They all thought it was a clever trick gone wrong

As I kissed the world goodbye and told them "so long"

I can count the remaining tributes on one hand. Me. The girl and boy from District 12. The boy from District 2. I don't know who I expect to die first, but I know that, some way or other, three of us will be gone within the next day or so. The Capitol will have its victor. The Hunger Games will continue, every year, killing twenty-three innocent children for nothing. Children as young, as innocent as little Rue. Twelve-years-old Rue, whom the District 12 girl, Katniss, loves and honors. Too-young-to-die Rue, whose death sparked a fire, a rebellion, in District 11, her home. I hope the fire spreads. I hope it engulfs the Capitol and burns it to ashes.

I wouldn't have dared think that before. But I, Lysandra, hate the Capitol. Now I know what the Hunger Games are really like. They are not an entertaining movie; they are not a game. People, real people, die in the Games. Even those who leave alive are never the same; they are dead inside. They may still have their bodies and their brain, but they are different people, elderly folk, not the same little children who entered the arena. The Hunger Games causes us to kill, to be tainted, when once we were good people. And the Hunger Games kills us.

I've fought the hardest of all the tributes in some respects, this year. I haven't killed a single person. I've just stood by, trying myself to survive, not letting the Capitol lead me to be a murderer. That's why I have sympathy for every one of my fellow tributes, because I know they would not have killed each other, had they had an opportunity to take that option. But they weren't given that choice. Even Katniss killed someone. And Rue helped her kill Glimmer. And Peeta was with the Careers for a time...

I clutch my backpack to me. The feast at the Cornucopia has been-literally-a life-saver for me. The medicine in that syringe cured my burns overnight. I am whole, safe, ready to run and hide once more. Ready to wait for the cannons, until only one of us is left. I don't know if I'll survive these Games; I don't intend either to die or to live. I'm just going to do my best, and let fate run its course. The Games are in the hands of the Career boy, and the District 12 pair, now.

A shadow passes by. Another tribute? I can't tell. Then I hear voices, low and murmuring.
Saying Cato will be at the Cornucopia-he wouldn't wander somewhere he didn't know. They are right: Cato is at the Cornucopia. But me, I'm a different story, apparently. Loverboy is telling Katniss I could be anywhere, that I'm unpredictable. I'm not going to hurt you, though, I want to say, but I'm too afraid. Afraid I can't trust them, that if I say something they'll find me, and kill me. I'm not athletic, really, to be honest. My specialty is my brain. I might have a hard time escaping those two, especially Katniss with her bow, and her perfect aim.

They walk right past. They don't even notice me. I almost wouldn't have noticed Katniss, either, because she treads almost silently; she is elusive, good at hiding. I'm perceptive enough that I might have noticed her because of the sun glancing off of her silver bow and quiver. But her fellow tribute, Peeta, would be no trouble at all. He walks like an elephant, every step sending the forest trembling. He could never be a hunter. He'd scare all the game away whether or not he's a good shot with a bow and arrow.

They begin to talk. They seem to be discussing food. Their pack from the feast must not have had much of it, then, if they are so desperate that Katniss believes she needs to hunt. Peeta makes a quip about taking the bow-Katniss almost seems to fall for the joke, as she looks quite surprised, and I struggle to suppress a little laugh. Peeta chuckles, and pats Katniss, explaining he was just kidding, telling her he'll go look for berries. For their sake, I hope he's better at identifying berries than he is at hunting, or he might just pick something deadly poisonous. I rise silently and move through the forest, shadowing him. Won't hurt to see where the good berries are, anyway. And he's not hard to track.

At the same time, I remain wary, because, although Peeta will never notice me following him-he's ten times as loud as me; he won't be able to hear anything above the noise he's making-Cato could be around, and he's far more perceptive than Peeta. But the berry-gathering excursion goes without any commotion, besides the general rustling all around as Peeta bumbles through the forest, and I figure Cato is back at the Cornucopia, waiting-somewhere he is familiar with, somewhere he can easily take a stand, and also the place where his Clove died, during the feast. I can still remember those fatal moments-

My plan is risky, but it's something no one else seems to have thought of, because, when I reach the Cornucopia in the middle of the night, it's deserted. Funny. I thought there was a chance Cato and Clove would be here, ready to hold any other tributes away from the precious Cornucopia, but I guess-fortunately for me-I was wrong. I wait for dawn, when the table appears: long and silver, with four bags on it, each with numbers-2, 5, 11, 12, I read. So that's who's left-District 2, District 5, District 11, and District 12, but how many from each I'm not sure. Last night I didn't watch the skies when they announced the dead tributes; I was inside the Cornucopia keeping warm.

I look around. I can spot Clove from District 11 at the edge of the grass, and I think I glimpse the girl from 12, Katniss, too. Cato's still alive, I'm pretty certain of that. I expect him to be the victor. I don't know about the boy from 12. I think only the boy from 11 is left, and I'm certain I'm the only one from District 5 who's made it this far. My district partner died long ago. At least it wasn't by my hand.

I race forward, sprinting from the Cornucopia, running as fast as I can. I can't trip now, because I sense the others whipping their heads around to watch me, frozen momentarily in shock as I grab my bag and keep running for the relative safety of the forest. If I trip while I'm still out in the open, that might give them long enough to snap out of their surprise and come after me. So I keep running, until I do trip over a root in the forest; but I pick myself up and keep running. Put as much distance between me and the Cornucopia as possible. Then I climb a tree, scaling it quickly, and I watch.

Cato and the boy from 12 are nowhere to be seen. I can see Katniss sprinting out, and suddenly I find myself hoping she'll survive, because I can see Clove coming the other direction, towards Katniss. Katniss is running as fast as she can as she races past the table, grabbing her bag and keeping running. Go, I think to myself. May wings spring on your feet, Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire. Go, Katniss, as fast as you can...and make sure Clove doesn't win, because Clove is a monster. A murderer who kills because she wants to kill.

I almost think Katniss is safe, when I see something silver spin through the air towards her, gleaming in the sunlight...Clove's knife, traveling three deadly lengths per rotation. I see Katniss duck, bending backwards, but not quite fast enough-the knife draws blood along her forehead, bright red blood that drips onto the grass as Clove barrels into her and the two go rolling, head over heels, along the ground.

Katniss is stubborn, and desperate, and she doesn't give up, but Clove finally has her pinned on the ground. Clove's taunting her, teasing cruelly about Peeta and Rue, drawing one knife out slowly, and I know this is the end. Most tributes would be glad, because with Katniss dead there will be one less tribute to kill, but I'm not. Katniss is a good person, the way she volunteered for her little sister. And I don't like watching people die. Especially not when the killer thinks it's all a fun little game, a form of entertainment.

Then, out of the forest, the boy from 11, Thresh, comes bounding forward, big and dark and angry. He grabs Clove off of Katniss, who sits up, startled. Go, Katniss, I plead, but my eyes are on Thresh and Clove now, too. He's talking about Clove killing someone...Rue. Of course. His district partner, the sweet little girl, the only tribute he has a soft spot for. I admire Thresh for his compassion towards Rue, I'm disgusted by him for his ability to kill. But I honor Rue, too. She was a good person, she didn't deserve the arena. She helped Katniss kill Glimmer because Glimmer was a bad person, the kind who found joy in murder. Rue wasn't like that.

Suddenly, I hear sharp bangs, and I'm jolted out of my thoughts. Thresh has slammed Clove against the Cornucopia, pinning her in place, and she's screaming for Cato at the top of her lungs. With a sharp, sickening crack, he drives a rock through her skull, and blood gushes everywhere as he lets her fall to the ground. The canon doesn't fire, and from the rise and fall of her chest I can tell she's not dead yet, but then, she's close. Thresh tells Katniss to go, telling her he'll spare her for Rue, and then he runs too, grabbing both the 2 and 11 bags as he goes. Grabbing the 2 bag, I think, because he knows Cato will come after him anyway for killing Clove; he has nothing to lose. And, also, as an act of kindness to Katniss, repaying her for being Rue's ally: by taking the 2 bag, he makes himself an even bigger target for Cato, drawing the attention away from Katniss.

It's then that Cato comes running, but Thresh and Katniss are both already long gone, as they should be. He looks around, spots Clove, almost-dead, on the ground. I almost feel a twinge of pity for them; after all, they were once innocent children too. But the Games have changed them, in a way I've not allowed the Games to change me. I watch as Cato begs Clove to stay with him-I wonder if they are more than allies, more than friends-but soon he will realize it's hopeless. When the cannon fires.

And I don't want to be anywhere near here when that happens, I don't want to experience Cato's rage, so I climb down to the ground and I take off. And I run, as fast as I can.

I focus on Peeta again. He's still bumbling through the forest, hands full of berries, but I can't get a close enough look to see what kind they are. I don't know where Katniss is relative to us, so I stay hidden again. It's then the cannon fires, and I suddenly hope it's Cato, because Thresh and Katniss are better people than that, they don't deserve to die. It's probably Cato or Thresh anyway. No doubt Cato's tracked Thresh down after Clove's death, and they got into a fight, and one or the other is gone now.

I hear Katniss' voice shrilly screaming Peeta's name. He puts some of the berries down to store them, but keeps a few in his hand. Katniss must be afraid that the cannon is for Peeta, although I know otherwise. As Peeta goes off, I look at the berries on the mat, and I'm suddenly filled with joy.

I'm not going to kill anyone.

I'm going to defy the Capitol.

Tributes are supposed to be killed by each other, or by Gamemakers, in the arena. Firestorms, knife-throwing girls, but not berries. Peeta, in his stupidity and complete lack of survival skills, has picked nightlock. Good for him he hasn't tasted them yet, that he's running to Katniss first, because he'd be dead within a minute. She'll tell him what they are, she'll know. Good. Then maybe he or Katniss can still win: they are better people than the rest of us, I think. A second later, I hear Katniss rejoicing at Peeta's reappearance not far away, then her shrieks as she notices the nightlock in his hand. She knows immediately, and tells him what they are; from the sound of it, she slaps him for it, too.

There's still time before they come back. I'm not going to kill anyone. I'm going to defy the Capitol.

I take the nightlock in my hands, rolling it carefully between my fingers. Of course it's nightlock. I don't want to kill anybody.

The Capitol will think I finally got too clever for my own good, that I thought I could get some free food from Twelve. They'll never know the truth. But my friends and family back home in District 5, they know me, and they'll know this was on purpose. They'll know that I know it's nightlock. They'll know I'm doing this so I don't have to kill anybody. So that I don't have to die. Because now, I'm just eating a few berries. But if I had to kill someone, I'd be dying, because Lysandra Redwood does not kill.

I lift the berries to my lips, chew carefully, almost thoughtfully, letting the juices seep into my mouth, staining my lips purple. Then I swallow. And I wait.

As the world fades from my eyes, I hear it at last, saluting my death.

The cannon.

I'm not going to kill anybody today

Damn the Capitol, I'll do this my own way