CYBIL "CY" PENNINGTON
DISTRICT 3 MALE
13

The tomato hits the back of the man's head. Immediately, I duck and hide before he turns around. He only sees the other man behind him.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"What do you mean, I did nothing?"

The man started to get angry, confronting the other about what he 'did'. Soon enough, a fight starts. People are always volatile on Friday after work, and he looked extremely so. Immediately, I grab a loaf of bread. I can see a peacekeeper coming over to intervene. Iodine, Iodine, Iodine…

I find the iodine, stuffing it into my pocket. The man who I hit with the tomato hits the peacekeeper. He was probably getting in trouble anyway if he was that mad about it. Another peacekeeper comes over to help. They're having to restrain the first man. I can see one of them raising a gun-

As I run I hear the shot. I feel… terrible. It's the only way I can survive, but I never thought anyone would get hurt. I just got a man killed. It's usually fine, usually nothing like this happens, this has never happened before, this is new. Reaching an alleyway, I glance back. The man is held by both the peacekeepers. His limp form suspended between their arms.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper. I just got someone killed. Another person died because of me, me and my stupid bad luck. For a moment, I can feel the searing heat and hear the screams. And then it goes away.

Bad things always happen to people around me. I never thought that it'd be a random man on the street. I look at the iodine and the bread. They're life-saving to me. But not worth a man's life. Definitely worth bruises and all, which is usually all that happens. I'm sorry but I think my survival is worth a scuffle on the street. But now, unlike usually, I feel so absolutely horribly guilty. I have to make up for it somehow. I have to face this. I can't, I can't do this. I have to do this. Trembling, I force myself to take one step. Then I take two steps back. I'm terrified. Three. Another step back, and another. I stare at the floor, making myself do this. I have to try and make this up somehow. What would my mother say if I didn't? I guess I'll never know. But a man just died. And it's my fault.

I don't usually care so much. No one ever died before, it was just fights, or things like that. A distraction here and there whilst I stole basic supplies. It was okay. No one had severe consequences. But the man who I set up has just died, shot by the gun of a peacekeeper. I need to make amends, somehow. At least, try to.

I look up, flinching as I hear a scuffle. The man slipped out of the grasp of one of the peacekeepers. For a moment he lies on the ground. Then a hand raises to a dark red stain on his side.

Oh thank all things good.

It's all I can do not to break down and sob. Right there. In the middle of the street. He's alive. They didn't shoot his head. Large, green eyes widened in shock, I stare at the man.

I can hear a horn behind me. Immediately, I run off the road as a large van arrives. Time to go.

I reach the river bank in five minutes. I sprinted the whole way. I've always been fast.

I stand under the bridge, next to a crate. Picking up the milk bottle, I fill it up with water. Not hygienic and worse than a wild river. But there aren't many factories at all upriver. So, it's the best option. And that's where the iodine comes in. I squeeze several drops in, using the pipette. Probably a bit much, but better safe than sorry. Unless iodine is poisonous? I can't remember. I really hope not.

Four years of being on my own. I'm managing fairly well, I think. I mean, I'm still alive, right? Although my parents aren't. I guess that's implicit in the whole "being on my own" thing. I only know because Reaping day is next week. I left the orphanage after the 27th Reaping. I was nine. The streets are better.

It's getting late. The sky is starting to clear ever so slightly, that means that factory working hours are over. It was 6.30 when I stole the items, I checked the time. That means it's been an hour. I imagine the water will be safe by now.

Opening the bottle, I take at first a hesitant sip, then I start to gulp it down. I make myself reserve it; I don't have infinite iodine. I've not drunk all day. Tearing off a chunk of bread, I nibble on it slightly. It's somewhat stale. Not surprising, really. The bread's always stale.

I put the bread back in the crate and screw the metal lid back onto the milk bottle. I need to save food and water as much as possible. I felt so awful today. I hate bad luck, I hate it.

The sky's almost clear by the time I let myself have another piece of bread. Roughly 9 pm, it's a strong wind. I just sit there. Thinking. Sometimes I just need to stop running. I'm so, so tired. Of running. And it's been a long day. My bad luck nearly killed someone.

Eventually, I'm just too tired to stay awake any longer. Gingerly lying down, I curl up next to the wall, the crate next to me. I have a thin blanket, it was one of the more extravagant things I've had to steal. Try running away with a blanket in your hands, not easy. I pull the blanket over myself, tucking myself in tightly. Closing my eyes, I drift off into the world of nightmares.

My leg hurts. I just tripped over the lamp. Oh no, oh no. The bulb explodes. The thin floor of my house catches fire.

Then I'm running out as my home is up in flames. I'm so, so scared. My mother is following me. We're in the hallway. I can see the machine she was working on. It won't be repairable from the fire damage.

I'm lying on the road, knees and palms grazed. She pushed me.

Why isn't she outside?

I pull myself to my feet. She's trapped. She pushed me out from under a burning beam.

"MOM! MOM!" I run back. Arms restrain me. I fight against them, thrashing and kicking. "MOM! MOM! COME ON!"

"MOM!" I wake up screaming for her, thrashing like I did in the dream. My stuff's in disarray. Everything seems so quiet. I can hear my breathing, echoing and amplified below the bridge.

I hug my knees, burying my face in them, and begin to sob.