Chapter 1
Svetlio Tren, District 12
I don't give a….darn…about the landscape, but I figure that I ought to pay it some attention. It could come in handy.
The land is completely flat.
The grasses are tall, several feet high in most places.
I can see only one tree in the entire arena, and it's not tall enough to provide any sort of protection.
There are no visible sources of water.
Good. Now I can get back to kicking Wenda's…butt.
The gong sounds and it figures Wenda and I are off our metal plates first. That…nasty girl…can't wait to get a piece of me. Well, the feeling's mutual you…jerk.
I run toward the golden cornucopia the Gamemakers have added for whatever reason, pushing my legs harder and harder. Wenda's just as fast as me, so it's going to come down to who wants it more. I certainly think I do. After all, Wenda was the one who snubbed and insulted me the minute the train left the station. She's the one who decided that knowing each other for ten years was worth nothing. She's the one who had the nerve to be offended when I was…mad.
I snatch up a spear from the middle-ish range of the cornucopia. I pale. Wenda has a thin. Light sword. She smiles gruesomely and lunges.
I can't block with my spear or it'll end up toothpicks. And Wenda's sword's not heavy enough to slow her movement. I look around desperately as Wenda pushes me backwards, trying to find something to defend myself with. For lack of anything better, I snatch a backpack off the ground and shrug it on backwards. Judging by the expression on Wenda's face, I'm really cutting a pretty ridiculous figure here. Oh well.
I slash at her face, trying to take out an eye. She wasn't expecting me to attack, but I still don't get her eye. I only cut her cheek open.
She changes her tactic, trying to hit my arm or spear and knock it away or make me drop it some other way. She wants me unarmed.
I try to dodge, but the backpack sticking off the front of my chest and stomach is throwing me off.
All of the sudden Wenda launches forward furiously, almost bringing me down with a slam of attacks. Panic lets me do something I'm sure I never could have done otherwise. I bend backwards, under one of her swings, and up behind her. I take advantage of my new position to stab my spear into Wenda's back.
Just when I think it's time to celebrate, Wenda finds the strength to turn, and stabs her sword into my forehead. I don't even live to see her die.
Wesley Sawr, District 1
Nobody bothers the kids from 12. They'll sort out their own problems, and whichever one of them manages to kill the other, we can deal with.
I race toward the supplies littering our fancy new cornucopia. Gee, thanks Gamemakers! This little piece of hardware makes this whole thing okay. Not. Snatching up knives, I whip around. Perfect. It's that girl from 5 who decided that since we both hated the Capitol we must be best friends. I lunge at her and grab her shoulder. Before she can scream, I bury the knife into her throat.
The little kid from District 7 is taken out almost as soon as stupid Heiress. Then everyone is gone. Everything is gone. I swear, one minute there were supplies everywhere, and now they're all gone. That can't possibly be right though. More likely I just got distracted by killing Heiress Elmdan.
After some quick searching, I figure out that there're no supplies left. Well, this bites. I can't see anything but grass, the ornamental cornucopia, and four bodies. I turn around and around, looking for some sign. Maybe someone's spying on me only a few feet away, and I can catch the ripple of grass as they breathe. Nope. The faint breeze is just enough to stir the grass. So that plan's no good.
I look further. My guess would be that everyone is lying on their stomachs or crawling through the grasses. Standing up would put you in plain view.
I look even further, scanning the horizon. There. In the distance, I see hills rising. I grin. I bet a lot of people decided to head for the hills, after a false sense of being concealed. Well, that sounds like as good a place to start as any. I tuck my knives under my arm and head off, whistling.
Berra Timsing, District 11
Four of this year's girls are fourteen. It's ridiculous. This is a bad year to be fourteen. I considered allying with the other fourteen-year-olds, but decided not to. To be honest, all of us look pretty weak. Stealth is probably a better choice for us, if we can manage it. We've done a pretty good job so far. At least, as far as I know. Maybe someone died since the horn thing at the beginning, but I have no way of knowing till tonight. Which is now, apparently.
The first face is one of the older girls. From District 5? That sounds right. Then Fib, from 7. There are no twelve-year-olds this year. At thirteen, he was the youngest. Then both of the kids from 12. I saw them fighting, but I didn't know they died.
I curl up around the trunk of the tree. Surely nobody else is going to be stupid enough to try something like this. Risking my life on human stupidity may be a gamble, but in general humans are stupid. So this seems as good a plan as any.
I wonder vaguely why they took the names away from the roll call. I'm half asleep now, but I decide I need to get this down before I forget. I pull out my tiny knife and etch numbers, one through twelve, in the trunk of the tree. Next to the numbers I scratch "M" and "F" for male and female tributes. I cross out the F for District 5 and the M for 7, followed by a line through District 12's entire row. I frown at the carvings in the tree. It feels like not enough. It doesn't seem like a good memorial for dead children. But I shake my head and curl up into a ball. I need to focus. I don't owe these children anything, and they don't owe squat to me either. I need to remember that.
Day two.
Reno Serman, District 10
You know what I realized? I have no direction. I'm not going anywhere, really. I'm just going. You know. For the heck of it. This can't be good.
I'm not much good at these Games. I packed my interview full of bravado, but only came off as trying to look braver than I really am. Now I'm trying to be purposeful, but have discovered that it helps to choose a purpose first. If I don't get it together soon…I dunno. I only have so much time until I'm going to need to know what I'm doing to survive. So I need to figure this out STAT.
What does STAT mean anyway? I mean, I know it's mostly the same thing as ASAP, but what-
No, Reno, you've got to focus. You can't get so distracted so easily. Bad. Bad Reno. And now you're talking to yourself as well. Have you really lost it? No. No, of course I haven't; this is just a harmless nervous habit. Yep. A nervous habit. That's all.
I shake my head and bang my fists against my eyes. C'mon, Reno. Go to sleep. It's the middle of the night. Sleeping is, I believe, traditional for this time of night. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. I try humming a few bars of my favorite lullaby, but that hasn't been used to lull me to sleep for years and it seems to have lost its magic. I frown. I hate the idea that childhood joys like my favorite old lullaby are slipping between my fingers. I've lost enough already. I thought my memories were safe. But apparently not.
Go. To. SLEEP.
Here's a novel idea. Maybe focusing so hard on going to sleep is keeping me up. I just need to stop thinking. Easy. See? Nothing to this. I really thought not thinking would be harder, but this is very relaxing. Maybe-
Oh, dang. I was thinking again, wasn't I? Well.
I lay back with a sigh, prepared to just not get to sleep at all tonight. I wonder how many of the nineteen other kids in here are doing the same thing. Probably a lot of them. Maybe the first night is the worst. I don't know. I tried really hard not to pay attention during the first Games. I always plugged my ears and buried my head in a pillow. A goofy thing for a fifteen-year-old boy to do, but it's harder than you might think to watch your peers kill each other. Of course, my twelve-year-old sister watched the whole thing stoically, but we don't need to bring that up, do we?
I smile at the thought of Qwinne. She's the perfect little sister, which of course means she has to be at least a little bit annoying. But not bad annoying. More like roll-my-eyes-and-groan-about-how-much-I-hate-you-even-though-I-don't kind of annoying. The good kind. And we love each other, no matter how much we may argue the negative. We didn't even need to say it during the goodbyes. We knew. I'm glad it was a no-brainer. I'm pretty sure that that means that it's the truth, if we would take it so for granted. Unless it just means that Qwinne has been serious this whole time and didn't say anything because she really does hate me. I don't think I could deal with that.
Come on, Reno. Go to sleep.
Maybe all twenty of us are sitting up, awake. Maybe we're all rocking back and forth, trying desperately to turn our minds off. Okay, maybe not. But you never know. That number, twenty, has the potential to keep us all up.
It's pretty simple math: Twenty-four minus four equals twenty. It's the whole "minus four" part that's disturbing. It's only the first day, and four people have died. Four people didn't just die, either. They weren't all bitten by snakes like the District 4 boy last year, the very first casualty of the Hunger Games. Nope. Four people were killed. Murdered. Terminated. Put to death. Whatever euphemism you like. Already we're dying and killing, no questions asked. The Head Gamemaker, Cyril Debrown, said that this year things wouldn't slow down. He said these Games would be bloodier. No slow deaths just nicely wasting away with your friends. No. This year you're going to be killed.
Which presents a problem: I'm not a fighter. I'll have to avoid the dangerous people. But who are they? I'm not a killer; I didn't touch those four kids this morning. So who did?
"I'm kind of scared, Qwinne." I murmur. "I don't know how to do anything in here. I don't know how to kill. Heck, I didn't even bother grabbing anything from that big horn thing this morning. Am I stupid for not being willing to kill?
"And don't bother answering," I add dryly, "I know how you jump at any chance to tell me how stupid I am. Like that time we tried to make reaping day breakfast for mom for the first reaping, and I forgot and burnt all of the, err, everything. Remember how scared mom was for us? We didn't get chosen that year, though. So it was okay."
My smile loses some of the luster leant to it by reminiscence. "Mom. She was almost having a nervous breakdown last year. It didn't even end after the reaping, either. Remember how she had nightmares about seeing us die on T.V.? I think she'd finally begun to think we were safe. But now…" I sigh.
"Take care of her, Qwinne. She needs us, but I can't do anything here. Well, beyond saying 'Hi mom'. So you need to do even more for her. You have to give her my half of our love too now, okay? Because I just don't see me coming back."
I wait for the response I'm sure is coming at home. "Night." I whisper, and I settle down for the night. And I finally fall asleep.
Surviving Contestants:
District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)
Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)
District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)
Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)
District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)
Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)
District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)
Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)
District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)
District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)
Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)
District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)
District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)
Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)
District 9: Wilf Errol (Wilf Eh-roll)
Mikki Kismet (Mick-ee Kis-met)
District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)
Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)
District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)
Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)
