" 𝔦'𝔪 𝔞 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔳𝔬𝔯 "
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
In an attempt to save her sister, and survive
the Hunger Games, Rowan Everdeen meets
Cato Hadley, the murderous boy from
District 2 who might be just what she
...
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" this part of me "
rowan's view
warning : graphic violence
ℑwatched the sun set through the dense leaves, light peeking through and falling on my face. I could feel the countdown on my life ticking away, the chatting from down on the ground constantly reminding me. I had been hunted, and cornered, like the rabbits that Gale and I used to set traps for. It was do or die, time to decide whether I was a rabbit, or a wolf. My thumb pressed down onto the serrated blade of one of my knives, not hard enough to cut skin, just hard enough to remind me that I wasn't dead yet. After all, there's nothing like a little pain to remind you you're alive.
A loud, girlish laugh made me look down, peering through my eyelashes. Cato had just lit a fire, the wood they had gathered going up in flames within seconds. The girlish laugh had, unsurprisingly, belonged to Glimmer, who was clinging onto his arm, batting her eyes so frequently it looked like she was having a seizure. My lips curved into a small smirk when I saw the uncomfortable look on Cato's face that he was trying hard to hide from her.
I looked back up, pulling my coat around my torso. The temperature was dropping rapidly, thanks to the Gamemakers, and my body was still trying to adjust to the climate. I wouldn't be surprised if the Gamemakers made it extra cold tonight, just to spite me. The girl from District 12 who defied all of their statistics, and was going to prove them wrong.
Or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would die up here from starvation after my food undoubtedly ran out, and I refused to come down. Maybe the Careers would find a way to get up, and kill me before I could attempt to stop them. Or maybe the Gamemakers would send some muttation to rip me to shreds for the Capitolians amusement. The thought of my sisters seeing something like that made me shudder.
Was there even a good way to die? Sure, dying in the Games would be horrible, but no more horrible than growing old and watching everyone I care about die before dying myself. The thought lessened my anxiety, a strange sense of acceptance washing over me, as if whatever happened, it would be okay. The world would go on.
I glanced down to my hand, which was still grasping the knife, my eyes narrowing on a speck of blood buried under my index finger's nail, belonging to my assailant, the boy I murdered. I wondered if he had known what he was doing when he tried to kill me, and if he presumed success. I suppose it didn't matter. He was gone now, his family grieving from whatever District he came from. And the Capitolians who bet on him were scowling, drowning their money loss in unlimited food and drinks, damn them.
How many people had bet on me, I wondered. How many Capitolians had sunk a years worth of food money into thinking I would win, and were right now sitting on the edge of their seats, their fists clenched as they waited for a conclusion. Before my training score, I would say zero. After all, who would think that a girl from District 12 could win the cutthroat Games, a competition that took 23 lives every year?
