Hunger Games (Peeta's POV)

17

I can't help it, I laugh. There are two explanations for an explosion, Game Maker intervention or the kid from three's trap worked. I have to hope for the latter. I Imagine Cato's face. I knew he was cocky enough to think no one would mess with the supplies he had claimed as his own. From the sound of the explosion, the plan worked too well. Whoever was stealing was blown sky-high and Cato's out of supplies. 

I think of how lightly we packed for that first night of hunting, he'll have nothing to use to survive. He may be the very reason for his own downfall. My laughter echos through the forest, but I'm not concerned that he'll find me. But, even if he did. He'd be doing me a favor. He could finish me off and I'd be out of the Games far later than I'd imagined. I did my job, I made my sacrifice, I'm ready to go home. 

But, that's too much to wish for. My thoughts bleed together into an endless stream of hope for a future I'll never have, a past I'll never see again, and the present barely exists. The loneliness and boredom force me into sleep. A sleep filled with dreams of the girl on fire, a girl I don't even know is alive. 

I let myself mourn her. There aren't many memories of us to look back on, but I do hope that I did enough to make sure she wasn't alone in her last days. 

I wake to the Capitol seal shining in the sky, it shows two images. The boy from three and the boy from ten. The days have blended together so seamlessly that I have no idea who's alive and who's dead, no idea if there's anyone left. All I can do is hope that I'll die before Mutt's are sent in for the final showdown.