❝ never trust a survivor
until you find out
what they did
to stay alive ❞
―Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard
[ the maze runner × the hunger games ]
No one was ever happy in District 12. They were the poorest among the distric...
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ROSALIND'S ENTIREBODY was sore the next day. Her limbs were aching like hell and there was an insisting throbbing in the back her head.
With a groan, she painfully pushed the dumpster lid and crawled out, dragging her backpack with her. She was covered in sticky, dried sweat and grime, and was starting to wish she had found a more suitable place to sleep in now.
Shouldering her backpack and dusting her shirt, she glanced around her, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Memories of last night came crashing in and she remembered how she had barely escaped the maze with the Capitol's monster mutts right on her tail. She still found it strange how they didn't try and attack her―maybe they were only designed to stay in their own section of the arena.
Whatever it was, she was just glad to be alive.
Rosalind started walking away from the dumpster, taking care to move slowly to ease her sore limbs and to take in her new surroundings. She was in some sort of ruined city, with the building infrastructure broken and crumbling, glass shards and trash strewn about the cement road and walkways.
She felt disappointment rise up in her. She was hoping for some sort of forest, or a huge water source, not an abandoned city with no sign of food or water in sight. She was tired and dehydrated, and most of all―she missed her family. She wanted nothing more than to go trading in the Hob with Peter, or to endure Percy's constant teasing, or to help out at the bakery with Peeta. She wanted home.
Nibbling on a strip of dried beef, Rosalind made her way through the city, trying not to let her misery show too much. If her family and friends were watching her right now through the live footage, she didn't want to worry them. And besides, displaying signs of weakness surely would not help attract any sponsors.
As she turned down twisting alleyways and dusty roads, she felt whatever remaining energy she had left petering away. Her vision was going blurry and she felt dizzy. The dried beef may have provided some form of fuel for her to keep going, but it seemed to have worsened her thirst.
After walking for a while, she was about to collaspe and give up when she spotted a blood drop on the ground. The crimson liquid had dried on the pavement, the injured person long since gone. But Rosalind couldn't help but look up, where she found more droplets of blood. It made a trail through the city, disappearing behind a set of buildings.
Steeling her nerves, she followed the blood trail, a bubble of hope breaking through her sorrow. Maybe she could find the injured tribute and steal their stuff ―but only if they had water of course. It pained her to think of such a thing, but she was so close to passing out that the animal inside of her crawled its way out, filling her only with thoughts of survival and nothing else. It was at this point where Rosalind didn't care if the life of another tribute was at her hands, she just wanted to survive.
