I held my head up high as I stalked to the stage. Just seconds before, my name had been called:
Finch Crossley.
17 years old from district 5. And here I was, about to be a tribute in the twisted tournament that is The Hunger Games.
I looked at my father, and my brother and sister. I would not let them see fear in my eyes. For their sake. For once, I was glad that my mother had died. She didn’t have to see me be taken away.
-A week later-
Training had begun, the careers had taken all of the attention with their pure brute strength and tactical skills. However I spent most of my time at the botany section, refreshing my memory of the different types of plants. My father ran a plant store, so I had more knowledge about them than the average tribute. I was fast and nimble, no doubt about it. I could outrun almost everyone here easily. What I was most concerned about was being able to identify what was edible or not. Food was important. Other than that, I’d heard that one tribute, Katniss, had given me a nickname.
Foxface.
How interesting. It showed that she’d picked up on my agility skills and would no doubt use that against me.
After we demonstrated our skills to the game makers, we were given a rank. I was given a five.
A five.
I tried not to let it get to me, to tell myself that they’d underestimated me and I’d shock them in the arena. It didn’t work. I knew I didn’t stand much of a chance. It didn’t help that Katniss got a twelve. How? Because she can shoot a few arrows?
Then I heard a rumor about how she was given that score to become a target, and my five suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
-During the games-
Five of us. That’s how many were left. If I was correct, it was Katniss and Peeta, Thresh and Cato, and me. I had the least chance of winning, and I knew it. All stamina I’d had from the start was gone, and replaced by weakness. I knew I would be picked off soon, gruesomely, with millions of people watching.
So I made a plan.
I would not let my family see me be brutally murdered by Cato, or shot out of a tree by Katniss.
I had been keeping track of where Peeta and Katniss were, and what they were doing. From a distance, of course. Peeta had made some sort of meal that he’d left to get more berries. He thought they were safe. They were nightlock berries. I specifically remember my father telling me and my siblings to avoid the dangerous dark fruit.
As soon as Peeta left, a grabbed a handful and fled to a quiet spot.
“This is where I die.” I whispered to myself. I may not die with dignity, but I will die knowing that I had a choice. A choice on what my family witnessed.
With trembling hands and tears in my eyes, I lifted the berries to my lips and said goodbye.
The end.
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