Sorry about the wait time, things sort of got out of hand. But now we're going to kill off Ryder, Foxface's mysterious district partner. It's not very thoughtful after the memory, as I believe that he didn't really have much time to think. It's sort of taking things in and then him dying. He was a bloodbath, after all. They don't have much time to think about things. Disclaimer, blah blah blah, thanks to my reviewers (richards25 and The PTB's Red Fox among some of y'all) and enjoy the show! PS: I still need chapter names for future tributes, if you'd like to suggest any you can, even if you're a guest. I'll take all of them into consideration.

The Boy and the Finch: Ryder's Tale

When I was younger, my family's grocery store (which was the bottom floor of my house) was broken into. I woke up in the middle of the night to hear the crash of breaking glass and ran downstairs in my pajamas; the intruder was very small, probably younger than me, bent over and shoving leeks into a burlap sack. From where I was standing, it looked like a girl. Ginger, with amber eyes. She looked at me and then ran away, and I went back to bed.

Last week, I met that girl again.

On the tribute train.

She didn't say a word to me, but her mentor told me her name. Finch. She said I wasn't to talk to Finch, because it would upset her. Finch, I mean. So I kept my mouth shut and watched her shuffle around with zombielike indifference, so different from the nimble, sneaky child who stole leeks from my house all those years ago.

During training, she stayed off by herself and I tried to make friends. The wolf pack that was Districts 1, 2, and 4 rejected me, and the blonde from 1 swore she'd kill me. Really nice, huh?

She got a 5. I got a 7, which just goes to show who the better tribute is.

Now I look uncertainly at her, my lip curled in a sneer for show; she seems so terribly frightened that all I want to do is go over and hug her. If I didn't mind being blown to bits.

There's ten seconds left on the clock. I think I'll go for the sickle that's there in the heart of the horn, and the backpack next to it. It's like the Gamemakers knew that that's exactly what I needed. A weapon and a backpack.

Five seconds. My head whips around to Finch's pedestal.

"Come with me," she mouths. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

I put my right hand up in a fist and slowly raise the second finger. She sneers.

"Be that way," she seems to say, "and see if I care."

The gong rings, and I throw caution to the wind and run over to my silent partner. She's standing on her pedestal still, hands to her mouth in horror as the carnage begins.

"Can you guarantee my safety?" I ask, feeling edgy. Someone might take my sickle or my pack, but I need to know if I can trust her.

"I can't guarantee I'll be alive in a minute," she responds.

"But you'll try. I mean, I'm one of the tributes who's got good betting averages, Korra tells me." Korra, our escort, favored me over Finch. I was the pet tribute in her Capitol. I was the adored one, the one promised sponsor gifts.

"And you need me to keep you alive until you can do away with me properly. Oh, and you might want to duck." She's cool as dry ice as she drops to the floor of the meadow.

I guess I drop a fraction of a second too late, because I feel white hot pain in my back, more intense than anything I've ever felt.

"Help me!" I scream at her. "Do something!"

She wrenches the axe out of my back. "It was the girl from Seven. I knew I should've paid attention to her. Oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry."

I feel her fingers probing the wound and try to ignore the ominous slurping sound. I'm doing my best to keep still.

"I can't fix this," she mutters.

"What?!" I yell. "Why can't you fix it?"

"It's too deep. I'm so, so sorry, Ryder."

"Am I going to die?" I ask numbly. The pain is starting to recede, and I hear screams and shrieks, and my name yelled loudly. Not by Finch, though. It sounds like the girl from 9.

"You killed Ryder! You killed him, and I'm going to kill you!"

I hear Finch screech as I slump to the ground, breathing hard.

"We had a good run, you know," I whisper. "The boy and the finch."

Sorry it's short, a bit crappy, but this is all I could shovel out in half an hour. I know, I know, half an hour seems like ages, but you try writing something presentable in thirty mere minutes with distractions like flip-y pens and noisy keyboards messing with you. I think I did pretty well. Review, and keep suggesting names, my onions!