with maya // hunger games [re-writing some chapters]

Chapter 7

I blink and try not to cry. I bite my lip so hard until my lip starts bleeding heavily. 

Then my mind starts whirring.

Prehaps I should forgive Kai.

Who knows? His death may be 5 minutes away.

Besides he didn't know I so hated the Careers.

He wanted the best for me. 

I guess.

I decide to try sign language. Somehow I manage to sign, "Roasted chicken widens your thighs."

So I try morse, angling the sun on my necklace.

dot dot dot .  .  .

dash dash dash -  -  -

dot dash dot .  -   .

dot dash dot .  -  .

dash dot dash dash -  .  -  -

He nods and signs 'it's okay' with his hands and sun. Clever.

I look at my pedestal a little tired out. I thought Seneca Crane was excited. I don't know excited to see us stand like wimps, legs aching?!

I use the time to look at the arena, get to know it better, plan it out.

On my left is a vast, glittery lake and behind it is a wood. Pine I smell.

On my right is a small wood of pine, willow, lakes and a bit of pine.

Great for fires.

Like I'll ever need it.

I suddenly get a whiff of the salty sea air, which frizzes my wavy hair like crazy.

Which I really don't care about.

I love my hair frizzy.

Anyway, it's The Hunger Games!

I have ∞ solutions to give me an upper hand in the Games using the beach.

I mean, I live there!   

Who would care about beauty so much? (Serenpidity, maybe?) I would rather keep my mind on running away.

Underneath my pedestal the dewy green grass is mixed with sugary sand.

"Okay Snow, Okay, look I'm on air- Um, oh hi- I mean, Men and Gentlewomen- what? Oh whatever Caeser, anyway Let the 71st Hunger Games... BEGIN!"

60, 59, 58...

I look at the glass cornucopia in front of me spewing supplies. Tempting.

55, 54, 53...

I catch my eye on a  large camo backpack which blends in on everything. MINE, SO BACK OFF PEEPS.

47,46, 45...

And weapons! Bow and arrows, tool penknives, throwing stars, and teeny throwing tool tridents

34, 32, 31...

Tent packs, medicine, plastic, sleeping bags, portable heat cubes (to cook), armour.

29, 28, 27...

And all the stuff is so modern. Like, for example, the tridents are so smoothly done, not old, like a fork with knife tips, but a fork itself, rusty charcoal silver too.

19, 18, 17...

Should I run and risk my life? I am quite a fast runner, fastest at sprinting and distance and I've got enough stamina.

6, 5, 4...

I can do it, I have to make my time count.

3-

And I leap like a gazelle, off my pedestal.

Spasm, oh noes.