Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts and tendencies in Camilla's POV. Please don't hesitate to ask if you need a summary.

Heron Filigree (District One Male, age 18)

My leg is healing well thanks to the cream the girl from Four has been putting on it, but it's not completely healed, so the other Careers aren't letting me go hunting today, and instead making me stay here with only my weapons and my own head to keep me company. It sucks that they trust Abby, who has made only one kill, and even that one was a fairly easy kill, over me. I mean, how long was the blind girl going to last anyway?

I don't know. It's just, I insisted my leg was fine (which it is) and that I could walk (which I can) and I guess it just sucks that they're taking the girl who's basically our slave over me.

They head out when the sun starts to make its descent, and I'm left behind, propped up on a rock and fiddling with a knife. It's sad. Careers are supposed to kill, not be killed, and at the moment, I'm in the second boat. I feel useless.

I stand up, and though the pain medicine has numbed my leg a bit, it still stings. It's nothing I can't handle. I walk back and forth across the camp, and okay, maybe I do limp a little bit. Ugh. I hate being injured.

My mind wanders back to home, and I force myself to stay in the moment. I can't think about home, or about my darling Victory, or even about Mom and Dad. I can't even think about Generosity, really, because this is my moment.

Whatever. This is my week-long death match.

I sit down again. Then, I pick up an orange from the large pile of food we have and dig my fingernails into the peel. It smells so tangy and, well, orange-like. It's a smell I haven't had in days. I take a big whiff of the tangy smell and smile.

Digging into the orange, I start to think about what I'll do when I win. Marry Victory, first of all. That comes in with the absolute highest priority. After that, we'll move into my new house in the Victor's Village, and live a happy two years alone before we start trying for children. My mom and dad will finally have grandkids. I've always thought Enthusiasm and Perfection are great names for kids. We'd have a girl first, and we'd call her Enthusiasm, and she'd grow up training from the age of five just like I did. She'll be welcomed with a little brother a few years after her own birth, Perfection, and they'll grow up best friends. When Enthusiasm goes into the Games herself, just like her father, she'll come out victorious and have her own home for whoever she chooses to marry. And then Perfection would get a turn- and he'd win, too, because what else would a Filigree do?

I smile as I chew. I wish I was with Victory right now, instead of Peridot and Abby and I guess even Aqui. I miss my Victory, and like I told her in the Justice Room, I'll come back to her because she, not the things I'll get for winning the Games, is my true Victory.

The sun is still high in the sky, and I'm a little surprised when I hear Peridot's laugh ringing through the grassy plains. She and the others break through the grass into our little camp not long after, holding their weapons and water.

"No cannons went off," I say.

Abby rolls her eyes.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," says Peridot. She plops down onto the ground and tosses a single almond into her mouth. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen Peridot eat anything more than an apple in, like, three days, and she's looking a heck of a lot skinnier.

I give her a look. "So? What's up with that?"

Aqui breaks in. "We couldn't find anyone, genius."

Motioning to the sky, I scoff. "Idiot, the sun's still high in the sky. What do you mean, you couldn't find anyone? You've still got hours."

Aqui tosses his spear to the ground and the point narrowly misses hitting Abby's foot as it lands. He doesn't respond, though, and instead stalks over to the food pile. He rummages through it, but apparently doesn't find anything he wants, because he motions to the sky. "Could I get a sub sandwich up in here?"

He sits down near Peridot, who's sucking on the almond she grabbed earlier. She frowns and pulls her tube from her pocket, focusing intently on it. I have my suspicions that it was supposed to keep her from relapsing, but the Games have taken their toll on her. At this point, I think she just pulls it out whenever she's hungry. It's like her way of coping with the hunger, instead of eating.

I chuckle. "Well, next time you all want to go hunting, take me with you. Maybe we'll actually get stuff done."

Ethan Valentine (District Twelve Male, age 14)

The snake bite on my ankle hurts like hell. It's painful and swollen, and it drips pus, which is less than a pretty sight. I can't walk on it either, which means I'm stuck here with little food and no more water.

On the good side, at least I'm not hallucinating anymore...?

The snake venom has turned the area it's affected a sickly green. I don't think it's natural, honestly, but the Capitol finds ways to genetically engineer mutts to work in their favor. All the better for them, all the worse for me. Or maybe better. At least I'll see how long I've got left as the venom visibly spreads through my body.

I've given up basically all hope, except that everyone else might magically die in some flood or hurricane or tornado over the next day, and I'll be the last one left standing. Unlikely, I know, but it's the last bit of hope I can grasp onto since I can't defend myself and I'm going to die of dehydration in like three days if the venom doesn't kill me first. I am a sitting duck.

Anyway, the green venom has spread from my ankle through my blood, turning my skin a pale barf-green. It''s kind of weird to look down at my leg and see the swollen green foot and the sick-looking calf muscle. It's not quite to my knee yet, however, it will be soon, and that's basically when I'll lose complete hope.

So I guess that's fun.

I drift in and out of sleep. My dreams are full of horrible images: children like me and Oleander and the other orphans from Twelve being stabbed to death by Aqui and Heron and Peridot; myself slipping off a cliff and falling, falling, falling... snakes, cobras, with diameters about the size of a basketball, hissing and slithering toward me with their fangs out. I sleep restlessly, and when I wake for real, the venom has spread to my lower abdomen. I guess it takes a little shorter to spread once it's infected me completely, although to be fair the sun is going down and it's probably almost nine at night.

I'm in pain worse than anything I've ever felt. My ankle's pain, which had faded to a dull throb before I'd fallen asleep, has now escalated back to sharp needles digging into me every time I move. It's spread, too, mostly to my leg but also my midecstion. I can't imagine what Iago and Olander must think. I wish I could have gone out nobly, but the freaking snakes stopped that.

So, yeah. My life sucks. But at least my life will be over soon.

And then, all of a sudden, the hallucinations start again. I see myself, but not normal me, no, I'm twelve feet tall and I hold a knife the length of a watermelon, and I'm using the knife to stab into the stomach of Oleander over... and over... and over... and over. Each time I pull the knife out, Oleander screams, and Hallucination Ethan smirks and sinks the knife back in like it's a steak knife, and he's a six-year-old who never got taught to cut their meat correctly. I can hear Oleander screaming, all life-like and so so real, and with every stab, I can feel my own real mouth open. Though I can't hear the sound that comes out, I know I'm screaming.

Iago runs into the room in my hallucination, wielding a hatchet, and he doesn't look like Iago. The only reason I know he is Iago is the hair- white, silvery, balding. I only know of one man with hair like that, and it's Iago. His face is streaked with blood. His eyes have been gouged out by someone, presumably Hallucination Ethan, and he has no tongue. I don't know if he's an Avox in this hallucination or if I did that, too.

At any rate, he's carrying a hatchet, and it's a large one, like the District Seven boy was playing with during training. Iago looks back at me, disgust written across his eyeless, bloodstained face, and he tosses the hatchet at me.

He doesn't miss.

I feel a sharp pain in my middle, and the hallucination fades away. I look down to see a wet spot spreading from my charcoal-colored shirt, and in the center of the spot is my knife. I must have stabbed myself while I was hallucinating.

I breathe in and out shakily, gripping the handle of the knife and pulling it from my abdomen. I remember too late what I'd always been told about leaving knives in your body to stop blood loss.

I'm already losing blood, I can tell. I feel cold, like I'd swallowed icy water all over my body, and my skin feels cold and clammy. I start to feel lightheaded and as I slip away I think of Oleander...

I'm sorry.

BOOM.

Camilla Hendricks (District Five Female, age 15)

A cannon booms overhead. My first thought is: That should have been me.

Hmm. I should probably do something about my depression, because I don't think wanting to die is healthy. However, I'm too numb to move, and there's not really anything the Capitol can do for me at this point. Sure, the sponsors could send me antidepressants or whatever, but they take weeks to set in anyway. I'll be long dead by the time they set in and start working, and anyway, there's all kinds of side effects for the drugs. Which means that what drug works for one person might not work for me.

I know I'm in a really bad headspace and I want to be able to climb out of this pit, but I don't think I can. I feel numb and cold all the time, and I kind of just want to stand up and yell out, I'm over here, come kill me please! Because I don't think I can do it myself.

It's not that I don't think I physically can. It's that I don't want to disappoint the people I love by not even putting up a fighting chance.

So I guess I'll wait for someone to come across little old me and beg for them to kill me.

I roll from my back to my side and a tear slides down my cheek. I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten anything for days, and the only water I've taken in has been dirty, because I just don't care enough to purify it.

That reminds me of this thing I saw in school one time. It was generally saying that to be suicidal, you don't have to be actively searching for a way to die. You could just, like, not look before you cross the street, or you could just not check to make sure your chicken's done because you wouldn't care about food poisoning. It's less about trying to die, and more about not trying to live.

I think that's where I am now. In the pamphlet the school gave us, it said something about this still being a cause for major concern and to get checked out about it. But obviously, that isn't possible for me.

I roll back onto my backside and try to bring myself to sit up. The will is there, but my body won't obey me. I can't do it. I give up.

It's tough, looking back on the sweet Camilla I used to be, and thinking about how I've changed so much. I used to love life and love myself, and when I was with my friends, I had the best time. Now I hate myself, consequently hate life, and I don't think I have any friends. Semolina and Solario certainly aren't my friends.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I have to keep telling myself not to think about them, but every time I close my eyes, I see Semolina's tribute picture and hear Solario's happy laugh. It's getting increasingly hard to not think about them.

It takes hours for me to fall asleep that night, and I dream of awful things. The ironic thing is that I'm awoken not long after I fall asleep by the Anthem of Panem.

The song plays, and while I would normally hum along, I can't even really get myself to look at the sky. It takes until the second verse for me to convince myself that I should probably see who died, and I open my eyes, begrudgingly. I stare into the face of the Six girl. Her tribute picture shows her in a dusty gray T-shirt, with her brown hair curled beautifully, and despite how pretty she looks, she's not smiling. Before I can identify the expression on her face, her picture is replaced by the Seven girl, who's dressed in green, smiling a huge grin, long hair wispy and flying in front of her face. It sucks that she died. The last picture is of the Twelve boy, who has a cocky grin on his face. He's dressed in charcoal, and his face is cleaner than I would have expected.

It's hard for me to look at them and not wish I were in the sky and not them.

I drift off to sleep again and don't wake until morning.

Two updates in two days? Who am I?

Nothing much to say today...

How will Camilla deal with her depression? Will she?

Will Heron's leg heal?

When do you start school?

So yeah. Death Recap:

10th Place: Ethan Valentine, District Twelve Male: Killed by Himself/Snake Venom

I struggled a little to write Ethan, but I did appreciate his philosophy of wanting to die in a noble way. I'm sorry that I couldn't give him that kind of death, but I hope he's satisfied with his life, because he's done great things for Twelve's orphans.

Family Fact: Oleander and Iago carried on Ethan's legacy through raising and fostering the many orphans of Twelve. Eventually, Oleander grew up and started an orphanage called the Valentine Home.

Careers: Peridot, Heron, Aqui, Abby
Boys Next Door: Delancey, Solder
Loners (not an alliance): Gabriel, Camilla, Beulah
Dead and Gone: Katie, Nokia, Solario, Kiara, Jack, Aino, Taffeta, Sonny, Demetrius, Duroc, Bri, Barric, Tilly, Ethan