A/N Hello lovelies! I hope this is a faster update, right now I'm not entirely sure where I want this plot to go, so I'm just writing what speaks to me! On to the story….

Disclaimer- Hunger games belong to Susan Collins.

Bright sunlight burned through my closed eyelids when I came too by the sound of a canon. Squeezing my eyes tight once more I flung them open to reveal the world around me. The sky and snow covered trees had blurred into a senseless mass of gray from my swirling mind.

My bow, miraculously still well, lay a few feet away from me. It must have fallen off when I was hanging on. The quiver of arrows was somehow still under me, and I wished it wasn't. It hadn't been a soft landing anyways and the arrows made it worse. Rocketing up above my body rested the cliff I just barely flung myself off of.

But wait, did I just barely do that? Time had escaped me, and I went rigid in shock not knowing how much time had passed while I was out. My body quickly filled in the missing information when I released how my stomach was ripping my inside like a wild animal; and my tongue was stiff and swollen from lack of water. I had been out for at least 2 days, and I slowly tried to shove snow into my sore mouth with my shaking hands to rehydrate myself.

It felt like every piece of my head had been smashed with a hammer, beaten and beaten until nothing worked the same again. My clammy hands formed tight fists from the pain, and I began to dig my nails into the fleshy bit of my palm to keep me steady.

I decided to rip the band aid off as fast as possible, and jolted myself into sitting potion. The entire world seemed to protest my rash decision, and it tangled around me in odd shapes. I was going to be sick!

I groaned as I leaned over and spewed all the contents left in my hollow stomach. It didn't stop there, as I continued to shake and dry heave when I had nothing left to release. The taste of vomit was bitter in my dry mouth, which made me grimace.

I tried to roll farther away from the puke but was angrily reminded of my crippled arm, and I had to rest once again on my back. I was losing too much blood, way way way to much blood. I wouldn't make it another day if I didn't stop the vicious red fluid pouring from my cut. I needed to wrap it somehow, but I didn't know how or with what.

I didn't have any extra clothe to spare for a bandage, and even if I did, I would have no clue how to properly take care of a stab wound this large. My mind raced with thoughts of infection and disease from my cut, but I shoved my way through them, forcing myself to continue the trying task of keeping my eyes open.

I sat up once again, and then made the full commitment of standing up, with the help of an overhanging tree branch. When I stood directly up, I thought I was going to puke again, so I choked it down harshly. I grabbed my bow that rolled off the cliff before I did, and formed a shabby plan.

I had to press on, I had to find something to bandage my arm, and the only place I could think of was the cave where the back pack lay. It was either that, or risk it to the cornucopia, but I didn't feel like most defiantly dyeing, so I went towards where I though the cave could be resting.

My injury made my brain blurry and judgment unclear. I didn't know which way was north or south, and I had a vague feeling I had passed the same tree over 3 times. My arm seared as I thought of it, and I bit my lip hard so I wouldn't scream from the intense agony.

I stumbled over rocks and bumps as I lumbered through the evergreen forest. Multiple times I tripped face first, giving in to the swirling dizziness of my aching head. After the 3 time I flipped back onto the chilly ground I stayed there, my body simply refusing to go a second farther. I started to cry, not a soft gentle strong cry, but an ugly, moaning, screaming, cry.

How many times had I broken down in this arena? More than I could count, and probably more then I wanted to admit. I was ashamed. I never cried, I never sobbed like a little girl. I was strong and brave and tough, I didn't break so easily. What were these games doing to me? I didn't like feeling so helpless and broken inside, but I doubted I would ever be fixed.

I needed someone, anyone to save me from this nightmare. Someone to save me from this horror story I was in, even if it meant death. I was close to death now anyway, with my battered arm and head. I didn't find the idea of enduring to the end very appealing.

Yet I had too. I had to endure. I had to for lark, for Oaken, for my Father, for everyone back at home. I was the last hope for district 12. Suddenly I remembered my urgent revenge of killing Jet, and his career friends.

How had I forgotten to quickly? How had I forgotten how much I wanted to take him down with my weapon, and watch as he sank to the ground? I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. I wanted to be the one to rip away his worthless life, and I admitted it. I wasn't very proud of it, but I admitted it.

I jerked myself upwards hastily, my tears now non-existent, and marched with a new vendetta to the cave. I didn't need anyone to save me. I could save myself. I wasn't a little girl anymore. Little girls run around in fields and pick flowers and play with dolls and dreamed about being good mothers and wives. I dreamed of killing someone. I shed every last piece of innocence that had still cloaked my 11 year old eyes that second. Someone was going to die in this arena soon, and it was not going to be me.

Tearing myself from my thoughts I returned to my trek thought the woods. I was extremely aware of every sound I was making, and I turned each movement into dead silence. I didn't want to be found anymore, I had something important to do.

Suddenly I remembered id been away from the events of the arena for 2 days at the least, and I wondered how had been killed off during that time period. It was a marvel to me that I hadn't been found and killed myself by either tributes or the game makers. I guess I was lucky. If not dying in a frozen arena was considered lucky.


The sun was beginning its decent towards the mountains when I finally began to recognize the scenery. The pattern of twists and turns of the trees around me seemed familiar, and the side of this hill was rocky and sharp like our cave. It was a good thing too; I didn't want to be wandering around in the dark. I would be even more confused and lost than I was now.

Suddenly I found the opening, covered shabbily with thinning pine branches, a work of my untrained novice hands. It had not been touched though, so I must have concealed it well enough from the rest of the tributes.

Ripping back the branches with my good arm, I dull ache evaded my heart when I saw the inside of the nook. The blanket was rumpled in a ball like it had been jerkily shoved off in a hurry, and I realized Oaken and Lark must have thought they could escape from the noises coming near them like I had with them. They would have been safer if they would have stayed inside.

I crept to the back of the whole where we kept our backpack, and relief spread through me when I found it still there. Now I just had to hope there was something inside to patch my gushing arm.

I pawed through the bag and came up short with nothing to repair my injury. Feeling defeated I leaned against the rock wall and finally accepted my death. I was having such I whirl wind of emotion in the past hour. From hope to defeat and saddens to revenge to defeat once again. But marching what felt like half way across the arena just to not find what I was looking for seemed to kill my spirit. I was officially ready to peacefully lie here and drift away.

Then I mentally slapped myself. What the heck was I doing? There was a perfect cloth blanket resting right at my feet, the exact thing I needed, and I was about to let myself die. Cursing myself for my stupidity, and snatched up the blanket to cut.

After ripping the pieces with a broken off arrow head, I tightly began to wind them around the flowing gash. It would be best if I could stitch up the wound, but if finding cloth to wrap it was rare, finding a needle and thread to sew it up would be impossible. This would be the best it was going to get.

I secured a thick strap right above the cut to hopefully cut off some of the blood flow, than leaned back against the wall, finally happy about something I'd done.

With nothing else to preoccupy my wandering mind, I thought of my plan of revenge for Jet, and his monstrous friends. I wasn't completely sure how I could attack them without killing myself quickly. After all, I was only a short stub of an 11 year old; I couldn't take on 3 or more full grown careers by myself. My only hope would be to spy on them, then pick them off one by one from a distance with my bow when they separated from each other.

My raging stomach clawed inside me in starving protest, it hadn't been feed in a very long time, and it was not happy. The idea of hunting made me sick, it would be agonizing to pull a both with my aching arm, but it would have to be done that way, I had no other weapons to wield.

Crawling out of my newfound sanctuary I realized the night sky had already come upon the arena and the count of fallen tributes would be given soon. I knew that one had died seconds before I woke up, because the cannon jolted me awake, and 4 people went down in the clearing with Jet. So if no one else died that still meant there were only 4 people left, 5 if I counted myself.

I was relieved to get this knowledge, these games would be over shortly, and then I could go home. Because I would be the one to win, I knew that. It was more clear to me at that moment than the sound of the birds chirping in their nests around me.

Finnick was right, I would make it back. I would make it out of this hell hole. I would be the victor. Not Jet or any other career. It would be me and only me. It sounded over confident and cocky even in my mind, but it gave me something to believe in

"There will be a day when Finnick Odair will be taller than me." I muttered to no one put myself. That thought used to be annoying, it used to be frustrating beyond end, but now it came me something to cling to. It was reassuring. It gave me something to fight for sense everything I used to fight for had left me.