The End of Innocence: The 72nd Annual Hunger Games

The Finale

The chime sounds, indicating that the prize will enter The Arena soon. I wake up. Quietly, but ready. I don't want to move for a few seconds, but I open my eyes slowly and stare out at the forest that is still wet with rain lightly drizzling down. I exhale and I can see my own breath, it must be very cold. I rub my hands together. It must have been cold enough that my fingers have gone a purple colour from the climate outside. I could light a fire and warm myself up, but that'd be only a waste of the precious time I have left here. It would be an easy way out of this, Vickin and Cleeara would be over first thing and end me right there and then.

 I crack my knuckles and crawl out from the hollow centre that is in indented in the tree. It is a horrible place. A part of me has already given up that if death was to strike at this exact moment, I would be ready. My death has been prolonged from the minute my name was called back in 9. It has gone on too long and today will be the day. As I emerge, I stretch a bit and then zip open my bag to dump the contents on the floor.

Out comes my hatchet, instant iodine, Lesa's machete, a water bottle, Ion's rope, and a load of little twigs and leaves that must have entered from the numerous struggles I've encountered whilst being trapped here. I have two knives in my belt. This isn't enough. I chug down the remainder of my water - which is not much, but enough to hydrate my body for the next painful hour or so. I take the crackers and slowly chew them all down within a few seconds. Maybe it's fear getting to me at this stage, but I feel numb. I feel like an animal in an exhibit for those spectators to glare down on. I can feel them, I genuinely feel the eyes staring at me from every possible angle. At this point in the Games, the screen usually splits in three, allowing everyone to take their pick at who they want to see go first. I know back in 9, everyone will be huddled in the Square to watch my last moments. It has been quite a while since a Tribute from District 9 has reached the final three.

The sky looks pretty, though. The rising of the sun paints the sky an orangey-reddish colour. The trees and grass are wet enough that I can see the water dripping off of them. The birds fly above silently. It's beautiful. Lesa's words ring in my ear. "Painfully beautiful." I know herself and Ion will want me to win over these fuckers anyway, they would want anyone to win over them. Their deaths are stuck to every single thought I have. The arrow, the slice of her throat, their eyes, repeat.

Now that I think of it, what if Cleeara didn't attend The Feast because she's preparing? What if she's actually okay and in top health? Two strong, older teenagers against a tiny weak - but deadly - child. She could have known from the start it would have been myself or Lesa in the final three against her crown. They could be already there at the Cornucopia, they could have already drank it and I'm a sitting duck. The odds are certainly not in my favour.

I put the rest of my items back in my bag. I hold the hatchet in one hand, and the badly bent machete in the other. I don't have a clue what I'll need the rope for but maybe it might come in handy. I have to walk. As soon as my left foot takes off the floor, the second chime sounds, indicating that the antidote will be revealed even sooner. I pick up my pace as I duck and cover under dripping wet branches until I can see the field in plain sight. It lies desolate, inviting but bleak. I tread carefully, still making sure I'm not tripping over anything or making any sudden movements.

I come to a large oak tree that's saving me from view from the field, if they're in it already, they won't be able to see skinny me. I don't really know what to do next, it's painful trying to plan out the last minute of your life. I would love to know what Caesar and Claudius are telling the audience at home. I would love to know what the feeling is in The Capitol, people ready to crack open a bottle or others ready to cry if their favourite Tribute doesn't emerge victoriously.

The birds suddenly stop singing. The wind stops blowing, the end is coming. I can feel it. The Gamemakers want us to know it is. I hold my weapons tight in both hands. Sweat drips down my forehead, am I actually getting nervous? Who wouldn't to be honest. I've experienced every emotion in the past two days. I peek my head out to take in the view and I see nothing.