--Give Me Envy [Seah vs Dice]

Even as Seah Storstrand set foot on the southern part of the desert, his lungs and throat burned from the run. Uncomfortably dry air surrounded him the moment he could no longer see the piles of bones, and the soles of his combat boots met a slightly familiar landscape.

He told himself it was like the beach back home, minus the water. His boots pressed lightly into the sand, and he closed his eyes and he was almost there again. The ocean had been his only friend. If he shut his eyes and focused on the sand beneath his feet and pretended a bit, he could have sworn he was staring out at the waves with a salty breeze whirling around his arms.

When Seah opened his eyes again, the tiny breeze had become violent. Even in the darkness and the bland surroundings he had been able to see a few feet in front his his face, but the wind was becoming stronger, more malicious, and sand whipped up and burned when it reached past his sunglasses and eyelids. It irritated his skin lightly at first, enough to keep him glued to where he stood. Then, as the winds picked up and the sand came with it, he began to move his feet. Was it a ploy by the Capitol to drive him away, or was it simply natural? Good God, they're never going to give me a break..

Not quite sure which direction the Gamemakers were driving him - if they were sending him anywhere at all rather than simply looking to inflict pain - Seah turned on his heel and hightailed it the way he had come, though vast desert was his only option. His already burning lungs exploded with the pain of sand creeping into his airway. Eyes shut, mouth closed, breath through your noise. Ignore your arms and legs; you can't do anything about that.

As he told himself these things, he knew they were nonsense. Despite his efforts, the pain didn't dim at all. Not the tiny abrasions on his skin - they still hurt like hell despite their comparative size - not the burning in his lungs, and not the stinging in his closed eyes. It was difficult to imagine which was worse: bits of skin itching and flaming with bites from too many mosquitoes, or this ugly wind and sand combination that pained every part of him.

The real kicker was the anthem. Seah had seen it, glorified in it, stared up at the sky and wondered for the thousandth time if his parents were watching.

Would they ever be proud of him?

Eventually the winds died down and the sand stopped nipping at his skin, but it was all he could do not to collapse. His body shook with every cough he forced out. Sand was everywhere. His lungs, throat, mouth, skin, eyes, clothes, and still it rested beneath his feet.

Seah Storstrand was made of sand, and he could no longer imagine himself standing on the beach.