𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 ❦ The Hunger Games

thirteen

☆ CHAPTER THIRTEEN! ☆
013. kill or be killed

|| STAY FROSTY ROYAL
MILK TEA ||
❝I testify if I die in my
sleep, then know
that my life was just
a killer dream.❞

➳➳

A HUMAN'S NATURAL instincts would keep them alive in water for around 2 to 3 minutes. They would hold their breath, paddle and move their legs hap-hazardly until the weight they were trying to sustain became too much or they simply couldn't keep themselves afloat. Then they would sink- after another 2 minutes they would drown and a cannon would sound.

I wasn't like that human, I was already breathing heavily when I entered the water. The tears that had been caught in my eyes were long gone and had been replaced with the sting from the salt water; it seemed like I had finally found a method to cope with my grief- all I had to do was put myself in a fight to the death and swim towards a rock where I would no longer have an option of drowning.

I didn't have time to calm myself down, or to try and make my breathing less sporadic, so I just did it.

I did make it to the slippery rocks connecting each tribute to each other; my hands gripped the rock so hard that when I pulled myself onto the land, I almost cut my palm open. It hurt, almost tenfold the amount it would of if my hand wasn't already bruised, but I wasn't in a position to complain about it. I was one of the lucky ones.

It seemed that Snow had picked water as a way to pick out the ones he wanted dead the most, such as those tributes who had never seen the ocean in their life- perhaps who had grown up around power and coal. But he had forgotten one part of the games, the part that kept all the Victors tied to the same piece of string until they pulled each other up, or the string snapped and they would be faced with so much more death. The President didn't think that someone would have taught me to swim, and he didn't expect me to learn so quickly.

Glancing sideways as I ran down my stretch of rock, I could see the top of Enobaria's head emerge from the water to my left. Her fingers were clinging onto the jagged surface as if it was some kind of shield from the other killers while a few others around me had taken the approach of sprinting to the Cornucopia to get supplies. What worried me was that no one ran into the woods to escape the blood bath that was bound to happen, everyone thought they could get out alive.

Someone had to be wrong.

Somebody had to be the first to spill blood all over the grey rocks, and it seemed as if I was one of those contenders as my short legs pummeled the rocks beneath my feet.

I was one of the first to the Cornucopia on my side, the ground was scattered with weapons that glistened in the sunlight even when they were left waiting to be picked up, and the ornate structure in the middle was cracked open. There were a few bags lying outside the structure and only the occasional steel weapon; they shone in the artificial sun the most.