Peeta

I look up, and it’s the middle of the night. How long have I been hallucinating?

I'm unsure, but it's probably been days. I can hardly move. I don't know where I am in the arena, but I am by the river, laying face up with my legs on the bank and the water swirling around my head.

I'm shivering. I drag myself out of the water, my left leg extremely painful. I look at it, and vaguely remember being cut by Cato while keeping him away from Katniss.

Katniss! Did she make it? I don't really know, but I feel certain she did. Cato had been bitten by the trackerjackers too, and though he may have tried to go after her, she had a head start.

My mouth feels dry and gross. I take a mouthful of the river water. I know it's untreated, but I suppose some water is better than none.

I notice some of the plants we were told we could eat at training, and even though I'm not at all hungry, I put some in my mouth and chew. Ten minutes later, I start to heave. I struggle to my hands and my one good knee and start to vomit into the weeds. Well, I guess my stomach can't handle food just yet.

I rinse my mouth out with water and lean against the rock. I'm dying and I know it. The cut on my leg is deep and extremely painful. I'm certain I have a fever of some sort, because I've been shivering all night. I suppose the only thing left for me to do is collapse here and die.

Morning comes with banded light. I'll be easily visible to anyone who comes my way now. I don't want to die at the hands of the Careers though, or anyone else either. I figure perhaps the best way for me to die is to simply hide myself in the weeds. I start to paint my arms and face, and lay shaking in the weeds. There, camouflage.

Well, it’s better than nothing.