, then. She was brought to me later in the small goodbye room. Her face was scared and she was crying.

It was all crying then, and her whole family coming in to thank me and give me our one allowed token- my new watch. They bought it in another district with all their savings. I thanked them. In the arena, it really was useful, since it told the time, temperature, where I was, and other various things.

What I clearly remember, though, is her face as this went on. She was obviously over consumed with guilt, as I would be too, if another person did that for me.

I start to think of better things...

My last thought is that today I was lucky. Very lucky. Tomorrow will be worse. I have a nightmare that night about meeting someone, in the arena. I pray that my nightmare doesn't become reality.