Enjoy! Sorry for the wait.

Roxanne Wilder (District 3)

The boom of a cannon momentarily wakes me from my half slumber. Disoriented and confused, I sit up and look around from my tree perch. Just a cannon, I think to myself. Normally I can sleep through anything. Whether it be the sound of a Capitol bound train a mere five minute walk away from my house or the endless tirades of my younger siblings, I never lose an ounce of sleep, but that's changed, I guess.

Back home, everything is different. I say "hello" to nearly everyone at lunch and genuinely mean it; here, any person I encounter could mean my death, or equally as scary, theirs. I think of my work station at work, painted a happy old yellow with a dull-plate reading my own name. I help to manufacture the speakers in most of Panem's endless number of video screens and televisions, but that's not what I want to do forever. I wanted to be a digital programmer, creating holographic images of all sorts. Weaving endless wires, soldered miniscule silicon wafers, and telling electronic devices what to do and how to do it; that's where I belong.

But now that's a pipe dream at best.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. Things were going too well for me and I guess fate just couldn't help but take her frustrations out on me. Yes, my two small brothers and 15 year old sister led me to take out an extra tesserae to help provide while my mother was off having fun with her "friends" and playing "Roxy Homemaker" was dreadful, but my shining grades and successes at work were just too great.

I try my best not to blame the situation on my mother for choosing the company of other men over her own children's needs, but a part of me, the part that can't get over her selfishness, knows that I am here because of her.

I flick a stray strand of my nearly white hair out of my eyes and try to push these negative thoughts somewhere safe and quiet. Now just isn't the time nor the place. By now it's early morning and the snow has piled nearly four whole inches over night. I have a backpack of meager survival supplies as well as a bit of food, but my pride and joy comes in the form of the heated blanket I cuddled all through the night. It provides both physical heat and souvenir from home in the form of the electrical wiring I know is inside of it. I never thought a polyester cover could make me feel so safe and sound.

But a pressing problem is making itself very known to me and, after nearly an hour of fighting, I reluctantly give in. I unenthusiastically climb from my almost-cozy resting place and slip into a clump of bushes to relieve my angry bladder. A minute or two later, all is right in my little corner of the world. I turn towards my tree thinking of breakfast and-

that's when I see her.

My first reaction is to blush profusely at the messy-headed blond girl in front of me. She seems equally as awkward, caught watching me doing my business, but I see she holds a knife in her left hand. We stay frozen, much like the arena, for what feels like hours, neither wanting to make a move. I try to take stock of her. She is wearing a hunter green anorak with a grey-fur lined hood as well as a small bag. To call it a back pack is too generous; it is just a sack with two shoe lace-like straps wrapped around her shoulders. There are dark circles under her muddy eyes and I guess she must have stayed up all night. There's also a small, bloody slash on one of her shins. I place her freckly visage as that of the 17 year old from District 8. I stare and wait for this stranger to do something.

The Capitol must be beside themselves with the embarrassing situation we're in. They'll probably have inside jokes about this by supper.

"Um," she starts quietly. "Sorry." She seems to be waiting for me to do something as well.

"It's fine," I muster up. "I have three siblings so I'm used to a lack of privacy. And bathroom space."

More waiting. My stomach lets out a contemptuous growl and the girl lifts the corners of her mouth just the tiniest bit. I feel myself relax slightly. The girl is like me, I think. Just another victim of an angry fate-driven entity. Not her fault that we're here in the woods murdering one another.

Finally, she slowly stows her knife into her belt and gently pulls a pack of half eaten crackers from her pocket. She hands them up to me, willing me to cross the ten foot distance between us and accept her peace offering. After a moment, I do. I delicately place one on my tongue and am greeted with a burst of nutty glop.

"Thanks," I say, throat full of delicious goo.

"Yeah," she responds, a real smile on her face now. "My name is Genevieve." I can't help but smile back at my new friend.

"I'm Roxanne."

I had fun writing something cute for once. The next chapter is on its way very soon and I'll be back to my butcher ways! Review n' what not.