Hi everyone, thanks for the continued support and don't hate me too much after that last cliffhanger xD I am starting a new SYOT so you should all check it out, I have some AWESOME tributes and that story is going to appear in this story at some point! I am so excited to get cracking :D

Nemet xxo

The Miracle

Okay what the fuck. Seriously.

I wake up in a dirty puddle in the middle of a random, colourful street, in nothing but my underwear and a sock on my hand.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

The hard concrete presses into my back as I try to raise my head to view my injuries, but my body is too weak. A wave of exhaustion that I have never felt before overcomes my body like a tsunami of a need so deep it almost pulls me under. It takes every last ounce of the little strength I have to stay conscious as I lay back onto the wet concrete, my mind reeling. What on earth had happened?

I lift my arm to feel along my stomach for the extent of my wounds, all I feel is ragged, but healed skin. This revelation shocks me enough that I find the energy to pull myself into a sitting position.

"What the fuck…" I whisper, staring at my body in shock.

Bruises litter my pale white skin, marring it like a painting of battle. Black, blue and yellow colour my skin, and yet I do not feel the pain. This is worrying. My body must be going through so much that my endorphins – the body's natural painkiller – must be working over-time to stop me from going insane.

I loll my head enough to look at my right shoulder, where the knife struck with my battle with Hart. I can only view it in my peripheral, but I see flecks of dried blood mostly crusted off my skin. The deep stab wound, at least 4 inches deep at the time, was half healed, the wound filled with a thick hard scab.

A wound that wouldn't have healed without stitches…

What was going on?

My stomach was what shocked the last ounce of my will to move that I slapped back onto the ground, the ground cutting into my bare skin. The four, horrific gashes that disfigured my skin had become thick, pink raised scars. Each was as thick as my finger, and the worst one was thicker and more raised than the others.

Wet.

Okay.

So, I was in a puddle. A dirty puddle. I was covered in a thin layer of wet mud. Last thing I remember it was raining outside.

I force my eyes open and squint at the position of the sun.

Midafternoon.

Okay. I force my breathing to calm as black spots swim at the edge of my vision, a pressure building up inside my head. Stop. Stop thinking. Calm.

My heart rate slows and my vision returns.

At this heat and at the rain that fell that night, the pavement would have dried already. This indicates that it has been raining again since that time from my near-death, so it could perhaps be the following day.

My thoughts slumped in defeat. Why do I even care? I was alive. This was a fucking miracle. When I passed out I was having visions of my dead sister for fucks sake. My wounds were so deep that I could actually see into my stomach at the greyish intestines. I was half dead with just pain, and when I fell asleep it was with every intention of never waking up again.

I had escaped death.

I couldn't have done this alone? Someone must have dragged me out into the road while it was raining, knowing water would aid my healing.

I think back to my training with Decimus. Water could revitalize and rejuvenate me, and even heal small wounds such as the cuts that I had made. But I doubted that skill could heal injuries of this magnitude.

So who did I owe?

Thinking back to the second night in the arena, the tortured broken body of Theo, and the drained near-dead Clio. Somehow I had summoned the power to be able to heal them both from the brink of death. Could someone else have that ability?

Theo didn't, and if he did he would never help me the fucking bastard, same goes to Cinder.

India and Hart, for some unknown reason to me, had a personal vendetta against me.

Cotton was too pathetic and scared to be able to even approach me.

Cain would leave me for dead. One step closer to home if I died.

Iowan. I bite my lip. He wouldn't have the ability to save me, and I doubted he would. The two of us had been clashing since the opening ceremonies. I'm sure he'd be happy to see my face in the sky.

So who the fuck...?

I lay on the concrete all day, watching the sun dip behind the horizon, too weak to do anything but watch. I dip in and out of a hazey sleep, not strong enough to resist the exhaustion that threatens to overcome me. Sometimes, when I wake up to find myself still laying on the concrete, I am surprised. I haven't died yet? If a tribute crossed my path, I could do nothing to stop them from ending me.

Had anyone died while I was out? A canon had gone off before I passed out. I assume it was Sibylline. She was on the brink when I went into the house.

I force the image of her blood-stained pale arm, reaching out to me for help out of my mind. Force out the guilt. Guilt? No, not guilt.

But something was making me feel compassionate about the death of that girl. Her brother had mauled her to death. I shudder to imagine the horror that poor girl must have felt up to the last moments of her death.

And her parents…

I stop thinking about all that. I stop thinking of the cruelty that the Capitol has initiated. I push it out, far into a corner of my mind. If I survive, which doesn't seem likely, I will deal with those thoughts later.

The Panem Seal appears in the night sky, bright against the darkness. I don't need to squint at the sudden brightness, due to all the street lamps in the road. The anthem plays throughout the arena loudly, oddly cheerful conflicting with the turmoil I feel.

I absently wonder how my family are reacting, seeing me a helpless vegetable on the road. They must think I am weak. I nearly died, and now I lay here, completely useless.

I scratch that thought. No, my family wouldn't think that of me. I think it, and my sister would have thought it, and my district thinks it. My family would just be glad I had survived. My mother would be screaming at the television, telling me to get up and move. My father would just be gripping the sides of the sofa, his knuckles white and nearly bursting through the thin membrane of skin. Alec would be hurrying our sisters out of the room, a fake smile hiding his worry and reassuring them that I am okay.

Hiding them from would they thought was my last moments.

The small, sweet face of Cotton appears in the sky. How did she die I wonder? A mutt? Or did a tribute hunt her down? I irrationally hope it was quick and painless for the young girl. She was stronger than I had thought, to have survived what she did and then actually killing a fellow captor. A brief rush of compassion shoots through my body, and I ignore what it means. Force. It. Out. If it was tribute, there are only two people left alive that I believe could do it – Iowan or Theo. They were the only ones who would actually purposefully kill someone.

India perhaps? Caught up with Cotton, but I discard the thought. India must be clinging on for life from the wound I left her with.

And there was Cain. He was one of the tributes that I hadn't come across much. I had dubbed him as a threat, due to his large stature. He was certainly capable of killing, though I doubted he would be able to kill a sweet 14 year old girl. He wasn't a monster. Not like the rest of us. Like Hart. I shudder to think of the painful end Cotton may have faced at the hands of Hart.

And lastly there was Cinder to consider. The pure little innocent precious girl. She is too pathetic to be involved in something to raw and cruel. She would never be able to condone the killing of Cotton, and so I scratch Theo off the list of potential killers.

Even thinking about her sends anger like venom coursing through my body, heating up my wounds but bringing a familiar burn into my muscles and sense of empowerment overcomes me. I lay on the ground, entertaining myself with thoughts of her death. As the sun goes down, the night gets colder and goosebumps speckle my skin like a disease. Once I get bored and I have conserved enough energy, I struggle to my feet.

I look down onto my ravaged body, and wince at how prominent my hip and rib bones are. So, okay, I hadn't been eating normally while I was in the arena, but this looks too rapid to be from the last few days.

I briefly consider if it was an effect of my energy loss, and my body needed that much extra energy. I give up on the thought. Why does it matter? I am alive.

Okay. Think logically.

More than one day has passed if Sibylline was dead. Her face hadn't shown up in the sky so it must have been last night, the night after she died.

I have been in this arena 3 weeks, 3 days at least. There were 7 of us left. Me, Theo, Iowan, India, Cain, Hart and Cinder. 6 to go down.

I was so close to going home.

The thought that I made it so far, has tears squeezing themselves into my eyes. I force them away, putting on a brave face. I couldn't afford to show anymore weakness. I was already looking like the next one to go.

I rip the sock off my hand, feeling stupid. One other thing… I had no idea why I was in my underwear. The last I remembered I was in my feast outfit, despite it being in rags and covered in blood and vomit. The underwear I had on was the one from the feast, so I felt slight relief that no one had seen me naked without my permission. I knew I had showers and stuff while in the games and got changed, but I wasn't cool with someone stripping me naked while I was unconscious.

I drag my broken and battered body towards a house. If any tribute caught up with me in this state, it didn't matter how I had survived the impossible, I would be dead. I try not to think about my impending death, and try to stay optimistic. Optimism is not something I am accustomed to, and the thoughts of death and decay pervade my mind like a parasite. As hard as I try not to think of it, the stronger the thoughts become.

The second I step through the door, I know something is wrong.

My skin crawls in fear and I panic. What do I do? I can't fight! Not like this. Help. I lean heavily against the back of the door in defeat, waiting for something to happen. My breath comes out in heavy pants.

"Well come on then." I shout as loud as I can, and wince how hoarse my voice is. "Come kill me."

India comes through the kitchen, one of my knives twirling in her hand. Her hand caresses the bone shaped handle, the darkness of her skin contrasting shockingly with the washed out white of bone.

Her deep black ebony hair sparked with embers, her dark eyes shined with a crazed look in her eyes.

I held my breath, but stared at the girl with every ounce of defiance I could muster. I would not show my fear. I would go down, there was no doubt about that, but I would not go down screaming.

I would never let anyone have that satisfaction.

My glare hardens as I assess her. A dirty bandage hangs from the bottom of her dirty shirt. "Hi India." I say casually, oxymoronic with the way that I am feeling. I am scared she can hear the fast beat of my heart, but her look of surprise reassures me. "How's your back doing?" I ask, a wicked grin stretching across my red lips. My face morphs from casual to as sly and evil as anyone can be. Her laugh cackles around me, chilling me to the bone, but it's fake. I see the fear in her eyes. She doesn't know how weak I am, and even if she did, I am still the one to fear.

"My back is fine thanks to you and my generous sponsors. Have you got anything from them?" She asks with faux innocence.

"No, because unlike you, I don't need to rely on anyone else for my survival." Tension fills the air, no one wanting to make the next move, knowing we will have to do eventually. The mocking conversation continues, trying to get a feel of each other.

Her laugh is derisive, filled with contempt. "If you didn't rely on me you wouldn't be alive right now."

I couldn't control it. I couldn't stop my features from displaying the surprise that I felt.

"WHAT?" I shout incredulously. Her smirk widens.

"I saved you. You pretend that you're all that, but you would be dead without me. My sponsors gave me medicine that heals anything. I healed your disgusting stomach, but I left your shoulder. You should still experience some pain." She grinned evilly. I don't bother to return any emotion on my face, my mind whirling with a thousand questions.

"Why?" I ask with a sigh. That seems to be the only important one at this moment. My exhaustion takes over me, and I slide onto the floor, my back still pressed up against the door. India watches curiously, but I wave at her to continue.

"I watched your fight with Hart. I followed you into the camp you made, and I watched you call me May. Fucking crazy, I thought. I was more than happy to watch you die. I moved to steal all of your supplies, and then a parachute floated past the window. I ran outside to get it, and inside there was nothing for me. It was for you." She says, a little bitterly. The fire in her eyes has gone down, and she sits on the bottom step. "It was a necklace with a picture of you and your family. Your twin sister, a brother I think. Your two parents and two twin babies in their arms. You looked so young and stupid. Grinning like a crazy person. I knew it was you, even then you looked meaner than anyone else in that picture. Two front teeth missing and so many freckles on your face it looked like a shit stain. You're lucky puberty helped you out because you were one ugly fucker."

I don't respond, a small smile tugging at my lips. I remember that day. Our first family portrait. May and I were about 5 or 6, and were already dubbed as mischievous. Alec must have been around 3 or 4.

"But how does that affect you saving me?" I asked, puzzled. Her soft expression goes hard, but I sense that her anger isn't directed at me.

"Well, I thought I would at least let you look at the picture before you died. So I ran up and tried slapping you awake to look at the bloody thing, but you were literally clinging to life by the tiniest thread. And then I actually felt bad for you. I felt guilty and compassionate and pity and I irrationally wanted you to see this last damn picture before you died. I healed you and you didn't wake up, so I thought I failed. But your canon hadn't gone off at this point. I couldn't stay there though, Hart came back once his sister's canon went off and watched her body be taken away. I had to sneak away. I came back though and you were still brain dead. I couldn't help it, I dragged your body to the place where you woke up. And now we are here."

I don't respond, I just sit thinking. Okay, first, India isn't a complete monster. Alexandria must have known that, sent the picture to manipulate her to find her human compassion again and save me. I owed Alexandria, not India. I stared at the girl, trying to figure her out.

"I nearly killed you. Why the fuck did you save me?"

"I told you I don't know." She snaps right back, the fire in her eyes returning. I wave off her emotions like a gnat, my face only showing calm and serene thoughts. "You know," she continues in a defeated tone, "I don't know why I became how I was. It's the fire in me!" She gestures to herself with an exasperated expression. "I would never have hurt those girls the way I did if I was in my right mind… I guess saving you can make up for that." She continues in a small voice.

Oddly enough, I believe her. My heart twangs with an unknown feeling, and I quash it down. I am not outwardly snarky and harsh, as I normally would have been. Instead I say:

"Well thanks Inds. Guess this makes us allies now." The smile she flashes me is unsure, but genuine.

I sigh inwardly. I honestly don't remember any of the other games being this confusing and complicated when it came to other tributes. All I can think is, maybe India has the same thoughts as I do about the capitol. Maybe she knows it's them that twisted her into that monster, and she is using me to scramble and clutch at her true self.

I know that's what I would do.