The Hunger Games: The Cry of Temperance

The Second Morning

Not much has happened in the past few hours. By everyone's surprise, they found themselves all safe throughout the night. Some groups got more rest than others while others remained restless.

There was a minority that gotten barely any sleep, as they continued to leave a trail behind them as they clutched onto his side. His eyes beginning to dim as they dropped by a trunk, looking out towards the horizon as all he was greeted with was the sight of the air that left a radiating effect.

Nucleo was beginning to get paler, his lips starting to turn blue and his eyes completely sunken and baggy from the amount of blood he had been losing. He had done his best to apply pressure onto his wound, and looked around for whatever he could find to patch up his wound. But nothing was coming.

His eyes were barely open, and the more he continued to walk around, the more blood had leaked out from his body. Eventually, it slowed down enough to where it was beginning to feel normal.

But he also felt an abnormal cold that infected the rest of his body, his eyes barely afloat as he leaned onto a tree trunk. The air, which remained still lukewarm, attacked his skin as if it had completely done an invert effect upon his body. His breathing fell shorter as he continued to hug at the tree, his eyes drooping as he continued to remain by the trunk.

Red had continued to contaminate the already polluted ground, leaving along a trail that had once been enlarged to one that had become thinner as he continued walk. His consciousness beginning to fade in and out as he looked out at the sky, the sky beginning to pick up even as it had been just a tint that had increased its volume.

The gray sky was slowly awakening, as a white had started to bleed through the weather.

How much longer could he quite wait for?

It was only a matter of time until all his blood finally trickled out of his body.

Infection had likely set in, his blood must have been tainted with the lack of clean resources in the environment. If it wasn't for the contact with the ground or even the ruined buildings which were full of rust and debris, the air quality would be lethal enough to destroy the rest of his body.

..And he didn't think he could stand up any longer.

So as he remained by the tree trunk, he couldn't help but wonder why the Capitol– who seemed to like him at first glance, didn't bother to send him anything.

Perhaps he'd felt entitled for feeling this way, but perhaps this was how he felt he was supposed to be rewarded in life.

His hand, dried in some parts and wet towards the center of his palm, as its metallic scent infected his mind was all he could think about– an overloading filled his mind as he curled up towards the trunk, bringing his hand up towards his eyes– as he could feel its crimson dripping down the sides of his cheekbones.

His life had been stripped from him the moment he was born, and perhaps it wouldn't be obvious by first glance. But people are cruel, very– so very cruel, and despite how kind he could have acted, people will always stab you in the back.

But from a young age, he knew this. So, play accordingly, and get the rewards in accordance. That was the only way you could live in Panem.

If you were kind, you would die. If you were cooperative, you would be manipulated. If you let your guard down once, people would use that against you.

Maybe he would always be viewed this way. Be seen as a good-for-nothing snob, but to him, perhaps this was the only way to live. The world punishes the unworthy and the worthy alike.