Aria Mallow, 18, D1

The explosion is by no means a large one, but it's enough to knock us off our feet. Rose screams as she falls, but it's nowhere near as loud or powerful as Brock's. Rose's scream is only from shock, his has absolute agony laced over the terror, and it's enough to make me want to throw up.

I pull myself up off the ground before the other two have their bearings and make my way to where I can see Brock writhing in the grass, the air around him shimmering with smoke and heat. At first all I can see is the green of his parka and a few strips of red clawing their way over his front, but as I get closer I have to stop myself running, if only to stop myself throwing up and breaking down completely.

Brock's beautiful strawberry blond hair is all but gone, and what remains of it has fused with the molten flesh that was once blemish free, save for a few battle scars. As far as I can tell both legs are gone, as well as the arm that was holding his spear. The boisterous boy I'd grown up alongside has been reduced to nothing more than a screaming writhing mass of seared flesh.

"Aria we need to go." Jarred calls out from behind me. "There's nothing we can do for him, not like this."

"I can't leave him here!" I scream back. "I can't leave him here to die, not like this."

There is silence for a few moments, before I feel a hand reach out and squeeze my shoulder blade. "I'll do it. You don't have to."

"No, it has to be me." I stammer, turning to face him, for the first time completely letting my defences down in front of a boy who seems to have nothing inside to defend. "It needs to be me."

Jarred furrows his brow and I can see his jaw clenching, ready to argue, but then it slackens and he sighs. "Fine. You've got two minutes. That's all."

"That's all I need."

I spy Rose standing a few paces away from us, her eyes wide and stuck fast on Brock, who's screams are becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Take her away from view ok?"

Jarred nods, and as silently as he appeared beside me he retreats, leaving me on my own to end my friends pain.

Choking back tears I make my way through the tall grass and kneel beside Brock. At first he doesn't even seem to notice my presence, he just keeps moaning and groaning. I reach my hand out and rest it on his forehead, like I'd seen mothers do to sobbing children back home, and the effect is almost instantaneous. For a moment, just one moment, he relaxes.

"Aria….Aria?"

"I'm here." I stammer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

I falter for a second, because a straight yes doesn't sound right. I brush my fingers across his forehead and try to force a smile. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

A soft grunt escapes from the back of his throat, and if it wasn't for the way his eyes creased up, just like when he laughs, I would have thought he was just reacting to the pain. Then he swallows, the grimace returning.

"God I'm scared."

"Don't, you'll be fine." I mumble, pulling the knife out, resting it above his heart, where the fabric from his parka and his skin have melted into one. "I'm serious, you'll be fine."

"If you say so." He swallows hard and a barely there moan escapes from his lips. "On the count of three. One….two…."

"Three." I whisper, just as I slip the knife through his ribs. His whole body shudders for the briefest of seconds, and then his eyes snap shut. I keep counting.

By the time I count to thirteen, Brock is long gone.

Jane Rooke, 18, D5

A canon sounds, breaking my train of thought, stopping me from getting the words I want to write down on the page. I hang my hand so the finger faces downwards, forcing the blood to keep seeping out, at least for the time being defying my body's messages to form a clot.

"That's the second one today Grant." I murmur.

"I don't even want to think about it." His eyes are focused hard on my bleeding finger, both of them pin point holes. "You shouldn't do that you know."

"Do what?" I ask, feigning ignorance. I give my finger a quick squeeze and a drop of blood falls away from the wound and onto the page. Using my fingernail I push the liquid around until it forms a lazy 'A' shape. Grant shivers.

"That. You shouldn't do that."

"Well I'm going to do it whether you like it or not. I'm a big girl Grant. I can make my own decisions."

"I wasn't trying to…you know what never mind, forget I said anything." He sighs, making a special effort not to look at my hand, but he doesn't have nearly enough self-control to not look at me at all. He's far too infatuated for all out avoidance. Instead he seems to focus on my hair and occasionally, when he thinks I'm not looking, my face.

"I can see you looking at me you know."I say, and his face flushes immediately. Even though I don't want to say it the words pour out like vomit. "It makes me want to cry."

The blush fades, and instead his face pales with pain. "I'm sorry I don't want you to, I had no idea.."

"No no don't. I didn't mean it like that, please don't be offended." I cut in.

"Well I don't see any other way I could take it Jane."

"No really. It's just, we're here you know? We're in this horrible, disgusting situation that we're probably never going to find our way out of and despite all that you're sitting over the looking at me like that, like you love me. It makes me want to cry because even though you know it's hopeless, that I'm too old for you and it's too late for anything like that anyway, you're still doing it. It's so heartbreakingly beautiful Grant. It's the kind of beautiful that hurts."

He doesn't say anything at first, and the two of us sit staring at one another, the sound of birds far off in the distance the only noise accompanying our own breathing. Then finally he speaks. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I don't mind. I'd rather feel something than nothing at all right now, even if it is a tad melancholic."

He smiles at that, before glancing over at the journal resting in my lap. "Will you write about this?"

I press my finger back down on the paper, and write in the N and the T to finish off his name. "Can't say; spoilers."

Modest Kline, 14, D12

"Don't worry Modest, I won't turn around until you say so."

The two of us are getting ready to bath in a stream we came across earlier, desperate to rid ourselves of the woeful smells that have been plaguing us for the last few days. Flinch is being especially kind in letting me get in first, so I don't feel so uncomfortable being in the water with a naked boy. Especially considering that I'll be naked myself. I can only imagine my friends back home watching this all unfold. I bet it looks all kinds of unsavoury, even if it is as innocent as anything.

I'm sure the Capitol is eating it right up.

I bunch my arms around my chest and with my legs crossed I skitter into the water too fast, sending my skin prickling in shock. "Ahhhhh god!" I yelp, sucking in a deep breath. From the corner of my eye I can see flinch turning, an automatic reaction to what I'm sure sounded like a distress call. I bob down and scream, "Flinch! Don't turn around!"

His head snaps back so fast it makes a soft clicking sound, and I can't help but laugh as his neck starts to go all blotchy and red. "Ok, you can come in."

"Your turn to turn around then." He chatters, starting to undress himself. "I bet I'm a lot scarier to look at than you would be."

My fingers tighten around my ribs, which are protruding even more than usual and I grimace as I turn. "I'm not all too sure about that."

"Oh don't be like that." There's a loud splash to the left of me, followed by a string of curse words. "It's so cold!"

"I know right?" I chatter, sinking low enough for my hair to float on top of the water. "Am I right to look now?"

"Yes. That should be fine."

If the people back home were looking forward to watching a water fuelled romance begin to blossom, they must have been left sourly disappointed. All we do is bath ourselves and talk about how hungry we are. There is a brief moment where I catch him looking at me, and for just a second my heart skips a beat or two, because despite where we are this is a real life and might I add naked boy looking at me, but it fades fast. He isn't looking at me like he might love me. No, he could never look at me like that. He's looking at me with concern, like a brother or a father would, his eyes stuck fast on my all too visible ribcage.

"Modest you're starving."

"We both are."

"No, not like you are." He lurches forward, gripping onto my side, onto my ribs with his right hand. His thumb rests in the centre of my stomach and his fingers stretch out almost to my spine. "Jesus Christ Modest, did you eat anything back at the Capitol?"

I shake him off and move to the edge of the water, back towards my clothes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "One week of food isn't going to fix a lifetime of hunger. You know that. I'm from District 12 after all."

"I didn't think 12 was that bad."

"Well you thought wrong." I mumble.

There's a sound behind me, of twigs snapping, taking the attention away from my pitiful body. I move back from the edge of the stream and closer to Flinch.

Two boys stumble out of the bushes, their eyes wide and fearful. The taller of the two, who I recognize to be the boy from 8 leans over and vomits, hacking and gagging so loud it makes me cringe. He straightens back up and his eyes lock onto the two of us in the water.

While I should feel more afraid than anything all I feel is embarrassed. It doesn't help that both boys look back at us with curious expressions, their eyes darting from Flinch to myself to our clothes on the bank, all the thoughts they're putting together practically visible behind their foreheads. Their confusion gives Flinch just enough time to crouch a little lower and pick up a rock. By the time they realize what he's doing it's too late.

He pitches the rock at the boy from 11 just as the boy from 8 lurches toward us. The rock smacks into the boy's forehead with a sickening thud and knocks him flying off his feet and onto his back. I don't get to see what happens next. Flinch's arm swings out and knocks me out of the way of the fighting and I hit the bank hard, the jagged rocks on the bank cutting across my stomach. It's not a life threatening wound, but it's enough to make me bleed, and as I scurry up the bank I can see the blood staining the already murky water.

"Don't turn around Modest! Get into the woods!" Flinch screams at me. "Don't turn around!"

I have to though; I can't just rush off into the woods not knowing whether he's got any chance of making it out dead or alive. I turn around, even while he screams at me not to.

Flinch has the boy from 8 held under the water, with the kid's arms the only part of him still above the surface. His hands are clawing desperately across Flinch's chest and arms in a last ditch attempt to fight back, but even I know he's got no hope now. It's so desperate, so unbearably raw that I can't handle it. The world blacks out, and I fall to the ground.

Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3

The canon sounds for the boy from 8 and I let him go, watching as his body floats down-stream in an ugly and disjointed manor. Nausea starts to build up in my gut but I force it back down, instead turning my attention towards the boy lying on the bank. I make my way over towards him and assess the damage I've done.

His forehead is drenched in blood that dribbles down his face in ugly lines, making him look like he's crying. Just above his left eye is a perfect dent with a deep gash through the centre, the source of the blood still dribbling down his face. There's no denying the fact that he's a goner. You can't survive an injury like that, especially not here. His heart might still be beating away in his chest, but it'll give up eventually.

Not wanting him to lie there in agony I place one hand across his mouth and use the other to pinch his nose together. There is no struggle, not like there was with the boy from 8 back there in the water. This boy goes peacefully. The life leaves him with such ease that I wouldn't have even realized he was gone if it wasn't for the canon sounding.

"Flinch?" I hear Modest whisper from across the stream. I don't dare turn back to face her. Not yet, not after what I've just done. I need a moment to collect myself, to make peace with the fact that I'm now the murderer of not one, but two people.

"Yeah Modest." I whisper back. I'm expecting her to say something about the killing, I'm expecting her to be horrified and disgusted with me.

"Flinch you're still naked."

Despite the seriousness of our situation and despite all the horrible things that have happened in the past week I laugh for what feels like the first time in eons. "I'm guessing you are too then?"

"Yes." She squeaks back. "Don't turn around ok?"

Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11

I'm leant over the side of the ledge heaving my guts up. Demeter is sitting beside me, her head resting on her knees.

"Was it something we ate?" She asks.

"I've never had head spins as well as vomiting when I've had food poisoning, so I'm guessing no. Plus Herc isn't throwing up."

"But he's got the spinning whirling headache thing."

"That's more proof against food poisoning than for it Dem."

"Would you two stop moaning and gagging all the time? I'm trying to get some sleep down here." Hercules calls from down in the hole.

'Shut it Lil' Lightning." I quipback.

"I'm just saying, do you want me to get those traps all set up tomorrow morning or what?"

I hiss to myself and crawl over to the hole, careful to move slowly so I don't throw up over it and really give Herc something to whinge about. "Yes. Yes I do. I'm so sorry our illness is causing you such distress."

He doesn't reply to that and I know he's decided to go back to sleep. Gingerly I push myself back towards Demeter and I rest my chin on the edge of the ledge, trying to focus on a star twinkling up in the sky above in an effort to ward off the dizziness. It doesn't work.

"Maybe it's an illness that's been engineered by the Gamemakers." Demeter mumbles.

"That sounds like a pretty good theory you know." I mutter, swallowing back some bile that's beginning to rise up my throat.

"Do you think it could kill us?" She asks, and for a moment I don't know what to say. For all I know that might be the intention. It's probably just as fun to see someone's body turn against them as well as their peers. I doubt it would be anything as simple as that though.

"Maybe. It could easily just be another way to make us feel uncomfortable in our environment. I'd put my money on that, if I had any."

Demeter replies by dropping her head over the ledge and retching violently. The sound makes my stomach churn, but thankfully the anthem begins playing overhead loud enough to drown her out. Carefully I tilt my head up and get ready to watch.

All the dead are male today, all four of them. The first face to light up is the boy from six. His face in the picture is kind and friendly and it makes me feel terrible. Someone like that should never be sent here. Someone that kind never stood a chance. The next one is the cocky blonde boy from 1. Both Demeter and I exchange a glance; we'd never have expected that. I'd have pegged him to have made it all the way to the finale. They're both joined by the boy from 8 and then finally by Spencer. That's all my stomach needs to take control. I push my head over the side and vomit up all that was left of my dinner.

As the anthem comes to a close I feel Demeter's hand rest on my back. "I'm so sorry Rye."

"What for? He was just some kid from my district. I didn't know him. It's no different to any of the other kids dying." I say, wanting so desperately to believe it. We weren't friends, we hardly even spoke five words to one another after the train ride, but it's almost like I've just lost Narnate or Ferrata, or even one of the sisters I left all those years ago. Spencer is a piece of my home, and now he's gone.

I push myself back up and turn to smile at Demeter, but I falter. There's a trace amount of vomit clinging to the side of her mouth, and with the moonlight lighting up her face I can see that it's not all vomit. Some of it is blood.

"What, what's wrong?" She asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing." I stammer, trying to compose myself. "Nothing, you've just got some vomit," I lean forward and point to the spot where the dreadful mixture is resting.

Demeter's hand shoots up immediately and wipes it away, scraping it off on the side of the ledge. "God, how embarrassing."

I say nothing. I just push a fake smile onto my face and try to forget that I've just seen something to worry about.

Tributes Killed This Chapter:

14- Brock Emerald, Aged Eighteen, District 1

13- Airick Marloth, Aged Fifteen, District 8

12- Spencer Lux, Aged Sixteen, District 11

This was a very, VERY hard chapter for me to write, and the reason for this is because I lost three of my absolute favorites while writing it. While Brock's end has been in my head since the day I wrote his reaping, I had about fifty other ideas for Airick and Spencer. In the end this was the way it had to be, and it broke my heart. Poor poor babies. Thank you to the people who submitted them, they've been excellent characters to work with.

Not that any of the others aren't, I just, babies.

I'm thinking about including a chapter from the POV of some of the victims/remaining tributes family and friends watching back home at some point and I'd love to know what you guys think about that as an idea. I've always loved the family/friends POV's in Rose Hunter's SYOTs. Its just an idea, but I thought it could be interesting. Let me know what you think!

I'm sure some of you noticed our resident Psychotic, Miss Katie Chandler, was absent this chapter. I did not forget about her, I just couldn't figure her story into this chapter and I figured well, she's a creepy kid, lets just make her creepier by not letting on to what she's up to at the moment. Which is probably just wandering around the arena like a creep, but hey, It could be something devious. I'll never tell ;)

This is a very long AN, I should probably stop now.

See you next chapter!