106th Hunger Games

My name is Rudolph Hinselmen. I’m 15. I’m from District 1. My name is Rudolph Hinselmen. I’m 15. I’m from District 1. I tell myself over and over, repeating like a broken record, while drying my sweaty palms on my pants. I'm standing on a podium waiting for the 106th Hunger Games to begin. That’s not a comforting thought but helps me keep my cool and not let my anxiety win this battle that I’ve been fighting since I came into this world of ruin. 

“Ten…Nine” the robotic feminine voice that counts to the start of the games begins counting. I start to open my closed eyes to look around, the cornucopia sits in the middle as always in its silvery prime. Around it is a forest with what appears to be ruined buildings with a smoke stack jutting out of it. District twelve I think to myself. After the rebellion that District 12  started, failed. After a couple years of everything going well, the Capitol reformed from the ashes of another rebellion, and destroyed 13 again and 12 again. I scan the cornucopia, nothing for me to work with. I don't like fighting. Ironic since I’m from a carrier district. “Three…Two…One.” The robot ends and the booming voice of Dick Roberts comes over the intercom “Let the 106th Hunger Games….. BEGIN!!!!!” His voice causes the room arena to shake. I remember what my mentor told me to run away from the cornucopia, that I could use my smarts to survive. But how, I think, without a weapon to defend myself?! I sprint to the cornucopia. I’ve always been fast with my skinny frame. I reach the cornucopia before my counterpart, Ruth, and everyone else. Being from the same district we were told by our trainers to team up. My mentor said to me in private that she’ll get me killed, to go off on my own. I grab a backpack and a mean looking sword with a spikey blade. Then I hear it. The cold shunk and thuck of a blade piercing a body.I turn my head to look behind me. I see Ruth with a body at her feet, a cannon shot ringing through the air. I gag. I don't wanna be here, I tried to throw myself off of the tribute hall. The force field around the top stopped me. I hate violence, I never used a weapon, that starts the anxiety all over. I ran faster, that's the only way to escape the bloody sight of the cornucopia. 

I ran for hours with the toothed sword grinning as I clipped it to my backpack. I found a cave to sleep in for the night, as the sun started to set. The sky went black and the anthem of Panem played over the speakers and the coat of arms appeared in the sky. Faces flashed a boy from 4 and others from 3,6,7,9,11. Then it went on to show the girls, Ruth wasn't there. Figures she was the most brutalist girl in training. She accidentally killed a classmate in hand to hand combat. I shudder.

The sun peeks through the mouth of the cave. It’s morning. After I went through my backpack (  there wasn't much in there, a knife, iodine, a full bottle of water, and 3 packets of dried food, two of which were fruits and one was jerky, yummy), I went to go find a strategic place for me stay the night again. The cave wasn’t that safe as the mouth was wide open and if someone walked by I would be seen. I thought of doing what the legend Peeta Malark did, camouflage myself into the ground. Turns out painting takes skill and having an eye for it. I don't have either. I walked for what felt like hours. I hear distant sobs.

As I gained closer to the sobs, with each step skillfully placed so I didn’t alert whatever was making the noise. I darted behind a tree when I got close enough to see what was crying like a child. Well, it was a child, so that was an accurate description.  It was a young boy. His dark skin and curly brown hair told me he was from district 11. He was skinny, skinnier than me, which was an accomplishment. He couldn't be older than 12, a fresh drawing, a victim of tesserae. Kill him. If you don’t he’ll kill you. 

But he's just a kid.

Does that matter?

Yes! He probably hasn't even killed a fly!  

If you don't kill him he’ll kill you.

We don't know that.

It’s the Hunger Games!

The battle raged in my mind, one side fighting the other.

I can't kill. I won’t kill. I’ll never kill.

No, you can kill, you will kill, you haven't killed YET.  You need to kill to survive. What would Mike tell you?

That it’s just one less person to worry about.

Right.

The murderer had taken over. I unclipped my sword that was grinning in delight to see action. I breathe deep then turn around the tree and strike. Another cannon shot.

Under the sycamore tree that I chose for my resting spot that night. The shrubs growing lush and green conceal me from outsiders, but not them from me. My mind raced. I just killed a kid. He did nothing. I killed him in cold blood.  The blood stained sword that I leaned up against the sycamore tree laughed and flashed its red teeth, like it was mocking me.  I couldn't process it. So many feelings. I enjoyed it, but I hated it. I wanted that adrenaline rush. I wanted to see that scared look on peoples faces, but I didn’t. His face. The look on his face. It was stained to my mind like a stamp to paper. I couldn't stop thinking about it. The anthem of panem played. The seal appeared in the sky. The boy I killed was from district five. 

The next morning I opened my eyes and saw a Raccon going through my stuff and I tried to fend him off. After that great feat, which I won majestically, I decided to go check out the ruins I saw at the cornucopia. I walked again for maybe five miles before I saw the smoke stack. I reached the city around, from what I could guess logically, noon time. My stomach was full as I had stopped a bit before and snacked on some dried food I took from the boy. I walked around in awe. The game makers really like their detail. Not as much as they liked their violence. I wandered for a few minutes. Then I heard voices. Crap. I started panicking. I ran in the opposite direction from the voices, praying that they wouldn't find me. I tripped. As I fell I swore. Crap. Crap. Crap! I stood. The voices turned to whoops of excitement and, “over there”’s. They heard me. The anxiety reached its peak. I could barely breathe but the adrenaline pushed me on. I ran and ran. Then I heard the twack of a bowstring then the thunk of an arrow hitting its target. The world turns to black. The only sound was a single cannon shot that rang through the air. I hope I see the boy in the afterlife. I would like to say sorry.