Johanna Mason

|12| waiting again

I walk attentively, weirdly waiting for something bad to happen. It has to be coming. At least I kind of hope so. I'm excited about getting out of this arena, but not about the blood-thirsty tributes lying in the way.
Sometimes I hear a crackle or a snap which make me jump. But it always turns out to be a twig under my foot, or an occasional branch falling from a tree. Anticipation builds up the longer I wait for the evidential death trap to trigger. It should be any hour. After suffering through watching years of the Hunger Games, I've learned that at the final eight, the gamemakers throw in a trap to bring us together.

I start to begin another fake trail of tears when a sound interrupts me.
Boom
A cannon. I don't know if I should be happy that I'm one tribute closer to district 7, or scared that the end of the games are coming and everything will get 10 times harder and more violent. I have no doubt in the world I can defend myself, but that doesn't mean I'm excited about killing.
•
The day drags on, and I sit against a tree sipping water from my freshly filled canteen. The river I just found, rushes by. More alive than I am. The sound of trickling water and shuffling leaves brings me back to my childhood. I lay my head against the trunk, and relax for once. Letting the breeze brush my face.
•
I wake up from my small nap, to find the sunsetting. Deciding it's best to just setting in for the night on a branch, I climb the tree I fell asleep against, and tie myself to a branch using my blanket as always.
I lay, luring myself back to sleep, but it doesn't work.
Now that I'm awake again, I'm anxious about what's to come. I know everyone thinks I'm a weakling and that's an advantage, but when I blow my cover, they will know my strength. Fighting with an axe. I'm not afraid to kill, but I don't know if I can handle killing three or four at a time. And I might have to if all the tributes are in the same area.
Maybe if I was 17 or 18 years old like the careers, I could take more than two, but I'm fourteen.

Thinking about this just makes me more nervous. I lay there. Practically doing nothing until the dark night surrounds me. Then the death toll castes in the sky.

One death. District one. It's Scruff.
Kinda suspicious. Maybe the Careers did it. But it doesn't matter, and I don't care. I guess it's good because he was a good fighter. I don't think I could take him and another tribute.

As I continue to stress myself out about the next few days, somehow I drift to sleep. I try to stay awake, knowing that sleeping just brings tomorrow faster. But soon I let myself get pulled under. I'm not going to turn into one of those brainless people who face there fears by not facing them. I have to be strong for my dad. I have to be strong to win these games and mock the Capitol. I'm done being held captive in their arena. Letting my well-being and life be controlled by a game maker. No one should live, not even a day, like this.

I'm going win, and by doing so, rebelling against the Capitol. Because that's what they deserve.