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❝ i believe in the lone survivor, ❞
❝ night sky.❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
MY STEPS ECHO THROUGHTHE chilling air, and my chestnut hair freely flows in the cool wind, my eyes narrowed and gaze firm.
I attempt to appreciate the heaps of nature presenting themselves to me, acknowledging the fact that I was possibly seconds away from confronting two deadly tributes, and that everything could go extremely wrong, extremely quickly.
I drape my fingers over the pricky wood on the trees, breathing in the messes of various smells, nostalgia twindling at my heart.
Nevertheless, I continue my path, stubbornness and dedication embedded in my skin and cursing in my veins. My breath makes small, white clouds as it hits the atmosphere, and I wonder if the Game makers have done something to freeze the arena, it being undeniably cold.
Moreover, it would make the feast all the more terrifying, creating an effect of foreshadowing on the approaching event. There's a discreet voice in my head telling me that blood would in fact spread tonight.
As my eyes dart from different aspects of the landscape, I realise that the woods have always appeared leeringly different at night. The nature's colours have been stomped out, replaced by ominous swirls of darkness.
I've noticed this in my own district as well, my body being engulfed by a complete void, spreading over an infinity of time. There was something about the consuming darkness that was alluring to me, reeling my body in.
I continue to my way through the quiet forest, my boots crunching against the dried up leaves, and not a puff air can be seen from around me. I follow the similar path I have completed numerous times in the arena, using the stream as a guide, leading me through the night's obsidian veil.
It surprises me that no other tribute can be perceived, and I know only a few more hours are left until the sun rises up again, its rays bright and exposing any lurking figures. Yet, the arena has already lightened enough for me to decipher effectively my close surroundings.
Not a single soul can be caught by my wide iris'.
When I know I've arrived to my destination, I directly hide my body behind a camouflaging bush, crouching down to take in the view. The Cornucopia is currently contoured by the sun's light, until there's a sudden disturbance in the plain.
The ground before the mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a stony round cloth progressively rises into the arena.
On the table sit four backpacks, cheating my expectations. There are two large ones, the number 2 visibly engrained, a medium sized one with the number 11, and, finally, a tiny green one that's marked with a 12.
