A Vivid Note: Happy New Year, everyone. I wish for lovely days to fill your vacations and good feelings to fill your heart. It's the beginning of a brand new year, and I sincerely hope that 2012 is a year we can all be proud to call our own.

By chapter 60 we will reach our final 8, and by 65 we will reach the final chapter of the arena. After that, I have a series of chapters to bring back all those feelings. Flashbacks to the interviews, the victor's reel and the epilogues of each tribute's family.
I hope you're as prepared as I am. Because I didn't come this far just to half-ass it on the finish.

Capitol Question #027; which of the original 24 tributes did you wish to see in the final 8?

Kiss-Kiss,
Vivid.

The Capitol Games.

Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4.

It's almost as if the cool and sharp-witted Minerva I had watched before these games began had never existed. Instead, I have had to lead this deranged, bedraggled woman by the hand all night in search of water to help cleanse whatever the hell she's been popping out of that little plastic bottle of hers every half hour. I tried to take it away from her- or at least get a decent look at the label- but she wouldn't have it. With my right hand clutched in her left and her muddy backpack out of reach of my left there was no way to touch the thing.

"I'm so happy you're here, Vidar," she kept saying, squeezing my hand and showing that disturbing smile of hers. "I finally feel safe with you protecting me."

No matter how many times I try and tell Minerva that I'm not her fiancé, that I'm her sector partner, she won't listen. Rather, it's like she can't even hear me. She says random benign things like 'You always say that, Vidar' and 'Oh Vidar, you're so funny!'
I don't understand how she can believe in this delusion that her fiancé has somehow come to protect her in the middle of the Quarter Quell. Minerva's a smart girl; she should know that what she's dreaming up is impossible. No one can enter, and no one can leave.

Well, one can... but only one.

I suppress the smallest of shudders as I think of the remaining twenty-three, doomed to die so the last may leave. It seems a little unfair, only one leaving while the others fall to horrible deaths. Still, it's not like I gave a damn about any of this before I was a part of it myself. Until now I couldn't have cared less if all twenty-four tributes died. Shit, they could've had twice that many and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. They were just District kids after all.

Only now do I realise that other 'District kids' are probably watching this and thinking the exact same thing I was- 'just a Capitol kid,' they say while smirking. 'Who gives a shit what happens to him?'

'It only matters now because I'm finally the one at stake.' My gaze lowers to the forest floor as the guilt builds up in my throat. 'I never gave a shit before because it didn't really concern me...'

Weaving her fingers between mine, Minerva leans across and smiles kindly. "Are you getting tired, Vidar?"

"Vinel," I murmur lifelessly. "I'm not Vidar. I'm Vinel."

With a giggle, she looks upwards and swings our joined hands slightly. "You're absolutely right. This place is quite beautiful if you stop to think about it."

My hand goes limp in hers as she begins to hum quietly to herself. It's not a song I recognise, but is no doubt some tune that holds a lot of meaning to her and Vidar.
At first I didn't feel much for the guy, other than slight resentment for having hooked himself a girl like Minerva and actually having the drive to settle down in the first place; a drive that I had lacked. Now I really feel for the poor bastard, at home watching his dream girl holding hands with some younger guy as they traipse through a forest of horrors.

This place wouldn't be beautiful to him. It's probably the backdrop of his nightmares, but that's if he's even managed to get any sleep while all this is going on. I can't say I'd blame him if he's been awake for the past week- staring intently at the television screen waiting for some sign that Minerva might be coming home.
He mustn't like me very much. I certainly wouldn't if I were in his position, even if he were doing his best to keep my Minerva alive. I'd never be able to shake the feeling that he'd lose interest and kill the deranged thing before she goes ape-shit and stabs him first.

Suddenly I feel very aware of Minerva's hand entwined with mine. What will she do if she finally hears what I've been saying and realises that I'm not Vidar? She very well could go insane and try to put an arrow in my skull. What would I do then; fight her off? I don't like the idea, but I like the idea of being slaughtered even less. I was prepared to kill Cotton if it came down to it... so why not Minerva?

'Cotton was smaller and didn't have that much strength,' my head answers darkly. 'And she doesn't have an enraged boyfriend waiting for you back home should you actually win this.'

While I'm not entirely sure the latter is true- Cotton could have a boyfriend after all, only she'd have to be a lot more promiscuous than Minerva if that was the case- the rest is right. Cotton didn't have the strength to hold me down if it boiled down to a physical fight. Minerva, while thinner than I, has a lot of muscle in her upper arms and shoulders- and if pushed she just might have the power to hold me down long enough to smash my head against something hard.

'Just imagine how beautiful you'll be with the back of your skull cracked open, Vinel.'

Just as I'm considering pulling my hand free and physically beating away these paranoia inducing thoughts of mine, a softly glowing light catches my eye just as Minerva croons softly.

"Oh... oh, what's that?" Whispering quietly, Minerva pulls her body close to mine and looks at me excitedly. "Do you see that?"

Honestly I don't know for sure if we're seeing the same thing, since in her eyes I'm not myself and this place is apparently 'beautiful', but I grunt and nod as I continue to squint ahead towards the source of the rippling golden light reflecting all around us. It seems to be sunlight reflecting off a large water source a little ways ahead.
Right. I clench my teeth together and begin to forge our way ahead, holding tightly on to Minerva's wrist. Hopefully I can use the water to slowly detox Minerva from whatever the hell she's been taking all this time; eventually bring her back to her senses.

At least, that's what I'm hoping to accomplish. I've never helped detox a person before, and I don't know if it's something that can be done without IVs and expensive therapy.

But I have to at least try. There's no way this Minerva can survive here, even with my help. So I've got to do everything I possibly can to give her the best possible chance of survival.

"Slow down, Vidar! I can't keep up with you like this-!"

If only I was heartless enough to leave her in my dust.

The intensity of the sunlight being reflected into my eyes is blinding. The smell of damp soil and decomposing leaves is thick in the air the closer we draw to the sounds of trickling water. As the forest begins to divide and we near the clearing my mouth begins to tingle from anticipation. I've been thirsting for this too ever since I finished my tiny portion of the water ration that Natalia gave me before I took off.

"Vidar," Minerva cries. "Slow down please! I can't keep up!"

"No way," I'm almost too breathless to speak. "We're almost there-"

I push hard against the trunk of the last tree and stumble out into the opening, squinting through the sun's brilliance. As I hear the water lapping gently against the banks of the lake, my eyes slowly begin to see through the overwhelming splendour.

And as I finally see the lake with its rippling golden waters in full, the hand that holds Minerva's slackens.

"…what… what is this…?"

Staggering forwards, my boots sink deep in the mud of the shoreline while Minerva fights for breath. Without thinking about it, I fall to my knees and let my hands settle into the dirt as I stare out across the gold lake, dazed.
This… this isn't… this isn't it… is it…? There's got to be more than this obviously tainted lake… right? We've come so far after all… this isn't fair..! This isn't fair-!

Punching my knuckles into the dirt, I clench and unclench my jaw while tears of frustration burn the corners of my eyes. I'm slightly aware of Minerva standing behind me as this pathetic wheezing sound begins to whine out of my throat.

"Why are you crying, Vidar? What's wrong?"

A pair of hands gingerly touches my shoulders, followed by a pair of brittle arms that encircle my neck. I try to supress the gurgling in my throat and clench my jaw in agony, staring bitterly up at the sky as that unforgiving sun that looks so cruelly down at me.

As that sun burns my corneas, I finally lose my patience with all the lies.

"I am NOT—VIDAR—!"

Minerva yelps as she goes sliding backwards through the mud. Stumbling back, knee deep in this putrid golden water, I spin around and stare desperately down at the woman who looks up at me with a childlike expression of fear.

"I'M VINEL GREGGORUS!" Slamming my hand against my chest, I close my eyes as I shout those words. "I AM NOT YOUR FIANCÉ, I AM NOT YOUR VIDAR- I AM YOUR SECTOR PARTNER AND IF YOU DON'T COME TO YOUR DAMN SENSES WE ARE GOING TO-"

And as I open my eyes for the final delivery, my voice and the truth come to a reeling halt as Minerva's suddenly poised arrow gleams with its murderous silver and the reflected gold of the water. I take a step backwards as I catch sight of the crazed look on her face returns one more time.

"YOU LIAR—!"

Her fingers release the string.


Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2.

A cannon rang out while Brandit and I were eating breakfast. I had a large mouthful of cheese and bread and almost all of it came flying out in surprise.

"Easy there," Brandit says with a small smile. "Don't choke, Natalia."

With wide eyes I stare at him in disbelief. "What are you acting so calm about? That was a cannon just now, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I heard it," Brandit murmurs as he bites into a bun and tears off a sizeable chunk, chewing it slowly. "It just doesn't really surprise me anymore, I guess. It's been three days since someone died. I guess I was just thinking that it was about time for someone else to go."

The way he says this in such a blank monotone frustrates me a little. I don't know if he's putting on a brave face because he doesn't want me to worry, or if he's trying to act disinterested so we won't have to talk about the possibility of who just bit the dust.
Brandit is right. It's been a long time since we saw Farraday's face up in the stars. I just want to know who just joined him. Was it Marshall or one of the idiots he's hanging around with? Or could it have been Vinel, or- dare I dream it- Cotton? It might have even been Ari Saint-Claire or her little lap pet, Sykora.

If it's any of them, I'll be content. Even if it isn't one of them and it's someone I don't give a damn about, like the pair from three or Brandit's sector partner, it just means that I'm one step closer to winning all this.
Of course, I have a feeling that if Brandit's partner's face were to light up the sky tonight it might put a damper on things. He might not want to admit it aloud, but I think he pities the girl and wants to make up for scaring her before the games began.

It's hard trying to figure this boy out. While I did the best I could trying to understand the psychology behind his spur of the moment volunteering, I'm not entirely sure that's truly why he was up for all this in the first place.
Still, it's not like it really matters. He's been- dare I say it- a good friend to me in all this. Back home I didn't have a lot of friends... any, actually, and especially no one I had the gall to make out with.

Now that I think about it that was my first kiss I gave away. I swallow the remaining traces of bread as I consider this fact.
A first kiss is something you're supposed to share for someone special. Usually girls are upset if their first is wasted or squandered on someone they don't really like, but to be honest I wasn't really saving mine for anyone.

Huh. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Brandit sneeze into his sleeve and stifle a snicker. I wouldn't say that he's the sort of guy I anticipated kissing, but he's not that different. He's tall for someone a year younger than me, and it's not like he looks bad. It's obvious that the boy takes care of himself.
Still, I don't really understand my own feelings about this situation. And to be completely honest, I don't think I have the time to sit around thinking about them. It's been too long since I took action, and if I keep sitting here in this cage of rose thorns I'm probably going to go insane and do something stupid like kiss him again. Then I'll be doomed to repeat this useless train of thought.

"We need to get moving."

My words surprise Brandit, who was just finishing off his breakfast. Rewrapping the cheese, he eyes me curiously.

"Where are we going?" He asks.

For a moment thought he was going to ask why, and I had prepared a long spiel about the necessity to be on the offensive. But with him smiling coyly at me and not questioning my motive I'm left temporarily without words.

"W-Well…" God damn it, Natalia. "Just… away from here, alright? We need to get back on the offensive, or before we know it someone is going to come charging in here to take us out. We're sitting ducks in this dome, especially now that it's just the two of us here and there could be much bigger alliances going on out there."

The words don't make much sense to me while I'm speaking them, I'm so quick to get them out that they feel muddled and unprepared in my mouth, but Brandit nods in agreement. Glancing skyward, his expression becomes grim before he looks back down and glances inside the cornucopia.

"As long as we aren't going upwards, I'm fine."

Eyes flitting upwards for a moment, I feel a sick sensation in my stomach that I can't explain. "Yeah. Not up there."

I'm not climbing up there any sooner than I have to, and judging from the feeling of dread building in the pit of my stomach- that's probably what the game makers have in store for… for later.

'They always do 'save the best for last,' I think cynically.

"What are we going to do with the remaining supplies?" Brandit asks, gesturing to our still surprisingly large supply cache. "We can't possibly take all of it with us, and whatever we leave behind will be up for grabs."

Thinking of allowing any of our surplus to fall into the hands of any of the others makes me feel like shrieking, but there's really no other choice. We couldn't possibly carry the contents of all of these crates and barrels, let alone the arsenal of weapons we've barely touched. We're bound to leave something behind.

Brandit watches me with mild amusement as my face no doubt shows the difficult choices I'm making in my head. He rustles up several backpacks we had been using as pillows and holds them up for me to see.

"Take your pick," he grins, wiggling the bags by their straps. "Just know that I particularly fancy the grey."

"Then you shouldn't have said so," I say with a smirk, reaching forward and snatching the medium-sized grey pack from his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Brandit drops one of the bags and unzips the other. "This is why I lied. Brown is obviously my colour."

With a scoff, I can't help but smile as Brandit begins dividing the food and water between our two packs while murmuring about hiding some of the supplies up in the cornucopia's hollowed out tail so that if our little base is ransacked before we get back we'll still have some stock secretly stashed away.

All too quickly though the smile fades away.

It won't be long before another tribute's cannon booms again.

And I can only hope that it's one of us who are the ones setting that cannon off.


Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11.

Fifteen little tributes left. Well, I guess fourteen little tributes left, if I'm trying to count down how many are still standing in the way of me and my victory. It seems like it was only yesterday that I was standing before that little angel Liotta as she hung helplessly in that thicket of vines. The pleading look in her eyes as I held that knife right up to her desperate face… it's still so vivid that I can picture it now…

Wandering alone in these woods gives me a lot of time to think about nothing. Sometimes I find myself humming songs I don't quite recognise and dwelling on things from years gone by. Television shows I once watched, books I picked up and soon discarded and classmates I never really got to know. Anything and everything to pass the time between now and my next opportunity.

It has been some time since my botched attack on Saint-Claire and her violent partner. The lack of a cannon made me suspicious and less confident that my attack was deep enough to kill the guy. I'm not counting on the cannon from earlier being Laco Sykora's.
If only I had been given more time to properly finish him off right then and there. Perhaps Ari would have starved or sobbed herself to death shortly after and there would only be eleven tributes left to deal with right now. That thought makes me stop walking entirely and weakly kick my feet against a stray clump of dirt.

I'm becoming bored of this. This would be fine if it were an endless spiel of fountaining blood and shredded people meat- but so far it's just been one long, boring trek through a forest filled with the quietest animals imaginable. To be honest I was expecting more ferocious muttations, this being a Quarter Quell and all, but it's been rather quiet so far. Almost too quiet.

"They use mutts if things aren't progressing fast enough, not enough people being killed," my father once told me. "They're a game-changer of sorts, making things more exciting, understand?"

Remembering this makes me smile. We used to always watch these games together, he and I. I remember how exciting it was when a tribute we didn't like was put to rest. Dad would always explain to me what was happening inside their body while we watched. He told me about how if a person is punched in the head and that head slams against a wall, the brain will take the full impact. There were funnier little facts he knew as well- kicking someone in the nose can send the bone jutting into the brain, the femur being the hardest bone in the body to break, that it's possible to pull a person's ear clean off if you have the right angle…

He always preferred the more physical side of the games, I guess. Brawls, wrestling and fist-fights were his favourite moments. Whenever the weapons were cast aside and the tributes were left to their own devices- that was when Dad would pull me in close and whisper-

"Get ready for it-"

Something cracks nearby, followed by a hiss. Tensing, my hand whips my knife out of my pocket and I'm poised to dodge. There is a series of small, shriek-like noises followed by dead leaves rustling under a tribute's boot. I back up a little, but not so far that I'm cornered against one of the mammoth trees. Whoever is there is too close for me to successfully run from. My only choice is to see if this is someone I can pull my 'innocent' trick or if this is someone I'll have to… gut.

The snarling tribute lets out a quiet screech. "Oh for the love of-!"

And out from behind the tree she emerges, her white-blonde hair no longer perfectly straightened and her skin no longer flawless, Cotton Valamine Ferier stumbles into the open and our eyes meet almost instantly.

Her eyes narrow and her voice drips with distaste. "…you?"

I don't quite know how to act. The Cotton I remember, my harebrained sector partner, didn't hold herself the way this Cotton does. Her eyes were filled with frustration and resentment- but not this level of poison. Whatever has happened to her since we last ate dinner together, it's done the impossible and destroyed her naivety.

"C-Cotton," I gasp, blinking away my crocodile tears of fright and clutching my hands together. "…h-how are you…?"

Frowning, her hand disappears behind her back. "About to be a lot better."

Surprised, I shift to the side as Cotton pulls out her weapon. At first I think it's a bamboo blade or a spear of sorts judging on its length- until I see the mouth piece and the hollowed end and feel a pang of envy unlike any I've felt before.

A blow gun? It's much bigger than the one I was sent. Mine seems like a toy compared to this gorgeous piece of work. The empty vials of poison feel even more worthless in my pocket, rattling together as I stumble back, keeping a steady eye on Cotton as she reaches into her pockets for the darts.

Alright. Get ready for it.

"Cotton," I stammer, shaking my head as she slowly fits the dart into the end with her thumb. "Don't kill me… please… I haven't done anything to you…"

My words do exactly what I wanted them to do. They make her hesitate. Cotton's face contorts with rage and her hand tightens over the handle of her dart gun, eyes swivelling upwards to stare me down.

"You haven't… done anything…?" Cotton whispers, ragged and breathless. "You… you ruined my chances… by being my sector partner… the chariots… training… you were so god damn weak that they just assumed that I was too… you brought me down… you brought me down to your level… and that's entirelyentirely—your—FAULT!"

She swings the gun's nozzle towards me and rams the other end to her lips just as I skid forwards across the ground. My heart begins to pound as all the boredom of the past few days vanishes in a blur of adrenaline and I feel the knife pulsating in my hand.

Let's make you proud, father.

"No, Cotton-!"

By the time her eyes catch where I am I've whipped my arm into the side of her gun and sent it flying. As she screeches and grasps for it in mid-air I swing the knife out of my pocket.

"THAT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

And with one thrust, the entire length of the blade disappears inside of Cotton's left calf. Squinting as the blade handle tremors and vibrates as the screaming girl grabs for my hair. Blood begins to bead along where the knife entered her leg, and as I wrench it free and tear it out of her body she lets out a blood curdling shriek-

"AH- SHIT-! SHIT-!"

Thrashing and twisting on her wobbling leg, Cotton falls to the ground howling. Unable to control myself, I beam with pride as she struggles to reach her fallen toy. It's within her grasp- too far for me to get to in time without her getting it first- so I leap backwards and give her a hard kick to the groin before laughing hysterically at her startled cry of pain.

It's so funny that girls think they're exempt from being hurt there like men are. They're just as vulnerable as we are, and it's just so obvious that Cotton believes herself to be higher than me. To be higher than anyone in this game.

Thank god I 'brought her down to my level.'

"Die in the dirt like the filthy mongrel bitch that you are, Ferier!" I spit, eyes narrowing with glee. "And be damn thankful for the opportunity!"

Gagging and choking on her own spit, her hand frozen in the act of picking up her dirty weapon, Cotton's pain-filled face is frozen in a petrified look as I turn and run as fast as possible into the forest, relishing in the traces of blood that fleck my hand.

Perhaps I don't always get the chance to kill people outright, but at least I destroy what's important. Hope, bonds, unwarranted pride… it's so nice to know what one little knife can accomplish.

The memory of Liotta's eyes staring up at me flicker through my mind.

…eheh… eheheh…

One… little knife…


Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2.

As the day wore on, the euphoria of meeting our new team mates began to wear off and a new sense of dread began to settle in. A cannon had gone off earlier, meaning that it was no joke when those television hosts would laugh that the game makers really 'step up their game' around the week long mark.
Before long, that cannon will be going off more and more. We won't be able to sit around drinking chocolate milk and sharing life stories; we'll be forced to move on from this place. Soon will come the onslaught of monstrous animals, fierce disasters and the bloodthirsty tributes that outlasted the meek ones.

In all honesty, I don't know if we're really prepared for the battle that's ahead of us. Diego is still on the mend, Holland seems to be dealing with some emotional trauma and Kori'… well, she…

I glance over to where Diego still cradles the lifeless girl and feel a lump emerge in my throat. She hasn't shown any signs of waking up since Francesca and Holland brought her here. Her body was ice cold when we laid her down and her clothes were soaking wet. Without really caring for regular procedure, where a girl would usually undress another unconscious girl- I guess for reasons concerning modesty, Diego wasted no time in having Kori stripped of her freezing clothing save the apparently standard tribute underwear and wrapped tightly in one of our blankets.

"She'll catch hypothermia otherwise," Montserrat explained to me when I had protested with a yelp followed by averting my gaze. "That's why you're not supposed to get drenched in the rain and continue wearing wet clothes."

While he said that just fine, I could tell Monty was just as embarrassed by the situation as well. I guess none of us really expected any underwear-clad girls to make an appearance in these games.

Since Diego is taking care of her, doing his best to never let go of her for too long, I've done my best not to worry about her and just focus on helping out our newest friends, but now and then I find myself feeling a little concerned. While Kori' is soundly breathing, she's not exactly responding to anything or showing any signs of life. I heard Francesca wondering how long a person in a coma can last without water, and that made the rest of us panic. We don't know how to keep her alive if this keeps up. None of us have the medical training to create a makeshift IV for her.

"We will make it through, somehow," was all Diego said, closing his eyes and resting burying his face in her tangled and dirty white hair.

Swallowing the troublesome lump in my throat, I look over at the others who sit much closer to me than Diego. Francesca is sipping very slowly at her water ration while Holland laughs awkwardly about something he's just said. I watch as the girl almost drops her lid of water and bursts into giggles- causing Holland to throw his hands up defensively and babble apologetically even faster than before.
It's impossible not to like those two. Francesca is bubbly and warm with an inspiring energy no one else here has, and Holland is a humble, kind sort of guy who clearly cares a lot about his sector partner.

Holland and I talked a bit yesterday about his insecurities, and while I'm not sure it completely dispelled his worries of being 'useless', he does seem a lot more comfortable now. His eyes no long shy away from mine and he's actually participating in conversations with Monty and I a lot more. He's still quite fidgety, but I don't think that's going to change. It's probably more of a coping mechanism than nerves.

Without warning, the opening notes of the anthem begin to resound through the arena, causing several of us to jolt in surprise. There was a cannon today, so I scramble to my feet and sprint over to the nearest patch in the forest's canopy in order to view who that cannon belonged to. I hear the footsteps of Holland and Francesca not too far behind, and Montserrat softly calling that they'll stay put.

"Who do you think it was?" Francesca's voice is surprisingly timid and nervous sounding.

I press my lips together. I know who I want it to be. "No idea."

The three of us practically inhale and hold our breath in unison as the eagle of Panem wavers in the static. I stare up, eyes unblinking and watering from the strain, focusing as hard as possible on that bleak sky when the face of the male tribute from 4 appears.

Vinel. One of Natalia's group. Francesca lets out a sigh of relief and I see her drop Holland's hand, which she must have been holding onto for support. Holland rubs it guardedly before catching my eye and smiling weakly.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?"

No. It's always a surprise whenever one of Natalia's 'Capitol Careers' die, although it's definitely a welcome surprise. I guess I was expecting it to be one of the younger tributes, or one of the girls or something like Ari Saint-Claire or that girl from 11.
Actually, now that I think about it, the girl from 11 was hanging around with Vinel throughout the pre-games protocol… I wonder when they went different ways.

At this moment there are seven girls and eight boys left in the arena. Usually the gender ratio wouldn't be so even, but I suppose this isn't the most usual game to have happened. Our bloodbath was miniscule after all, compared to some of the other years where the number of tributes was practically halved.
But who's going to go next? Will the next face in the sky be another one that I can shrug off, or will it finally be a pair of eyes that'll send me reeling into the despair I've been fending off?

Trudging back to my spot beside the bags, I look down at Diego as I pass him.

"It was the guy from four," I say blankly. "One less of Natalia's crew, I guess."

Diego doesn't say anything, but he lifts his head out of Kori's hair and, gently laying her down upon her sleeping bag, stares up at the dark canopy above.

"It feels as if it is going to rain soon… very heavy rain."

Huh? I look up at the sky just as the closing notes of the anthem finish playing. How can he tell? There weren't that many clouds in the sky today, what is there to tell him that it'll rain, let alone rain 'heavy rain'?
Still, there's no real reason to doubt Diego. Montserrat begins to pack up our things and assists Diego in carrying Kori' to the cave entrance. Apparently the plan is to cover as much of the icy rock floor with branches of the softer shrubbery and roll out our gear on top of it as a way of preventing the cold.

Someone tugs on my sleeve. I turn around and am surprised to see Francesca looking up at me with a concerned expression.

"Marshall, are you okay?" Her voice is quiet, probably not wanting the others to hear. "Before, when you saw that guy's face- you looked a little sad."

Taken aback, I look at her strangely. "What? No, I'm fine. I, uh…"

My voice trails off as I realise that I probably did look sad. The more tributes I don't find important die, the more and more likely that one of these days it's going to be someone I care about. There's no way of telling myself it isn't going to happen- it's already happening. The second each of us was reaped it was guaranteed. Twenty-three will die, and one will live.

This means, even in the best case scenario, only one of us six is ever going to leave this place…

…or all of us die…

"Marshall?"

Francesca looks at me with a familiar expression of concern and fear. Without realising my face had gone stiff and I had begun to glare into the middle distance. Not wanting the girl to see, I shake my head and briskly turn away.

"Forget about it."

Out of sight, I bite my teeth together and rub furiously at the tears building in my eyes.

This isn't fair. Damn it. God damn it all.


Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4.

It's strange, but I can't remember how I got here. There's mud smeared all up my back and I feel like I've been crying, but inside I feel strangely peaceful… almost as if I have someone watching over me, and there's no need for me to be scared anymore.

The golden lake is beautiful. I was hesitant at first, but I slowly worked up my courage and dipped in one of my fingers. The water was a pleasant, relaxing temperature that just made me want to sink my whole body into it and let this wonderful sensation wash over me. I took off my shoes and rolled up the legs of my pants just so I could soak my aching, blistered feet in its waters, and the moment I submerged them to the ankles I let out a moan of relief.

Something in the water must be acting as a pain-killer of sorts because my aching feet almost feel like they're glowing. I lazily kick my feet back and forth through the water, sighing as I lie back on the soft grass and open my eyes to the night sky above.
I can't explain it, but I feel like I was having a nice dream. Vidar was there holding my hand and telling me that everything was going to be fine. Then he led me here to this lake and… I woke up and found myself all alone with the sun setting behind the forest.

At first I was really frightened, but when it became apparent that I'm the only one in the vicinity I slowly calmed down and did a stock check of my supplies. I still have no food or water, although luckily I still have my bow and a handful of arrows. I could've sworn I had more when I last checked though.
My little bottle of pills is finally empty. I guess I took them all without realizing. I was a little upset when I noticed, those pills gave me all this wonderful energy I couldn't explain, but I came to terms with that as well.

It wasn't until the sky I'm staring at now flashed the deaths for today did I finally feel a sense of devastation I wasn't prepared to deal with.

High above, projected over the stars against the murky black of the night sky, my mouth slowly opened in horror as Vinel Greggorus' face stared blankly down at me.

"He's dead-?"

My stomach felt as if it had melted away inside of me. I scrambled up off the ground and shouted those words in desperation for an answer. Frantic, I clawed at the air towards that old photograph of that purple skinned boy and felt my entire body go numb.
He said he'd help me. He said he was going to protect me. Then why is he dead? Why is Vinel dead-?

Before I knew it I was crying. At first it was only little tears slipping out of the corners of my eyes, but as the reality began to sink in the harder I started to cry. Vinel was gone from this world, and he could never come back. With my knees tucked into my chest and my face buried into my knees I began to rock with the sobs and allowed myself to cry freely.
For some reason I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would come find me and we would help each other out of this place. Maybe they would allow two victors from the same sector if the audience found us likeable enough. My father often talked of the time that almost happened- how close we once came to having two victors.

As I lie here, staring up at the place in the sky where Vinel's face disappeared, I think of the fondness in my father's voice as he spoke of those miracle games. It was easy to tell that he wished that the star-crossed lovers had not been star-crossed at all, and that they had really had a chance to live together.
But they were doomed from the start. The term 'star-crossed' means that everything was against them, right from the start. I've written short stories that used the term liberally, and it wasn't until recently that I truly understood what being 'star-crossed' means.

It means that destiny won't allow you to be together. Whether you are family, friends or lovers- you just cannot be together because the fates have deemed it so. And, while so many stories, both real and not real, like to say that fighting fate is not only possible- but it's easy… I know now that it isn't as easy as the stories say... it might not even be possible.

Raising my left hand to the stars, I spread out my fingers and gaze up at the stars wedged between each finger.

"If fighting fate was at all possible…"

The engagement ring gleams hopefully upon my ring finger. Swallowing, I ball my hand up into a fist and think hard on all of the tributes who have already died. Not just those of these games, but of every tribute of every game- the fallen tributes of the past one hundred and twenty four Hunger Games.

"…wouldn't someone…"

Well over two thousand tributes have died for no reason other than to appease a rebellion that occurred over a hundred years ago. Girls and boys who had barely begun to live were sacrificed for an insurgency they had no hand or part in. What did they do to deserve this fate? What did we do?

"…have already done something…?"

Is this really our destiny? Was Vinel born into this world just to die on live television, and nothing more? What is that even accomplishing? Surely those who died in the rebellion- both District and Capitol- would find no satisfaction or appeasement in the death of a boy with vibrantly coloured hair, would they?

I let my hand fall back to my side and close my eyes to the sparkling stars above me. I'm tired, and I feel so very hollow now.

A droplet of rain falls onto my nose.


Koriana Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8.

"Kori? Kori', it's time to wake up, Kori!"

The warm blanket covering my head feels abnormally heavy as I intake suddenly and shoot straight up out of bed. It feels a little as though I've been underwater for a very long time and only just coming up for air now. Bleary eyed and blinking away the crust of sleep, I slowly shift about in my bed before looking up into the face of my younger brother.

"Damon...? Damon, what are you doing here..?" I groan, pushing my hands against my throbbing head. Am I hung over? What is this weird sensation I'm having?

Those golden eyes lean ever closer. "I know that if I leave you here there's no way you'll be ready in time to leave."

Leave? My heart lurches as I stare wildly at Damon for an explanation. Where am I leaving for? I can't remember anything about yesterday... I don't think I know what day it is either. Bunching my hands against my clean white sheets, I start looking around my room for some sign, some clue as to what is going on.

"Kori', it's the first day of your new semester," says Damon with a worried expression. "Are you... are you feeling alright?"

I don't answer him, because I don't know what to tell him. Am I alright? My body feels heavy and sluggish like I've been hit with slab of bricks, and even though I can't see anything wrong with me- something feels very out of place. Almost as if I'm not supposed to be here.

"Maybe you shouldn't go to school today, Kori'... I can call the enemy for you if you want?"

Suddenly startled, I frantically scramble out of bed. "Enemy?"

"K-Kori, relax! I mean our mother?" Damon edges away from me, alarmed. "...what's with you today?"

What… what is wrong with me today? My heart is pounding faster than ever before, and every breath I take feels laboured and painful. Am I sick? Damon reaches forwards and gingerly places his palm against my forehead, frowning as I struggle to maintain a grip on what is happening around me.

"...you don't feel sick..." Damon murmurs. "I wish Marabeth was still here but she's already left for work... maybe I should just call Mom-"

"No!" Without meaning to I let out a shriek that knocks Damon back. "D-Don't call her, I'm fine! I'm just a bit dizzy, I haven't... I probably haven't had anything to drink for a while or something. I'll be okay. Just... just leave me to get ready for school, okay?"

It's obvious that he doesn't believe me, but Damon exits my bedroom and leaves me to piece together my muddled thoughts. I sit on my bed and hold my head in my hands, scrunching my face up in agony as I strain to remember something- anything about yesterday.
I've never had this sensation before... it's like I'm forgetting something really important and my body is struggling to remember what it is. Did I hit my head or something yesterday and now I have amnesia? Was I lobotomized?

My chest feels tight as I lift my head and slowly turn to face my wardrobe mirror, wondering what horrible sight I'll find when I look at myself. I expect to see something terrible, like a malnourished skeletal frame, a great wound across my head or some sort of monstrous being- but when our eyes meet all I see is a very frightened Koriana Wilder gazing back at me.

...am I... going crazy...?

Nothing seems out of place in this room. I crawl on my hands and knees, expecting to find a shred of evidence to support my feeling that something is going on, but I find nothing out of the ordinary. My secret sketches are stashed beneath my mattress, the closet is chock-a-block with dresses of all styles and colours and even the world outside my window doesn't pose anything strange at all.

Pressing my hands against the icy glass, I scour the street below with frantic eyes.

'Why... why do I feel so uneasy...?'

The outfit that I'm guessing I had chosen for school today hangs neatly upon the doorknob, and as I reach forward and take it off of its coat hanger I feel a knot of tension in my stomach loosen a little. For some strange reason I feel like starting this new semester is something I wasn't actually ever going to get around to... almost as if there was something else I had to do first, and that school was… something I was really looking forward to.

'There isn't anything strange about the rest of the house either,' I note as I walk down the stairwell, examining everything from the carpet to the wall hangings as I pass them. 'So why do I feel so on edge...?'

Damon greets me in the lounge room with a piece of toast coated with hazelnut spread. I open my mouth to ask why he is staying home, only for him to promptly shove the toast in before I could form the question.

"You look great, sis!" Grinning, my little brother gives me a big thumbs up. "If you start to feel too sick for school, just call mom, okay? I know she can be a bit cold, but you're still her daughter. She does care, you know."

Confused, I nod in reply. For some reason I feel that if this toast wasn't wedged between my teeth- I'd argue that mom clearly doesn't give a damn about whether I'm sick or not. The reason why I'm so sure of that however I can't... I can't really recall...

"Oh- and before you go- I got you a present! It's a good luck charm, since you seemed sort of worried about starting a new semester and all. Plus charm bracelets are all the rage, right? Eheh-"

Taking sudden hold of my arm and holding it out, Damon's hands fasten a small, delicate chain bracelet together over my wrist. Mouth full of toast and hazelnut spread, I can only watch as he pulls his hands away and smiles awkwardly, awaiting my reaction.
The charm bracelet looks expensive. Much more than Damon should be able to afford. Clipped on is one lonely little charm- a small, shiny blue pencil.

"Do you like it?" Damon watches me anxiously.

Something about the little blue pencil is familiar. Just like everything else this morning, this bracelet feels out of place in the world.

Whispering, I run my fingers over the delicate silver links that encircle my wrist. "I love it... it's wonderful, Damon... you shouldn't have."

Eyes lit up with pleasure, Damon chuckles slightly.

"Yes, well- I would've given it to you sooner- I bought the charm a month ago, but saving up for the bracelet took me a while. I just really wanted today to be special for you, and I thought it could be a token of appreciation for everything you've done for me."

Token.

Something is triggered along with that word.

Without warning, my vision becomes garbled. Flashes of things I don't recognise flit through my mind's eye like sparks; Damon sobbing into my lap, Marabeth whispering at me with hollow eyes, the words 'Fight on-' on a fluttering red banner and a tall boy staring at me with frightening dark eyes-

"Kori'? Kori'! Kori', what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Someone is holding me. Damon's hands grip me by my shoulders, shaking me softly- but I can't feel anything. My lips tremble in horror as I begin seeing faces of people I've never met before, faces sneering and snarling with hatred, a girl being blown into scraps, a sword being swung; all of it in a flurrying haste that makes me feel sick.

Damon is shouting something. My body hurts so much as I struggle to remain kneeling and not crumple to the floor. Everything is so cold. Why am I so cold? Why does everything hurt so much-?

"Kori! Kori- I'm calling for help, Kori'- it's all going to be okay!"

Body seizing up, I feel an immense surge of panic throughout my being.

I... I feel like I'm forgetting something important... like... like...

Closing my eyes, I let myself fall through the whirlwind of faces, voices and screams resounding inside my head, trying to either focus hard enough to distinguish what they are or… to block them out entirely-!

...like I was supposed to do something... something of vital importance...

...but... but everything hurts so much... can't I... can't I just forget...?

"Kori, please wake up!"


Capitol Question #027; which of the original 24 tributes did you wish to see in the final 8?