Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.

A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!

Thank you to: Me, Geth, District Nine Tribute, Career Tribute, Nicky, and HIT for your kind reviews. I replied, I think, to your reviews, but at the anonymous reviewers: (Me)Thanks! Yes, I know that D-3 isn't a career district. I added something in, I think to kind of fix that; (D-9 Tribute) Don't worry, I'll work on that death extra hard for you =) ; (Nicky) You have my brother's name! Lol, but yeah, I'll use more detail further down the line, don't worry. I'll be redoing these, too, the already-written ones, I think.

. . .

.Never in Your Favor.

Death Four: Boy, District Six

. . .

Telling myself that I'm going to die is not an easy task. I'm still in denial about it. It's hard to believe that just a week ago, I was at home, sitting in a hard chair at school, listening to the teacher drone on and on about why our district does the job it does.

So much has changed.

I'd give anything to hear that awful, fly-buzz voice again. To be sitting in a wooden chair on the verge of falling asleep because of how often I had heard that lesson.

But now I'm in the arena for the Hunger Games. The Reaping has replayed in my mind so, so many times. It feels like a nightmare but I know it's happening. It's a feeling I had as a younger child, quite often: There was always that bad dream that I couldn't escape from.

But I won't be waking up from this one.

Maybe in this nightmare, I'll actually get to the part of my death. In fact, I'm sure that I will.

The gong rings out, and I begin to back away, watching the carnage already taking place. "Oh, no…," I barely manage to whisper.

I watch as others are stabbed by the vicious-looking girl from District 2, others' heads snapped by the boy from the same district, maces swung by tributes I do not remember, spears flung, swords slashing about bodies.

Really, I do need to get away. Instead of backing up like I have been, I whirl around and begin to run to the forest. A voice stops me. It's soft and gentle, and automatically, I look up. I recognize this voice.

It's Reama, the girl from my district. My breath catches in my throat. "Hello," she's whispering. "Look…I am sorry. I really, really am. But…" Reama looks sympathetic as she taps her spear lightly on the grass once. She lifts it up.

Reama and I were friends. She lived right near me and we've known each other since I was born—I'm a year younger than she is. Reama and I always got along well, and I've spent a lot of my time with her, just hanging out.

Now she's the one to end my life?

The girl I trusted, the girl I felt like was a sister?

This isn't the best way to die. Maybe I knew that I was going to die this whole time, since the Reaping happened and I was called forward, but I never imagined—not in my worst of nightmares—that my friend would be the one to kill me.

I spent so much of my living days with her. She's taking it away from me.

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Reama sees them and looks away.

Then, with a glint I've never seen in her blue-gray eyes before, she raises the spear, and I'm powerless to move.

What is that in her eyes, anyway? Hatred? No, that can't be right. Because Reama doesn't hate me. I know this for sure. It's not exactly sorrow, either.

I gasp as a sharp pain blinds my train of thought. The spearhead is deep in my chest. I try to choke out a word to her, but I can't. I guess I'll never know what that glint in her eyes was.