BLEEDING ⭒ the hunger games¹ [DISCONTINUED]

twenty-four ⭒ i am whole again

TWENTY-FOUR _ I AM WHOLE AGAIN

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STARTING LINE _ LUKE HEMMINGS

❝i wake up every morning with the years ticking by, i'm missing all these memories, maybe they were never mine. i feel the walls are closing, i'm running out of time- i think i missed the gun at the starting line.❞

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MASON IS THE only face in the sky tonight, but sometime in the early morning, another cannon sounds. It doesn't wake me up, since I was never asleep, but it catches me off guard enough to make me flinch.

The gamemakers seem to be making the arena colder and colder at nighttime, but hotter and hotter in the daytime. I shiver as I rub my hands together, pressing them to my face for any morsel of warmth. 

My stomach rumbles, my mouth dry. The sky begins to lighten, the temperature rising, so I stand and shake my creaky bones awake. 

I take a quick walk to the small stream I found yesterday and use my dirty hands to cup the water and drink it straight from it's source. It's probably poison, but could I care less?

Then, I use the morning to scout for any kind of food source. I trek the forest, once in a while seeing a lizard or a bird, but being too slow and uncoordinated to catch anything.

Finally, after hours of cursing at my dimness and preparing to give up, I spike a frog right in it's belly. I'm so giddy with excitement I forget how to make a fire for a while and just end up piling sticks together and waiting for something to happen. After realizing my own stupidity, I manage to get something going, and it's past lunchtime when I finally begin to cook the measely frog which has become more and more unappetizing the longer I look at it.

The smoke swirls upwards until it reaches the canopy of trees above, where it then disperses into small clouds and disappears into the sky. I twirl the frog on the spit absent-mindedly, watching it's green colour slowly fade into a light golden brown. Slowly, I reach out and brush my fingers along it's charred skin, standing and stumping out the small fire as I take a large bite out of the frog.

The taste resembles that of chicken, but if it was sticky and oily, even when cooked to the point of burning. It's grim, but i'm so desperate that I eat it all in nearly five seconds. My stomach isn't even close to satisfaction- it still growls like thunder and aches with protest each time I move.

The sky is turning a mellow orange, so I scout for a tree to sleep in. Last night was risky- just sitting on the ground like that, but I don't think I'll be so alert tonight.

As I graze my hands over the rough bark, gripping it tightly as I ascend upwards, I begin to retrace my steps from the morning- the cannon that shook me awake. I didn't even register it in the moment, but could that have been Caspian? Or Jax? Or Winnifred? Or was the death in my favour? Was it one of the careers? I won't have to wait long to find out.

I find a long, sturdy, thick branch to call home, and use the rope I have fastened around my waist to secure myself against the wood.

Finally, I try to find a moment of peace here. To turn away from these games and wind down. Obviously, it's near impossible considering the nature of these things- how do I know that a gorilla won't swimg down while I have my eyes closed like this? What if there's a lizard nibbling at my rope? Or a tiger lying wait in the shrubbery below?

In through the nose. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Out through the mouth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

It's the breathing pattern Araminta taught me for when the stress gets too high or when the heat is running rings around my brain. I feel giddy with the sudden rush of oxygen- it's almost addictive. When was the last time I allowed myself to let go like this?