And we run

Let the Games begin!

I ascend into the games like a rabbit into a den of hyenas. Just like in my dream, they glance around, scanning the twenty-four tributes for dangers and weaknesses--and targets. 

To my left is the greasy boy from District Six, whose name I don't remember. He stares into the cornucopia like it contains an immortality elixir--which it may as well, housing the weapons that could mean winning the games. 

On my right stands Apollo, back straight and expression serious. He glances around at the other tributes and then scans the cornucopia, looking for anything that could be useful to him. 

I look around the arena, smiling just the slightest bit as I notice the large ocean spanning half of the arena. In the very center of the wide watery expanse stands a single island, big enough for a large group of tributes to stay--though not big enough for anyone to hide on. 

It's sandy, with two tall palm trees waving in the breeze. My heart pangs as I turn away from the beautiful paradise, knowing that as much as I would like to go there, to spend my final moments near the ocean, I can't. That it's much too open, that more likely than not the careers will set up there, and I can't risk it all like that. 

On the other side of the arena there is a forest, which seems to be quite common. I've seen it in plenty of Games before. 

But it's good, too, because within the trees there has to be a good hiding place. Somewhere I can be, peacefully, without anyone seeking me out and trying to kill me. 

Maybe everyone will forget about me. Maybe no one will remember I exist and am still alive until the final four or even three. 

By then, the careers would remember me; of course they would. But maybe, if I hid well enough...

No, the last two tributes would not kill each other off. That wouldn't happen. More likely, I would be hunted down by the strongest of the twenty-four tributes, victory a hair away, yet impossible to reach. 

I won't survive this without killing. More likely, I won't survive this at all. 

The loud voice sounding out through the arena, deep yet not female like in my dream, begins to count down from ten. 

My entire body tenses, and I see others around me doing the same. Terra's gaze lands on my just for a second, and we lock eyes. 

And then she looks away, stretching one leg back as if to run. 

I decide I will not go towards the cornucopia, whatever valuable items it may hold. I'll retreat into the forest. I'll get as far away from everyone else as I can. And then, I will live. Somehow. 

A loud cannon marks the beginning of the games, and I run. 

The forest is straight ahead of me, so I have to find my way through the soon-to-be crowd of tributes around the cornucopia. As I run, I reach down and grab a backpack from the ground, slipping it onto my shoulders without sparing a thought as to what may be in it. It doesn't matter, anyways. 

Wind whistles in my ears; ground thundering beneath my already-aching feet. I'm not used to running, never really having a reason to, when I was younger. There was plenty of reasons to go swimming, which I often did--maybe I should have tried to go to the ocean. 

But no, the ocean would have meant death, no matter how fast of a swimmer I am. 

And still, in this arena, anything could mean death, couldn't it?

A tribute appears in front of me, tall and angry and confusingly shirtless. I recognize him: Tupelo from District Seven. His brief confidence from the reaping carries onto into this moment, but so does the look behind his eyes that reveals that he is terrified. 

"Don't do it," I say, panting from overexertion, my feet sliding to a stop to avoid slamming into him, eyes flickering from his face, to the javelin in his hand, to, disappointingly, his abs, which I'm sure he was very eager to show off. 

Tupelo smiles, his chest caving in and out with each breath. His teeth are yellowish and chipping, and I shiver, stepping backwards, looking for a direction to run where he won't be able to catch me, not finding any.

He raises the javelin, and then his arm falls and so does the rest of him, an arrow protruding from his left eye, the right wide in eternal surprise. 

I spin, awaiting an attack, but find only Terra, lowering her bow and smiling, just slightly. My pack slips off my shoulder, landing with a thud on the dirt.

But that doesn't matter, does it? This boy just died. He's dead, and he is never coming back. 

I rush over to Tupelo, logically knowing that there will not be a cannon yet, because the original bloodbath has just begun, but still holding on to that slight chance that he is alive. 

The arrow went through his skull. Tupelo is dead. 

I pull it out carefully, almost retching and then tossing it to the side when I see the blood and other matter on it. I lean over his body then, hot tears dripping down my cheeks. 

I didn't kill him, but I practically did, didn't I? If it hadn't been for me, he would be alive right now. Terra only shot him because of me. 

Terra. I am reminded of her existence just in time for her to stand behind me, grabbing my shoulder with just a little bit of gentleness. I stand quickly, her hand falling to her side, dejected but nowhere near defeated. 

"Come on, Daphne," she says, and her tone is not whiny as much as it is determined. "We've talked, and you're joining us."

I don't question who 'we' is, though knowing which district Terra is from, I have a pretty good guess. 

I nod, head swimming, maybe with shock or maybe just exhaustion. Either way, it is not a good feeling. 

Behind the blonde girl before me, atop and around the cornucopia, tributes fight to the death. They stand and they fall, trailing blood and remorse. 

It takes me a moment before I am enough of a right remind to provide her with any answer other than slack-jawed silence. For a while, my eyes are focused on the tributes before us, fighting each other to the death for the title of victor only one of them will ever achieve. 

I know it won't be me. But I also know that I can't survive out here on my own--I don't have any training, and what would I do if attacked?

Terra has handed me an invitation to the careers, the elite group of tributes who have been training their entire lives for this very moment. If I join, I will inevitably be the weak link among their ranks--but so what? They'll have food, shelter, and, most importantly, protection. 

Not that it'd be aimed towards me. I'd assume the only thing aimed towards me would be the tips of their swords. 

But I can survive. I know I can. I've never endured something even remotely close to this, but I have lived with my father for long enough to know that I can persevere.

I meet Terra's eye, tearing my gaze away from the bloodstained cornucopia with some difficulty. "I'll go with you."