Crippled - 74th Hunger Games fan fiction

A thank you.

I watch her as we walk. Her breath comes in short, regular gasps, her stride steady. Her sharp green eyes flicker to and fro amongst the looming foilage which shrouds us.

"Did you get anything at the cornucopia?" I query quietly, keeping my own eyes trained on the leafy expanses. Watching.

An attack could come from anywhere.

"Not really," she flicks a strand of hair from her face. "I would have died if I fought."

"We have nothing, then." I quip, blandly, my tone cold.

"You have a sword. And I got this," she slides a packet of thin, wafer like crackers from the inside of her sleeve.

I don't have the heart to tell her they won't last long.

"We need to find food. And water." I say, ignoring the rough scratching at my throat. She nods in agreement, but her stomach growls quietly.

My eyes dart at the packet of crackers that peek from inside her jagged sleeve. I swallow.

"It'll get dark soon," I say flatly.

"We need to keep going, though." she cocks an eyebrow, her gaze switching to me. "We have to find water somehow, and the careers..." she doesn't need to finish the sentance. I nod in agreement, although the movement sends brief, jarring stabs of pain through my neck. We need to go on.

"Look," she whispers suddenly, her eyes flying to a patch of trees above us. Mine follow her gaze, resting upon a dark shadow beneath the leaves.

"What is it?" I mutter darkly, gripping my sword tighter. She shrugs.

"Leave her be."

I arch an eyebrow cynically. "Her? There's a girl up there?"

"Rue Seran," she whispers dismissivley. "District 11. Five foot eleven. Skinny as a bone. She's no threat."

"Maybe you underestimate her," I murmur back. "We should kill her. That's one less competitor to worry about."

She shakes her head. "Twelve years old, Otto. No prior training; let her live."

I shrug again, tossing her a grimance. "Fine. If that's what you want," I mutter; trudging onwards, sword still clenched in my sweaty fist.

She follows, watching me intently. "You'd have done it, wouldn't you?" she whispers, after we've distanced ourselves. I continue to avoid her steely gaze.

"Done what?"

"Killed Rue."

"Killed the tribute." I correct gently. "A word of advice - don't think of them as people. Just meat. Skin and bones. Makes it easier." I grit my teeth together.

"To what? Murder them?"

"It's the hunger games," I reply flatly.

"But she's twelve - weak, helpless -"

"And?" I cut across. "One less competitor. That's all."

There's an eerie silence as she ponders upon my brittle words. I watch my feet, avoiding her cool gaze. Rhythmic, trudging feet, steady, crunching soundlessly at the ground.

"You've killed before - haven't you?" she whispers, her voice cracking slightly, hitching unsteadily. I can sense her fear; follow her thought patterns. She's seeing me as a threat now: Otto's killed. Otto will kill. Anyone.

"Animals," I swallow a lump in my throat.

"Right. District ten. Cattle." she explains to herself quickly, self assured, composed.