The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 15

The boy from 7 is begging me, pleading with me not to hurt him as I straddle his chest, pounding mercilessly at his face as his blood spatters onto mine.

My father is here. He runs forward, trying to help me, but Clove sends a knife spinning into his eye.

Katniss is high in the tree, begging the Careers below while vines and creepers pin me, helplessly watching. Glimmer takes careful aim, and Katniss plummets to the ground, an arrow through her heart.

The Careers have Katniss. Cato holds me, arms pinned behind my back, as Marvel and Clove slowly carve her skin while she screams. I scream with her until Cato snaps my neck.

Each nightmare is worse than the last, I'm caught in an agony of all my worst fears. Every time I think it's over, something more horrible takes its place. At times I hear moans or cries and I'm pretty sure it's me. I can't think clearly, but I know I have to be silent. I bite my lip until I taste blood. I endure every nightmare I've ever had, and a good many I never thought to dream of.

My eyes open and I scan the twilit forest for whatever terror is coming next. My leg aches with a fiery throb and my head feels like it's in a vice. My body is wracked with pains and thirst is making me want to scream, but no horrors approach from the woods. Barely daring to believe it, I wonder if the venom has finally worked its way out of my system. Weak from thirst, hunger and blood loss, I feel hot tears of relief track down my face. At least I won't die caught in a nightmarish torment.

A sound makes its way through my slow and muddled thoughts. I open my eyes again and peer around me. I want to laugh, but I can't find the strength. I've been passed out for who knows how long right next to the clear, cold stream. It takes all my concentration, but I drop my hand into the rushing water and lift a palmful to my cracked lips. The chilly wet slides over my parched tongue and down my burning throat. I rest my forehead on the rock and feel a sob trying to work itself up my gasping windpipe. Wow, who knew there would be so much crying involved in my dying? My sob turns into a wheezing laugh and I feel my lips split as they pull back into a grimacing smile.

Get a hold of yourself! I think firmly. I can feel the tenuous grip I have on clarity, the delirium is threatening to take over. I force myself to drink more water, but it's exhausting and eventually I pass out again, grateful the darkness will hold only silence.

I wake again in the dark. This time I'm overwhelmed by the pain in my leg. It's as though one of the fireballs has caught me and is lodged between my thigh and hip. Moaning, I try to roll over, to ease the position, but this effort sets the forest to spinning wildly around me. I heave into the streambed, what little bile my stomach can produce is sharp and stringy. This can't be good. I've never been around a serious wound, I don't know the first thing about dealing with it. I can guess drinking water is a good idea, and despite the nausea I force a few handfuls down. Panting, I rest my forehead on the cool rock and try to think.

I obviously can't stay here. I imagine the only reason I haven't been found yet is the Careers are dealing with the tracker jacker venom as well. I'm totally exposed, lying out in plain sight and delirious. As soon as they are back on their feet they'll find me immediately. I think my dad will come with some bread though. He always brings me my favorite cinnamon toast when I'm sick. I open my eyes. What am I thinking? I have to fight the delirium, have to stay in control of my thoughts for a little longer. How long have I been here? The stiffness in my joints and the dryness of my mouth tells me it's been days. The jacket wrapped around my leg is dark with my blood and I'm repelled by how filthy it is. I think of disease and infection and with a disgusted grunt I reach to tear it away. The rock dips alarmingly and I feel myself wobble out of consciousness again.

The kitchen is so familiar and welcoming. The warmth of the fire and yeasty smell of baking bread mix with the chatter of my brother, Uri, as he tells about his day at school. It's pouring rain outside and the chill air through the open door is a welcome relief from the sweltering oven.