The Third Tribute

Chapter nine: Clove's Wrath

With a lack of any plan at all, I freeze. If I don't move, I can quickly come up with a plan with no one noticing I'm here, think.

I catch sight of Peeta, dashing straight into the woodland. And I see a glimpse of Gale, sneaking behind the arguing careers to snatch a pack. And lastly, I see Clove, marching in my direction, bloodthirsty. With no plan whatsoever, I run. To where you may ask? I do not know. I act on impulse, and rush the most welcoming place there is: the forest. I stumble over a small bag latched onto a dead boy, and being the only one in the area for at least twenty feet, I quickly remove it from his back, and steal the knife jabbed in his side for later use. I dart into the undergrowth and pray she doesn't come any nearer. Unfortunately, she does. Only a step away from my hiding place, she taunts me.
"Where are you, girl on fire? What is it? Your little boyfriends couldn't come save you? Well, that's a shame. Too bad they won't get to see you again," she caresses her knife, knowing I am surely watching in hiding. But what she doesn't realize, is that I have a knife too. As she steps even closer to me, I aim my blade just over her ankle, on the foot that almost landed on my hand. She looks around, and when she sees me, she attempts to stab me with her blade. But I am faster than her. I slice her calf open, and she crumbles to the ground in agony. I form a twisted grimace, and I sprint further into the unknown wilderness as Clove calls to her allies.
When I glance back, Cato is furiously cleaning Clove's wound, and he hasn't seen me yet. So I do the only thing I can do: I run. I get as far from there as I can, knowing that Clove will surely have me brought back dead to her allies.

Peeta once told me that his favorite color is orange. Not a vibrant orange, more like the sunset. I see the colors that remind me of him reflected into the sky the next morning, and they remind me that Peeta was right. He told me he wanted to take in every last sunset, because he could count how many were left for him on his fingers. Now I know why, because I now truly comprehend the beauty of such a thing in a tragic time. I begin to rummage through my pack for the first time, and I find various treasures. I've now got an extra jacket, a pack of crackers, and a water bottle. I twist open the bottle to see if it is filled, and it isn't. In my pack I also discover a camouflage tarp and a few small bandages. To reward myself for walking all night, I eat two crackers and climb into a nearby tree. Today I will rest. I tell myself. And so I drift off into a sleep, even though it's only dawn.
I wake at noon and I sit for a minute before making myself go through my pack and prepare for the hunt I intend to have. I finally manage to get myself moving despite my dehydration and fatigue, and I climb to the ground. My walking, while shaky, is manageable. I catch sight of a rabbit off to my left, and I hazily arm myself with my knife, ready to attack it. I step closer, but in my sleepiness I stumble over a tree root in front of me, and the rabbit runs out of my view.
"Dang it!" I mutter under my breath. That was the first bit of game you've seen yet, stupid! I imprecate.
It's only when I collapse in misery that I realize I've been walking blindly. In my struggle to stand again, my malnourishment gets the best of me.
Maybe I could just die here.
I'll probably die anyway.
Besides, what is there left to live for?
At least this way I die less violently.
I'll never see Gale again.
Yes, but if he dies you will.
I'll never see Peeta again.
He can do without me.
I'll never see Prim again.
Why does it matter? It's one less mouth to feed.
So why not just die here?
This isn't such a bad place to die.
There is no sorrow, no desperation here.
The birds are chirping sweet songs, and the forest is alive with beauty.
If I am to die, I want to die here.
I want to die.
I want....
And everything turns the same terrifying yet soothing color: black.