Author's Note: 100 reviews! We did it! Thanks a bunch, everyone.

And that means the top five competition is sealed shut! I'll PM WB, Adrenaline, Axxi, LittleSchemer, and Spockie with the small set of rules concerning your free story requests~

Recommended Listening: American Pie by Don McLean

Gil Prus, District 10

My shoulder hurts. Like, seriously, freaking hurts.

But it's not even there.

That's what pisses me off. Not only have I somehow gotten my arm chopped off, it still hurts. How unawesome is that?

Well, at least I haven't bled out. Have enough sponsors still to keep me alive. Not to mention my pure awesomeness. That's definitely keeping me alive, too.

But I've had enough of lounging around on the rocks. It's time to go out and win this thing already.

So, knife in hand, I push myself up, and, a little off-balance, start climbing.

There's no way I'm going to climb straight up the side of this thing with one arm, so I'm more circumnavigating, but still. I make progress.

Soon enough, I've made it to a crater wall. I toss my knife over and pull myself above the ridge—not easy, but anyone less awesome wouldn't be able to do this at all.

Landing and regaining my grip on the blade, I look around. I've landed in some sort of forest or jungle or something, looks like.

Well. Let's go find somebody to kill.

I push my way through the trees silently, only reacting once when the bandaged surface of my former shoulder bumps up against a tree trunk. At first I get the feeling all this hurting and searching is for naught, but then I hear something. Someone. I pause, listening carefully, before stalking toward the sound. It gets louder. Some sort of conversation.

"…anything for breakfast?"

"No, nothing."

Excited, I quicken my pace, bumping into a couple more branches, but I don't care about that. I'm this close to other tributes! Finally! A chance to show my sponsors my awesomeness!

…And then maybe I'll get some breakfast.

"Well, we're in the middle of a forest," the first voice, one that sounds feminine, continues. "There's probably something edible running around here."

I turn a corner and get a glimpse between the trees of two seated figures.

"True. Should I go out and try to find some edible plants?"

I come closer, pushing away moss until only one strand of the stuff separates me and the tributes. Tributes I finally recognise as that stupid couple from 8.

Ha! Of all the people to come across, I find the ones who've pissed me off from the first interview. This is freaking awesome!

"Yeah. I'll come with. If we find some vine or something, I could probably make a snare…"

Fingering my knife excitedly, I watch the two Eights stand.

Which one should I go for?

I think for a second, decide the guy's more annoying than the girl, and charge.

Veta Edel, District 8

I take the first step away from the little clearing we found when something suddenly bursts from the brush behind me. Reflexively pulling my frying pan out of my waistband, I whip around.

The boy from 10—Gil, I think—is streaking toward the two of us, and before I register that I need to be ready to attack, I see the flash of steel in his hand. Gil lunges for my defenceless husband, and I finally bring my skillet around. It collides hard with the 10's head. He flies away, crumpling to the ground, and I allow myself a short moment of pause to celebrate my victory.

—And then I see the blood on my husband's neck.

I lurch forward, dropping my frying pan and catching Austria just as he starts to teeter backward.

"H-Hey!" my mouth starts, unsure what to say. "Are you okay? What..."

His only reply is a bloody cough.

"A-Austria!" I tug him sideways enough to position him against a tree trunk.

"H-Hang on, okay?" Unable to release him, I keep his shoulders in my grasp as I wildly try to assess the damage.

The slash through the front of his neck spans a good third of the way across, and it looks deep.

What do I do? I-I've never seen anything like this. I'm not a medic. I can't even guess what I should do. Put a hand over it? I'd probably just force the blood down his throat.

But-but if I don't do anything, he'll bleed out and...

And die.

No. N-No, that can't happen. We've-we've made it too far together, and-and...

I feel him start to slump over.

"H-Hang on! You-you won't die, okay? You-you can't die."

He doesn't respond with anything other than a continuous, bloody hacking and wheezing.

I stare bewildered at the river of crimson staining his shirt.

I can't figure a way out of this.

But he can't die. He can't. I won't-I won't let him!

My hands are shaking, so I tighten my grip to stop them.

And I suddenly notice the silence.

He's stopped coughing.

"Aus—"

I'm cut off by a cannon.

"No! H-he's not dead!" I shout, not sure whether I'm addressing the Gamemakers or the cannon. "He's not—He's not dead!"

I squeeze my husband's shoulders.

"C-Come on. Show them you're... you're..."

Something crunches into the tree branches above me, and I look up instinctively.

It's the hovercraft.

"N-no!" The claw starts to descend, and I pull my husband away. "He's not dead! He's not dead!" I scream, jumping back when the hovercraft tries to take him away again.

"He's... not..."

The claw surges down again, finally scooping him up, but I don't let go.

"He... He..."

The hovercraft rises, and I lose my grip. I can only stare upward as my husband and the aircraft disappear into the sky.

He... He... He's...

...Dead?

This can't be right. We were... We were going to get through this together, and...

But he... he's... really...

My thoughts are interrupted by a groan.

I whip around to see Gil trying to push himself to his feet.

Gil. The one who killed him.

"What..." I can't seem to put more than one word together.

The one who murdered my husband.

"What are..."

I walk over tensely and wrap my fingers around my frying pan.

"What are you doing still alive?"

Without another thought, I bring my arm around hard, the frying pan plowing into the side of Gil's head. He staggers, but that's not enough. I pivot, striking him again with a clang, and he falls down satisfactorily.

But he's still not dead.

Taking another step forward, I raise my weapon and bring it down on his skull sharply, hearing something crunch. The 10 emits a sharp yelp of pain, but I don't care. He murdered my husband. He deserves every ounce of pain he can get.

The pan crashes down onto him again, finally spraying the grass with blood. Again. The murderer shrieks. Again. I start to see bone jutting from his bloodied scalp. Again. Some of the bone is knocked away. Again.

The cannon fires.

But I keep striking, as if some part of his horrible soul can still feel the torment.

I've accumulated a decent pile of chips of bone and splatters of brain by the time the hovercraft arrives. I look up at the claw for a moment before I can register what it is.

"I'm not done yet!" I shout to it, proving my point with another clang to what remains of the 10's head.

But the claw still descends, plucking him away from me. I give him one last bash to the skull before he ascends out of range.

"Good riddance!" I scream, glaring up at where he disappears. I continue standing tensely, glowering up into the sky.

O-Okay. He's dead, Veta. Dead and gone, as he should be. Calm down.

The rage slowly withers, and all I'm left with is a dull, empty feeling.

My husband is just as dead as Gil.

I shakily set my red-stained pan down, crumple to the ground, and cry.