Erm, hey there! You know what, I'm not even going to say anything.

Kendal Resista, District 3, 15 years old

I wake up slowly, but once I'm awake, I wonder how I've been sleeping. Without opening my eyes, I can tell that the Gamemakers have been messing with the weather again. Almost no light is coming in through the window. The wind is roaring and howling outside to the point that I swear that I can feel the castle shaking. Even though the window is just a tiny slit, a strong enough breeze to whip my hair around my face is getting in.

I mutter to myself as I rise from the couch I slept on, glancing halfheartedly around for something to cover the window with. I turn to check and see if there's a tapestry on the wall, and shiver when I am suddenly faced with a black suit of armor. It looms above my head, barely visible in the darkness. I find myself unable to look into the pure blackness that fills its pronged helmet, and I detour to avoid stepping into the range of the massive battleaxe it clutches.

Suddenly, I want Borge to wake up. I know that I'm being paranoid, but honestly, is it really my fault? This is the Hunger Games. How do I know that the thing isn't going to start chasing me around the room?

Borge is asleep in an armchair in the corner of the room. The fireplace juts from the wall slightly, directly between him and the knight, and I wonder if Borge had noticed it before I did. If so, I wouldn't blame him for wanting to put something between them. The thing is creepy.

I throw it one last suspicious glance as I kneel in front of the fireplace, scratching my head and trying not to think about the fact that I'm definitely in battleaxe range right now. It's daytime, or at least I think it is, but the room is way too dark without any sunlight. I suppose that we could open the door and let in light from the hallway, but there are still those people out there and somehow I have a feeling that that wouldn't be the best decision I've made.

Which means I've got to start a fire, and I'm at a complete loss. All we've got are a knife each and some food and water. There's wood in the fireplace, but how do I get a spark? Metal on rock makes sparks, right? I drag my knife blade against the stone experimentally, wincing at the shivery vibration it sends up my arm, but it doesn't do anything other than dull my knife slightly. I swing the blade against the corner of one of the stones lining the fireplace, and this time I get a tiny spark. Picking up a few shavings of wood from inside the hearth, I repeat the process, until finally the shavings catch fire. I drop them with a yelp, scorching my hand and narrowly avoiding burning the whole castle down, but I've got my fire.

And as soon as I've got it, I wish it would go away, but I don't really have any method of putting it out. I thought the room was creepy before, but that was nothing compared to how it is now. The knight is lit from the side, his dark armor reflecting a dull red glow. The constant play of the flames makes it look like he's moving every time he's in my peripheral vision, which seems to be pretty much all the time, no matter which way I'm looking. Flickering shadows dart along the wall, and the storm is still screaming and howling outside.

I scowl. Honestly, what is with this? I'm not so scared that I'm going to have a heart attack and die, so what's the point of creeping me out like this? That's just mean.

I glance over at Borge again. I don't really understand how he manages to sleep so soundly even though he spends most of the daylight hours unconscious, but he's sleeping like the dead.

I blink, wincing at the accuracy of my assessment.

Borge chooses that moment to wake up. He mumbles something incoherent, shifting and barely catching himself before he tumbles onto the floor, and I stifle a laugh. "Good morning," he yawns, sitting up. "It is morning, right?" he asks confusedly, staring around the dark room. I don't miss the way that his eyes avoid the knight, and he jumps slightly when the fire gives a particularly loud hiss.

"I think so," I reply. "Sorta hard to be sure, isn't it?"

Borge nods in agreement. "Anything left for breakfast?" He glances hopefully in the direction of the small corner table where we usually leave the food we don't eat immediately, but there's only a small piece of bread, not enough for both of us.

"No problem," I shrug as my heart sinks. "I'm sure there's plenty out there for us."

"Yeah," he says, not looking much happier about it than I feel. I think we're both thinking the same thing. The people, the weather, the plants outside… there's definitely a trend here, and I have a bad feeling about what awaits us in the hallway when we try to take the food. But what choice do we have?

"I've got it," I assure him, gripping my knife and striding toward the door as confidently as I can.

"No, I'll, uh, come too," he protests, following me. I'm about to tell him it's fine, but I see the pleading look in his eye, and I bite it back. He wants to do something brave, and who am I to tell him no? I hesitate with my hand on the door handle, then take a deep breath and swing it toward me.

And Borge and I yell in unison. The people are standing just outside the door, staring at us. After a moment, they seem to register our presence, and the blank stares narrow into ferocious glares. They tense collectively, like a wave about to surge forward, and I slam the door shut as fast as I can.

"Lock it!" Borge exclaims. I do, biting my lip and glancing at the single piece of bread and pitcher of water in the corner.

Now what?

Arielle Nikko, District 8, 16 years old

This is probably bad.

I press my back into the soaked, swaying tree trunk, the wind whipping the rain into my face. At least it conceals the sound of my breathing. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my small silver knife, the one weapon I have. It won't be enough.

I risk a glance around the tree. They're still advancing, three shadowy figures emerging from the curtain of rain. I don't know what happened to the fourth one, but it doesn't matter. Three will be more than enough to kill me.

They can't see me, but they know I'm around here somewhere. It's only a matter of time. They've been following me since the morning, when one of them caught sight of me in the orchard. Always the same process. They get too close to me, and I'm forced to break cover and run. They follow. I watch them approach, and once again, they get to the point where they'll stumble right over me if I don't flee. I know that I need to just run far enough that they won't find me again, but I can't. I'm completely exhausted. I won't even be able to maintain these short sprints for long.

I stab the tree trunk with my knife angrily, then wrench it out and run away again. My breath burns in my throat and my legs are on fire, but what choice do I have? I'm condemned, I suppose. I'm only prolonging my death, but I can't override my instincts with suicidal logic.

I glance over my shoulder. The Careers are closer than I expected them to be. They're running, waterproof jackets that I suppose must have been sponsor gifts cracking in the hurricane. I face forward again, knowing that looking behind me is slowing me down, but I can't help but to keep turning. Now they're so close that I can see their expressions. The smaller girl is scowling, the boy's face is blank, and the bigger girl looks slightly sick.

I keep running, trying to beat down the increasing sense of hopelessness. Of course they're faster than me; they've been training for this. There's no way I can outrun them forever.

I duck behind another tree, sobbing for breath. I think that I hear their footsteps, but I must be imagining it; there's no way I can hear anything through this wind. Almost as soon as I think that, I'm proved wrong. There is a crack above my head, and I look up to see that the trunk of my tree has just snapped, because apparently my being chased by the Career pack just wasn't exciting enough for the Capitol. I dive to the side just in time as the tree's crown crashes to the ground, the broken section of the trunk landing just where I was standing.

The Careers will be on me in seconds. I scramble to my feet, slipping and skidding on the muddy ground, the wind almost throwing me back down. The trees. It's my only chance.

For a moment, I debate the wisdom of climbing a tree when I just saw one fall, but the dull glimmer of the Careers' weapons in the rain convinces me. I throw myself into one last sprint, picking a tree at random and clawing my way up the trunk. The bigger girl definitely can't follow me, but the smaller one almost certainly can, and I'm not sure about the boy. I hope not. I remember his attempt to kill me at the Cornucopia; no doubt he has a score to settle with me.

The Careers circle the tree like wolves as I haul myself onto a narrow branch, shaking in the cold and gasping for breath. The leafless tree offers no concealment, but at least I've bought myself some time to recover. I watch them huddle together, gesticulating as they debate what to do. The argument seems to be mostly between the Twos; the other girl keeps glancing over her shoulder.

So. I am quite possibly about to die. I consider that fact for a moment, and find that I am able to accept it quite easily. Well, not accept it, exactly, but comprehend it. My heart will stop beating. I will stop breathing. The electrical impulses flashing across my brain will stop, and my consciousness will cease to exist.

Great.

The Careers seem to have arrived at a conclusion, one that seems a bit obvious to me. The Two girl, scowling so vehemently that I can make it out through the rain, starts pulling herself clumsily up the trunk. I tighten my grip on my knife.

Just out of curiosity, is anyone still reading this? I'll certainly stick with it if you are, but I'm having a bit of writer's block concerning this story, so…