Against all odds, I make it to the cornucopia. 

My feet scramble through different terrain, tripping over roots and digging into sand, before I am on the beach once again, frozen solid by the bloodstained island where Terra took her last breath.

There is a small spot--right there--where I know she died. I know because I remember, but also because if you stare hard enough, if you focus your gaze to the point where it begins to hurt, you can see the slight red tint to the sand. It is all that remains of Terra that I am allowed to access, and I feel a sudden urge to gather all the sand up and pour it into an urn. 

As if I had an urn, or a way to get anything out of this arena, or a way to get out of this arena at all. 

Wyatt was following me for a while, but then he was not, and I kept running. I ran even though my lungs burned for air and my legs ached for mercy, until when I finally stumbled into the main clearing, doubling over and clutching my chest, I felt as if it was the very moment of my death.

It wasn't, though. Because here I am, alive. Not well, but alive. And that is enough--or, really, it should be. It should be enough. 

There are seven of us left. That, I am sure of--if Lua is still alive, but I don't think I'd've missed her cannon. At home, there will be attempts to communicate with my father, to interview him about his daughter, the finalist.

He'll be drunk. 

That's okay, though. I haven't gotten any sponsors this entire time, I doubt I will now. This entire Game I have been the underdog, the tribute you don't expect to win, the one no one roots for and certainly not bets on--unless you've got money to throw away. 

That's okay, too. 

No, it's not. Nothing is okay because they are dead. Because Terra is dead, because Apollo is dead, because of me. All because of me. 

A scream, and a cannon. It sounds feminine--but not the sort of primal roar I imagine Taura would emit as she died, so it must have been either Oakley, from Seven, or Lua. 

I don't know who killed her. There's a good chance it was Taura, but that look in Wyatt's eye... it wasn't good. It was dangerous. It was terrifying. 

Tonight (if I survive that long), I will watch the sky diligently, so that I can know who is dead. I will even force myself to look Apollo's smiling portrait in the eye, to scrutinize the features of the girl whose head Wyatt bashed in. 

It's good that I missed Terra's night, because if I had seen it, I don't know if I could've handled it. I can barely handle it now--how would it have been when the wound was still fresh and bleeding, quite literally?

I keep moving. It's not smart to stay in this clearing for long--especially because it is exactly the place Taura and Wyatt will be returning; where they have left everything they need to stay alive.

Everything they need to stay alive. My gaze snaps over to the cornucopia, and I step over to it carefully, peeking inside and scanning the interior just to be sure Lua's not camping out.

She's not--and so I move quickly, grabbing first a discarded backpack, shoving as many useful survival tools I can find into it. I grab bags of preserved food, sheaths full of daggers, matches, rope. 

And then I leave, making haste for the exact opposite direction that I know Taura and Wyatt are in. I could find a cave, like the one Apollo has, but then again, couldn't I also climb a tree? The leaves will conceal me from their sight, and maybe, I'll finally be safe.

It's a ridiculous thought. I will never be safe again. I know that.

The bag's straps slip over my shoulders and I am moving. Not running this time, purely because I don't think my legs could currently withstand that kind of effort, but I keep a quick clip, eventually finding a tall pine with sturdy branches, hauling myself up into the air. I find a comfortable spot to sit and settle myself down, nibbling on a small piece of some sort of jerky, just enough to sate the hunger rumbling in my stomach. 

It's about sunset, the (manufactured) sky just beginning to turn an alarming shade of orange, the (manufactured) sun setting off to my left. I watch it set, letting myself drift into the comfortable realm of naivety, of innocence.

Time passes quickly in this state, clouds shifting across fading light, until it is dark, and the anthem begins to play. 

I snap back into myself, eyes focusing on the sky, watching the seal of Panem, projected as a hologram onto the outer dome of the arena. 

First is Apollo. I force myself to watch as he shines across the sky, stony-faced and uncharacteristically cold. I imagine his eyes meeting mine, his mouth morphing into a frown, and it takes all that I am not to look away. 

Next is a girl I don't recognize--the cannon I heard earlier? If so, that means it would be Oakley, from Seven. She is blonde, with a pretty face and solemn eyes, but there is something in the upturned corners of her mouth that makes me glad she is no longer a competitor; no longer one more added to the growing list of those hunting me. 

Then, it ends.

I faintly reminisce about a night spent similarly to this, laying on the beach beside Terra and watching the anthem play out over the sky. The world is no longer so perfect. The names scrolling through the sky have multiplied exponentially, and Terra has joined them. I'm sure I will soon, too. 

My eyes fall shut, breathing slowing, as I leap from the world of living and land flat-footed in my own personal dreamland. 

***

"You're here," Terra murmurs, her hand brushing my cheek, dangerously cold. Then her fingernails grow into claws and her hair reaches her feet, and she falls to all fours, bounding past me and into the jungle like the tigress we all knew she was. 

I watch her go, a solemn expression concealing my face. A long time later, she reemerges in the form of Taura, a smirking girl with fiery red hair, a girl who is truly a tiger. Who could never be mistaken for anything else.

"Oh, calm down, you're not dead," she grins, flicking my nose (why is her finger so cold?) and stepping past me once again, forcing me to spin to meet her. I begin to panic, not even having considered the idea of my own death, not even having scanned my surroundings and made inferences on what was going on with them. 

The forest shifts as I watch, trees reaching up to the sky until the trunks become so wide, so dense, that they seem to make up my entire world, blending together until everything is the color of the sky on a stormy day, a low mist settling just above my head, condensation forming on my clothes as the temperature rapidly drops.

I am shivering now, hands reaching for the opposite elbows although I can't explain when they got there, don't remember moving them. 

My mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. Taura finishes my sentence for me. Does that evil grin of hers ever go away?

"You're fine," she says with a nonchalant wave of her hand and a scrunch of her freckled nose. "And I'm not dead, either--don't think you got lucky!"

This time her phrase is accompanied with a laugh, the kind that burrows beneath my skin and threatens to tear my bones apart with the force of it, despite the low volume. My teeth grit, grinding against each other, jawbone clenching. 

"Yet," I mutter, and Taura looks up, eyes narrowing.

"Hm?"

"Yet," I repeat, stronger this time, and leap forward, Apollo's spear suddenly in my hand, waiting to disembowel the girl who has ruined my life completely. 

I feel the squelch Apollo described, all those hours ago. I hear a strangled sound from her mouth as I finally get my long-sought revenge. 

***

A cannon sounds, clear as day in the dead of night. I jolt awake, eyes snapping open to find myself surrounded by trees, slowly rustling in a cool breeze. A leaf brushes my face and I push it away, changing my mind suddenly and turning, ripping it from its branch and throwing it down to the ground, letting it fall. 

A trail of smoke rises from the center of the arena--where the cornucopia is. It streaks high into the sky before disappearing, fading away into the starlit sky, tracing the contours of the projected moon. 

Someone is dead. And I'd bet my life it isn't Taura.