AN: Ah, another drabble that has infected me for Hunger Games. This is cliche Johanna-loss, probably done to death before, and blatantly ripped off from the nursery rhyme, 'Ten Little Soldier Boys', which I don't own, nor do I own HG. Title is taken from a part of Acts 3:6 (*shock*). I feel like a fail. However! I have updated DOAH, though I'm a bit sad at the lack of reviews for the third chapter. *cries* Anyways, my adoration has been directed at Pink Pigeon for being my wonderful beta, what with the short and desperate notice I gave her. Reviews are, as always, love. Warnings: death. Lots of it, though it's minor-background-original character only. Also one swearword, as per usual, because we all know I can't go through a chapter without swearing once And I bet you're all thinking, ohmygod, did she really use a canon character for once? That should consist of a warning in and of itself, really. With that, HallowedHallsOfWriting, aka Juliet, now presents to you...

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silver and gold have i none

Of Johanna. And the people who were once in her life. [But now wherever she goes, she will always be alone.]

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Five little Seven kids hacking wood some more;
One chopped himself apart and then there were four.

Crat was big, he was dumb, he had only brute strength, but goddammit he was her brother and protector, and her little seven-year-old self cried herself to sleep the night of his funeral, tucked into her silent mother's side.

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Four little Seven kids watching fights at sea;
A trident murdered one and then there were three.

Ory never stood a chance, not in those Games, not in any. She wasn't big, she wasn't strong, and she was terrified of blood, but Johanna had loved her anyways because that was her little neighbor who would proudly present her with delicate, intricate carvings made from spare wood and unused chunks. And when she watched that soon-to-be-famous golden trident piercing her heart, it wasn't just Ory who was in pain.

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Three little Seven kids who came down with the flu;
Another sacrificed, and then there were two.

It was winter, winter of the 67th Hunger Games, and one of the coldest ever. The sicknesses going around – uncontrollable fevers, chills, inability to move – hit almost all of the people by mid-cold spell, draining the doctors and depleting medicine by the bundle. It got to the point where it was nothing more than a race, a race against time to survive until spring, when they'd all get better. Even she wasn't an exception to the cruelty of nature. But Lukas would feed them, nurse them, even at the expense of his own self, so maybe she shouldn't have been so shocked when they came in one night, stronger than they had been in a while and proudly bearing medicine only to find him dead on the floor, a peaceful smile on his blue lips.

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Two little Seven kids sweating 'low the sun;
A bullet hit its mark, and then there was one.

Latteria was a good person, and that was more than she could say for most of the people who lived all around her. It wasn't fair, though, it wasn't fair at all, that in the clambering chaos of the fray, the only one to be felled by the bullets shot randomly through the crowd was the older girl who hadn't been part of the uprising, had only wanted to buy some groceries.

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One little Seven girl who survived all on her own;
But now wherever she goes, she will always be alone.

The day of the 68th Hunger Games Reaping for District 7 had arrived. When the escort drew her name out of the glass ball, for the first time in her life she was terrified. It was the first and last day that she didn't need to act.

And when the head of the Games pronounced her, Johanna Mason, the small, the weak, the terrified, winner as she stood over the bloody, hacked corpse of her last opponent, everything was so deafeningly silent. In the scarlet-stained quiet, she felt the last part of herself die.