The 70th Hunger Games: A Little Love

Chapter Eighteen

Dear Diary,

I wake up in the morning with a sore back and throat. Perhaps curling up into a ball, surrounded by thorny bushes, wasn't the best idea. I sigh and stretch my arms and legs out, trying to wake my muscles up.

First, I have a few sips of water. Nope. That didn't help. I look at the lemon, threats of its sourness daring me to taste it and pucker my lips. What did I have back home, something lemon, that was good for making throats hurt less. Now what was it...

Oh! Right. Honey lemon tea. Perhaps if I can boil some of my water, and squeeze in the lemon, that will help my throat to stop from burning.

Looking up into the sky, I figure that it's light enough now that the smoke of a fire would easily blend into the air. I collect tree branches, as many dry, dead ones as possible, and start to pile them into a small triangular shape. Next, I take out a match from the careers box of matches and use it to strike the fire. I suck in a breath, holding it until the fire starts to emit a light, nearly see-through smoke. Perfect. I quickly put my water canteen on the edge of the fire and move in closer to it, hoping to warm up myself a bit as well.

After maybe fifteen minutes of warmth and relaxation, I stomp out the fire, figuring it was better to put it out before any other tributes could come to me. Although there were only four of us left, I have no doubt that they were ruthless and willing to kill me in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, could not be so cruel.

Pulling my jacket sleeves over my hands so as to not burn them, I slowly open my canteen of water, letting the hot steam rise up and warm up my face. I then use the knife, the small little dagger I chose on my last day with the careers, to cut open the lemon. I squeeze both halves into the hot water before putting one half in completely. I stick my tongue in the second half, trying for a second to taste the sour fruit.

Nope.

Way too sour.

I chuck the fruit over my head, hearing it roll down the nearby hill and land on the ground. After a few minutes of blowing on my "homemade" tea, I take a small sip. It was sour. More sour than any lemon tea I've ever had, probably because I had no way to sweeten it, and because the real tea probably had no real lemons in it. I make a face and continue taking small sips. As I am drinking the tea, I find myself zoning out, thinking back to one of the last times I had honey lemon tea:  the day of the dance, my first year of high school.

My throat was sore, my stomach was practically doing summersaults. I had chosen a dress—light blue, down to my ankles, covering my white heels but allowing my toes to poke out slightly. The dress fanned out softly, with small riffs in the design that differed in hues of blue. Thinking back on it, I think it was a mermaid design, hugging my torso and fanning out towards my ankles. I'm not quite sure.

Our private school district: Shore High, Shore Middle, and Shore Primary were well known in all of district four. We received quite a bit of funding from the wealthier citizens of district four, who all went to our schools and graduated to well paying jobs. We had capital citizens who would often send out certain foods for us to sample and hopefully buy more from them in the future, since we were a relatively wealthy school. But my favorite event had to be the Spring Dance, which was completely funded and decorated by a different Victor each year. It brought in publicity for the school and the victor by making them seem as though they're giving back.

I think that year was funded by Trident, and our redundant "under the sea" theme which fits district four like a glove, was swapped out for a "roses and love" sort of theme. I guess my blue dress went against the theme, the red and pink and soft gold colors, now that I'm thinking back on it, but I thought I just looked stunning. At least, I did to everyone who complimented me.