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It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
If the arena had seemed like a fantastical nightmare, it was now beyond the capacity of reasoning to Cassia. After Azalea and Lark died, she found the nights longer. To be exact, it made the two days that had passed longer. Or at least, she thought so. Time was also beginning to be lost to her. She sometimes caught herself sitting in a tree, high up enough where the branches started to become flexible. Waiting for hours in the unrelenting sun, tanning her face, causing sweat to drip down her temples. She would remain there, not exactly knowing what she was waiting for. For a tribute to find her, to end her suffering; for a Gamemaker to dart her with a lethal injection; to unleash a mutt on her; for her mind to rouse from the nightmare she was surely captive in.
Two days had passed. Azalea and Lark were dead. Cassia was running low on food and she didn't care. It was important for her survival that she ate, but something rooted her to a branch in one of the massive oaks—feet dangling, hair matted to her face, injured finger dark blue and splotchy with red; though finally she grabbed a twig and made a splint for it. She had forgotten that part of training. She couldn't move it anymore, the finger. From a medical perspective, she was likely losing circulation in it. She wondered what her hand would look like without the finger, how she would manage grabbing onto things.
In the frayed light spilling in from between the leaves, she lifted the hand and admired how the light danced on her scraped and bruised skin. Uselessly thin was her skin, showing the sprawl of blue veins and blood vessels all throughout, working under the flesh to keep her alive.
What day is it? she wondered. Why won't someone come and find her? No, she didn't want to be found. Leaning her head against the trunk, she relished in the sharp edges of the bark biting into her scalp.
Mad, she was going mad. Surely what she was feeling was madness. However, as she stared at her malnourished hand, she could only feel a sense that something was coming and she wouldn't be able to stop it when it arrived. It was impending, like the feeling of waiting for the first snow of the season to fall. She had only ever seen snow once when she was younger, as it is very rare for it to snow in Four, but when the skies had gone grey and the air drew in tight and bitter, everyone had held their breath; some praying it would come and some praying it would pass, yet all of them were waiting for the snow to fall.
Fall from the tree—maybe that's what she would be waiting for. Has anyone ever tried to kill themselves from jumping from a tree in the Games? Would it work? Surely a broken bone or two would happen, but it would have to be a dangerous drop to be able to crack more than an arm or rib.
The trident glinted from the sun in a cluster of bushes she had hid it in. Annoying thing. She turned her gaze from it.
"Cassia." The voice came from twenty-five feet below, a bit away from the trident.
