The Eleventh Hunger Games~ A Mags Fanfic

Chapter Fifteen: Day Seven

It is I, NinjaFranbow! Gahhhh why do I suck at updating?!! Hopefully now that it is Winter Break I will have more time to update though :) (But then again, I am sure you all know my rather tragic updating skills by now--my apologies.)

1) December 24th is  the 2nd anniversary for The Eleventh Hunger Games! (Yay!!) (It is a bit sad that it's taken me two years now to write a fanfiction. Whoops) 

2) I've been getting so many awesome votes and follows lately from you lovely people and it just makes me so happy, so thank you very much and I plan on reading many of your stories over break! :)

3) This is a bit late but have you all seen Mockingjay part 2 yet? Ohmygodricshollow the ending had me sobbing. (Granted all of it had me sobbing, but the fact that it is over is just heartbreaking.)

4) Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy! 

4.5) Side note: The picture at the top is of a willow tree if anybody needs reference.

                                                                                     Chapter Fifteen

Day Seven

A few short days can do a surprising amount in the games. The weather that used to be a pleasant heat is now scorching the valley below; the container that had once been filled with dried apples and crackers has been reduced to nothing; the many bruises have become dark tattoos on my body, and the pain in my wrist has simmered to a burning throb. This only made my decision that much easier. My plan is to reach the trees on the outskirts of the all but empty valley before the day's end, but the sun that hangs in the dry air like a withered beast sucking away the energy from the world has already began to peak in the blue sky parched of clouds when I reach the bottom of the hill. Even the grass seems to be weeping under the heat.

A few short hours without food or water can do a surprising amount to a human, not to mention an injury and a trek through sweltering heat. My body feels almost delicate, as if a single breeze could blow me to pieces. Just a day or two ago I would have hated the thought of being so weak, so vulnerable, but now I just don't care. Fine, melt my brain, it's muddled enough as it is. Wither me to the bone, there is no food that could fill my stomach anyway. Dry me to nothing, not enough water could quench my thirst. I just don't care, anything to get out of this nightmare. I keep telling myself that this is the step that will be my last, that this is the one that will make me lie down on the valley and close my eyes and never wake up. Buy my feet betray me. They tell me that one step will be another foot closer to something. To safety? Maybe. To food? Water? Possibly. I don't know why, and I just don't care. The hill creeps a bit further away as I stumble through the grass yet it feels as if for every one step I take the trees take two steps away.

By the time I am a bit further to the trees I know the Gamemakers are messing with time. Time is man's worst enemy, so naturally it would come to their minds—as it often does—to twist it. I remember in one Games the sun was out for four natural days straight which, sure enough, led many tributes to go rather slightly insane. The sun continues to hang like a prop in the middle of the arena's pale blue sky, and I can't help but briefly think of what the actual time might be back in District Four. I can just picture the salty breeze flowing like silk through the night sky. In the distance there would be the silhouettes of ships on the ocean that is as smooth and dark as ink. The town would be quiet all but for the distant sounds of workers collecting fish on the horizon of the water. The thought is tainted with an air of melancholy but pushes me further anyway.