The 73rd Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 17- Leaving

I woke up in a clearing, with sun streaming on my face, the morning sensation so much like the morning I got reaped. It almost seemed like a different world from then, seemed like a lifetime ago. I felt sticky blood dried on me, not sure if it was mine or Harper's. It was definitely getting more dry as the sun went further up into the sky, searing the day with heat. It was definitely the hottest day in the arena yet.

The events from yesterday flew through my mind, at a mind numbing pace, making me dizzy. We killed a friend. But speaking of we, I remembered Cyrus.He was curled up beside me, his back to my back. I remember promising myself that when the next tribute died, I'd go off on my own. But I didn't want to anymore.

I forced myself to rise, and I wearily packed all of my stuff into the backpack. I walked down to the river, intent on becoming clean. I shuddered at the sight of the churning white water, fearing the coldness, but it was a fairly hot day. It couldn't be bad.

I took off all of my clothes except for my undergarments and lowered myself into the lukewarm water, which is the worst in my opinion.

See, if it's a hot day, I like swimming in cold water. If it's a cold day, I like swimming (Or showering, when possible) in hot water. But lukewarm on a hot day makes it too hot, and lukewarm water on a cold day is too cold.

I splashed the water on myself, and rubbed the sticky blood off of my extremeties. I rubbed my face underwater, and made sure I wasa clean. I even swam around for a little bit, enjoying the feel of the water aganst my skin.

"You remind me of a fish, you know that?" Cyrus said, materializing on the riverbank with his feet in t the water.

I inwardly yelped, not wanting to make too much noise. And if the cameras were on me,  I didn't want to look like a sissy.

"Uh.... can you give me the rest of my clothes so I don't feel any more violated than I already feel?" I asked surely.

"Okay," Cyrus tossed me my clothes, and I caught them above water. "Though, I don't see why you're violated, since you're still wearing your underclothes, AND I'm pretty sure we've all seen people wearing much less clothes than you during the parade around the Training Center this year. AKA District 12." I could imagine the laughter from the Capitol, and the attention that the stylist must be getting. I'm sure nobody wanted to see the stark naked tributes this year. I swam to the shore further down the bank, and put the clothes on.

I walked back t Cyrus and sat down, putting my feet in the water. The only difference- he was still spattered with blood and I wasn't.

Cyrus cleared his throat and the silence at the same time. "So, you planning on leaving?"

"What gave you that idea?" I asked unconvincingly.

"Come on. All of your stuff is packed up, and you left without telling me. I know." He said.

I felt tiredness overwhelm me, sick of goodbyes. I've had more goodbyes in the past two weeks than in my whole life. I leaned my head on Cyrus's shoulder. "I don't want to."

"I know," He said quietly. "But we all have to sometimes."

He put his head on mine, and we watched the reflection of the sun in the river stretch lazily across the hot afternoon sky.

He started hummming a remarkably old song, one from my early childhood. It struck something in my memory and I hummed along with him. I was surprised that I even remembered the words. Then, even when we weren't quite done with the song, the mockingjays joined in. They haromonized, and created deep melodies, reminding me of the sky and water, and glass. All of beautious origins. The music swelled, overwhelmed, magnified, and encircled us.

The mockingjays were long gone before either of us spoke again. "I just wish... I wish that it could be....... different," I said.

"What do you want to be different?" He asked.

"This whole situation. The Games. Meeting you. Going to die," I said, sadly.

"Oh. Well, for me, I wouldn't change a single thing." Cyrus said.

"Even the 'having to die' part?" I asked.

"If it meant dying for something I believe in, or someone that I love, then I'd do it any day." He said. I began to understand Cyrus, but it was too late. The sun was going to set soon. And with the sun, our alliship should set too. But I didn't want to leave. I coundn't. I can't. I have to.

Cyrus felt me stir. "I know. We need to part. We don't want to end up killing wach other."

So we silently trudged back to our camp, and split our rations and supplies in half. Half for me, half for Cyrus.

He let me keep the backpack, since he'll be staying in mostly the same place. When everything was sorted, he tood up, face to face with me.

I looked into his startling green eyes, and couldn't help the tears from escaping my eyes. His eyes grew misty, but I could tell he was forcing himself to be strong. I threw myself at him, and gave him the tightest hug in history. My tears quickly stained his shirt, and soon, it stuck to his skin.

"I wish it could be different," I said.

"I still wouldn't change a thing. As long as I end up where you're at, I'm happy." He said.

I smiled and wiped my nose, facing him. "Don't have an episode. It'll be bad for the both of us."

"And if either of us sees the other fighting, help them out," He said.

"And never forget me when you win," I said, feeling the pressure of tears forming.

"No, you'll win, definitely. And don't cry again. It hurts me." He laughed.

"The why do we have to split up?" I smiled sadly, knowing the answer already. I picked up the back pack. "So, now that I'm gone, are you gonna go all brute on the rest of the tributes, win the games, and marrry a Capitol model?" I asked, backing away through the forest.

He replied with one word. "Maces."

I smiled and walked along the riverside about fifty yards upstream. I sat down, and pulled out my trident, hungry. I hadn't realized how little I've eaten since I've entered the arena.

I was about to catch a fish when a bloodred-orange lit up the world. I looked over to see the most stunning, incredible sunset I've ever seen. It was yellow, with rings of orange, red, and gold. The rest of the sky was tinged with pink and purple, hardly any blue.

I wondered if Cyrus was watching the same sunset, wondering if it was the last one he'd see.

I wondered if my family was watching it. If it was even the real sun, even.

Then, I made a pact with myself, in the eyes of me, and god only. That no matter if I leave dead or alive, tomorrow will be my last night in the arena, mark my words.

I just hope that eitherr Cyrus or I win. But that's highly unlikely. The only other tributes are careers.

But if I can shoot a trident clean through a dummy, I can wound a human. And that will be the only guidelines I live by tomorrow.

And you can mark my words on that, too.