Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
The air is wet.
As I breathe in it clings to the back of my throat and I can already feel small beads of sweat beginning to form on my face.
My clothing doesn't help either, it clings to me tightly with the dark blue fabric a stark contrast to the lush and vibrant greenery that surrounds me.
I risk catching a glance at the clock, to see how many seconds I have left to form a plan.
Forty five seconds.
I release a shuddering breath and set my eyes directly onto the shiny golden building.
At the mouth of it are a plethora of weapons, similar to all the previous years. Dark green backpacks are scattered within a radius of five feet.. Closer to me than the backpacks are sleeping bags, tents and some sort of metal mechanism. Even nearer to me is a selection of food; bread, apples, cheese and dried meat make up the majority of it although there are more decadent items.
I wince, this year the backpacks are too close to be able to swoop in and flee. That has been the strategy of the upper middle-class Districts; Districts Three, Five and Seven.
Thirty eight seconds.
I look behind me and see that there is a bright, superficially green forest. The undergrowth will provide a suitable place to hide. I assume the Capitol have learned from their 'mistake' two years ago. The Games only ended up lasting four days and ended with District Four's Ron Stafford winning after spearing the brutal soldier, Julius from District Two. Most of the tributes that year, including our tribute, Ohm died within the first two days after having fled the bloodbath and running either across the beach or the scrub land which enabled them to be easy targets for the lower Districts who once all of the middle and higher Districts had been eliminated turned on each other like a pack of wild coyotes.
I attempt to clear my head and turn back to the forest, analysing it in more detail. I notice that the trees are different, they are larger and are so green it almost makes my eyes hurt. I can't help but make a comparison between these trees and the ones at home. These giant, superficial monoliths compared to the few trees back in our District that are withered and grey due to the little amount of rain that falls.
Home.
If I close my eyes I can almost trick myself into believing I'm still there. I can picture the dry city which in the morning is almost full to the brim with workers clad in dark blue uniforms. I can just pretend that I can still help Eireen with her homework and then watching the Games with pity, as our tributes die on the first day.
I let out a cracked sigh and tighten my jaw muscles, looking to my left and to my right. The male tributes from Districts Nine and Seven are already into position, ready to run to the cornucopia as soon as the time runs out.
My eyes immediately flicker towards the countdown, and my eyes widen at how much time I have lost because I was reminiscing.
Seven seconds.
I turn my back to the cornucopia and on the soon to be bloodbath. I fix my eyes on the forest and look back one last time at the cornucopia, my eyes falling on the weapons as my resolve strengthens.
Run to the forest. Run, and then you have a head start. Run, Masie. Run.
I am not watching the countdown when it reaches zero, I have already turned back to the forest.
My feet start to move automatically as the others begin to sprint towards the cornucopia. They start slow and sluggish at first but begin to pick up speed as soon as the first cries of pain can be heard.
It takes me several more seconds to reach the forest and I dart into the undergrowth not looking back once as the screams become quieter and eventually stop altogether.
Is it over?
I'm not sure, but I keep running. My heart feels like it is about to burst out of my rib cage and my breath is becoming more shallow. Still I push myself further. Soon I can hear nothing but my breath and the blood pounding in my ears.
I manage to continue for five minutes before coming to a stop, gasping for breath as I lean against a tree. The bark scratches my back through my clothing, but I am too exhausted to take notice of it.
My body is covered in sweat by now and the humid air is clinging more to the back of my now parched throat.
I need water.
After several minutes I push myself away from the tree and begin to study my surroundings making sure to stay alert while I do so.
The trees seem to be larger now that I am in the forest, their trunks are as thick as two fully grown men and they tower up into the sky, reminding me of the ten story buildings at home. These trees have few or no branches lower to the ground meaning that for a novice climber like me there is no chance of spending the Games hiding in them. Although they would provide excellent cover as the higher up you go the less sparse the branches are.
I am ripped from my musings as I hear the first cannon booms, signalling the end of the bloodbath. The cannons echo throughout the arena and the effect appears to be heightened by the large amount of trees.
Eleven.
Almost half of my competitors gone in the first thirty minutes: the alliance from One, Two and sometimes Four must be stronger than usual this year. I force myself to remember the main competition's scores, Cotton, the physically imposing and breathtakingly handsome tribute from District One who gained a score of nine and Margret the tall amazonian warrior from District Four who earned herself a score of eight. Though I do have a slight advantage: after watching them during training I am aware of their weaknesses.
I begin to walk around the arena looking for signs of water or edible food and recite to myself all the strengths and weaknesses of the tributes who I feel showed the most promise in training..
The District One pair, Cotton and Orchid: Cotton favours his left arm to throw his spear with pinpoint accuracy. His right arm, while still able to hit the target is more sloppy and doesn't seem to pack quite so much raw power. Orchid prizes herself on her exceptional aim with throwing knives which means that if one of the stockier tributes, such as the males from District Seven and Eight caught her in a close range situation she would struggle to take them down.
I make a sharp turn to my left as I review District Two's tributes. The boy, who's name I think begins with a G proved to be dangerous with a broadsword managing to slash the training dummies without even breaking a sweat. He however did prove to be less than satisfactory with the survival skills station. His District partner, Euryale had the same proficiency and weaknesses.
As I begin to recite to myself Margret's weaknesses I begin to walk down a steep incline. I quicken my pace as in the training center we were instructed that water flows downhill, if I can find water then I have found myself a drinking source and the only thing I have to worry about is the other tributes and a method of gaining food.
The last thought worries me, I remember Tanya from District Six last year having fought her way through the cornucopia and safely escaping with her life. Having ran into all that danger just to survive she succumbed to starvation a mere six days later.
With Tanya's demise in mind I keep my eyes pealed for edible berries, roots and small game as I trudge down the increasingly steep slope. I move quickly, ever aware that the career tributes are most likely scouring the arena for the few tributes who have survived the cornucopia.
Boom!
I move faster, arching my neck just in time to see the hover craft fly past me then stop at least two hundred feet to my right. I let out a shaky breath and begin to jog hurriedly downhill, attempting to make my footsteps as light as I possibly can.
It doesn't seem to work though: as I run all I can hear is 'snap' and the odd 'crack' as I scramble over the seemingly dried fallen leaves and branches.
It doesn't process to me that the ground is becoming soggier until there is a roaring of a fast paced river in my ear. Looking up, I find that it's situated only several feet in front of me.
I let out a cry of relief and then dash towards it, crouching down and collecting as much water as I can in my hands and bringing them towards my face. I slurp at the water greedily, glugging it down as fast as I can and then digging my hands in for more.
I continue like this for several minutes, and then get to my feet, searching the forest around me warily and then stepping into its safety once again.
I don't stray far from the river, always making sure I can hear the quietened roar of the flowing water in my ear as I search for an edible food source.
Letting out a sigh of relief I come across what I believe to be a blackberry bush, and take a handful of them which I then place carefully into my coat pocket, deciding to save them for later.
I move towards the river once more, succeeding now in being much more nimble than I was not ten minutes ago. Although, at that time I did think Euryale or Cotton were going to jump out and slaughter me at any moment.
When I reach the river again, I hurriedly sprint towards it and scoop up another few precious handfuls of water. Then, I move back into the forest in order to find somewhere to hide for the night.
After several minutes, still listening out for the river which is effectively my life source right now I surprisingly come across a tree with branches low enough down and close enough together for me to pull myself up with. It won't offer much in the way of camouflage in the day time, but it shall suffice for the night.
It takes me around half an hour to reach a sufficient height and to find thick enough branch for me to sleep on without falling down.
I decide not to sleep for the time being, but to wait for the Capitol's seal to appear in the sky and see the faces of the dead tributes.
Now that I'm no longer fearing that my life will end this very minute I realize how uncomfortable I am.
Sweat from today's exertion clings to my clothing, making them damp and adding to the feeling that I am soaked. The humidity of the air is also something I had mercifully forgotten as I was fleeing.
Now that I'm waiting for the announcement it all becomes so much more noticeable. If I had to compare it to a feeling I would compare it to when you had an irresistible itch and couldn't itch it.
In an effort to distract myself I remove several berries from my pocket and peer at the glistening fruits searchingly, double checking that they are indeed safe.
Happy that they are I place one into my mouth and slowly chew it. The juices fill my mouth and for several seconds offer me a respite from the blistering heat and the wetness of my clothes. It reminds me of home: every second Friday daddy would come home with a small bag of blackberries which we would then share around the family home.
It was a family occasion, my whole family would all huddle next to each other and talk as they handed around the berries.
Panem's anthem disrupts me from my musings, and I turn my gaze towards the sky as the seal appears.
The first face in the sky is the girl from District Three which is quickly followed by her male counterpart. The face of my District partner, Darin shows next and I blink quickly to not show any weakness. No doubt they are screening our reactions live on the television at home. Besides, despite it sounding callous he would have perished either way. It was better it was quick and only hurt for a little while compared to Tesla who was pecked to death by a collection of birds.
The next faces follow in quick succession: both from Six and Seven, the girl from Nine as well as both of the tributes from Ten and Twelve.
I fall asleep while reciting the rest of the tribute's weaknesses in my head: Margret and her District counterpart were effective with a trident, however lacked survival skills. The boys from Eight and Nine had brute strength so would win in a close up confrontation but lacked long ranged weapon skills. The tributes from Eleven have excellent knowledge of edible foodstuffs however lacked the superior weapons skills that the careers have.
The sound of bird calls awakens me from my slumber, my clothes are sticking to my body with sweat and my hair is clumped against my face. I take several minutes attempting to tame my hair, brushing my fingers through it in a poor imitation of a hairbrush.
I maneuver myself to climb down the tree I was in, mindful not to squish my precious blackberries in my pocket.
My descent lasts around forty minutes. It is slower than usual because I am increasingly paranoid of the other tributes and the tree doesn't offer much camouflage. As I climb down it comes to my attention that out of all the other tributes I have the worst odd on winning. While they televised the scores they showed that the careers all have between 1-4 and 1-8 odds on winning. The boy from District Eight had 1-15 and the boy from District Nine had 1-25. Both of the tributes from Eleven managed to get odds of around 1-30. This is in comparison to my tragic odds of 1-45. The other tributes scores I seem to have forgotten, showing that they are most likely not a threat.
After I have reached the bottom of the tree I take the rest of the blackberries out of my pocket and force them into my mouth greedily.
Starting to chew slowly so I can savour them I begin to walk in the direction of the river, mindful to keep my footsteps quiet and to look around me every several seconds or so.
It doesn't take long to hear the thunderous roar of the river as powerful as it was the night before. I reach the clearing it is in, look around nervously and then sprint down the small slope towards the river, scooping up some of its precious water.
I continue this for several minutes before slowly wading into the river, the waters chill causing me to gasp half way through putting my left foot into the water.
Biting my lip, I continue into the water.
It doesn't take long until I have the water up to my knees, and once there I bend my knees so that I can begin to wash myself fully.
I wash myself as fast as I can, keeping a watchful eye on the clearing surrounding me.
I attempt to wash myself still wearing my clothes, so that if I am caught unawares I am able to flee quickly into the forest and not have to worry about retrieving my clothes. As the trainer in the training centre said 'exposure can kill as quickly as a knife'.
It takes ten minutes to scrub off last night's grime and sweat and when I'm finished I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to rid it of its knots. As usual I am unsuccessful. I let out a grunt of frustration and then move towards the river's bank where I then pull myself up.
Hesitating only to look around for my fellow tributes I flee in the direction of where I came from and then take a right.
Staying in the same place during the games guarantee you only one thing: a spear embedded in your chest. With this in mind I look for another place to spend the night in, the majority of the trees in the arena however seem to have little to no branches lower down, making it impossible for me to climb up.
I can no longer hear the roar of the river, so I assume that I have moved a fair distance away. I chew my lip thoughtfully and look around the ground level, looking for some edible plants like the blackberries I had foolishly devoured earlier.
Stupid girl.
After around half an hour of looking, I am beginning to lose focus at the task at hand. It is only when a particularly loud 'snap' can be heard from around ten feet to my left that I am torn from my musings.
I automatically turn towards the sound, my eyes wide with fear.
The boy from District Eight is stood there and he is wielding a branch that he has managed to fasten into some sort of rudimentary javelin, it is shaped almost exactly like the ones that were on offer during the training period.
His face appears to be as surprised as mine with his mouth opened and his eyebrows shot up in a way that I'm sure if I was in any other situation I would find comical.
Instead of laughing I turn my body in the opposite direction and run in a diagonal line, twisting and diving under the occasional tree branch whilest whipping my head around to see if he is bearing down on me.
He is.
I can hear his heavy breathing behind me, loud in my ear as I sprint as fast as I can through the undergrowth. My muscles are screaming in protest and my mouth feels like it is on fire, I let out a raspy cry of fear and look around me one more time.
That was my mistake.
I had been focused on behind me, meaning I hadn't seen the branch jutting up.
It snags on the hem of my trousers as it trips me, sending me sprawling onto the ground.
Scrambling, I attempt to get up once again however I'm winded and my muscles are too sore from exertion.
I get to my feet just as the javelin plunges into my cranium and embeds itself deep into my cerebellum.
Boom.