Chapter 2

Mikki Kismet, District 9

Today's the day. Today's the day I'm going to kill myself.

I'm going to do it nice and fast. I don't see the point of hanging around. I've got the rope I need, and enough food to feast for my last meal. Better to go soon in luxury than later in agony. Which I'm sure someone will be all too happy to oblige me.

I skip happily along the banks of my death-giving river. I had to walk my butt off to find any water, let me tell you. I was up all night, and I only found this once I fell in. I don't have good night vision, okay?

But anyway, now I'm dry and the sun is shining and I couldn't have chosen a more beautiful last day on earth. Let me tell you, if I weren't here to die I would love this place. Everything has this perfect blend of gold and green and the grass is tall and waving. The sky is perfectly blue. I can see everything. Well, not really. But I love the openness of this place. It's a perfect place to die; if I didn't know better I'd think I was in Heaven already.

I plunk myself down on the riverbank. I've finally found a section wide enough and deep enough with a log stuck in the bottom to fit my purposes. It's absolutely perfect. If I didn't know better, I'd say the Gamemakers knew what I wanted to do and made sure I had just the stuff to do it. Very helpful of them, really.

I pull out all of my wonderful food. Soft, chewy, perfect bread with a sharp orangey cheese. Fresh peaches, which I only know what to call because of the big PEACHES printed on the sack they came in. I have a ton of them. I don't think I'll be able to eat them all. Especially with the little bag of salty nuts distracting me. I can't stop eating them. Maybe it's a good thing I'm not going to become a Victor. If I did, I would get so fat so fast, it'd seem like a magic trick.

I unscrew the real gem of a find: a bottle full of something called pomegranate juice. I tried a little of it while I was walking and it is divine. Fruit juice is at a premium everywhere, but in here this bottle is probably one of a kind.

I touch the bottle to my lips, letting the red contents swish into my mouth just the tiniest bit. Something like this you've gotta drink slowly to get the full appreciation for it. It's like life: Too much at once takes away the enjoyment. Like these Games. Too much. Too, too much.

I smack my lips and cut the cheese with a throwing knife. Not perfect, but it works. I stick a slab in my mouth. I've always enjoyed foods more on their own. My father considers himself to be a real connoisseur and always works hard to achieve that "perfect balance" of flavors, but I just don't enjoy that type of perfection, I guess. I like flavors to be stand-alone.

Once I finish my piece of cheese I rip the central fluffy part out of a hunk of bread. Once I'm done with that I eat the leftover crust and some more nuts. This is amazing. I know it may seem silly to say that sitting around and eating food is amazing, but I love this feeling of peace and luxury. If death is anything like this I am going to love being dead.

I guess I'll know soon, no?

Maybe death's not like that at all. Maybe it's boring. Maybe your mind or your soul or whatever it is that makes you human just floats around for eternity. Maybe death really does just lead to reincarnation. That'd be kind of cool. Don't like the life you have right now? Just return your old one and we'll replace it, absolutely free!

I laugh at my own silly thoughts. I have no idea where that came from. Well, beyond my new suicidal look at life. That probably has a little something to do with it. Or maybe not. But my guess would be that it does.

It's a little ironic that I've so easily found my good humor now that I plan to kill myself. I mean, life was never this good before I decided I wanted to die. What's up with that? Maybe now that I know I won't have to put up with any of this for much longer, it's easy to enjoy short bursts of things like sleep, waking up slowly, eating. Life is meant to be enjoyed like pomegranate juice, just sips at a time.

I sigh contentedly. Laying back against the grass, I look up at the sky. There are adorable puffball clouds in the sky. They're hardly moving. This is the one part of this day I would change. I like it when the wind blows the clouds across the sky and they billow and skate like they're self-important little men strutting across the sky. But that would mean the wind would have to pick up, which I don't want. So I can deal with these frozen clouds.

You know, they're almost too motionless. Maybe the Gamemakers have decided that they're superior to things like the weather and are controlling the clouds. Creepy idea.

This whole thing is a little creepy. I mean. I shouldn't be so happy about killing myself, should I?

I should feel upset. I should be scared by my situation. I should feel panic rising in my throat. I should be desperate. I should be willing to scream and scream and never stop until I stop myself completely. I should feel my thoughts and my heart racing, seeing which can fill me with the most terror. I should feel my mind whirling faster and faster, bouncing inside of my stomach, my heart- my heart-

No, no, no. I grip the sides of my head and moan a little, trying to hold in the emotions I've buried so deeply. I hate them; they'll wash me away as surely as death. At least death is on my terms. But I don't want to die! I don't want there to be a nothing I'll never leave. I don't want to- oh, help. Help. Help. Help.

I need it to stop. Yes. That will be lovely. I drop my food and slide to the bottom of the riverbank.

It's going to hurt to die. It's going to hurt to live with feelings digging their claws into my stomach, ripping through my body to come out.

I fumble the rope I got yesterday from my belt loop, tie it around my wrist, and dive into the river.

This is a perfect river. Cool, but not cold. I love to swim (Dad always said I should have been born in District 4) but there aren't any good places in District 9. But this is utopia. I'm so glad that my life can end here.

I stroke down to the log half-imbedded in the silt and mud at the bottom of the river. It has a sturdy branch still sticking off of it. Just what I needed.

I want my dad. I love him so much. He's going to be so sad when I die, more sad than I am scared right at this moment. Maybe he'll kill himself too. Please daddy, don't do it. I love you, I love you so much.

I loop the rope over the branch several times before I begin tying an actual knot. Then I do, over and over, till the entire length of rope is just knots and maybe a foot's worth connecting me to the log in the ground.

It's peaceful and silent here. I love it. I'm home.

My lungs begin to tell me it's time to come up now.

I don't want to die. Please, someone save me.

I'm in pain now; my lungs are going to either shrivel into nothing or explode.

The sun filtering through the water is beautiful and ethereal.

My body panics without my permission, my fingers fumbling for the knots even though my mind hasn't told them to.

I'm only fourteen; this isn't fair. Did I do something wrong? Was I a bad person? Why are you trying to hurt me?

There's too many knots to untie before it ends. I made sure of that. Besides, when I tied them I had lungfuls of oxygen. Now I'm running out and my mind is getting fuzzy. No help to my fine motor control.

This feeling of drifting and being pulled is so much fun. I think of other fun things to make my last moments even better. I hum happily. Ring around the rosy.

My hands are slow and useless against the wet rope. My fingers begin to feel unwieldy.

I'm so afraid, and I don't even understand why. There are so many whys to be answered. Why am I here? Why are people evil? Why does death seem like an escape, even as I know in my heart that it isn't? A pocketful of posies.

My hands stop grasping. My body stops thrashing its little death ballet.

I love death. It's so easy. I mean, I'm done now. What does it matter if there's an afterlife or not? It's not like I'm ever going to have to deal with it. It's going to be so nice to just rest. Ashes, ashes.

My eyes go black, my heart stops beating, and I'm dead.

The world is torture and death is just as bad. Either way, you lose. Either way you suffer. There is no hope, and there never will be. We all fall down.

Adrian Martinez, District 5

The sun beats down. It's too warm for my taste.

I grasp my knives protectively. I'm using every particle of my being to make sure that if anything so much as rustles, I hear it. And it will have a rather nasty surprise. Namely, a knife in the vital organs.

I'm not sure exactly what my strategy is yet. Maybe I won't settle on one. I prefer to go by instinct. I know what I do by observing the world, so what I glean from my surroundings should tell me what to do. If my gut says someone's following me, then I'm probably right. I don't imagine things. Well, not usually. I did once when I was young. High fever.

So, no strategy will be the best strategy for me. Call me proud, but I can win. I'm sure it's within my capacity. Of course, losing is also possible. There are plenty of other strong kids. Well, a few.

I note every detail of my surroundings. My mental map of this arena will be perfect. That's going to be an asset. I'll be able to find sources of food or water without being too afraid of leaving existing sources. Last year's tributes did quite a bit of wandering around and slowly starving. But I don't plan on that.

Another tree comes into view in the distance. It's a little odd that there are so few of them, and the ones that are there are tiny. District 5's no jungle, but even we have more trees than this place.

Another odd thing: even though everything seems so flat, I couldn't see that tree from far away. Come to think of it, I haven't seen any tributes either. They can't all be hiding. The odds of that are small. So they must be obscured form my vision. Obviously something is wrong. This place isn't what it appears. This isn't natural.

Natural. It clicks.

The arena is manufactured. The Gamemakers have manipulated the land to give it the appearance of openness. It's a little chilling, that they can mold something as large as this arena to fit their whims. I shake it off. The situation is what it is. Now that I've figured it out, I can adapt. I'm good at that.

Something rustles, and I spin to face the sound. It's nothing. This time. I sigh. The downside of noticing everything? Everything has the potential to frighten you. This could get annoying.

I twitch toward a chirping noise. It's a bird, obviously.

Yes, this is going to get boring. At least, that's what I think until the bird attacks me.

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)

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)