The 150th Annual Hunger Games

Day Eleven (Afternoon)

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Ace Dawford's P.O.V. (D2)

The sound of a hovercraft humming through the air reaches me, forcing me to open my eyes to slits. I stare straight up, watching the Capitol aircraft hover above where I lay, the propellers blowing the dirt all around me. I watch the bottom of the machine open up and a metal claw begin its descent.

Did I die? Did Wesley kill me before I got the chance to finish him? Am I really dead?!

I feel dead, but I'm still breathing. That can't be right. I can feel blood running down my face and my whole body aches. I can't even move from how stiff my muscles feel.

But maybe this is what it feels like to be dead. It's like you never die, and your soul stays with your body the whole time. It just has no control over what you can and can't do, so everyone thinks you're dead. So this is it I guess...I'm dead...and going to be taken back to the Capitol, where I will be tossed into a body-bag and shipped back to District Two in a crate or whatever. How humiliating it is that I volunteered, having the expectations that I would win the Quarter Quell, and do my District proud? Very humiliating, and pathetic, to be honest. I can't believe how naive Elsa and I were that we actually thought one of us could make it home from the Games after volunteering at only sixteen! What was wrong with us?

I guess there's always a price for our mistakes, and mine was death. That's not always the case. Most of the time, you would learn from your mistakes and move on with your life, but I can't. I've learned my lesson, but I don't get that chance to move on and make those changes.

The wind of the hovercraft turbines blows down on me, brushing my dark hair around on my forehead. Bright search-lights beam down from the craft, encircling me as the claw drops closer. It stops just a few feet above me, blocking out the lights for a moment. I expect it to open its clamp to scoop me up, but instead, it swings to the side.

Confused, I roll my head to the side and my eyes widen as I stare right into the ghostly eyes of Wesley, only two feet from my face. He lies on his stomach, surrounded by a huge puddle of his own blood.

Oh...I'm not dead...

The claw opens and lowers until its talons clamp around Wesley's torso. His eyes remain wide open as the claw begins to return to the hovercraft. His arms and legs dangle limply from the claw's hand as the rest of his arrows slide out of his quiver, clattering to the ground.

I watch him go the whole way up until the latch-door closes and the search-lights shut off.

I don't know whether I should feel bad for him, or if I should be glad he's gone. I almost wish it was me that went off in that hovercraft. A moment ago, I would've protested that point, but now I realize that, maybe what I really want is for all of this to finally be over. After the Games, who knows how I'll be able to handle myself? I might end up losing my mind, like several of the previous Victors, or something worse.

But no, I'm still here, in the arena. Not dead... Fate has kept me alive, just enough to keep fighting for my life. I still have a shot. So I should take it.

I haul myself to my feet, leaning against the wall for support for a few moments, before bending down to retrieve my pack.

I wipe some blood off my face, wincing as I touch around my left eye. I grab my canteen- which is made of a silver metal- and use it as a mirror to look at my face. I groan when I see a large, black-and-blue bruise around my eye. There's another one on my cheek and jaw. Blood dribbles from my nose and the corner of my mouth. I wipe it on my sleeve in disgust and start walking out of the alley, returning the canteen to its place in my bag.