Catching Fire: Prim [Completed]

Chapter 22: Tick Tock

I stab the monkey. I stab it with all I've got till it drops dead. My weapon of choice was a sharp rock that happened to be by me when I fell. I still don't get why the morphling did such a thing but it's been done and now I need to worry about her survival rather than questioning her motives. I stiffle a cry as I stand up slowly and pick her up. I carry her further to the beach while Finnick and Rory cover for me. They really don't need to though, the monkeys all started to leave. Like the fog, it has reached it's limits.

I cut away the morphling's jumpsuit to reveal the deep puncture wounds that have clearly made some internal damage. Blood trickles from the punctures and my medical instincts start to kick in. I know I can't save her. Her ribs show through her skin like the ones of a starved child, and she gasps for air like a dying fish. And though I know it's too late to save her, I know I can make her departure less painful.

"I'm going to go retrieve our weapons," Finnick mumbles before going away. I know that situations like these aren't the most appealing to everyone and well, this is where I get a turn to shine.

The vacant look in her eyes, her body, her shallow breathing- everything of her speaks of waste. She must have turned to morphling the way Haymitch turned to liquor. I comfort her with words and hold her hand, stroking her thin hair with the other. She gives a small smile but then a small squeak shortly after. I know she won't last long. She let's out a final huff before her cannon goes boom. Her grip on my hand releases and I know it's time to let her go. I carry her out to the water, setting her down and letting her drift away from us until finally a hovercraft picks her lifeless body up to the sky, taking her away. Gone. Dead.

Finnick rejoins us, weapons in his hands. He drops them beside us in the sand, and I notice that they're dripping in blood.

"Thank you," I whisper. Somehow it just seems right to whisper- like the ambience of a funeral.

"Do you know where...they went to?" I ask, questioning about the monkey mutts.

"We don't know, the vines just shifted and they all went away," Rory explains.

We all stand there and stare at the jungle up ahead of us. We've seen it's horrors and will probably hesitate about entering them anytime soon.

My wounds start to itch real bad and I look down at them. They're scabbing over. I want to scratch them so badly but I know I'm not suppose to. I look up and see Rory and Finnick scratching them though, which only makes me more tempted. Instead I say,

"I don't think you should scratch them, it'll only infect the wounds further."

We then head to the tree that Rory was tapping up earlier and insert the spile. We all take gulps of water to quench our thirst. We also pour some onto our scabs using large shells. It helps a little but the itch is still there.

We're still in the night but it isn't young- dawn is approaching.

"You can rest, I'll take watch," Finnick says. I start to object then see his gleaming eyes- realizing that he's been holding back his tears.

"Okay Finnick, thanks," I say before laying down in the sand. The last thought that crosses my mind before I drift off is of how much I owe Finnick.

Thwack! I wake up to the sound of Finnick cracking open shellfish on a rock. It's midmorning and Rory's still sound asleep. I look up and see a grass mat and realize Finnick's been working the whole time. Beside me are three bowls woven from grass, the first two containing water and the third containing shellfish. I start reaching for the water then realize my finger nails are caked with blood. I must have been scratching myself raw in my sleep.