The Hunger Games: Foxface

Chapter Fifteen

Here in the Arena, night falls fast. They really want to finish these Games up and announce their Victor, so they changed the clock to make us disoriented. After my mini freak out after the cannon, the Panem seal appeared, explaining that the boy from 3 was killed, but only eight (including myself) are left. Katniss, Rue, and Peeta are all still alive, but Peeta probably won’t be for long.

 In the morning, after finding shrubs and eating a protein bar, I decided to back track to the Career’s old stash. Hopefully something will have survived from the explosion. Last night, I had a dream. Well, it was more of a memory. It was when Phoebe was living with me, Ember, and Papa - a year before her Reaping. Phoebe was cooking one of her best dishes: rice with flowers from a nearby cactus, and roots from another nearby plant. After we finished the delicious dish (which I’ve hadn’t had since she was Reaped), Phoebe began pretending to be a peacekeeper. She used the clean metal pot as a shield, and the kitchen knife as a gun (she kept the leather sleeve on it, of course). It was one of the funniest reenactments she did before she was taken from us. Phoebe has always been a jokester, even during the worst times. I awoke this morning with a smile on my face, which quickly disappeared once I realized just where I was.

Now, I’m going back to the old stockpile in search of anything that could help Katniss. It’s still pretty early, and all the Careers have left. No weapons that could be of any use are left, but there are still some things intact in the center. I throw some rocks to make sure that no mines are alive (none are, Thank you, Katniss) and make my way to the center of the old pyramid. 

There are many pieces of blown up boxes, knife handles, crates, fruit, and things that would have no use, until I see them: two shiny things that I just dreamed about. A metal pot, and a knife blade. I actually laugh aloud. I don’t even bother hiding it. I doubt anyone is here, plus I would already be dead if they were. I must have been laughing, with some tears, for a solid five minutes. Suddenly, I hear them: mockingjays.

“I told you to run, so we’d both be free,”  they call. I bolt towards the woods near the cliff, leaving the pot and knife behind. A blade would be no good, plus I have my own. The pot is useless, and extremely bulky. All I’m thinking about is that Katniss is in trouble, and I’m ready to leave the Arena once and for all.

I’m running, just as steady as I was for a long time: maybe for hours, when I finally see the parachute. I grab it, and open it. Suddenly, a whizzing sound comes by my right ear, and I dive to the ground. I look up to see the boy from 1 looking down at me, with the note that was for me. At least I think that was my parachute… But then again, they would have dropped it near me, unless Katniss will be coming this way.

“What does this mean?” The boy snarls at me. The note must be in another poem, one that only I would understand.

“I don’t know,” I snap back, “Maybe I should look at it.” I suddenly swing my leg across the ground to knock him onto his back. As he groans, he starts to get up, prepping his spear for me. To the right of me is a stinging plant. I grab the stem, pull, and run at his body, careful to keep the stingers away from me. My quick movements cause him to be momentarily paralyzed, most likely because he wasn't prepared, and doesn't know how to react. His surprise causes a slow reaction time, which causes him to be stung in his right knee. His knee swells, and he starts to stumble. I turn, and go. I’m running fast, knowing that he won’t be able to catch up. I suddenly see movement, grab my knives out of my belt, and come to a complete halt, waiting for the other Careers to attack.

It’s someone I wasn’t expecting: Rue.

“Run!” I yell. She’ll be killed. She follows my advice and runs right while I go left.

I stop at a stream and hide in the riparian vegetation. I haven’t heard anyone following me, and I made sure to cover my tracks. Suddenly, I hear a girl scream. Not a girl who is a cold-blooded murderer. Not a girl who had to grow up faster than she should have. No. This was a scream of an innocent girl. One that is the oldest of many siblings. One that just ran off in the opposite direction. Her scream is on me. I’m the one who told her to run, with out telling her where not to go. My logical side tells me that I didn’t know what was to the right. But my guilt is overpowering. We should have ran together. We could have protected each other. With out another moment to loose, I sprint towards the scream.