Grain & Blood | A Hunger Games collection

Cold blood

 My eyes drift open as the memory disappears. Those were good days, a good place that I could go back to. I might not ever get to but I have a chance, a chance which is now pretty big. At the start of the games, I didn't want to survive, I wanted to Robin to. Home seemed like a place of dreams, now it's just around the corner but the street is blocked off, and I'll have to take the long way around.
I stand up and dust myself down. There are leaves all throughout my hair and the blood from my arm is covering the left side of my coat, so I really need to patch that up with the medical supplies I got from the careers.
A couple of minutes later and I have a bandage tied down my arm and the cut is disinfected.
What are the people in the Capitol thinking? They're probably already bored out of their skin, even though there was a chase literally 20 minutes ago. And what about everyone at home? Are they proud of me for making it this far? Or are they mad at me for not saving Robin in time? Because I know I am.
Victory seems to be right in front of me, but held in a box that needs to be broken through. And that box is the courage to go and kill the careers. I don't want to, but I'm going to need to do it to get out of here alive.
My self- confidence levels have risen lots since the start of the games. Just a few days ago I though I would find certain death in Kamalyn, but now I'm taking my chances so often that I don't really care about her anymore. Sure, it could end as I've always thought, but maybe not. Maybe I could defeat her and get away, get back home, or maybe she'll kill me and I'll join Robin in the realm of the dead. Though if there is such thing as heaven I definitely won't end up there, I've killed 6 people for the Capitol's entertainment, and another one in cold blood when I was 11.

I can remember that day so vividly, the August sun beating down and the faint breeze did nothing but ruffle the crops during harvest. That day, I had been working since sunrise in the fields, collecting wheat and other grains with a sickle. And to be honest the peacekeepers manning the entrance and the collection stand didn't really care how much we collected as long as it was at least 3 basket fulls. And there I was, at 3 in the afternoon, about to finish, 5th basket at the ready and in line at the hand in station when one of the other workers, he hated me so much, pulled my basket off my back and threw it straight into the peacekeeper's face.
This wouldn't be a problem if the baskets weren't named. But they are, and a very wheaty peacekeeper who has been whacked in the head with your basket is not a good peacekeeper. That's the kind of peacekeeper that wants you dead.
Their uniform is protected from any kind of attack, making them very safe. And making me the most likely person to die from a single shot to the head.
So I did the only thing at that point that I knew how to do.
I threw the sickle straight into the other worker's chest.
After that I'm not sure what happened. I think the peacekeeper realised that I was an 11 year old girl and didn't throw the basket, and luckily I don't think he saw me kill he man with the sickle. But he saw the man die, yes, and probably thought he was the one who threw the basket.
That's the story of the first time I ever killed someone.

Thinking back, I'm surprised the peacekeeper didn't kill me immediately. But under the uniforms they're all people, some of them I knew personally. To be honest that peacekeeper was probably Oscarius, who has been a family friend since before I was born.
I just want to go home.

Ight well sorry for no update yesterday. That's all I have to say.

-Katherine