Dear Readers,

I've still been stuck in a creative rut lately, and it's been taking a toll on my writing. I sincerely apologize for not updating. I've just got an idea that

I've been toying with and don't know how to make it work.

From now on, I'm going to try to update more regularly, but please expect to have irregular updates from time to time…

…Or a lot of the time if I'm still having trouble.

Don't worry, though, I haven't abandoned Terrible. I'd never do that. This thing needs a Victor, and I won't stop until there is!

Love,

Sharon

Tino Finn, District Ten

I can't see what's going on, but I hear shouting and see the tree shake. Someone's gonna fall. Will it be Russo? He's much heavier, and I don't think he's quite as agile as Felix, right? I mean, I wanted to befriend him before, but he's gone completely psychopath on me. And the way he always grabs my arm makes me nervous, like he-

Screams pierce the air. A figure falls, his back cracking against the earth. His neck snaps.

Felix. The second dead body I've seen up close. It was done by the hands of Russo, my ally.

"Killed him!" Russo shouts from the tree, as if it weren't already obvious. I stand beside Felix's corpse as I wait for the Gamemakers to collect it. I mean him. I mean what's left of him. I feel ill.

Russo climbs down the tree. "You saw that, right? Did you see him die? I felt such a rush! I mean, woo! It was-"

"What if he had siblings?" I almost shout.

"Who cares?" says Russo. Darn, not the reaction I was hoping for.

"You were all depressed about your sister, Russ. Now you're this crazy happy guy. What's up?"

"Who cares? Let's kill another! Your turn next. Let's go find my pipe." He grabs my arm tight again. I really don't like this. I don't like this at all. Calm down Finny! There's probably a good reason why Russo's got all these weird moods, right? He's just trying to protect me, holding onto me. He's my ally. He wouldn't hurt an ally. He wouldn't hurt an ally.

And he couldn't save his sister, so he probably thinks of me as a surrogate sibling. Gives him a need to protect someone, right? Right?

"Could you let me go?" I ask. He's now got his heavy arm slung over my shoulder, in an odd sort of headlock. If I had brothers I'd probably know more about this, I think.

"I don't want you to run away from me." Russo says.

"Honestly, I wouldn't want to leave if you didn't breathe down my neck!"

"You really don't like me, do you?"

"You're scary, emotional, like seven feet tall or something and I keep getting this vibe that you like me or something-Which I'm flattered about, but I'm not interested." I say.

"What," says Russo.

"What?" I ask.

"You're paranoid, man." Russo says.

"You're an emotional wreck, man." I counter, imitating him. "And you just killed someone. You need therapy."

"Thanks." Russo says flatly.

"Didn't you say that your sister also needed therapy?" I ask.

"Yep," Russo says, "a couple of nutcases we are. And so are you. Nervous and jumpy and paranoid. You were so happy in the interviews."

"You, too."

"What happened to us, Tino?"

"The Hunger Games happened." I say.

We walk in silence, retrieving Russo's pipe and then searching for something for supper.

Canada Williams, District Twelve

Someone sent me a donation! All I've done so far was stand up to my pack and carry my axe around trying to look badass. Apparently, it's working. I was sent a container of a potato and gravy dish with cheese curds. No fork to speak of.

Using your hands never hurt.

I devour the dish, plenty grateful that I'm not eating rations with the Morningstars.

They all have jerky and crackers and stuff, not real food like the kind from the capitol! Sucks to be them.

It's great to be me. I've got an ax and an awesome dinner. All I need now is a good kill and I'll be fine.

This is the New Me. I'm not afraid of killing. Usa wasn't. I'm gonna be more like her, that's what. But I will win, and for once I'll have done something that she didn't: survive the Hunger Games. If I can't win, who will tend to my family? Keep them together?

There'll be nothing left of my family and everyone will forget about them.

They'll forget about me.

But I'm not going to let that happen. I just need a tribute to kill! Okay, let's just figure out where I am. I was originally in the desert/forest area with the Morningstars, but now I'm much closer to town. I can see it from here, in fact.

I trudge through the desert a little longer and reach town.

Let's see if there's any tributes around. I scan the area. Not many peeps in the town, eh.

Why am I talking like this? Canada Williams does not talk like a pseudo-gangster.

I see someone. A brunet guy slides his way into a house, trying to be nondescript. Descript enough for me to see. Being rather invisible myself, I know when someone is trying to disappear deliberately.

I'll follow him. Follow him and kill him.

I tiptoe my way to the door of the house. Hm. Perhaps I'll try to go through the window. I don't weigh too much, and it'll likely make less noise than the door. I continue my tiptoeing until I reach a window. Planks of wood lay by my feet. The window's open, too. Someone else used the house before me. Are they still there? If they were, they might have killed the brunet already. Or have gotten killed. No cannons have fired yet.

Climb up the window, ax in hand. I crouch on the ledge, and lean my body to get the ax as close to the ground as possible, and then finally drop it when I can lean no more. Hands now free, I grip the edges of the window and start to scoot my way through…and I hit my heat. I cuss, holding my head as I fall through to the inside of the house.

The brunet has heard me. The floor creaks as he walks my way. His face is serious, intent on killing. He holds several kitchen knives in his hands. I frantically search for my ax, which while is just where I left it is much harder to find when you're scared.

I get up and look him in the eyes. He grimaces, and then contorts his face into a scowl.

"Yep, it's me. Canada. You probably didn't even know my name beforehand, did you? Nobody would remember a lousy little Twelve, will they? Well, they will after I win the Hunger Games."

No response.

"Hardly any of the other Twelves can use an ax as well as me. And look who's got an ax right with them? Me."

Still nothing.

"Are we gonna fight? 'Cause you're as responsive as a brick wall."

He nods, and wields his knives. I hold my ax in what I think is a menacing fashion.

I just started a fight. I'm going to be in a fight to the death. I've been close to death earlier in the Games, but I've never been in a more severe position than a duel.

Can I actually do this?