A/N I'm literally the worst author ever. Well enjoy the story!

Disclaimer- Hunger games are not mine!

I pulled the bow string tight and then let it slip from my fingers and fly with a strength that astounded even me. It hit my intended target perfectly, and the body collapsed down to the earth. I sighed with a mixture of both satisfaction, and intense pain. Shooting my bow took energy and strength from myself that I didn't think I possessed anymore. Blinding pain streaked up from my arms like bolts of electricity, but I ignorantly tried to ignore it and walked towards my kill, checking my surroundings with warry eyes as I went.

Suddenly a cannon sound sounded through the air, and I hit the frozen ground in shock. I hadn't realized that I was so jumpy, and I didn't really know why. Desperately trying to compose myself, I stood up and brush the small needles and snow of my hands and knees. My clothes had been ripped and torn past repair, and I couldn't find the strength to care. Parts of my tender skin were being exposed to the frigid temperature and surroundings, but I didn't try to change it. Why did it matter anyway?

I tried to walk confidently towards my kill, but my knees still seemed to ridiculously shake a little. I thought I was in control of myself, but I seemed to be relapsing. I had to be stronger than this. I needed something to push me through this hell, but nothing came to mind. I didn't know if I had my father back home, because would he still love me after I let his favorite children die? I obviously didn't have a mother, a friend, or any more siblings to give me a reason to live.

Why did I keep having these thoughts? I thought I had come to terms with myself that I had found strength, no matter how hollow or cruel the source had been. It was like my mind was on a repetitive loop that I couldn't break free of, that consisted of me wondering if I actually could do this. At times I was so sure; I could feel that I could win. It rang through my mind like a clear voice, but at the same moment, I could feel the doubt waiting to be noticed. I could sense that there was a possibility that this wouldn't happen, and it was a high possibility, higher than my chance was to survive.

I slapped myself on the face with my good hand with as much force as I could muster. The raw sting of fresh pain brought me little rampage of thoughts to an end, and I immediately pushed them from head. I couldn't waste time on useless thoughts. I had to act on the here and now.

I finally made me way to my kill and pulled the dead squirrel up closer to my face to survey the body. I pleasantly noted that even though I had an insanely weak arm, I still could produce a perfect kill that even Mr. Everdeen would be fiercely proud of. I skinned and gutted it quickly and pierced it on a stick that I would use to cook the animal over a fire. I no longer felt the tiny ounce of guilt that I had always harbored when I killed animals. It had made me feel horribly destructive sometimes to take away the life of something so innocent, and contrary to popular belief, I didn't particularly enjoy feeling destructive. I guess killing a human being had truly ripped any form of innocence from my life. I was a monster, and I was starting to enjoy it.

The thought was sudden and abrupt, and it made my stomach churn in an odd way. I pushed it quickly from my mind, just like I had to do with all my thoughts lately, deciding that it made me sick to think of. Maybe there was still a pinch of loving hope left in me, unlikely, but maybe.

I wasn't very hungry, and since I was no longer having to provide for and feed others, one squirrel was enough to sustain me for a time. I stumbled back to the cave quickly, gathering tiny dry sticks on the way. I knew there was one or two matches back in the pack, so lighting a fire would be easy enough to due. I was mere feet away from walking back into the cave entrance when the anthem sounded all around me, and the body count for the day lit up the darkened sky.

Two dead, one from district 11, and one from district 1. The death of the career from district 1 had to be the work of Jet. It was probably the boy he had with him when they hunted down my family the first time. The one that could track prints in the snow well. Obviously Jet was deciding to bring the games to a close, despite how much he had seemed to love them. My bet was that tomorrow, he would hunt down the last 2 at once, as they were most likely a family pair, and then try his best to find me.

But he wouldn't expect me to be hunting for him. That would certainly throw him off, I thought with a sick smile. I'd let him do the dirty work of killing the remaining 2, I didn't want more blood than necessary on my already blood soaked hands, and then I would take him down quicker than he could turn. We both knew that I was weak, but I was stronger than him.

I scrambled into the cave to escape the bitter wind that had suddenly picked up, and I formed the sticks into a suitable pile, before lighting them ablaze. The flames licked to life immediately, but it took a while for the heat of the fire to fill all the space in the room. I held the little squirrel over the flames, watching the skin turn from a fleshy pink to a dark brown.

The sizzling smell would have most likely been delicious to anyone else, but for some reason I had oddly lost the taste for food, any kind of food. It was almost torture to have to force substance down my throat, but it had to be done. It would be another problem I would unfortunately have to solve when I got out of the arena and back into life.

I eventually noticed the slick, wet feeling of my ruined makeshift bandage on my arm, and I ripped off more blanket to change it. When I peeled off the soiled fabric of the first bandage, I sighed in disgust. It looked like it was most likely infected, which would mean it would only hurt more tomorrow when I took down Jet. It also meant that my health was in critical condition right now, but if I won the games tomorrow, I would be loaded back to the capitol, and patched up immediately, so my health wasn't my bigger concern.

I thought of various scenarios of how the show down of finally killing Jet would unfold while I ate my meager dinner. The tiny bit silver of sane person in me hoped that I could shoot him from behind with an arrow so he died quickly, surprised and never knowing how, but the main part of me wanted to shoot him in a critical area, than stand over him and taunt him just like he had done to so many others. A part of me wanted to watch him die in torturous, slow pain; so he could reflect on all the misery, pain, and death he had caused in the world during the span of his short life. Give him a taste of his bitter medicine. It was sadistic, but I accepted it. I was becoming a monster, no matter how feebly I tried to fight it.

This was my last dyeing thought as I laid my head down on the remaining bit of blanket for a pillow, and tried to force myself to sleep. I needed to be at the top of my game tomorrow if I hoped to win, even though the top of my game was incredibly meager. I didn't even try to push it from my head anymore. I embraced it. Maybe it would give me the edge I needed in the fight tomorrow. It was all I could ask for.