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❝ i know there's a blade where your heart is, ❞
❝ and you know how to use it. ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I CONTINUE RUNNING, PANTING AS I TRY TO FIND AN EFFECTIVE HIDING PLACE. AFTER A while, the sun starts to set, and I choose the back of a tree as temporary camouflage.
I wipe my used knife onto the grass, red liquid staining the ground. In all my hours of preparation, I hadn't realised how quickly the thirst to kill for survival came. I had planted my blade into a tribute without hesitation, putting my life over his.
The lack of guilt and empathy I feel dawns on me, and, biting onto my bottom lip, I think of the extreme measures I am obligated to apply to survive in here. This has been my first kill, and it certainly won't be my last.
Sitting at the roots of the large, thick tree, the realisation of how unhidden I truly am leads me to stand up, and eye the brown wood curiously. I could do what I practiced with Gale, in case any Peacekeepers came to disturb our illegal fun, when we were hunting in twelve.
I place my hands onto the sapling, and start climbing until I reach a lengthy, strong branch. I hoist myself up, ignoring the aching of my muscles, and not daring to look down at the ground. I put my two legs at either side of the branch, balancing my tired body. I make sure my knives are at no risk of falling from my belt, and, with one hand, open the green bag.
I slide my machete into it, but take out the other items, curious to see what I have been blessed with. A long rope, a pack of matches, a torch, a heated sleeping bag. I smile when I also notice a metal water bottle, quickly opening it, and somewhat disappointed at the lack of liquid inside.
My throat itches with thirst, and I know I need to start looking for a source soon, like a lake or a pond. Well, I certainly owe a thanks to the tribute I had taken this from.
Suddenly, the Capitol anthem jolts my entire body, like an electric shot. Lights appear onto the bubble containing the arena, and images of fallen tributes appear.
One.
Two.
Three. I count, with the use of my fingers.
My heart skips a beat when I recognise the boy that died at my hand. The boy I murdered. I tell myself it's important to remember that this is not my fault, but the Capitol's fault. They are the ones that put me in here. I couldn't let emotions guide my actions, only my determination to win. Ten tributes died today. Only thirteen left.
I try and focus on the positives. Peeta is clearly alive. So is Rue. And, for some reason, relief blossoms at my heart when Cato's picture doesn't appear in the sky. However, it's not that surprising, considering that he is a Career after all.
