And we run

Long-sought revenge

Against all odds, I make it to the cornucopia. 

My feet scramble through different terrain, tripping over roots and digging into sand, before I am on the beach once again, frozen solid by the bloodstained island where Terra took her last breath.

There is a small spot--right there--where I know she died. I know because I remember, but also because if you stare hard enough, if you focus your gaze to the point where it begins to hurt, you can see the slight red tint to the sand. It is all that remains of Terra that I am allowed to access, and I feel a sudden urge to gather all the sand up and pour it into an urn. 

As if I had an urn, or a way to get anything out of this arena, or a way to get out of this arena at all. 

Wyatt was following me for a while, but then he was not, and I kept running. I ran even though my lungs burned for air and my legs ached for mercy, until when I finally stumbled into the main clearing, doubling over and clutching my chest, I felt as if it was the very moment of my death.

It wasn't, though. Because here I am, alive. Not well, but alive. And that is enough--or, really, it should be. It should be enough. 

There are seven of us left. That, I am sure of--if Lua is still alive, but I don't think I'd've missed her cannon. At home, there will be attempts to communicate with my father, to interview him about his daughter, the finalist.

He'll be drunk. 

That's okay, though. I haven't gotten any sponsors this entire time, I doubt I will now. This entire Game I have been the underdog, the tribute you don't expect to win, the one no one roots for and certainly not bets on--unless you've got money to throw away. 

That's okay, too. 

No, it's not. Nothing is okay because they are dead. Because Terra is dead, because Apollo is dead, because of me. All because of me. 

A scream, and a cannon. It sounds feminine--but not the sort of primal roar I imagine Taura would emit as she died, so it must have been either Oakley, from Seven, or Lua. 

I don't know who killed her. There's a good chance it was Taura, but that look in Wyatt's eye... it wasn't good. It was dangerous. It was terrifying. 

Tonight (if I survive that long), I will watch the sky diligently, so that I can know who is dead. I will even force myself to look Apollo's smiling portrait in the eye, to scrutinize the features of the girl whose head Wyatt bashed in. 

It's good that I missed Terra's night, because if I had seen it, I don't know if I could've handled it. I can barely handle it now--how would it have been when the wound was still fresh and bleeding, quite literally?

I keep moving. It's not smart to stay in this clearing for long--especially because it is exactly the place Taura and Wyatt will be returning; where they have left everything they need to stay alive.

Everything they need to stay alive. My gaze snaps over to the cornucopia, and I step over to it carefully, peeking inside and scanning the interior just to be sure Lua's not camping out.

She's not--and so I move quickly, grabbing first a discarded backpack, shoving as many useful survival tools I can find into it. I grab bags of preserved food, sheaths full of daggers, matches, rope. 

And then I leave, making haste for the exact opposite direction that I know Taura and Wyatt are in. I could find a cave, like the one Apollo has, but then again, couldn't I also climb a tree? The leaves will conceal me from their sight, and maybe, I'll finally be safe.

It's a ridiculous thought. I will never be safe again. I know that.

The bag's straps slip over my shoulders and I am moving. Not running this time, purely because I don't think my legs could currently withstand that kind of effort, but I keep a quick clip, eventually finding a tall pine with sturdy branches, hauling myself up into the air. I find a comfortable spot to sit and settle myself down, nibbling on a small piece of some sort of jerky, just enough to sate the hunger rumbling in my stomach.