Breathing hurt me so bad. I couldn't focus, I was so scared. A river of blood flowed down my side from Xerxes' machete cut. I think my left wrist was broken from punching him in the face too hard.

Didn't Jon tell me about this, thousands of years ago? Boxing bare hand was safer than boxing with gloves? This is why, he told me. Barehanded, you had to limit yourself to avoid broken knuckles and wrists.

I was fading. I couldn't hear much but the buzzing in my ears. I had never been hurt this bad before, and bleeding out was now an issue. I couldn't staunch the wound. If I could, I had clue how to patc hup a burst lung.

Sylvia. She killed him. One swing of the axe to the center of mass, and it then was just two Tributes left.

"You bitch," I said. "You cunning, wonderful, magnificent bitch."

"I told you right up front, David. I was aiming to win." She stared at me with open eyes. No shame or hatred. Just resignation.

"I know," I said. "I know. Oh, it hurts. It hurts so much." It felt like a soft, gentle hand was inside the wound, twisting the flaps of flesh and digging deeper into my torso. I was horrified to feel tears roll down my cheeks. It meant I was out of control, that my body was failing me whether I was tough enough or not.

"I know it does."

"You could have helped, couldn't you ? When that big fuck was chopping at me? You could have took him down when his back was to you. But you waited... waited." I stopped there, trying not to cry anymore.

"Till you got hurt. Yeah." She sounded sorry. These Hunger Games make monsters of us all.

Maybe that's why the Capitol puts them on. To remind all of us that we're all treacherous, starving animals when push comes to shove. No one would ever rise up. They would not even discuss it. How can you gather your neighbors to fight tyranny when each game makes human nature clear? Your own lover would turn on you to survive.

"Don't be," I told her. "I was planning something similar for you. Just... just he attacked me first, is all."

She hefted her axe, which still had Xerxes' blood dripping down the haft from the thick blade. I twisted to my side and slid the weighted throwing knife out of its sheath on my belt. I hurled it at her face and took her left ear off in a spurt of blood.

She slapped the side of her head, jerked to one side, and swore.

"Damn it," I said. I could barely hear myself over the roaring in my ears and my own heartthrob. "Oh, damn it, I thought I had you." My hand dropped and banged against the concrete.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. I fucking had her

She stared at her own blood cupped in her hand, trembling a little. "I had completely forgot you had that," she said.

"Funny. That knife was all I been thinking about since it was down to us three."

She hefted the axe again, shaking. I could barely see her through the black clouds that were crowding my eyes. "No more surprises. No more chances. I really am sorry, David."

I was about to cough, I could feel it. I knew that if I did the gash where my left ribs used to me would burn me alive. I would probably see blood come up, too.

"Just make it quick. You owe me that much."

The blade went up.


Am I a righteous man?

I stole when I wasn't hungry. I picked fights when I didn't need to. I broke Shabbat and kosher, even before I was Reaped. I polluted my temple with drugs and moonshine, and kept for myself when I could have given to others.

The Lord forgive me, I shed innocent blood.

It's all well and good to say I'd give everything I won in the Hunger Games to my people back home. I'm sure that the sniper from District twelve or the little kid from District Seven would be mollified if they knew that I murdered them for that. There is no excuse. I should have knelt down at the opening bloodbath and allowed myself to die rather than stain my soul.

Too late.

But wasn't I more sinned against than sinner? Didn't I try to do the right thing in the eyes of G-d when the stakes rose? How much can good intentions really count against a life spent as a mocker?

I'm about to stand before the throne of the Lord, and I am terrified of what He will say to me.

Am I only remorseful because I lost? If it was me holding that axe and Sylvia on the ground with a fucked up lung, would I be congratulating myself on how holy and generous I was?

O Lord of my fathers, have mercy on me, a sinner. I have strayed from your laws like a lost sheep. I have ran from your justice, knowing my own guilt. I have broken covenant with you. But you, O Lord, are a merciful God, and I beg your mercy and your forgiveness. Come, mold my heart to you, and do not forget me when you deliver your people. I cry out to you, O Lord, and I know you will take me in. Your love and your grace know no bounds, and I will sing praises to your holy Name forever.

Amen.


The blade came down.