ANOTHER COG IN THE MURDER MACHINE | FINNICK ODAIR

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟺

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Jynx has a forlorn look on their face as she helps me into my outfit for the arena. I'm in a grayish-green nylon jacket with a black t-shirt under it, tan cargo pants with a belt, work boots, and my bear necklace.

"The fabric for the jacket is waterproof, leaving my best guess to be that there's going to be a bit of rain in the arena. Your whole outfit seems to be leaning towards more strong and durable clothing, so I wouldn't worry too much about it tearing or anything while you're in there," They tell me, placing their hands on my shoulders.

"Thank you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around them. She hugs me back for a moment before pulling away, and I step into the tube that will send me up into the arena.

"Good luck out there, kiddo. I'll be cheering you on."

I smile weakly at her, a tear slipping down my cheek as I'm elevated into the arena.

Here we go.

The bright sun is the first thing that I see, and I squint my eyes, looking away from it. I glance at the clock hologram above the Cornucopia before surveying the arena: We're all in a meadow full of different kinds of flowers, trees creeping up just a few yards behind each pedestal. Nightlock and blueberry bushes were scattered around the meadow, something that I knew would take out some of the tributes that didn't know how to identify which ones were safe to eat.

"Welcome to the 67th Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." A starting cannon sounds, and my eyes widen.

RUN, YOU IDIOT!

I step off of my pedestal, looking around at the bloodbath as cannons go off rapidly. I run slightly towards the Cornucopia, snatching a gray backpack and a kukri knife before taking off into the woods.

Branches crunch loudly under my feet as I maneuver through the trees, my legs getting more and more tired by the second– I never had good stamina. I stop and take a deep breath, kneeling down in a patch of muddy clay by a stream.

I look around, making sure that no one has followed me, but the area I'm in is completely silent with the exception of the running water and my own breathing. No one had seemed to notice me taking off. Good.

I move the backpack off of the spot on my shoulder, zipping it open. Cannons are still sounding off in the distance, each one symbolizing a different tribute's death. I hope Maisie is still alive. I hope Buck is still alive, too– even though I didn't talk to him much, I still cared about him. He's my District partner, after all, and he promised that he would protect me.

I peer down at the backpack, rummaging through it. There's a thin sleeping bag, a quart jug that's half full of water, a box full of about 10 or so matches, five leather pouches and a packet of beef jerky. I sigh, screwing the cap off of the jug and taking a sip before carefully filling it up with the stream water. My kukri sits beside me as I light a match, making a fire out of a few branches and holding the water over it. It's not the most beneficial way to boil water, but it would work for now.

I look up, taking in more of my surroundings. There are calendulas and patches of chickweed which I remind myself to grab after I'm done boiling the water, along with a large patch of rocks beside a nightlock bush.

I close the jug– the water should be clean enough by now– setting it down beside my knife and stomping the fire out. I grab two of the leather pouches, stuffing calendulas into one and chickweed into the other.

I close them both up, putting the jug in my backpack along with the two now full pouches.

A branch snaps, and my head whips towards the sound. "Marrow?" Maisie whispers into the air.