Things That Burn [Reyes ~ Day Four]

Sleep doesn't exist. When I lay down in the sand, my head sinks down slightly below my neck because the surface is uneven. For a terrifying moment, I feel like I'm being engulfed by the tiny grains again, like the ground beneath me wants me to die. I gasp, throw my arms up above me as a sort of pull to bring my body back from certain death. The muscles in my torso spring forward, so quick that I'm flipped over, crawling desperately away from the spot. I take a second, look back. Nothing is moving. Out of curiosity I crawl back and poke the sand I disturbed with my hand, waiting for a resistance. I didn't think this sand between towers was particularly dangerous. Kind of a safe haven, or something. Ha, ha. Safe. As if.

Oh well, at least I'm not dead. The Gamemakers have to be laughing at me right now, with their cameras. Maybe I'm not being broadcast on all the screens (for whatever lazy Capitolites even wake up this early to watch) but the Gamemakers know. If a tribute dares to even breath wrong, they know about it. But where do they hide the cameras? I've always wondered about it. I mean, they can't very well be following us around in the air. I've always imagined them as teeny tiny flying things that the Gamemakers guide around with remotes or something, like the toys children play with. I glance around, then up at the glass hanging over my head, over all of our heads, but I don't see anything. If I ever survive this, I'll ask one of them.

I fall down back into sleeping position, but my head is still uncomfortable. Pounding my fists against the ground kind of creates a mound for a pillow, but when my head plops down onto it I realize I don't want to close my eyes. I shut them angrily, but without thinking I open them up in little uncertain slits. Open, closed. Then somehow they're open again. I realize, and close them. Open again. The feeling is familiar to me -- a need to sleep with one eye open. My brain, educated in experience as it is, knows what I'm trying to make it forget. I want to sleep, I've hardly slept in days.. but my eyes keep popping open. My heartbeats keep forcing their way as if they can't beat enough and they need to race to get as many beats in as possible. As if running violently through my chest is going to do them any good in the long run, as if that will stop the blood loss when my throat is slit. All I can think is calm down, heart, calm down but at the same time, I don't want it to be calm. Sleep wars with my senses, and every sense I've ever had has told me to fight, to get off my ass and live. The quicksand did this to me -- now I'll be afraid of it for the few days I have left.

I wipe the sand off my arms and legs, and with a few shakes of my head I rid it from my hair as much as I can. There's barely a hint of light coming through the glass above, but my eyes have adjusted enough that I don't need it. I take a moment to sort through my things, as I usually do, to make sure that I haven't left anything sitting in the sand. Clearly, if I leave and decide to come back, whatever's here will either be impossible to find or covered.

Through the dim light, I can see the entrance to the tower to the east. As I move I glance down at the ground to look for any signs of a trap from the Gamemakers, but at any rate there isn't enough light to tell the difference. My feet feel heavier than usual as I walk, but I know it's just the lack of sleep because there are other signs too. I register things.. slowly. Each new thought takes a moment to sink in. My heart beating furiously is the only thing battling the exhaustion, and for my sake I've never hated anything so much as I hate my own heart right now. Ugh.

Oh well, too late now. The sand is behind me, or a least almost behind me. When I come close to the new tower, even now with my mind so slow, I smile. Doesn't take much to amuse me, I guess. But look, look! All this wood surrounds me, trees everywhere. There has to be food here. Thank Ripred. But first, some rest. First, I find a tree to lean against. I know the others will be coming soon, hunting me down. Or at least, maybe. Who knows, with these ... and sleep comes easily.
...

When I open my eyes a few hours later, I think I've been killed without realizing it.

All this hellfire..

I should think run, get out of here but instead I think how can I use this to my advantage? and I'm a Career and Ripred I'm an idiotic one, but with all my bad luck I have to make my own upsides to terrible situations. Ripred what an idiot I truly am, but that doesn't stop me from taking a look around.

Tiny little things, scrambling and crawling and hurrying like they do, rush through the forest, away from the flames that come at me. I'm wondering where exactly they could go, because the sand wouldn't exactly be welcoming for them, until I think food! Who the hell cares where they go? I'm eating today, feasting on the little beasties that are running for their lives. If I had been the least bit smart I would have set a trap before I went to sleep, with all this rope, but I was just so tired and Ripred I'm hungry I'm not thinking straight. Squirrels scurry along the ground, so preoccupied with running away that they don't realize they're headed straight towards me ...

I lunge, hands forward, towards one, after close calculation. It's even kind of cute, if you don't count the fear in its eyes and it's ugly hurrying legs.

[dice=2]

The little thing squirms in my fingers, trying to escape, but I break it's neck and the foolish thing stops moving.

"I'm not sorry," I tell it. But dead squirrels can't hear, of course.

Fire comes quickly, spreading from tree to tree in a hunger that is only claimed by natural disasters. They live by destroying, eating up trees and animals and things that were once grand, just like we eat food and drink water to live. I'm reminded of what I should be doing, using the fire to my advantage, but I need the right opportunity. I wait, and wait, and wait, and while I stand there I pull out the knife and skin the fur off the tiny creature. I wait until the right combination of embers and wood sparks a small enough fire near me, and from that fire I pull out a burning stick and I RUN. Scramble, scurry, fling my legs forward and back just like the helpless animals, but I holler at the air and at the Gamemakers and at the tributes and I'm smiling like an idiot, running for my life but only to the edge of the area, where the fire hasn't touched yet. I've been gasping for air through the smoke, but here the air is a bit clearer. In a rush, I pull limbs down from the trees, take kindling and throw it on the stick I retrieved, and I build it up. Just as the untamed fire eats up the trees, this one consumes the branches, and in less than a minute I dangle my food and my water above it, looking back over my shoulder as time passes. Closer, coming closer. I'll be burned soon, if I don't leave. But I should gather more wood!

My cleats slap against the ground as I rush around the trees, pulling whatever stable branches and kindling from them I can get. Heat begins to surround me, and I don't have much time. I reach my fire and pick up my water and food just as it joins the wildfire, but I'm not fast enough. My left arm passes through the flames. I cry out, pat the fire away. There's no time to look at it. I run, fly, sling my backpack over my shoulder.

And apparently I'm not dead after all.

[Catches a squirrel, boils his water, cooks the squirrel, gathers wood, flees]