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❝STILL LATELY I BEGIN TO SHAKE FOR NO REASON AT ALL❞
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WHEN I KNOW PEETA'S eyes are no longer full of their usual, lively shimmer, I let the suppressed sobs leave my trembling lips. The Hunger Games were not only physically challenging, but emotionally too. The arena made you feel like a Capitol slave, bending to their desires and entertainment, when the sole thing bringing you to do such actions was the distant memory of home.
Peeta Mellark was a piece of my district, my people. He didn't deserve to perish in the way he did, at my hopeless hands. His infected injury must have caused him inimaginable pain and horrific nights. I was glad he could have at least gone with a piece from home too, with someone that understood.
I knew that his death was bound to happen in the arena, yet, I didn't want to leave his lifeless body. Instead, I lay down, and my salty tears drench his shirt as I put my head onto his chest. For a minute, I imagine he's still alive, coercing me to sleep and making sure I was okay.
However, the stiffness and unresponsiveness of his body interrupt my day dream and I am brought back to this ruthless, inhumane world, slowly ripping me to pieces.
I repeat the same action that I had done at Rue's death. I lift my three fingers in the air, anger clear in my eyes. This was all so unfair. None of the children here deserved to die in this way, simply for Snow to use us as his own, personal instruments to mark his power. I kiss Peeta's forehead one last time, and leave him sleeping peacefully onto the floor, away from the world's horror. Safe and Sound.
I make my way through the woods, taking awareness of my surroundings, my eyes brimmed with the reminder of my tears. I swipe the wetness on my face away, trying to find a nice spot for me to sleep tonight.
After a few minutes, I decide one particular tree, high enough to dissimulate me from any forth comer by safe enough for me to exit in case of emergency.
I climb it with no problem, even though my hands bleed against the wood, a number of little scars decorating my skin. I do notice that my whole body functions at a slower pace, cramps and bruises forming everywhere.
When I've perched myself onto a secure branch, I open my bag and take out what I seem to have left on food, which isn't much. I make a note to myself to hunt tomorrow. I've finished everything in a dangerously short amount of time, licking the residue off my fingers. I gulp down the little water I have left, the rest having gone into Peeta's mouth.
I felt guilt. Guilt for spending time in a sombre cave when I should have gone to his immediate rescue. Guilt for not anticipating the urgency of his situation. Guilt for the other tributes I had killed too, never pondering on the impact of their loss on others.
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I stare up at the dark sky, waiting for it to inform me about how much of us are currently still alive, still fighting. I adjust myself on the tree, trying to get as comfortable as possible against the prickly wood. I tighten the rope, allowing myself to feel somewhat safe, and not at high risk of falling during my sleep.
