The 49th Hunger Games

Day 17: Kane, Autumn and Birch

Final 8. I am in the final 8. I can just imagine my mother being interviewed, knowing her she's probably crying. And my little sister. I picture her sweet little face and her cute voice yearning for her big brother back. I can't disguise a small tear trickling down my face at the thought. 

Anyway, I have opted to go to the feast. Autumn doesn't mind. She's staying here, in the tree. She did put up a good fight, but in the end she succumbed and agreed on the fact that I'd go and she'd stay. She's determined, but I know how much she wants her leg to get better. She's been complaining about how bad the pain is, and I want it to be over for her. I dread the fact, but I can't deny that I owe her. I would have been dead a lot longer had she not been there to enlighten me. It's nearly dawn, and I'm just psyching myself up to go to the feast. A part of me really cannot be bothered, but my choice is made and I'm forcing myself to move. I grip the hilt of the knife and give it a soft tug to free it from the bark of the tree. I'm only taking a weapon for defense, because I hope to be back as soon as possible, with Autumn's cure, I'm wishing. I drop safely from my branch onto a pile of leaves and look up at the skinny sleeping girl one last time before I leave.

"Good luck, Kane." I hear her softly bid. Maybe she's not asleep, then. 

We camp very close to the desert edge, the oasis being about 50-60 metres away from the forest. I can see the table clearly from my postion concealed behind a tree on the very outskirts, about 30 metres to the left diagonal of the oasis where only Birch, Diamond and Wolf sleep. That's not a good sign. Not good whatsoever. That means Truth is out lurking somewhere. I have to squash a bolt of fear and continue slinking along the treeline until I am pretty much parallel with the table. I get ready to dart out, snap up the pack marked 11 - if there is one - and sprint back to the canopy of the forest. 

I take a deep, shaky breath, praying to any force whatsoever that Truth isn't behind me and just seconds away from sending a knife flying into my back. 

"One," I whisper to myself, bunching my muscles, "Two," I adjust my feet's position. "Three." and then I fly forwards, throwing myself directly at the table. It's not too long until I've got my hands on the pack and then, after grappling with the hard earth, my feet are carrying me swiftly but ungracefully back into the forest, my hands clutching the pack like a precious, fragile human life. The pack could very well be Autumn's precious, fragile human life.

Then suddenly I'm on the ground, face in the dirt, pack just a little way ahead. So close. At first I feel frustration, but then I remember there is something - someone - pressing me into the dirt. I start to struggle and writhe, kicking at the hefty weight on top of me. Who, out of the tributes left, is that heavy?

It can only be Birch. 

"Eleven?" I hiss as loud as possible, spitting out hard dirt from the ground and blood from my mouth. 

"That pack is mine." growls a deep, angry response. Now that I think about it, it very well could be. You just picked a very convenient time to wake up, Birch. 

I stay brave, despite the fact I'm less than half the size of him. "No," I insist, purely driven by hope. "It's Autumn's."

"Autumn?" his anger is still there, but confusion is mingled in.

"Yes, Autumn." I say again, trying to free my arms from under his weight. "I'm helping her. We're...allies, if you will."

"Allies?" Birch scoffs, "She could do way better than the burden of a useless boy from another outline District!"

"I know," I whisper angrily, ignoring the scorn, "But this pack is hers. She needs it right now."

I praise the heavens that his weight seems to give. "But how do you know it's for her?"