A/N--- First off, the Hunger Games obviously don't belong to me. Second, this story was written for the April writing challenge in the Hunger Games Forum, Starvation, which is an awesome forum filled with nice people, check it out! Anywhoo, enjoy the story (: -Emily

~*PAINTINGS IN THE CRIMSON SKY*~

My drive to live vanished as he took his last breath.

"No! You can't leave me!" I plead desperately through my sobs, but it is too late. He shoots me one last smile before leaving me for good. My blood runs cold. I have nothing now, no one. I am alone, utterly alone with the corpse of my only love lying still in my arms and no morphine around to help me escape.

My legs shook as I take the small metal stage in the district center. The expression of my escort, Wilis shows that he is far less than impressed with me being chosen for tribute. He would much rather have a stronger district, like 2 or 4, not District 6, who is notorious for breeding Hunger Games losers.

"Zora Ossota as female tribute!" Wilis shouts, raising my hands high for my district to see. The taste of salt enters my mouth as tears stream down my cheeks. The world begins to spin. It feels as if this is nothing but a nightmare or a sick joke, but I know that it isn't. I am chosen to enter the 67th Annual Hunger Games and I can't do anything to change it.

The silence that surrounds me kills me even more inside. I lie his body, him being Rett, my best friend, on the ground beside me. I sweep my shaky, bony, hand over his cold and lifeless eyes, closing them, for he died with them locked on mine. My mind wanders as usual, straining to think of something happier, convincing myself that he isn't dead, he can't be. Only a few days ago we were painting pictures of fields and flowers at the camouflage station in the training center. Surely we knew we both couldn't survive the 75th Games, but we never expected to be separated so suddenly, let alone on the very first day in the arena. Of course, the odds have never been in my favor; I am destined to live a miserable and lonely life. This fate was sealed the day I entered the arena.

My platform rose higher and higher until I could no longer see the face of my stylist anymore. I fold my arms around the grey hoodie I am wearing and shuffle in my white running shoes. A sense of nervousness enters my body and consumes my mind. What is the arena like? Surely it will be warm…after all, I am wearing shorts.

The world above opens up and I am greeted by a rush of warm air. I brush the red-brown pieces of hair from my face and brace myself for what's to come. As my platform comes to a halt, my eyes adjust to the world around me. I almost lose my breath as I find myself standing in a field that seemingly stretches on for miles. The whole arena is encased in a large circle of mountains that surround the entire field. The only other thing in sight is the giant cornucopia, glistening in the sunlight. A mass of supplies lie at both the mouth of the cornucopia as well as before it. I stare greedily before me at the supplies, but position myself to run straight ahead. I am nothing but a small and weak fifteen-year old with no fighting or weaponry experience. I wouldn't last a second in this bloodbath, especially against my opponents. The majority of them are unhumanly muscular and cruel. No, I would run away when I have the chance.

My sixty seconds to prepare come to an end and the Games begin. Tributes dart towards the cornucopia around me. Sounds of fights and shouts fill the air. I sprint forward, grabbing a small plastic bottle and dodging a dart, then sprint into the tall, threatening grass before me.

A tear runs down my cheek as Rett's face appears in the sky. I loved him. I loved him more than anyone would ever know. When I returned from my Games, he cared for me, took me in. Together we eased our pain with morphine. We knew it was bad for us, but we didn't care. It helped us to forget our Games, our hurt, our pain. Between the morphine and Rett, the giant hole the Hunger Games made in my heart had slowly started to mend. But now any effort I made is gone. Without Rett, I don't know if I can go on. I had to watch him leave this world while he lied in my arms. His blood still stains my hands and clothes.

I look up once again to the sky in time to see the face of his murderer, Lark, from District 9. His face is stone cold and solemn, wearing the same expression as he had when I killed him.

I had to. I went for firewood and returned in time to witness Lark's dagger meet Rett's chest. Without thinking, I sunk my salvaged knife in to the un-expecting man's back. He fell motionless to the ground shortly as I reached Rett.

The faces flashed by quickly. Twelve. I can count twelve. Half of us gone on only the first night. The only thing that can give me comfort is the fact that my district mate was still alive. Although we decided to not be allies, in order to avoid having to kill each other, it filled me with relief to see that he managed to survive. I could have seen it coming, though. He was very tall and muscular, but of course I knew better than anyone that he was nothing more than a big sap. That side of him was little-known though. He tried to make it seem like he was deadly, he even refused an invite from the nasty careers to join them.

I nestle in to the thick leafy bush I discovered near the edge of one of the mountains. After a day of running I am exhausted. Sleep arrives easily as the anthem comes to a close for the night.

The sun is high in the sky as I make my way towards the shore. The blood stains on my clothes and body as well as my parched throat is almost unbearable. Water is now essential.

Sweat drips down my forehead as I trudge through the thick, leafy, palm forest. I can finally feel the effects of lack of sleep from last night. The life has drained from my system, but I don't give up. I know what I must do. I look down at the mockingjay bracelet Haymitch gave me a few days ago. It is now stained with Rett's blood. I can not let this…heartbreak I feel happen to District 12, too. Not only did I promise Haymitch to help protect them, but I also promise myself.

The suffering of losing the one you love, the pain of living in solitude with no one to care for you…I can not let this happen to anyone else. I sat and watched as Katniss and Peeta stuck poison berries in their mouth last Games so they wouldn't be separated. I didn't understand this gesture then, but I do now. If I had a chance to give Rett my life, I would, without a doubt. But it is too late for that now, so I must find District 12, to make sure they can still manage to survive. Haymitch promised Rett and I he would get us out together. That didn't happen, but I can make sure Peeta and Katniss still can. I owe only this. If I have nothing more to live for than pain and morphine, I might as well help others survive.

I make my decision and continue my journey down the steep hill, painting pictures of flowers and trees in my head.

The sound of a boy's scream send me diving to the ground, hoping that the grass around me is enough camouflage from whoever or…whatever is out there. The scream is followed by a few helpless pleads. I can only make out bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Let me…please…I'm sorry…didn't…mean to."

The voice was obviously male's, probably belonging to the same person who screamed moments before. I throw all good judgment out the window and crawl towards the voice to see if I can get a glimpse of what is going on.

As I peer out of the grass I have to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent from screaming. The image before me is horrifying. The muscular, cruel, boy career from District 1 lies helpless and bloody on the ground, pleading for his life from non other than my very district-mate, Titus. I shake my head in utter disbelief. Titus? Why is a career begging for life from Titus? The last time I saw Titus he was nothing more than a big-hearted, violence hater. Had he truly changed this much after only six days in the Games?

I watch in shock as Titus raises a sword above his head and drives it in to the career's chest. The boy's cannon fires almost instantly. What happens next is a blur. Titus dosen't walk away from the body to allow the hovercraft to pick it up…no, instead he twists his sword, slicing open the boy's chest and ripping out his heart. Then, to my horror, he lifts the newly dislodged organ to his mouth and bites down.

I close my eyes and take in deep, long breaths, trying my hardest to prevent myself from vomiting. Everything goes quiet. I open my eyes in time to see a hovercraft materialize above Titus and the District 1 boy's body. The hovercraft shoots some sort of stun dart at Titus, causing him to fall backwards, then picks up the body and leaves. As Titus hits the ground I stand and run in the opposite direction as fast and long as I can, only stopping once to throw up whatever food was contained in my body.

Deja-vu. That is what I feel as a shout arises from the distance. My mind surges to my previous experience in the Games…thoughts of Titus dance in my brain. Only one sentence can bring me back to reality:

"Peeta! You're arrows!"

I have finally found them. A surge of adrenaline takes over my body and I find myself crashing through the trees quickly. All I can hear are shouts and screams…but not human screams. I look up and find the cause of the ruckus: monkeys. Huge, disgusting, monkeys.

One monkey lunges from a tree, I watch in horror as it launches itself straight at Peeta himself. Without thinking I run forward, hurling myself in front of the kind boy from District 12. A scream sounds from the depths of my throat as I wrap my arms around the monkey and feel its fangs sink deep within my chest.

Sweat drips down my forehead and back as I trudge up the face of the lumbering mountain. I take a sip of water from my salvaged bottle. Luckily I was able to find water from a stream at the bottom of the mountain. Only five of us are still alive: myself, the girl from 8, two careers: the girl from 2 and the boy from 4, and last but not least, Titus himself. I have seen him only once since the death of the boy from District 1. One time is enough. I was unfortunate enough to witness him murder and eat yet another tribute, this time being the girl from District 4. He seemingly held a grudge against the careers.

The fact that Titus would even consider eating, yet alone killing someone is still beyond me. I guess a person's true colors do come out when there is no order.

I continue to make my way up the mountain, sipping on water and hoping that I will not run in to any other tributes. A cannon blast makes me lose my footing. I quickly grab on to a ledge, holding on for dear life. Using all the strength left in my body, I haul myself up on to the ledge and press my back against the mountain. Even from this distance I can see it: to my right, a enormous amount of rock starts to crumble and make its way down the side of another mountain. Another cannon blast goes off, shortly followed by yet another. A chill runs down my spine as reality dawns: it is down to two of us now.

The world around me spins and my vision begins to blur. I can only make out a few objects and faces. I can feel Katniss' hand shake as she wraps her fingers around mine. Peeta kneels above me, gently stroking my hair. It reminds me of the time I woke up from a nightmare one time. I made my way to Rett's house and he stayed up with me all night that night, stroking my hair and telling me everything was alright.

"I'll watch the trees." I recognized this voice as Finnick's. Katniss' grip on my hand started to loosen, so I grasp harder. I don't want to be alone.

Peeta starts to whisper to me, so gently I can feel myself latching on to every word.

"With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or as deep as a rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water."

Images of pictures and colors swirl in my mind, filling me with joy. Painting helped me to escape sometimes, too. I enjoy painting landscapes with flowers or the sky with the puffy clouds overhead. But I always stay away from mountains. No…I never want to see another mountain.

I let out a sigh of relief as Titus' picture is projected in to the sky. I would usually be filled with guilt, but in a way it is reassuring to know that I will not have to face Titus in my final battle. At least when I die I will know that my body will remain in tact after I disappear. Titus' face is the last to appear. That means it is down to me and the girl from 8, Jeanilla. The girl from 8 who knows how to throw a knife much too well. I gather up my supplies: my water bottle and handful of gathered nuts and stretch out my legs. If I am going to die, I might as well get it over with soon. After all, I have no weapon or fighting experience.

As I make my way down the face of the mountain, a plan starts to form in my mind. If there is one thing I am good at, it is using my mind. I scan my surroundings for twigs, locating a few and stuffing them in my pockets.

A small flame arises as I rub the twigs together. I blow gently, sparking a even greater fire. Perfect. No way will Jeanilla be able to resist looking for me.

After about a half of hour I see the grass below move slightly. I hide against the side of the mountain, watching the small fire I set below me at the base. Within seconds, Jeanilla's figure appears, creeping slightly from the distance. It is now or never.

Conjuring all the strength I have, I push the small boulder down the face of the mountain and hurdling towards Jeanilla. She looks up just in time to see it. I watch silently as she tries to run away. Her efforts are pointless; the boulder is too fast. As soon as it makes contact with her, she lets out an agonizing scream. A chill runs down my spine as I look down at my hands, realizing that they are the hands of a murderer, a cold, heartless, killer. The sounds of cheers sound from all over as the hovercraft lifts me in to the sky. Claudius Templesmith screams congradulations to "the new victor, Zora Ossota."

But I don't feel like a victor. I feel selfish and worthy of death.

I can feel my breathing start to slow as Peeta continues to talk gently above me.

"One time I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was so much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one."

I try my hardest to smile. He knows how much I enjoy painting. Rett and I spent days in the camouflage station with Peeta, painting and talking about drawing.

"I haven't figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them, Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back in the air."

Everything he says is mesmerizing. Slowly, I swirl my free hand in the pool of blood that covers the area where my yellow, thin chest once was. I then raise my hand to Peeta's cheek, delicately painting my last flower.

"Thank you," he whispers, "that looks beautiful."

I smile at him, looking him in the eyes. For a second all I can picture is Rett. Then my breathing starts to shallow. I try my hardest to breathe in, but all attempts fail. My hand falls to my chest as I look up at the sky.

Swirls of color fill my vision. The sky turns a crimson red. The faces around me disappear.

"Good luck," I think to Peeta and Katniss, although I'm sure they can't understand me.

I suck in one last breath before the only color left is black.

Well...what do you think? Reviews are very much appreciated!