Writers to the guild and contact me for your assignments. We now have a final 10 0_0.


Roulla Saney of District Four

by Jayfish

Night of Day 2-through early morning of Day 3


"I'm just like you... a prisoner of circumstance. Trapped in a world I no longer recognize."- Alexander, Amnesia: The Dark Descent


I am dragged from the clutches of sleep by a rough jab to the ribs. My eyes snap open almost instantly and I jerk into a sitting position, fingers clutching the hilt of my knife. Even at night, I hold it in my arms. Seeing as Admire is the only other Career with a weapon from the Capitol, I have every right to guard my own so jealously.

I remember, very clearly, both moments, the acquisition of my knife, and the acquisition of Admire's. It was a real stroke of luck, that I was able to procure such a prize. We were walking from the Cornucopia, after yet another failed attempt to scrounge up some weapons. Con's bloated body had been taken away by this point, a whole day later, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. I imagined him splayed in a trench to the left of us, fingers still curled into the dirt. At that point, it was all I could do to maintain my facade of cold composure, all the while wondering what my idiot district partner had tried to do. I didn't want him to die so early.

But it doesn't matter what I wanted, does it?

In any case, we passed a trench filled with dust and cobwebs and I was intrigued. I was last in the group and I slipped inside. There was a box. On top of the box was a knife.

I told the others, of course, but it was agreed that the knife was mine. They tore the box in two, trying to find weapons inside it. It was totally empty. I wondered if perhaps they would fight me for the knife, if Canicus would make me give it away, but no one said anything at all. It is better now that Admire has a Capitol weapon as well, or I'd feel extremely uncomfortable about the whole situation.

She was sponsored. Several hours after I'd gotten my knife, a silver parachute dropped from the sky, raindrops pattering on the fabric. The knife was of better quality than mine, with a shimmering golden hilt. It must have cost a fortune. I can only wonder who sponsored her, who was willing to spend so much so early in the Games.

Another jab to the ribs reminds me that I have business to contend with. Sade is looking down at me, a scowl on her face. "You're taking the last shift," she informs me. I am not inclined to argue, seeing as there are dark circles under the girl's eyes and her face is pale. I remember that Sade was shot in the thigh during the Bloodbath and my eyes automatically flit to her leg. She catches me looking at the spot, which she bandaged with the little hat all of us were given as part of our uniform. I believe she ripped it in half and tied it around the wound. The fact that she was forced to resort to such rude measures belies the insanity of this year's Games, how different things are.

"Are you going to get up or not, slowpoke?" Sade snaps, shifting so that her makeshift bandage is out of my sight.

"Yes, I'll relieve you," I tell her, getting to my feet. "Is your leg alright?"

She rolls her eyes. "It'll be fine. It isn't anything I can't handle." Her green eyes are fixed on my knife for a moment, and then she turns away. "Don't screw up," she says, her parting words to me.

"Good night, Sade," I reply. "Or what remains of it." The sky has changed from inky blackness to a sort of faded blue color, similar to my blanket at home. Thinking about home is one of the biggest mistakes I could possibly make right now, and I put the thoughts out of my head. Instead, I turn and watch as Sade flops onto the ground beside Admire, who is clutching her own knife to her ample chest. Looking at a sleeping Admire makes me weirdly happy, because she is so much more beautiful when she is asleep. Awake, I can see the barely-disguised cruelty in those lovely eyes, and I know that I must stay away from Miss Blanchard.

Taking a few steps away from our camp, I sit down on the hard earth and begin to scope out the area. We ended up avoiding the Cornucopia. The place has nothing for us; no shelter, no weapons, no food. Camping there because of a misguided sense of tradition would be idiotic. Canicus moved us north of the Cornucopia, at the edge of the woods. To our right is a burnt-out clearing, where ashen trees claw at the far-away sky.

We've fortified the camp to the best of our ability. In the forest ahead semi-deep trenches are scattered, and we've built these into our defenses. If a tribute attempts to sneak towards us in that way we'll see them coming and we won't let them progress. At our back we've done our best to rig some traps. Barbed wire from around the Cornucopia is connected to a veritable minefield of sharpened wooden stakes, courtesy of Canicus and his skills with shaping wood. Slipping through the wire will require considerable skills. It is more likely that the unfortunate tribute will be caught fast. Admire suggested we use this as a sort of warning system, and now the wire is connected by string to another patch of wire, closer to our camp. If anything gets caught in our trap the wire will rattle and shake, alerting us to our visitor. If anyone manages to claw their way past our deadly wall, they're sure to be injured.

Once I've determined that there aren't any other tributes lurking in the area, I can relax, if only for a while. When the others wake up in the morning, I'm assuming that we'll be back to hunting. A brief memory flashes through my mind, one of the desperate shrieks of the boy from District Five. What happened to him was unnecessary,I think. Jet didn't have to do what he did.It would have been better if the boy's neck had been snapped, and that had been the end of it. Still, the Capitol enjoys a good show. If Jet continues his torture, it will be easier for me to refrain from such brutality. I am not particularly inspired in the art of torture. Nor do I think it would sit well with me, making someone's death slow and painful. I was trained to kill quickly and efficiently, and I will stick with that.

My stomach gives a sudden ache, and I glance over at the small pile of food in the center of the camp, spread out over Jet's jacket. Almost as soon as the boy from District Five was killed and Canicus wrested control of the situation from Jet, he ordered the monstrous boy to hunt down some food for us. Canicus himself located a water source not too far from camp. Unfortunately, the source is a stream of muddy water in one of the trenches, water that is in no way clean, and probably unsafe to drink.

In any event, Jet returned with a spread of food that he apparently discovered in an abandoned army camp of some kind. There was nothing else of use, he said, but there was apparently some kind of half-opened crate filled with strips of beef with salt and stale bread. There isn't enough to last us the entire Games, but there isenough so that each of us should be able to eat for at least two more days without dying. Hopefully we'll have moved camp by that point, because the idea of drinking from that muddy stream again makes my insides roll.

I tip my head back and stare into the starless sky. If there were stars, I would be reminded of the arms of Yirone. "Yirone" is most definitely notthe name of the girl from District Six. I never bothered to learn her name, a fact that I am sorely regretting now. I had originally been thinking of her as The Yiri-Clone, and that ended up shortening itself until Yirone became her name.

I remember the way they her arms looked as I guided her; each little scar representing a star in the sky. I didn't tell her that I'd noticed, but I had. I think I noticed more about her than she was anticipating.

I noticed the implants in her eyes. They were fantastic: black and glittering. I noticed the sarcasm with which she spoke of my allies, and the way she softened towards me, at the end of our meeting. I noticed the way she seemed determined to keep her dress up,because I also noticed the cylinder filled with pills that she was so desperate to hide from me.

She didn't know that I saw them. It was when she ran into me that I noticed the foreign object in her cleavage. I can't pretend to understand what the pills do, but I know that she has a secret. And there is desire in me, burning and passionate, to discover the truth behind said secret. What are you hiding, oh enemy of mine?I think. My stomach turns again; thinking of Yirone as my enemy is off-putting.

I am unsure of what I will do, if I see her. I tried not to think of her in the beginning, and it was easy: I didn't spot her during the Bloodbath at all. When the four cannons rang out, I found, I was oddly relieved. If there were only four, I could be quite sure that she was still alive.

The feelings I get from Yirone are not good, and I should be ignoring them. All I can hope is that I never have to see her. She is too intriguing for me to kill, and she looks too much like Yiri. It would be like killing the only girl I have ever loved. It makes me sick. This whole situation makes me sick.

"Damn you, Yirone," I murmur. I almost never swear, but I believe I am perfectly justified in this situation. The girl is distracting me. The only good that can come of her is her picture in the sky… and even as I think this, a primal horror grips me. No, I do not wish for Yirone's death. She is driving me to distraction and her very existence might be enough to kill me, and I still don't want her to die.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Yirone is not my concern. I will think of something else.It is only because I have conditioned myself very well to turning off my thoughts that I am able to put Yirone out of my head. I replace her image with that of the supply list. Seeing as the Capitol didn't see fit to provide us with anything, the Careers have been branching out of their comfort zones and trying new things, mainly the art of weapons-making.

To my surprise, it appears as though Canicus Macaulay was at least partially prepared for the making of his own weapons. He asked me for the use of my knife yesterday, and I willingly gave it to him in exchange for watching him work. There is wood all over the arena: wooden beams, large crates, things like that. Canicus found a medium-sized beam and proceeded to carve it into something dangerous. What he has now is a finely-crafted stake, sharpened to a deadly point. There is shrapnel located all over the arena, and Canicus had Jet hammer some down into a deadly, sharpened point. Attached to the end of the stake, Canicus has created a rude sword. While a Capitol-made sword would be better, Canicus' weapon is creative and fairly well-crafted. I admire him for that.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Sade's new toy. She was in no way creative with it. In fact, she found it lying on the ground and picked it up. Like Canicus', her weapon is made with wood. Unlike Canicus, she didn't tamper with it in any way. Sade's weapon is a thick piece of broken wood that she obviously plans to use as a club. The fact that she can lift it belies what a pathetic weapon it is. Sade will have to rely on the rest of us to protect her, because she won't be killing many tributes with that lump of wood.

Then there is Jet. Out of all of us, Jet is the one who created weapons closest to Capitol standard. There is shrapnel everywhere, big lumps of malleable metal and slivers sharp enough to break the skin. Jet pounded several lumps of shrapnel into the blade of a thin knife and used my knife to whittle a hilt. He now has three knives, and he is quite willing to help us out. Every Career has a knife made by Jet, a supplementary weapon. Even Admire and I, with our Capitol weapons, have been gifted. It was weirdly considerate of him to do it. I wonder what motivated him.

In addition to the knives, Jet has made himself a club similar to Sade's, but this one I can see doing some real damage. Jet found several loose nails in the army camp, which he shoved into the soft wood so that the pointed ends protrude. If Jet slammed the weapon into the side of someone's head, they would die, no questions asked.

Out of all of us, Jet is probably the best armed. Admire and I have no patience in creating extra weapons, not while we have perfect Capitol weapons in our arsenal. At least we know that our weapons are unlikely to fail at a crucial time, while there is always the possibility that the created weapons will fall apart. Jet seems confident that they won't, but it's good for all of us that we have backups. One can never be sure, not in the arena.

The variable nature of this place irritates me. Nothing in this arena is as it should be. There are no supplies, the Gamemaker traps seem to be completely depraved, and the Bloodbath killed four. Four.The worst part is that one of those four was a Career. That should not have happened. Con should not be dead.

I bring my hand to my temple and press it, trying to quell a headache that I know will soon be driving me to complete distraction. Thinking about Con is terrible, almost as bad as thinking about Yirone. Con was… more than an ally, damn him. (Again, the swear is justified.) He wanted to be friends. He kept on pushing the point, again and again, and… I fell for it, like a fool. I decided that I could give him a chance. Not at friendship, not yet, but I thought we could have the precursor of a friendship and go from there.

And now he is dead.

I should have expected this, really. I made a mistake (allowing Con to worm his way into my heart) and I paid for it. It is better for me that he is dead, and yet my thoughts occasionally stray back to him and I am mournful in a way I shouldn't be. I almost wish that he had never participated in these Games at all. In another time and place, we might have been friends, eventually. That will never happen, now that his body has been shipped back to District Four. I wonder if his family is crying over him. If they are all as optimistic and cheerful as Con was, perhaps they are laughing instead. I don't know.

"Do you really think so?" I jerk at the voice and swivel my trunk, looking back at the sleeping Careers with wide eyes. Jet is sitting up with his hands on his knees, eyes half-closed. "… I did my best," he says, sounding world-weary. "Just like the first time." He rubs his hands across his eyes.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he says suddenly, and a chill crawls down my spine. Despite the fact that he is not looking at me, I am well-aware that I am the one he's talking to. I clutch my knife a little tighter.

"I apologize. I was not aware that you were engaged in a conversation."

Jet looks up at me, a dark expression on his face. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and I stand up as well. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my palms have begun to sweat. Jet steps towards me deliberately. His hands are empty, but he has all three of his knives jammed in his belt. If it is a fight he's after he can get it from me, but I didn't think he'd want to betray the alliance quiteso soon.

He notices my defensive posture and his scowl deepens. "I'm not going to hurt you!" he says loudly. "Why does everybody always think…?" A shudder wracks his frame, and when he opens his eyes again, they are shining. "You're wrong about me," he whispers hoarsely, staggering ever-closer. "Everybody's wrong—everybody." He is so close now that I can feel his hot breath blowing my hair back.

Abruptly, his knees buckle and he slams onto my shoulder. Pain erupts underneath my skin at the heavy blow, and my body begins to tremble at the exertion of holding Jet up. He is leaning on me completely, his sharp chin stabbing into my bony shoulder. His lips are moving faintly, and I realize with a shiver that he is singing quietly to himself.

"With every strike of the pick,

We are growing ever-stronger,

Feel the sweat on your brow,

Blood humming in your veins."

I push against him, forcing him into standing on his own. He sways a bit, staring at me underneath hooded eyes. "I could… snap your neck," he tells me. "I could crush your skull… with my club. But I can't. She says I can't."

I stare at him and I know that he won't hurt me. Not now, at least. "I am glad," I say. "I am grateful to her, whoever she is."

"Sheba," gasps Jet, as though it is obvious. "She likes you now. She says that I can kill you slowly, someday."

"I… appreciate that," I say. "I am glad that Sheba finds me amiable. I am sure that she is most charming."

My words seem to be lulling Jet back into his usual stupor. I don't think it is the words that are getting to him, but the tone. It is a tone I do not use often. I have found that it appears when I am worried for others, particularly those younger or weaker than me. Jet is neither, and yet his obvious insanity has sparked this strange pity in me, and I continue speaking in the same soft tones.

"Lie back down, Jet," I soothe. "Fall back into your dreams. There is nothing but safety in your dreams, and quiet. There is no reality in the darkness. The harsh world of today can be put off until tomorrow. Sleep, ally. Sleep."

I am always strange when I get this urge, am always different from myself. I suppose I feel safe doing this, knowing that Jet will not remember this encounter. If he does, he will not share it with the others. Unless something else is going on right now, I have the suspicious feeling that this altercation is being featured. I wonder what the audience thinks of it. I wonder what they think of me.

Jet stumbles back towards his space and hits the ground hard. For a moment he looks at me, and his eyes are strangely animal-like in the dark. Then he closes them and his head hits the earth. I am unsure of whether or not he is actually asleep, but he is not looming over me and that is what matters.

I resist the urge to slump to the ground with my head in my hands. The audience will be disappointed if I react in such a manner, and disappointing the audience is similar to being knifed in the chest. Death is almost always the outcome.

In the end, I make a show of skimming my fingers across the surface of my blade and giving Jet terrible looks. He seems weirdly innocent when he is asleep, rather like Admire, but I know better. His twisted mind is no doubt formulating dark fantasies of death and bloodshed and splintered bone. Out of the whole Career pack, Jet is undoubtedly the most frightening. The idea that his actions cannot be predicted because his mind is so different…it disturbs me.

When I decide that I have glared at my ally enough, I settle myself back on the ground and stare out into the darkness. It is silent; there are no tributes scurrying around and certainly none of them are attempting an attack. None of the tributes seem particularly vicious this year, save the girl from Five, the boy from Twelve, and perhaps the boy from Three. And Yirone, of course. She has acted so soft and so sweet, but I understand that she has secrets, and secrets mean that the softness and the sweetness might not be true. While that doesn't automatically make her vicious, it makes her a hazard. She is the kind of hazard that I can't stop thinking about.

With an impatient shudder, I jerk to my feet. Caressing the hilt of my blade, I mark a spot a few paces from me and step back before hurling the knife. It lands in the center of the X I drew, and I feel slightly better. It is best to avoid thinking about her entirely.Scooping up the knife, I turn back to my allies. Aiming for a spot near Admire's nose, I wind up and then hurl the knife. It lands, quivering, right where I imagined it would, a centimeter next to Admire's nostrils. Pleased with myself, I step towards her and bend down to snatch the knife when she moves convulsively.

"Mmm… Trojan…" she murmurs, and then blinks, noticing me looming over her. With an irritated frown, she sits up and fixes me with a cold stare. "What areyou doing, Roulla Saney?" Even in her annoyance she sounds as though she's having fun.

There's no point in lying to her. "Target practice," I say. "To the left of your nose. That was the target," I add, wilting slightly under her stare.

"Of course it was," Admire mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "Well. Now that you've succeeded in waking me up, you might as well entertain me, hmm?"

My cheeks flare with heat. "Ah—I don't know what you mean," I stammer, taking a step backwards. "I have to keep watch…"

Admire laughs. "Like anyone's going to come!" she exclaims, grabbing my hand and pulling me down. "Sit," she says, looking at my bony legs in distaste. As usual, I find that I can't ignore or escape Admire: she is like a powerful magnet, and I, her polar opposite. With a resigned sigh, I settle onto the ground primly and prepare myself for whatever she has in mind.

"Alright," says Admire, grinning evilly. "Have you ever played Truth, Roulla?"

I swallow hard. "No."

"I shouldn't be surprised. You don't seem like the type." Admire rolls her eyes. "Here's how it goes: I ask you a question, and you haveto answer truthfully. Then you ask me a question. And so on."

"What if you don't want to answer this question?"

She smiles. "Then I get to slap you, of course! And let me tell you right now, there isn't a singlequestion I won't answer!" She bites her lip as though she's thinking, and then nods. "Alright, first question: who's hotter, Jet or Canicus?"

I have no idea which one is hotter. I don't think either of them are hot. "Umm… Jet," I decide.

Admire looks horrified. "Wow. Really? You're crazy, Roulla."

"There's no need to be rude," I say stiffly.

"Oh, shut up and ask a question already."

There's really no point in arguing with Admire. "Alright," I say. "What is your favorite color?"

Admire looks at me incredulously. "… You have to be kidding me, Roulla. That is notthe kind of question you ask!"

"Are you going to answer?" I ask, "Or do I have to slap you?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Red," she says. "Next question: who, out of all of us, do you like the best?"

I bite my lip. If I was to be entirely truthful I would say that Canicus is my favorite (simply because he is the easiest one to read, and a male) but I don't want to hurt Admire's feelings like that. "I won't answer," I say. She looks gleeful. Raising her hand, she puts it on my cheek.

"Sorry," she says, and slaps me hard. The impact leaves my head ringing, and my neck jerks to the right. My cheek stings brutally and I put my hand over the spot in an attempt to dull the pain. It doesn't really work.

"Your turn to ask a question!" Admire sings.

My head is fuddled by the pain. "Why are you making me play this moronic game?" I groan, trying to massage a feeling other than pain back into my skin.

"Because I'm bored, and I want to see what you think," says Admire. "You never show us anything. It's strange, Roulla. You and Jet could be twins."

My jaw drops. "You don't mean that."

"Well, obviously you're not insane," says Admire. "But when he's being all cold and quiet… yeah, you two are fairly similar." She watches my reaction for a moment, and then nods. "Next question, Roulla! Ooh, this is a good one." She leans closer to me and her voice drops to a low whisper. "Do you trust us? Any of us?"

My heart stills in my chest. "That was a foolish question, Admire," I murmur back. "You already know the answer."

"You have to say it anyway," says Admire. "That's part of the game."

"Alright," I reply. "No. I don't trust any of you."

Admire pulls away, looking oddly pleased. "I didn't think you did," she said. "But I wanted to make sure. None of us are very trustworthy, are we?" She laughs silkily. "It's been fun, Roulla, but I'm going to try and get some more rest. If you're going to use someone's nose as target practice again, you should consider Canicus'. It's big enough." With a quiet chuckle, she pulls away from me and slides back into her place, closing her eyes.

My cheek has started to burn. Grimacing, I spit in my palm and rub the spittle onto the throbbing skin. The pain subsides slightly and I am left wondering why I let her slap me in the first place. Admire is really too persuasive to be around.

I find myself staring at my sleeping comrades. The way they are curled up with their faces smooth and their eyelids heavy is so endearing.With none of them speaking, I can ignore the darkness that seems to be ingrained in each of them. I remember a conversation that occurred earlier today, after Canicus and I returned from a failed hunting mission, and I let it replace the picture of the sleeping angels before me.

"Nothing," Canicus growls, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. "Looks like Jet scared everyone away last night."

Jet looks up from his jacket, a strip of jerky hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and says nothing. His eyes are haunted and it is as though he is a shadow of a person.

Sade, who has been sitting contemplatively, gets to her feet. "Typical," she snaps. "If you'd just let me go along, maybe we'd have something to show for it!"

Canicus raises an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that you'd do a better job hunting than me and Roulla?" he asks, his voice soft and deadly.

"Hell yeah I would!" Sade shouts. "Roulla doesn't do shit anyway, and you're all talk."

Canicus shoots her a deadly glare. "Enough, Sade," he snaps. "This is how things are going to work. If you have a problem, you can get out." One of his hands rests surreptitiously on the weapon at his belt.

I do nothing. If this is what Canicus thinks is right, then he can finish what he's started. I only hope that he doesn't kill her, not this early.

"Aww, Can," says Admire, rising fluidly. "She gets the point. It isn't big bad Canicus' fault that we haven't had any kills today."

Canicus turns to Admire, narrowing his eyes. "Admire," he says, his voice fraught with warning.

"Oh I'm sorry, Mighty Leader," says Admire. "Did I forget to kowtow? I promise I'll remember next time!" Her voice is mocking.

For a moment, I fear that Canicus will attack. His whole body twitches and he takes several deep, murderous breaths. Finally, he turns away from her, balling his hands into fists. Admire is left smiling, convinced that she's won some kind of battle when there's really an entire war left to win. And none of them can see it…

Tensions are high. When all of us are awake and active, we can barely stand each other. Sade seems to have a problem with everyone, Admire is constantly quibbling with Canicus, and when Jet gets irritated everyone has to listen to him growling to himself. I wonder if things would be better or worse if Con were around. I tend to think they would be better, if only because Con is so remarkably good at diffusing tension.

I suppose that my mind automatically goes for the worst parts of our time together. Just before we all tried to get some rest, someone (Admire, I think) made a joke and we began to calm down a bit…

"And, in conclusion," says Admire, "never look a gift horse in the mouth. Because it might be a real horse, and then it will bite you."

A chorus of chuckles echoes around the camp. Then there is a shocked silence, as though it is a miracle that any of us were able to laugh at all. Even I laughed, and I think it is a general rule that I don't laugh, ever. There is a sort of camaraderie about being in an alliance in a situation where only one of us will end up living. We're all aware of it, and we still choose to band together. It is a testimony to our strength, our fearlessness.

"You're kinda funny," says Sade, sounding mystified.

Admire laughs. "Of course I'm funny, darling Sade. I'm sure you could be funny too, if you tried."

"You're both wrong. The only funny person here is me." This is Canicus speaking.

Sade turns to him with a smirk. "Oh yeah? Tell us a joke that will make us laugh."

"That's easy," says Canicus. "Your fighting skills."

"Oh hell no!" says Sade, but everyone else (with the exception of Jet) is already laughing. At first Sade glares at us sourly, but gradually the dark expression on her face filters away and she begins to chuckle as well.

It seems as though this moment will continue forever, and even as I think it, everyone stops laughing at once. Silence is ringing through the camp, and it seems as though we've all remembered where we are, and the danger of making friendships, even of enjoying a good joke. "… Let's get some rest," Canicus suggests finally, and the evening spirals into darkness…

Thinking about that makes me feel odd. I don't trust these people, and I never will. If I die, it is extremely likely that my death will come from one of them. Who would it be, I wonder? Who would be the most likely to kill me?

In the end, I decide that if I willbe killed by a Career, it will probably be Admire. She will use that beautiful magnetism of hers and I will not be able to resist the draw of her words, the sweet caress of her blade. I realize that my palms are sweaty and that I am shivering, but my mind continues down this path. I can see the bright red blood dripping from the gaping wound in my throat, and the kiss Admire plants on my tanned forehead. Yes, if I had to put money on my killer, I would put it all on her.

With a resigned sigh, I turn away from my allies. I have to assume that they won't kill me, not so early in the Games. It would be pointless for them, anyway. They'd be better off waiting until later, when I am undoubtedly going to be weaker. I will provide protection and a false sense of hope until then.

I think that our alliance boils down to just that: a false sense of hope. Because even with a large group of us, all fighting for the same thing, only one can win. As for the others, they were confident for nothing. Their confidence ended up as dust, their brains and bones and blood ended up as dust.

It is a morbid thought. But this is a morbid place.

And I still can't forget the face of Yirone, and the fact that, no matter what, only one can win.