The first thing I become aware of, is the feeling in my left leg.
I can feel my left leg?
I open my eyes, and sit up quickly.
I'm back at my camp, laying on the blanket, with a parachute beside me.
The parachute is a sponsor gift, attached to the parachute, is a small silver container.
I open this, and discover a jar of blue gel.
There's also a small slip of paper, that says:
Poison medicine.
The strangest thing about it, is that's it already open, and a good part of the medicine is gone.
That's when I remember everything. The game makers making it hot, so I would go for a swim, the battle with the squid mutt,
and the pair of shoes just before I passed out.
Who was that? Was it just a hallucination from the poison?
No, someone had to have been there.
I mean, someone had to bring me here...or did I drag myself and not remember?
I look down at my leg, and gasp at how much better it looks.
The swelling has gone down completely, in fact, all that's left is small faded pink circles.
I sit and wonder what happened, and who helped me.
Why would anyone help me?
The first reaction for someone in the arena when they come across someone near death, should be to finish them off.
Not to take them to safety, and nurse them back to health.
Who would do that?
A thought strikes me: How long have I been unconscious?
With how much poison was in my system, it could have been anywhere from several hours, to several days.
I think of a way that I can find out. I stand up on weak legs, and walk over to my backpack, I rummage around until I find the fish I had wrapped in leaves. I unwrap them, and they seem fresh. I must have only been unconscious for several hours.
That medicine from the capitol must work amazingly fast.
The next thing I do, is look all around my camp, and the area surrounding it, for any signs of my helper.
I find none, not so much as a bruised leaf.
I sigh and return to camp. I eat some fish, and apply a little more medicine to my arm and leg.
My mind is occupied trying to figure out who would help me, and why?
Could it have been Annita? She said herself that if she didn't make it out, she would want me to.
But that doesn't seem likely, she is with the careers. If they had found me I never would have woken up.
I wonder what the careers are up to?
I wonder if it would be possible to find my way back to the cornucopia, I don't see what good it would do me though.
I decide to explore a bit, and I bring my knife, the rope, and my canteen.
Then I make my way to the lake. Once I get there however, I avoid the lake edge, and walk around the lake, toward the swamp.
It takes me a little less than an hour to reach the edge of the swamp. I go ahead cautiously, remembering that only this morning someone died in here.
After a couple of hours of exploring, I discover some tough vines hanging from some gnarled trees at the edge of the swamp.
I cut down as many as I can, and wind them up, tying them together with the rope.
Then I heave the vines and rope onto my shoulder, and slowly make my way back to camp.
It's starting to get dark when I arrive at my camp, and I decide to stay up for a while.
Now that I know someone has been to my camp, I have to be more cautious, I might even have to move my camp.
But, if they were willing to help me, I don't see why I should be afraid of them.
I eat some of my food supply, and settle down to work on the vines.
First I shave them until I reach the supple more flexible center.
Then I begin tying them together.
I may not be the best at it, but I can still make a decent net.
Total darkness has fallen, and I work silently on the net.
Suddenly I hear a cannon fire, then another one.
I sit, waiting to see if another fires.
All is silent once again.
Two more people dead, they must have been together when they died, because the odds of two people dying that close together, are nearly impossible.
The anthem starts playing, and I wait to see the faces of those who are no longer in this literal death trap.
The girl from nine, and both tributes from eleven are dead.
The anthem ends, and the arena is once more silent.
Three more dead. That leaves sixteen of us left.
I wonder if the capitol people will think these games are going to slow, or are boring.
I hope not, that would mean more game maker tricks.
After working on my net for another hour, I decide to turn in for the night.
The next morning, I wake up rather late.
It must be ten o'clock already.
I stretch and get up slowly, retrieving some food from my pack, I notice that I'm running low on food.
After a late breakfast, I decide to go hunting.
Since my ordeal in the lake, I don't feel much like fishing.
I take my knife and homemade spear, and my canteen.
Deciding to hunt the woods behind my camp, I set off.
After four hours of hunting. I face that I am a fisherman, not a hunter.
I haven't even seen any game, the entire time I've been out here.
I sigh and am about to turn around, when I notice something.
I walk over to a large tree with a thick trunk, and crouch to look at the bottom.
At the base of the tree, the bark is stained dark.
I run my fingers over the stain, and look at them. Blood.
I look all around the tree, and find several blood spatters on some leaves.
I follow the blood trail for about a mile, then I freeze.
About a hundred feet in front of me, is the remains of a campfire.
Several small animal carcasses, litter the campsite, and there's blood everywhere.
A small fire sits in the middle of the camp, and I feel fear crawl up my spine.
The embers are still glowing, meaning whoever's campsite this is, was here recently.
I back slowly away from the clearing, and hurry back to my camp.
By the time I arrive, it's getting late in the afternoon.
I am frustrated at my useless attempts to hunt, and realise that If I want food, I'm going to have to fish again.
I make a quick trip to the lake, and spear a couple of fish, I decide that this is fine for now, and leave the dark water.
I walk into my camp, and place my spear, knife and fish on the ground. Then I start to light a fire.
"So. This is the camp of Finnick Odair." A cold ruthless voice purrs.
I spin around, grabbing for my knife.
Weasel stands about ten feet away, holding my knife.
She gives me a wicked smile.
"You wouldn't think I would let you keep your weapons, now did you?"
She chuckles, and pulls out a long skinny bladed knife from her belt.
I notice she has many knives in her belt.
She takes a step toward me. I take a step back.
"If you just stand still, this will go faster."
I take another step back, feeling around for something, anything.
Her eyes light up.
"Oh good! It'll be much more fun this way."
My hand closes around my spear, which she must not have noticed.
I bring it around quickly, and hurl it at her.
She moves quickly, saving herself from getting hit in the gut. Instead the spear pierces her shoulder.
She shrieks in pain, and lunges forward.
I jerk back, forgetting that the rock ledge was behind me.
I feel my head crack against something hard, then everything goes black.
The world slowly comes back, in a swirl of pain.
I try to rub the back of my head, but my hands are tied behind my back.
I open my eyes, and see how bad my situation really is.
I am tied with my back to a tree.
My ankles, waist and neck, are bound to the tree with my rope, I don't have my shirt on, and the bark rubs painfully on my back.
I see Weasel sitting by a freshly made fire. Sharpening her knives.
I rest my head against the tree, and moan in pain.
Weasel spins quickly around, and smiles.
"Oh good. You're up, now the fun can start."
She says with a smile that makes my blood run cold.
She stands up and collects her knives.
Then she walks over to me.
"I was wondering who invaded my campsite, I was thinking it was one of those weaklings. But look what I found! Finnick Odair, this is a prize indeed, I have to make this special, slow and delicate."
She holds the thin bladed knife in one hand.
Narrowing her eyes, she looks over me.
"Where should I start?"
She touches my face with her free hand, and her touch is as cold as ice.
"I don't think I'll cut your face, you're to handsome for that. I want you to still look like yourself."
She slides her hand down my neck, then runs it over my bare chest. Feeling my muscles.
She looks up to my face and smiles.
"I know just what to do with you."
She places the knife tip right below my right shoulder, increasing the pressure slowly.
I feel the knife tip break the skin, and a small trickle of blood run down my chest.
She digs a little deeper with the blade, and smiles as I grunt in pain.
Painstakingly slowly, she starts dragging the knife down in a diagonal line to my left hip.
I writhe in pain as the knife slices through my skin.
But that's only the beginning.
She continues to slice more and more cuts into my chest. Leaving a framework of red lines, and trails of blood running down my chest.
She does it so slowly, that I can feel every fiber slice apart, and every drop of blood form.
She seems to be cutting in a specific pattern, not just slicing willy nilly.
After what seems like an eternity, and feels like a thousand cuts. She stops, and looks at her work.
I grit my teeth against the pain.
"Now, if my theory is correct..."
She grabs my shirt, and covers my nose and mouth with it.
I try to struggle, but I'm tied to tightly. She's smothering me, and there's nothing I can do about it.
I'm about to pass out, when she pulls away the shirt.
I suck in as much air as I can hold, and then cry out in pain.
With every breath I take, my chest expands, and splits open every wound on my chest.
My lungs are refusing to stop taking in as many deep breaths as they can, and every time I inhale the pain is unbearable.
I roar in agony, as I feel blood stream down my torso.
Weasel jumps up and down, giggling and clapping at my pain.
"What kind of sick twisted mind do you have!"
I shout through the pain.
She narrows her eyes again, stepping close to me, she whispers in my ear.
"I wasn't always like this."
I yell in pain as she starts tracing my cuts with her finger, still whispering in my ear slowly.
"When I was five years old, my father beat my mother almost to death. So I grabbed the knife my father used to cut meat in his shop, and I stabbed him in the leg. He passed out from the pain, and I tied him up. When he woke up, I made him pay for what he did. First I took his ears, and his eyes, then I removed his fingers, one, by one. I sliced him up so bad, that when I was finished, you couldn't even recognise him. After he was long dead, I gathered the pieces, and through them to the wild dogs. My mother ended up dying from her wounds, so I had to take care of myself. I got a job at a butcher shop, and learned how to properly cut things. That's why I had to be careful with you, I had to make sure not to cut an artery. I don't want you to die quickly."
She brushes her fingers on my cheek, leaving blood streaked across it.
Then she turns and walks over to the fire.
I pull against my bonds, gasping as the ropes burn my skin.
Weasel comes back over to me, holding a knife with a red-hot blade.
"I was waiting for this to be ready."
I scream in agony as she presses the flat of the blade against my arm.
She holds it for about three seconds, and does it again in a different spot.
She stops when my right arm from my shoulder to my elbow, is almost completely burned.
Her eyes are bright, and have a crazed look in them.
"I have a surprise for you."
She says in a sing-song voice.
"I've saved the best for last."
She runs back over to the fire, and comes back carrying a weird-looking root on a flat stone.
Taking her red hot knife, she sets the root on fire, and burns it to ashes, she adds a little water, to make it into a kind of paste.
Then being very careful, she takes a leaf, and scoops up some of the paste.
"Hold still."
She says cheerfully.
Then she smears the paste across my chest.
For a minute, nothing happens, then a pain worse than the squid poison, and slicing joined, shoots through my body.
I arch my back, and strain against the ropes holding me.
I feel the rope cut into my wrists, but it feels soothing compared to the pain in my chest.
Weasel smears more of the paste on my cuts, as she explains above my cries.
"This is a special man-made root. I'm not sure what it's called, but I heard the capitol made it to use as a torturing device during the rebellion. The moisture in the root, is practically the same as tracker jacker venom. They work the same way, creating extreme pain, and hallucinations. The only difference being, the root inflicts pain much more powerful than tracker jackers. It's not fatal as far as I know, but I've been wrong before."
The paste feels like it's melting my skin, and the pain never stops, if anything it gets worse.
Suddenly, Weasel has red eyes, and fangs.
I see hundreds of small versions of the lake squid.
Weasel laughs, and fire shoots from her mouth.
My breathing becomes rapid, and my body start being racked with spasms.
I feel conciousness slowly fading away, and I see Weasel gather her things and leave.
Just before she leaves, she looks at my quivering body, and I hear her say.
"Well, if you don't die from this, you'll starve or be killed by someone else. Either way works for me. Although, I highly doubt you'll live through the night."
Her footsteps fade away, and I start to slip into unconsciousness.
My hallucinations grow worse, and then they fade away.
I come to the conclusion that I am dying, because right before I pass out.
I see an angel.
