Author's Note: I do not own any of these characters, nor the idea of "The Hunger Games". All credit goes towards Suzanne Collins for her excellent work. I just love to put a background to the characters, and showing what they felt before they died, so I have made small death stories for all the tributes and will be writing them through the weeks.
I can't survive.
The words twined into my head. I can't survive, I just can't.
The wind whistled between the trees. The night was slow . Slow and cold. I scrambled from beneath a large bush surround by more clumps of bushes.
I know I can't win this. My mother is going to be devastated. But I know for a fact that I can't fight Katniss or Cato. I have no strengths with weapons. I probably could use a stone and a sling shot. But what does that have from a bow and arrow and sword?
I adjusted the collar around my neck. Gulping uncontrollably. Knowing my fate. Knowing how I'm going to die is a mission. I don't want to be sliced in half, killed as meat, slowly killed, feeling the pain in my skin.
I chuck a sweet nut into my mouth. Breaking it in half tasting the sweet flavor. That's when I hear voices.
It's been my game to hide away from other tributes - not be in contact with anyone. But that's when I see them.
Katniss and Peeta cautiously trampling through the woods. I here the voice of Katniss telling Peeta to go find some nuts or berries while she hunts for games. Maybe. Just maybe I could follow Peeta to see if he has discovered the nightlock
I have been searching for nightlock. These woods are filled with nightlock. I have been wanting to my hands on them but have unfortunately failed through the long day searches.
With a confused - stupid mind of his maybe Peeta could lead me to them. I take small steady steps a few meters behind him. Creeping up and hiding behind a tree, when he glances round to check if Cato is near him . . .
I watch him pick a few berries from a bush. Urgh, stupid boy - maybe he isn't stupid enough to lead me to the nightlock. The berry in his hand shines with a blood-red in the sun. It's shape oval. Not rippled like the boysenberries we get from District 11 but smooth and glossy . . .
I catch my voice clasping my mouth . He's found them!
Peeta hesitates. Looks around and then carries on picking a few more nightlock. He puts down his jacket placing the nightlock centered in the middle in a large untidy pile. All I have to do is creep over, snatch a few berries and take them. I wait for a few more minutes. Peeta goes off into the tree picking hazelnuts.
My mind takes over. I stagger over, grab a few nightlock berries then run to where I was.
Here goes. I look to where the cameras may be recording. I blow a kiss. Knowing my mother will be watching, grieving. Taking shaky breathes I stare at the red berries in my palm.
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
It seems like I can't do it. Throw a few berries in my mouth to stop the nightmare.
That's when I hear a rustle in the bushes. Scared, I throw the berries into my mouth. My teeth bite into them. Sending bitter, disgusting, sweet pulp squirting into my mouth. I swallow it.
My fingers fumble over the few berries in my hand hazily. My mind starts to fuzz and I can hear from both ears a buzzing sound. That's when it feels like I have been drugged.
I hit the floor, my eyes closing into darkness.