Saffra Wilshere, a sixteen year old girl, is chosen for the 72nd Hunger Games. From District 2, she is meant to join the Career pack, not only because everyone expects her to but because it is tradition.
However she doesn't want to join a group of m...
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C H A P T E R T E N
G I R L O F T H E W O O D S
Staying away from me, the girl shook her head and waved her hands in front of her. I didn't know who she was but her red hair and bright green eyes indicated that she was front district ten. It seemed as though she couldn't speak. I couldn't hurt her, especially not her.
When two cannons suddenly fired did the rain cease. Now we were both standing underneath the tree not sure of what to do. Fear was evident in her eyes as she stared me down. Her clenched hands proved that she was prepared to fight me if necessary. "I don't want to hurt you," I decided to say.
Pointing to her mouth, she shook her head. She was telling me that she couldn't speak, which was something that I was already aware of. "Why can't you speak?" I questioned her.
In a sawing motion she moved her right hand. She wasn't capable of speaking because her own tongue was cut out...
"The Capitol cut it out?" I wince.
She shook her head once more and pointed at herself. "You cut it out?!" I shriek.
Nodding she looked down at the ground in what looked to be shame. "But why?" I ask. I don't think I was asking her but instead asking myself why she did such a thing.
She gave me a tight lipped smile and only shook her head, making me think that maybe it was a story she was too ashamed of. Looking around us I decided that for now I would stick to her. This girl did survive to this point for a reason; so maybe she is more skilled than I think.
Taking her hand I guide her along with me to a spot by the stream, "Let's be allies, yeah?" I smiled.
A smile stretched across her pale face as she happily nodded her head. She would hopefully prove to be a useful adversary during these times. Giving her my bottle of water, I let her take a sip. She carried nothing with her, hence showing that maybe she survived this long because she didn't showcase any bravery to go into the Cornucopia. However along with noticing her lack of supplies, I also realized that I didn't even know her name.
"What's your name?" I ask her.
Picking up a nearby stick, and began to write in the moist sand at our feet. Once she was finished, the name 'Claire' was written out in round letters.
"Claire? That's a pretty name," I smiled at her.
She nodded her head before looking down at her written name before looking back up across the stream. Although in an arena filled with teenagers killing each other, she only looked at peace with where she was. It was painfully obvious that she knew that she wasn't going to make it out alive. The way that she held herself wasn't at all of self confidence but instead filled with knowing fear of how painful her death may be.
