Jason Lenn

I felt like a million bucks as Tuesday and I got farther down the mountain. My lungs were full of good, clean air and my head felt clear again. It was still nasty cold and my throat was still sore from taking deep breaths, but it was a great improvement.

"So how do you feel about the Games?" Tuesday asked. Her and her stupid article.

"I don't know. What kind of question is that? I like them. And you can quote me on that," I said.

"Do you ever feel guilty about the people you kill?" she asked.

"No. Whoever dies in here deserved it," I said more firmly. That one wasn't so hard to answer.

I felt even better when I saw the boy picking berries off a tree on the slope below me. I pointed him out to Tuesday and we ducked behind a rocky ledge to plan.

"You wanna race for it or what?" I asked.

"Why don't you go ahead," she said. "You enjoy it so much." Tuesday was an odd duck. She got into this more for her oddball article than for the thrill of it. I knew she could kill someone if she wanted to, but if she was ready to let me do the fun stuff, I could roll with that. I stood up to run after the Tribute. A bit of snow jarred loose and rolled down the slope. The Tribute looked up at the movement and saw me. I'd have to race for it after all.

Gray Eamon Arden

When I saw the movement, I thought it was an avalanche. It wasn't, but it was still deadly. Jason was tearing down the slope toward me. He was moving downhill, so the slippery snow only helped him go faster. He was stumbling and sliding, but he was still advancing horribly quickly. I ran downhill below him, hoping the slope would help me go fast enough to stay away from him.

I knew he was going to catch up. As he got closer, I sprinted for a patch of ice. At the edge, I threw myself down like I'd tripped. I aimed for a jagged spur of ice and landed on top of it, breaking a chunk off. I gripped it in both hands and pretended I was having a hard time getting up. I heard Jason getting closer behind me. When his shadow fell across me, I whirled around and slammed the ice into the side of his knee, leaning in and down with all my weight as I let out all the rage and resentment I'd felt for the Careers and the Games all my life. His leg buckled and he fell to his knees with the machete still over his head. I jammed a thumb up into his eye and he squealed as he brought the machete down toward my head. I jerked my head to the side and the blade sank into the flesh connecting my neck and my shoulder. Jason pushed the blade further in and toward the ground, and I fell onto my back as it sliced deeper. He pulled the blade out, ripping me up even more, and brought it down toward my head again. I was too close to dodge a second time. I lurched upward and aimed a fist at his head as I met the blade halfway.

Shane Donegal

It was harder on my own. There was no one to stand guard when I was sleeping. If I heard something, I had to check to make sure it wasn't the Career pack. I wasn't the top predator anymore. I didn't have fellow soldiers with me who were fighting the same fight. I wasn't part of an army anymore. I was one lone warrior in an Arena where everyone wanted to kill me.

I didn't even feel right calling myself a warrior anymore. I hadn't killed anyone or performed any great feats of bravery. When someone sent me a tin of blue paint, I made a few halfhearted dots on my face and put it away. I was just a boy. I didn't deserve a man's paint yet.

Only now was I learning what being a warrior really meant. Reward was based on risk. Great warriors got that way because they went up against formidable opponents and risked their lives. Oftentimes, the ones the stories revered most were the ones that died. Warriors weren't happy-go-lucky adventurers who woke up one day and started a war. It took loyalty, dedication, discipline, and support. I didn't know if I had those things.

When I stumbled across two of my old allies, I ducked behind an ice wall. I looked closer and saw it was Jason and Tuesday. Jason was sitting on the ice and holding one eye. Tuesday was trying to move his hand and peek under it. Off to the side, a Tribute lay dead on the ground.

I could have attacked. I had my shillelagh from the Cornucopia. But I hesitated. In the end, I snuck away. I reasoned that it was because I didn't want to attack someone who was wounded, or that I was outnumbered and should pick my battles, or that I could follow from a distance and only attack if they threatened another Tribute. It was too late for the one they'd killed.

Those were all factors in my decision, but there was also another one. I was afraid. It wasn't the largest reason or the one that decided it, but I was afraid. I never thought about it, but the people in the legends must have been afraid, too. They were only great because they pushed past it. When the time came, I'd have to do the same thing. If I did, then I was worthy to call myself a warrior.

14th place: Grey Eamon Arden- killed by Jason

Grey was more than a dead sister. It worked out to have a POV about the plants that would have saved her, but his form didn't make a big deal about the loss. The Careers were short on kills and I wanted to get some. He went out swinging, though. Thanks Dare to be Something More for Grey, whose name I spelled wrong way too many times. He was well-suited to his District, which often doesn't happen for Twelve tributes. He was also just a good guy, and he'll be missed.