The 150th Annual Hunger Games

Day Five (Morning)

Fate Greenridge's P.O.V. (D10)

A thin ray of sunlight escapes through the jungle canopy and beams down mercilessly on my face. I raise a hand to shield my eyes from it, but it's already done its work--waking me up.

I sit up and immediately become aware of an itching sensation covering my bare arms and neck. I frown and start scratching the irritated areas of skin. I groggily look at the ground as I yawn. Something curious catches my eye. I take a closer look and gasp, quickly snatching my pack and bolting to my feet. Surrounding my feet is a large, vine-like network of three-leafed plants. I was sleeping in a whole nest of the stuff that I can only identify to be the dreaded poison ivy.

I groan and scratch my cheek until it's red with claw marks. I move on to my neck as I find a clearing to look through my pack. And this time, I make sure to check for poison ivy before sitting down. I proceed to rummage through the contents of my bag, hoping to find some sort of ointment or cloth.

My prayers are answered as I find a small, white hand-towel. I screw the lid off my water bottle and peek inside. It's still half full, so I risk spilling some onto the towel. I wring out the excess water, doing my best to get it back into the bottle. I close up the water bottle and replace it in my pack.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and start walking whilst gently dabbing the cloth to my neck and arms. It doesn't do much, but it relieves some of the itching and it produces a soothing, cooling effect.

I guess I'll have to have more attention in the future when I'm finding somewhere to settle down for the night.

I can't believe it's only day five. It feels like it's been weeks, even though not very much has happened to me...yet. I hope nothing ever does, but nobody's that lucky. I know that I'll have to kill at some point if I want to win. The question is, would I be able to bring myself to actually do it when the time comes?

I shake my head, wiping the thoughts out of my mind. I don't want to make those decisions right now. I just want to be back in District Ten with Tate, move into a new house in the Victor's Village, and have a good rest of my life. A happily ever after every tribute in this arena dreams of. It's either that, or just the fame and fortune.

I freeze in my steps and whip around when my ears pick up the sound of a stick snapping behind me. It sounded reasonably far away, so I crouch down, hoping that the person or thing didn't detect my presence. My heart drops into my stomach as I hear another snap, much closer than the last one.

My trembling fingers wrap around the cold handle of my axe, tightening as the adrenaline and anxiety builds up inside me. I want to get up and run away so badly, but I don't know if it's too late.

Suddenly, someone yanks on my shirt from behind and clamps and hand over my mouth. I scream into the hand and kick my legs at the person.

"Shh!" a voice whispers harshly and I feel the grip on my shirt tightening, "Keep quiet. There's four tributes closing in on you. They've been following you all morning. Just keep calm and follow my lead, got it?"

I relax as I listen to the words. I can't believe I didn't realize I was being tracked. I wonder if this person is just lying to gain my trust.

Just then, I catch a glimpse of a sleek, black jacket, part of the prescribed arena clothing. The person holding me forces me to the ground whispering, "Stay low."

I can hear footsteps all around us. It's like we're being circled, but each set of footsteps is a fair distance from us at the moment.

I turn to get a glimpse of my supposed 'rescuer'. My eyes widen in alarm as I find that the person is the boy from District Five. He's the one who built the trap that killed Jordin.