Nobody died on Day 4, so far as days in the arena go, I just put it to the back of my mind and moved on pretty quick. Can't stay nowhere for too long in the Hunger Games, in any shape or form, otherwise you get to be just a little too still.

But in the afternoon, there was a strange hissing sound all over the arena, like a balloon being let out slowly. It didn't hurt nobody, and nobody died, but I wasn't too sure, so I covered my mouth and nose in a damp hankie and went about my business as usual. 'Cause that's how a Wishart works. No fuss, just get on with it. One of the men who worked for Aunt Emmeline on her grain fields lost a leg in a combine harvester. It happened on a Friday, and he was back to work on Monday, same as usual.

But in the morning, I discovered the source of the hissing. A slate grey can, completely empty but bent double from the pressure, with the words

AGGRESSION GAS

On the front. I wasn't sure at first; but then I understood. Them Gamemakers ain't too happy about the deaths lately. Sure, we're dropping like flies down here- it wasn't until the 4th Day that people actually stopped dying for a moment, but they're obviously not exciting enough. They must need more deaths from fighting and Careers showing off their weapons than going naturally. Perhaps the sight of the boys from 3 &7 being eaten alive by venomous eels, and the suspense of me hiding from the Careers, only to fight and kill again. There may only be nine of us left, and five of them Careers, but we need to get a move on.

My granddaddy faced aggression gas, when he was a rebel. The Capitol used it to inspire betrayal, try and get the rebels so obsessed with violence that they would crumble. It took months for anybody to realise just what was causing all the extra vitriol, but it was the gas that was the cause.

I feel a shiver down my spine. The effects of the gas are stronger or weaker according to personality, and with the Careers, it could make them or break them. And I guess that it falls to one of us to tip the balance.

Keeping my mouth covered, to avoid breathing in any more gas (which is giving me a headache) I take my breakfast and go. I wash out the can, but then on a whim, put it back into my bag.

The sound of a scuffle sent me up a tree and I stayed there, completely stock still.

There were screams, shouts. The red hair gave it away; it was the two from 8. One minute, they was happy as you can really be in the Hunger Game without winning, but from what I could see, they was ambushed by Careers. I saw the glint in Varnish's eyes, a manic fanaticism that glimmered like the light on her curved swinging knives. It frightened me.

Sure, the Careers terrify the life out of everything they meet, it's par for the course- but this gas affects them more strongly than I could ever have thought.

The girl was frozen with fear, but her district partner kept his wits.

"Ribbon, drop the stuff and get out of here!"

"I can't leave you!"

"Just go! GO!"

And before she can protest, Euler's axe buries itself in his head. By her gulping sobs, and the cannon that follows, he's dead.

"Aron... Aron..." she whispers, so that only I can hear. And I stand by and watch, as I always have done, when I should have stopped it. How can somebody do that? Know it's going on, but watch it like it don't matter?

They turn on her next, but she's too fast even for them. Varnish wastes a knife on her, which flies into the dry brush bush and she replies with an arrow to Euler's shoulder. She's an average shot, grazing his shoulder quite badly. By the time they've noticed, she's vanished, without trace- or supplies.

Grumbling bitterly at another tribute slipping away, another kill yet lost to them, they settle down to a sumptuous dinner of roast pork and (which sure winds me up!) bread and butter pudding, 'cause Georg always made the best bread and butter pudding. We had a cake sale at school to raise enough money to actually pay the teachers (the Capitol didn't see why we needed educating if only to die at the next Hunger Games) and we Wishart kids got together and made a bread and butter pudding that was as big as me. The teachers weren't too happy about this- it was a cake sale after all, but they sure shut up when we sold out while the dish was still warm.

All the memories that the spongy pudding and sweet currants brings up makes me sad; and I think of Ribbon, the girl from 8, and maybe I didn't judge her or her boy- Aron- fairly. She may have been a sour faced person, but she did care about him. Though no decent person's gonna win the Hunger Games. And he may have dressed as a cotton reel, (not lookin' too pleased about it) he did die telling her to get her act together.

Bit like Georg really. Though I hope I don't have a sour face.

I sat up straight in my tree (sounds weird, I know) when at last the Careers settle down to sleep. The gas has made them paranoid, suspicious of what the others gonna be thinking. The Career Alliance is the strongest of the arena, but now they're so suspicious they won't even have a night guard. Maybe they think the greatest threat in the arena is tributes in the same alliance. But killing at night is anonymous.

Or at least I think that's the word.

And an alliance, that's sleeping, untrustworthy and likely to get stressy at the slightest thing, is in danger indeed.

They've laid the kindling for me (with a little help from them Gamemakers). All I need to do is give it a spark.