#69-The Last Bite

Foxface.

Stupid.

That's how many people will describe the action that lead to my death. Stupid. What person would eat berries that are poisonous? A person who has only half a brain cell, that's for sure.

When I saw the boy from District 8 picking those Nightlock berries, that's what I though of him. Stupid. What kind of a person would pick poisonous berries? That guy is such an idiot.

I watched him die. I thought that death by poison was cruel; unmerciful, a fire burning through your body, torturing your insides, setting you alight, and as I watched the boy drop to the ground, I waited as the minutes ticked by until his cannon sounded, and I thought I would never see a worse way to die.

Then I went through the arena. I watched countless people, children, get murdered in ways that I didn't even think existed; cruelly tortured by Career tributes that find this entertaining, and all the time I thought back to the boy from District 8, dying at his own hands, like an involuntary method of suicide; to himself his imminent death was unknown, creeping up on him, catching him unsuspecting, off-guard, then ending his all to short life briefly in what now seemed to possibly be one of the nicest ways in this death game to die.

As the death tally begin to grow in numbers, I found myself surviving, dodging death by Career and any other tribute that might possibly want to cast me a part in their show of the dead, and the entire time I was thinking back to District 8's death, how bad I had thought it to be at the time, the thought of poison seeping through my veins making my blood run cold. And I compare it to the deaths I have since seen, the slaughtered bodies, pierced stomachs, headless corpses and I think of how... nice his death seems in comparison.

So when the final 4 is announced with the image of the male tribute from District 11's picture in the sky, I think of those remaining. The male from 2, who's name I think is Cato, the vicious Career who I have taken extra precautions to distance myself from since the start of this death match, and then District 12, the star-crossed lovers who must be clinging on to the delusion of being able to survive these Games together. The girl, Katniss, is an extremely good archer and the boy, Peeta got an 8 in training.

I carefully weigh up my odds. The training scores 10, 11, 8. Mine, 5. Their death totals. They have all killed, at least once. Me? None. I am at a disadvantage so great I don't think there is any possibility to overcome it. I spend a night thinking of the possible ways I will be murdered; shot with an arrow, pierced with a spear, crushed with a rock, hands locked around my neck, suffocating me, squeezing the air out of my body...

I make a decision. When I see the boy from 12, Peeta, picking Nightlock berries, I am taken back to the death of the boy from District 8.

I carefully creep to the blue sheet where the berries rest along with some cheese. I take a large handful and a little bit of the goats cheese to help improve the taste, and I look to the sky in hope that my family know why I am doing this and that they forgive me.

I place the berries in my mouth and take the last bite of food I will ever have in this life, in full knowledge that my actions will lead to my death. And with that last bite, I collapse to the ground, the agony of poison burning through my body, paralysing me, leaving me unable to scream, shout, move. Breathe.

Stupid.

That's how many people will describe the action that lead to my death. Stupid. What person would eat berries that are poisonous? A person who has only half a brain cell, that's for sure.

But I know that, really, I am the only real winner of these Games, I died on my own terms, with the last bite of those berries, I won.