Collections of Embellished Fictions, Philosophies, and Poetry

Diary of a Volunteer

December 3. 2018.

Day 1

Dear Diary,

I'm panicking. It's been a few hours since I've stepped off my plate and I'm running for my life. I got an array of knives; thank god I've had experience beating people up in the shadows and slicing animal limbs. On second thought, that sounds kind of sadistic, but I do it to teach people a lesson. Or, at least I think I do. Anyway, right now my legs are starting to give in and they are shaking. Whatever breakfast I had eaten, which wasn't a lot, has already vanished and I'm starving. Maybe I won't have to be killed. I could just die of hunger, though pain over time is worse than a quick sting and darkness. Suicide would have been an option, and although I've beaten up grown men, that scares me more. Poison, perhaps? No, I'm too much of a coward. I have no food or water, and I'm sure the Gamemakers have made the arena heat up on purpose so all of my fellow tributes, including me, will be dehydrated. The sun is beating down on me, and what's worse is that it looks about high noon. I'm hearing screams, and that's the last one I hear for a while. I'm aware that the initial bloodbath is over. Finally. I know I have to get up and run, even though my body is trembling. Food and water is probably my only chance of survival now, and hiding in the shadows of the forest. Fight, flight, or food. Right now, all I need is food and flight. Fight can wait for another day. I'm going to keep running, and I hope I find water on my way. I can see a stream, and now I'm running towards it. Maybe I'll survive the first day after all. I'm taking big gulps and I feel like I've regained my vigor. I'm still shaking from exhaustion but at least I have some water in me. I guess now I can do what I do best. Hide in the shadows and kill. I'm carefully packing my knives in my jacket, so none of them will slice my flesh later. I'm sure that my mother wouldn't want to see that. She's my reason to live, and knowing she's rooting for me to win is probably the only other reason that's keeping me from killing myself. I think I'll search for food now.

Day 3

Dear Diary,

Two more people died tonight. There's nine of us left, and I can almost imagine my mother staring wide-eyed in front of our television. I'm imagining her eyes staring, an emotionless expression on her face. If I die, she will be more cold-hearted than me and more than she already is, and her light brown eyes will have turned gray and dull. Like mine already have. I have a bad feeling, and that's saying something because usually nothing bothers me. I'm turning around and I'm trying to keep silent. I can hear the Careers from the bush I'm hiding in. Sounds like they're creating a plan to kill. Of course. What else would they be doing? I'm going to listen closer. They're talking about how they are going to kill each other. Gruesome much. I really don't want to hear more about their sociopathic plans so I won't eavesdrop on them anymore. Besides, why would I have to know how they are going to kill each other if I'm the one to kill them first? It's been a few minutes and they are finally on their way. Thank god. I was getting tired of them shouting about who was going to live. One of them stays behind, though. I recognize this as a chance to eliminate one of them. It would be my first kill, wait, no, technically my fifty-ninth kill, but who's counting? Anyway, the guy keeps standing there and I take this opportunity. I silently take out a serrated knife with a wicked point and send it flying through his head. It pins him to the tree he's standing next to, and honestly, it's getting harder to stifle my laughs when they die. I'm teaching them a lesson, and it still amuses me when they are too oblivious to notice the mistakes they're making. Killing an ally is sick, and according to me, that is punishable by death. I hear the cannon fire and I walk in the opposite direction the Careers have gone. As much as I want to, I can't kill them just yet. It'd be too risky, and I really want to see my mother again. I really want to make her happy by coming home.