My father is a geologist, which means I know the safest place to be in this arena. The forest. I aim my body towards the forest, the cornucopia directly to my right.
I crouched a little on my platform, bending my knees like I know some people called "athletes" used to do. The only reason I know this is because my father is extremely wealthy and we own the type of text books with pictures in them, back when this country wasn't even called Panem. They're forbidden, and most likely illegal, but our family can basically do what we want.
Before Claudius Templesmith can even start counting down, an assortment of blood and limbs exploded. I couldn't see the actual explosion due to the cornucopia separating me and the unlucky fool, but half of a charred foot landed about a yard away, so I'm assuming they stepped off the plate. I could see that the explosion left the other tributes shaken.
The first death. I wondered if the gamemakers liked that the dead are making an appearance so early or if they wanted the first kill to be at the hands of another child. Who knows what they're thinking. No use wasting precious time analyzing the gamemakers, head in the game now.
"Three..."
"Two..."
"One."
I waited a beat longer than I had to, to ensure that I wouldn't step off too early. I would rather make it back home, than die in a really stupid way like leaving the platform too early, thank you very much.
Then I run.
I run.
And run.
I run until I think I can't run anymore, then I keep going.
And going.
And going.
I run until I reached a small lake and my legs give out, collapsing beneath me as if made of jello. Unable to move, I vomit face down in the dirt. I keep retching out what I had consumed on the train. It's disgusting but I can't move away. The vomit starts to fill my mouth and I struggle to move, my neck, arms, legs, anything. I can't. The panic starts to build when I realize I can't breath. My brain is too tired to think.
All I can see is the disgusting bright yellow of puke.
I can feel it creeping in my eyelids, through my ears, and seeping in through my veins.
I can't tell what is real, the lack of oxygen making feel crazed and psychotic.
The vomit fills my lungs.
I didn't want to die in a stupid way like stepping off the platform too early but here I am, drowning in a pool of my own throw up.
The vomit is everywhere.
It has taken control.