Smooth, slightly crinkled. The old can of aggression gas that the Gamemakers used on us is the most painful reminder of the destruction of the past weeks. The Careers may have kidded themselves that they rule the arena, but in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king (courtesy of my Aunt Emmeline, who had loads of them to say) and here that's the Gamemakers. This little mottled piece of metal is proof of that. I've moved my camp to a set of cliffs near the edge of the arena, and they create a pleasant, sunny hiding place. And it's there that I make my stand.

Gripping the can; I thought of all that it had caused. Berenice, Euler, the boy from 4, an entire Career pack brought down by one can of chemicals. Nobody's invincible, not against the Capitol.

And then I did something that, these days, would have me instantly blown up. I picked up the can, warmed by the late sun, and with a cry of frustration and guilt-driven grief, hurled it over the edge of cliffs, where I watched it bounce down to the bottom. I sure never liked Berenice, or the rest of the Careers, but it didn't feel right that we was treated like animals, trapped and tricked, like animals. Changed by mind-altering drugs, beyond all recognition.

I couldn't stay there for much longer, knowing that the vile can was just a jump away. I moved further inland, and set up camp in the shade, at last confident that my enemies were miles away. That night I dozed over dinner, the anthem having played without a death.

That's when they came. The rats.

Huge rats, filthy rats! One streaked past my ankle and I could feel the grease on its fur. They leaped around and went straight for my pack. They scrabbled with their tiny but sharp claws. I snatched the bag out of reach, and a tear widened. At the smell of a corner of bread that stuck through the hole, the rats eyes bulged and they leaped up higher, snatching at it. Experimentally I tore a piece of bread off and threw it onto the ground. The rats raced for it, trampling on each other in their haste to grab it, so hell bent on the bread they completely ignored the few strands of warm left over from dinner.

They must be trained to smell Capitol smells, I thought. Just like them mutts with the big noses that chased after the Capitol perfume. I pulled out the rest of the loaf and threw it to them. They burrowed furiously through the dry crust. Distracted, I grabbed my sword and hacked away at the loaf until it was red with blood. I went mad with the frenzy, like Berenice hacking at the boy from 4. I jabbed and stabbed and chopped and hacked until I couldn't see a single rat, just a clump of stinking flesh and bread. I couldn't stand the sight of the living things any more. I didn't need aggression gas. The rats had already sent me into a seething rage.

It wasn't until after the rat mutts had been banished from the arena that finally I saw the reason for it. The rats would steal and eat the Capitol food provided in the packs and stacks of the Cornucopia. It won't be long before we have to fight for food. The Capitol wants a victor, and quickly.

The 12th Annual Hunger Games, are coming to an end.