This year, the arena stretches as far as my eyes can see. In one direction, all I can see is a vast, pale moorland. In another, I see grassy plains, with a small forest in the very corner. The terrain diagonal from the plains is a dense tree forest, and in between these are a series of extremely high, rocky mountains. I gulp in fear. But that's nothing compared to the Cornucopia.
All twenty-four tributes are arranged in a circular formation around the large golden horn. Supplies and goods are arranged haphazardly around it, and fifty metres in front of me, I see a set of knives, their silver blades glinting in the midday light. Throwing knives, daggers, even a machete are arranged there. It's perfect, and it even lies a few metres from a small green backpack that looks full of useful supplies. My feet itch in anticipation to grab it and run away. Far away into the tree forest that reminds me so much of the woods outside of my district. Of course, that's only if I can get away from the Cornucopia itself.
In a ring around all twenty-four tributes is a circular lake, its perfect pristine water glistening. This will be good for the tributes of Four, who are trained their whole lives to swim. But for us others, especially from poorer districts, it's going to be a struggle to even get away from the Cornucopia, even if we decide not to participate in the bloodbath.
Should I or should I not grab the supplies? Minho specifically instructed us not to, but he didn't know about the lake. Would he tell me to grab the supplies if he knew the lake is here, or would he still tell me to run? I make my mind up a split second before the gong sounds. I see Newt on a tribute plate a few spaces away from me, and as I take note, the gong sounds, and I sprint headway into the bloodbath.
I pick up a small torch that lies only a couple of metres in front of me, and see Newt limping into the forest. So he didn't try to run for the Cornucopia. Probably he thought his limp would slow him down, I think sadly. Shaking it off, I try to run for the knives, As I do so, another girl reaches for them too. She must be only, what, twelve or thirteen, but yet, I yank the knives from her with a vicious force. She struggles for them back for a few seconds, and falls limp to the ground. I'm confused until I see the spear embedded in her left shoulder, and Gally standing only a few metres away, another spear loaded in his hand, aimed for his next target.
And his next target is me.
Shuck.
Gally's arm releases the spear and I only have time to move slightly to the right before the spear grazes past my left leg. And embeds itself in the ground behind me.
Although I am fully aware of how lucky I am, I still wince slightly at the thought of what would happen if the spear hit its target. Reacting as fast as possible, I snatch up three of the knives in the pack; two daggers and one throwing knife, and the torch I dropped before. Jumping up, I grab the spear stuck in the ground and the small backpack, and sprint out of the Cornucopia range as fast as possible until I reach the circular lake. Breathing heavily, I chuck the knives across so they hit the opposite bank, along with the backpack, the torch, and finally, the spear. Then I step one toe into the water. Realising that it's deeper than what I originally thought, I do the stupidest thing I've done today.
I jump straight into the lake. Without checking how deep it is first.
The water's icy cold and chills me to the bone. Looking around, I see some other tributes struggling in the water, some of their heads submerging completely, and some of them running away, soaked and struggling to walk, let alone sprint.
I can swim. Barely. My mother used to teach me before.... that doesn't matter. What matters is the task at hand. I manage to swim halfway across the lake with a sort of paddle reminiscent of a dog.
Come on, y/n, only a few metres to go, I tell myself before heaving myself up on the opposite bank, panting. Not wasting any time, I sprint into the dense forest. Once I'm a couple of hundred metres in, I pause and take a deep, refreshing breath, only to start up running again, my body still drenched in the lake water. Once I'm sure that I'm far enough away, I pause again to take inventory of my supplies.
One heavy spear.
One throwing knife.
Two daggers.
One torch.
One small backpack.
Carefully, I unzip the green backpack. Inside are a small black sleeping bag, a box of matches and brown leather fingerless gloves. I slip the gloves on and adjust them so they fit my hands. They should protect my palms if I'm climbing trees. Sighing quietly, I keep walking. I pause in a few steps, and I tense up and stop when I allow myself to think of something, or really, someone. I'd tried to ignore the thoughts of the boy I love, because whenever I think of him, I think of him lying dead, bleeding, knife in the chest. But now the thoughts come flooding in.
Newt. He ran into the forest like I did. Where is he now?
I have no choice but to ignore these thoughts and keep on walking. Newt's probably got a head start on me, since he came into the forest and ignored the Cornucopia entirely.
But is he safe? He has no weapons at all. What if he gets caught by a tribute with weapons, or even a wild animal? And what about warmth? He doesn't have a sleeping bag like I do. What if he's already dead? I think, then try to push the thought away again. Newt's smarter than that. He's alive. Right?
I keep walking at a steady pace until the sun starts to set behind the trees and the sky glows with a fantastic array of blues and purples and oranges and pinks, so unlike the grey sky of District Twelve.
It's only when I stop, panting, when the first cannons start to go off, each signalling a dead tribute from the bloodbath.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
Nine dead tributes.
After a few more minutes, the Capitol anthem starts to play, and the faces of dead tributes appear in the middle of the darkening sky.
First is the boy from Two; which is a surprise. Most of the Careers usually last the bloodbath. Next is the girl from Three, the one I struggled with the knives for. A surge of guilt runs through me - if I had let her have the knives, would she still be alive? I quickly push it away. The arena is no place for guilt or sorrow. Next, the girl from Five shows up, another surprise; I thought that she'd be strong enough to swim through the water easily. I guess it just shows we can't rely on previous strengths to help us survive. Both from Six show up. I don't remember their names, or training score, but I do remember that the boy was only twelve.
Just like Chuck.
Both Alby and Harriet from Seven have survived the day, and so has Clint from Eight, but his partner died at the Cornucopia. From Nine, Zart survives and his partner doesn't. In Ten, Aris survives but Rachel doesn't, another surprise; she had a higher training score than him. The last face shows up, the girl from Eleven, which makes me feel a massive wave of relief.
Newt's alive.
The seal of the Capitol returns in the sky with the final crescendo of music, and I briefly wonder how much time I've spent on Panem's screens today. Probably not much, since they have fourteen other tributes to prove are alive, not just me.
I sink down beside a tree trunk as silently as possible as I try to figure out what my next move should be. Tonight, I'll find somewhere to sleep, and then in the morning, I'll find water, which was what Minho told us to do. Then a horrible thought strikes me.
What if the lake surrounding the Cornucopia was the only water source in the entire arena? Have I then been heading in the wrong direction all day? And if I do find water, I have nothing to purify or hold it with. What will I do?
I shake the thoughts off. I should be able to think of something in the morning, right? I hunt around for a suitable area to make camp in. I could climb a tree, I suppose, but the trees here have branches up too high to climb onto easily. Instead, I select a small hole in the ground that might have once been a sort of animal's nest, under the shade of a tree so I won't be seen easily. Grabbing a few sticks from the nearby ground, I shove them horizontally into the hole so I have a bed of sticks instead of sharp pine needles. I wriggle into my sleeping bag, though I'm still damp from the water, and let pangs of hunger consume me. My throat itches in thirst and my mouth goes completely dry. I can't think of anything else except my thirst and hunger. If it's like this on the first day, what's it going to be like over the next week, if I'm still alive? Sighing, I let my body go completely still as I try to sleep. I need to be well rested if I want to live a little longer. As my face turns to get a more comfortable position on the sleeping bag, a sharp but pleasant scent fills my nostrils.
Mint.
Reaching around my 'campsite', my fingers grasp onto the small green plant. I lift it up out of the ground towards my nose and sniff it carefully, wanting to make sure that it is what I think it is. In relief, I peel one of the leaves off and stuff it in my mouth by itself. The pure taste hits my mouth, and while it doesn't fulfil my hunger, it provides me a sense of Newt, and of home.
Needing nothing more than his comfort, my eyes close, the scent of dirt and pine needles and even mint hits my nose, reminding me all the more of him.