Deceived: The 500th Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 71 - The Arena: Day 3

STRUVE WHISHART'S P.O.V

May's death didn't hurt me in the slightest. Considering I'd specially selected her to slave over me. You would've thought some remorse threatened to emerge, but nothing. Not a single drop of pain was felt for the kid.

I only escaped myself by keeping alert. May, in her usual selfish ways, refused to listen to me when I said I could hear footsteps. She may have killed someone, but it doesn't mean her decision was a good one.

Who cares though? We're so close to the end now, why should we bother to worry about allies we abused the rights of?

May as well make my way to the cornucopia. A part of me wants to stay here, out of everyone's way. People just annoy me. Yet, another part of me is yearning for me to catch and kill someone, as if they're a fish in District Four; I'm the fisherman.

Pacing around the ruins, I twiddle the dagger between my hands. I smell, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, tired is the only feeling I feel. I want to go home. If only I behaved, I wouldn't be in this mess. This is my own fault and nothing can reverse my actions.

Noises float around the arena, reminding me that I'm not alone, I'm never alone. In this arena, seven of them wonder, each ready to pounce on those who could kill us.

What am I saying? Anyone could kill anyone at this stage - how would we all have made it this far without some kind of skill?

With no confirmation of the two cannons sounding within about a second of each other, I can't just assume who died, who's alive. Knowing Tule, Trey and Kern left the arena yesterday shows how even the strong come out in coffins.

Kern. The reason I am here. If only I could control the anger I have, then I wouldn't be in this hell, fighting off other innocent people drawn from the deadly bowl. It's all great when you're saying you can face the arena, but it's totally different when death is staring you in the face.

Tilting my head towards the sky, I let out a sigh. Early morning; most blocks the radiance of the meagre sun shining down on me. "Kern, I never meant to harm you. I'm sorry."

It's all well saying sorry, but when someone's dead, your actions mean nothing.

Apologies don't need to be repeated. Why should I remind myself of him when in reality, he meant nothing to me? Yes, his death has hurt me slightly, but it'd be different to finding out that Hydra died. Hydra deserves to win. So did Kern.

Anyone but me.

I say early morning, but with this arena, you can never tell. Landscape never changes, but it looks to similar to everything else here for it to change drastically - the buildings that collapsed yesterday look like those that remained rubble before the games began.

"Tributes," Jarrett announced, sounding somewhat excited. Something he hasn't sounded for months. "There will be a feast in a minute. All of you need items; all of you don't need items. You have to choose the correct bag, or your survival rate could be minimised. Or you could take five bags. Either way, you won't have long to decide what bags you wish to take, so choose carefully. That is all. Good luck."

I could really do with a basic lunch supply kit. I need to get there, unharmed. Get the bag with food, drink, anything. Even if I can find a deceased tribute's pack along the way or back, anything. I'm gonna suffer from starvation. May had the food.

Now Rhymer has it. What if I can kill Rhymer? Get my food back?

Hunger. It shouldn't be a feeling. When hunger becomes a feeling, you know something needs to be done. Food at home, no matter who cooked it, seems like perfection compared to here. District Eight wasn't known for its good cooking, but I'd kill - literally - to taste the pork chop imported from Ten, cooked over a stove and served with steamed vegetables.