Ultraviolence: The 78th Hunger Games

by Mischief739

The districts have survived 77 Hunger Games so far, but none of them are prepared for the divine horrors that they will face this year. The lights are blinding, the weapons are sharpened, and the Capitol is thirsty for blood. They're expecting something ultraviolent from these Games. Sequel to Born to Die, but can be a stand-alone as well. Closed SYOT, viewers can sponsor.

40. Days 16 & 17: Peace by Vengeance

We're nearing the end, friends! Only one more arena chapter after this one. I hope you enjoy reading!

Also- I changed my username. I chose 'the consulting marauder' when I was much younger and obsessed with Sherlock and Harry Potter. But I don't write for either of those fandoms, so I think it's time to change it. Mischief739 is my preferred name so now that's who I am.

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Caillou Wight (17)- D3F

I lay, trembling with cold, on the flubber of the inside of the bear. The blood has mostly solidified, dried and stuck to fur and skin. Further inside the bear's guts where I now hide from the cold, the red substance is still gooey. The smell and the feeling of it on my skin and on my scalp makes me gag, but it's better than being left out in the blizzard without shelter. The bear's fur and entrails are still warm, pulsing with heat as if it had just died.

I can only assume that Blossom didn't have shelter last night when she died. It's possible that another tribute found her and cut her down, but she was a crafty one. The snowstorm had been horrible last night, and it's more likely that the freezing temperature is what did her in. Seeing her face in the sky last night had been a shock. I thought for sure she would survive long enough for us to meet again. She should have stayed here. She knew that the bear provided heat; why didn't she stay? If she had, she might still be alive. Even if she thought about coming back, the storm hit so quickly that she wouldn't have been able to return. The whiteout had made it impossible to see, let alone walk.

I lift up a flap of fat and skin from the slit in the bear's body, peering out into the morning. The wind seems to have died down a bit. The trees are still, their branches laden with white snow. The mountain looms over the forest like a silent observer.

Perhaps the Gamemakers are pleased with one death and want to get back to the bloody spectacle. There are only five of us left, after all. It won't be long now until they push us together for a final confrontation. Only a few more deaths, depending on how many alliances are still intact.

The thought of my impending fight with the others makes my heart leap with fear. I let it fill my body and I taste it on my tongue. The sensation is strange. I haven't allowed myself to feel real fear in a long time, nor grief. I remember Blossom's stoic face breaking into a soft smile and my heart lurches in my chest.

In a way, I've missed the feelings of vulnerability, even though my numbness is what kept me alive for so long. Or did it? Did it actually help me or only hold me back?

It doesn't matter anymore. I'm not going to spend a long time worrying about it. It was a stupid way of living, and now it's behind me. I'm ready to live the rest of my life to the fullest without hiding or retreating into my psyche.

The only way that I can keep living is to kill everyone else here. The thought is uncomfortable, but it's not as much of a realization as a final acceptance of that fact. Rather than avoiding the terms of my own existence, I have to embrace them.

My mom and my brother Sedrick won't spend the rest of their lives without me, grieving like we grieved for my grandfather, like my mother has grieved so many times throughout her life.

As the morning sun slowly appears on the horizon, the winds of the blizzard die down until the arena is still with stark silence. I crawl out of the bear's flaps of skin, my bloodstained hands sinking into the snow piled high. The cold immediately shoots through me, and I shudder as I stand up in the snow. I grab my crossbow and breathe in deeply, gazing up at the pale blue sky. It's completely void of clouds, a welcome respite from the snowstorm. A perfect time to practice more with my crossbow.

Leto Larston (18)- D2F

If I weren't in the Hunger Games, I would say that the blizzard had been sent from hell, and the Gamemakers were the demons sending it. They knew that I, their most competent contender for the crown, was out in the middle of the prairie without shelter, and they chose to send the snowstorm anyway. They must have thought that they could eliminate me to give the other contestants a better chance, but days later, here I stand on frostbitten feet. I grind my teeth as I think about the absolute gall to try to kill off one of the best-prepared candidates in these Games. I didn't need to be a Hunger Games historian like Cyprian to know that similar things have happened before. Titus from Six comes to mind, who was killed in an avalanche after it became clear he was going to win the Games despite not having the Capitol's favor. He did eat the bodies of the tributes that he killed and went completely insane, but that hardly matters. The Gamemakers have never had much respect for the sanctity of competition, and cannibalism isn't against the rules.

As I stare into the flame of my little campfire, memories of Cyprian come back unbidden. My feet were nearly numb a few hours ago, but the fire seems to have saved them from amputation. The snowy winds had blown out any attempts to make a fire, but as soon as they dissipated, I had been sure to make one. I never focused much on survival skills in training, but signs of frostbite are easy to recognize after years of watching the Games. I grimace as I think again of the Gamemakers possibly trying to get me out of the way so that more popular tributes could win. I know that I don't have the kind of personality that the Capitol likes to see, especially in the girls. Still, I somehow never considered that it would be a problem in the arena.

The fire crackles and my eyes zone back into focus, staring at my bare feet in front of the bright orange flames. My toes feel a bit better, not as stiff. Still, I'll likely have to be careful in the cold for the rest of my life. I glance at my fingers, at their mottled, swollen skin. They had been cold as well, but not nearly as much as my feet.

As the fire warms me up, I begin to wonder if I'm being ridiculous. I have no reason to assume that the Capitol doesn't like me, or that the Gamemakers wanted to kill me specifically. Sure, other tributes may have more fans than I, but I'm strong, with a good chance at winning and a mysterious persona. I certainly have those who believe in me. I recall the faces of the screaming Capitolites as we pulled into the Capitol train station. A small smile tugs at my lips.

What does it mean that I'm so obsessed with wanting the Capitol's approval? I've never been one to chase the acceptance of others. Maybe I'm losing it. Just like Titus.

I glance over to the north, where that pile of rocks awaits me. Since the blizzard died down, I've realized that it's the ruins of some kind of city, clearly a landmark that someone looking for shelter from the storm would hide in. With any luck, I'll find someone there. And I can't help but hope that it will be that boy from Six. Logan. I barely remember his name from training.

The image of Cyprian begging for his life enters my mind without my permission. He caused his death. Somehow convinced him to join their alliance and bring us all down, to betray me and District Two. No one humiliates Two and gets away with it.

Still, revenge may have to wait a little while. I glance back at my healing feet, barely pricklign with sensation. No matter. I have all the time in the world.

Passion Mavros (17)- D1F

As noon rapidly approaches, I finally reach the thickening of the trees along the coast. I stare up at the tall and foreboding trees, trying to convince myself that the ghosts of fallen tributes don't await me there, like Callum's haunted me at the Cornucopia. I still don't know if it was a Gamemaker trick or just my mind playing with me. Faroud died near here, and I can still remember his shriek of surprise and agony as the bear ripped his throat clean out. That was after we discovered the singing creatures at the bottom of the cliff. And nearly a week later, that's where I returned with the boy from Eleven. I had thrown him over the cliff to his death, but only after he had tried to do the same to me. The weight of the rope in my pack is there to remind me of that glitching platform that had appeared under my feet to prevent me from falling in. I still don't know exactly what happened, only that at the feast, the rope had a picture of a wild-haired woman on the plaque in front of it. An image that looked eerily similar to the creatures at the bottom of the cliff.

This place has too much history. I don't want to relive more deaths. I turn on my heel, staring back at the way that I came. I had been up since dawn, ever since the snowstorm had finally abated. The rocks around the waterfall had made for some nice shelter from the winds, but the snow and the cold had been brutal. I'd managed to see the next morning with all my fingers and toes still intact, though my nose does burn a little. The coat that I'd retrieved from the Cornucopia had been a lifesaver.

The frozen waters of the sea to my right churn with ice and slush, and a chilly breeze raises goosebumps on my skin. I came all this way looking for tributes, but had found none. Heading into the forest without a plan doesn't seem like the best idea. Besides, I found that freshwater stream and the waterfall before the snowstorm started. It's a place where tributes will go to get water if they know that it's there. And if no one shows up, then I can try to make my way to the island in the distance. I should head back.

I retrace my steps dejectedly, hoping against hope that I will find someone, anyone. Maybe killing will lighten the load and I will feel more in control. Or maybe it will worsen the feelings of guilt. Regardless, I need to win. I need to kill as many as I can, and I'm already halfway there. With the most kills out of anyone in the arena, I must be the betting man's choice for a winner right now. And I'll give their opponents a run for their money.

A distinct desire thrums deep in my veins. Something that I couldn't describe to someone who hasn't experienced it; a sick, ravenous, angry feeling. A demented desire to kill. I know the word for it, though I never could understand it when previous victors tried to explain it to me: bloodlust.

I scan the horizon for any signs of movement, both past the sea and on the land. The snow-covered ground extends everywhere. I think I can see a glimmer of the sun reflecting off the Cornucopia in the distance, and I contemplate returning for the rest of the day, to lie in wait for any tributes. But ultimately I know that with only five of us left, and one of them Leto, none of the three remaining non-Careers would be foolish enough to go to the Cornucopia for supplies. They don't know that our alliance has split, and needlessly provoking two Careers this late in the game would be a deathwish.

But finding water will be a top priority for those remaining. I hasten my pace to the river, that same desire singing just under my skin.

Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M

The sun's pale light is blinding as I crawl out of my new hiding spot between the ruined stone walls. I glance around at the snow's pristine sparkling surface, keeping an eye out for the muttation but seeing nothing. Maybe it flew away after the blizzard's winds subsided.

I glance back uneasily at the feast of Capitolite foods behind me. If I leave, will the mutt return to guard the food again? Will the Gamemakers be cruel to me and make it spoil and rot away like it should have after all these weeks in the arena?

I gulp, staring at the collapsed walls that surround me, piled high with snow. I realize there's something painted on the surfaces of the walls. The paint has faded as if it's been here for centuries. I wipe off some of the snow and examine the images on the giant golden bricks. Shades of reds, blues, and greens smeared onto the walls depict a real feast. A long dark table stretches out over most of the main wall, and figures with small golden coronets atop their heads stand along the sides. Some of them have distinct features like long hair, and others carry large weapons or shields, even other things like paintbrushes, tools, or instruments. One of them looks eerily familiar, and I suddenly realize why.

Augustus Braun. The Cavalier Career is easily identifiable by his bulging muscles and the large sword that he carries. The more I look, the more people I recognize. There's Celia from Two, her long hair trailing behind her and snowflakes floating around her, referencing her reputation as the Ice Queen. Finnick holds a trident and is barefoot on the fresco, while Tag Nylon approaches him with his little crossbow and dyed purple hair. Cashmere and Gloss stand together holding hands, and Johanna Mason holds an axe over her shoulder, standing tall and proud. Even some of the earlier famous victors are there, those who have died decades ago.

They all descend on the table that is laden with food. A cornucopia overflows with grapes and apples in the middle of the table. A little too on the nose, huh? Above them floats a row of other figures. The middle one is clearly President Snow, cloaked with clouds and surrounded by flashes of lightning as he flies above all the others. Beneath him floats an angel that reminds me of the shadowed figure that watched my private sessions at the Training Center, hovering above me with a group of hushed Capitolites. The Head Gamemaker.

I reach out and brush my fingers over the fresco curiously, wondering what I'm supposed to be feeling at this moment. Awe? Reverence? Tenacity? Ultimately, it's only a painting. Of strangers who will be my peers if I win these Hunger Games. Not the mythical figures that the fresco wants to portray.

It doesn't matter what that mutt will do. The Gamemakers may think that they are god-like, but I've been able to dodge every obstacle they've thrown my way. I outsmarted their little riddle, and I sent away their mutt. This food is mine, and if it gets swallowed up by the Gamemakers because the Capitol wants to see me suffer, then I'll just find another way to survive.

My water is running low. Luckily I can just melt some snow to drink it, though I know I shouldn't eat it while it's frozen. The trainers beat it into our heads that eating snow can dehydrate us further.

I creep out from the ruined walls, over some fallen marble columns, past, to where large mounds of snow are clumped beside a chunk of marble floor. I scoop some up into my gloved hands. I don't have any way to make a fire, but possibly proximity to the hot food will melt it enough to drink. I shove it into my canteen, glancing around the plains. The arena looks like a perfect winter wonderland. Untouched snow, glittering and flawless, spreads out for as far as the eye can see. I get to my feet and turn back to my hiding spot just as a distant shuffling sound reaches my ears.

I stop in my tracks and peer around intently like a hare checking for predators. My heart pounds in my chest. The only thing I can see is the expanse of pure-white snow, but I can sense something, or someone, watching me.

I turn around and scan every inch of the horizon, then hear another, closer noise. My stomach drops for a millisecond, then a lion paw steps out from behind a crumbling wall. I let out a deep breath of relief. The mutt appears from the ruins, gazing at me with hauteur. It continues walking past me, its paws making loud crunching sounds in the snow. Its feathered wings flutter past me in the light breeze.

"You shouldn't scare me like that," I saw, letting a bit of fondness creep into my voice.

The mutt only flicks its tail at me and continues on its way.

I shouldn't be so jumpy. With one glance back at the mutt, I hurry back to my food. Placing the canteen beside a steaming plate of clams and oysters, I stare at the fresco on the wall, noting that I can only identify one victor from Six on the whole thing. The victor of the 61st Games is my current mentor, who I only know as a hopeless morphling. But on the painting, he stands holding a jagged piece of rock that was his signature weapon. He ruthlessly used it to cut his district partner's throat near the finale, having spent the majority of the Games with her. When I look at his silhouette on the wall, I wonder if he would want to be represented differently.

Another shuffling noise reaches my ears. I convince myself it's only the mutt going about it's business, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. I shove a buttered roll into my mouth and slowly chew, keeping my eyes peeled. If I win, I won't be known for being a merciless killer. I dedicated my life back home to ending violence on the streets. If I will be known for something, then I want it to be that.

Flus DuBois (14)- D8F

I stagger along the shoreline, gazing out over the calm, frozen sea to the faint silhouette of the island beyond, thinking of the memories I left behind. At least they are immortalized by the cameras. My friendship with Raven will never be forgotten.

I heft my hatchet up over my shoulder. I wish it was longer so I could use it as a crutch. My twisted ankle was aggravated by my escapade on the ice last night. After spending much of the morning resting on the beach and warming up by my fire, I finally decided to get moving again, my promise to Raven ringing in my ears. You better kill that sadist who killed Sparrow.

I grit my teeth as I take another agonizing step. I won't let this little injury stop me from getting my revenge and winning his whole damn death pagent. The Capitol will see that they shouldn't underestimate District Eight like they did last year. I'll bring home the victory for the second year in a row.

I struggle to walk up an incline on the beach. The shore sharply rises to create a cliff, the ridge sharply dropping down to the frozen water below. I trip over a few rocks and wince in pain. The place where Thimble died should be around here. My stomach twists into knots and a strange sour taste appears in my mouth. I went to the island to try and find water for Thimble and Raven, but Thimble ended up dying anyway. I know that it wasn't my fault, but it still stings. I remember the two of us laughing together during training and let out a deep sigh. Now all of my allies are dead.

The sun is starting to set, and my stomach starts to grumble. I find a large rock to sit on and take out a bit of food, wincing as my ankle twinges in pain. I need a break anyway, then I'll find a place to stay for the night. I grimace as I chew on some cold fish. What I would give for some real food after eating nothing but fish for weeks.

Gazing up at the darkening sky, I feel the chill on my skin, and the sound of rushing water reaches my ears. I frown in confusion, glancing around at the rocks. I stand with a groan and stalk around for the source. The noise brings me to a small waterfall. With a sinking sensation in my stomach, I realize the waterfall flows right past the spot where Thimble was trapped. That lone outcropping of rock where he died sits innocently beside the waterfall, not a blot of blood or any scuff marks to be seen. He died quietly, but miserably.

This must have been what Raven was talking about. He said he got water with his item from the feast. He also wasn't lying when he said he got rid of the monster and the whirlpool that trapped Thimble, since they're nowhere to be seen. I take a shaky breath, blinking back the tears that suddenly spring up in my eyes.

The thin river that empties into the waterfall stretches back pretty far. I follow it for a few minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for any signs of life. With a jolt, I realize that there's smoke rising in the distance. Whoever made the fire probably thinks that the darkness setting over the arena will make the smoke hard to see, but they obviously didn't expect someone to be close enough to distinguish the thin plums of smoke from the night clouds. The fire doesn't look like it's too far away, maybe a few hours of walking on my twisted ankle.

I glance back at the waterfall. I could rest for the night, or go after the person nearby before they move on.

I shove my fish back into my backpack, then lean down to dip my hands into the slightly frozen water and drink my fill. Then I stand and ready myself for a long night.

Leto Larston (18)- D2F

Under the shadow of night, I steal out into the ruined city with my curved knife in my hand, my whip on my belt. After reaching the cluster of collapsed marble columns and walls, it didn't take long before I spotted the boy from Six. It looks like he's still alone, hanging out here with only his sword for company. And it looks like he isn't a stranger to using it, either. I saw practicing with it yesterday, the blade swinging through the air in maneuvers that I recognize from training. He didn't skimp on weapons training back in the Capitol.

I would never kill someone in their sleep like a coward, like Logan and his allies wanted to do to us, but sneaking up on him to catch him off-guard is fair game. We will meet each other on an equal playing field and fight until one of us falls. My blood boils as I think about their cowardly plan to turn Cyprian against the Careers. I wonder if Cyprian thought of it all on his own, or if Logan convinced him that he would be better off without his biggest competition. Red flashes before my eyes before I take control of my temper, curling it back into my chest.

I quietly creep over the snow, over a few cracked floors and collapsed walls, keeping low to the ground with my knife gripped tight in my fist. My feet, especially my toes, scream in pain as I move. Blisters bubbled up on them after I warmed them by the fire, which could be either a good or a bad sign. I should have paid more attention in survival training. My eyes scan the ruins, barely illuminated by the light of the moon. Almost every night here is bright with a full moon and a myriad of twinkling stars. It's not exactly natural, but at least it makes it easier to see.

I hear a shuffling noise from behind one wall, and I sharply draw in a breath. I hold it fast, fingers tightening around my knife hilt and listening closely. Suddenly there's another, louder sound of snow being displaced. I brace myself to jump out from behind the wall and face my foe, when a large paw appears from behind the marble. My heart jumps into my throat as I stare in disbelief. The creature is massive, covered in fur that is dusted with white snow, feathers running down its neck and over a pair of giant wings. A serpentine tail flicks toward me as it walks past.

I remember this creature from the feast table. A silver plaque had depicted the beast. I was the one who took the item that was supposed to be its weakness. A tiny slip of paper with two words on it: The victor.

My hiding spot has thankfully shielded me from the mutt. With bated breath, I contemplate whether or not I should continue with my plan. Logan is surely hiding somewhere in these ruins. Could he coexist with this strange creature? Or does he cower in the ruins like the fool he is, risking being discovered by the beast while keeping shelter from the storm? Likely the latter.

If so, he will be an easy target, but I should still hedge my bets. I dig into my backpack with blistered fingers and pull out the slip of paper with the cursive words clearly written in black ink. I curl my fingers over it and approach the mutt with purpose, heart pounding in my chest.

I stop and stand behind it as it continues its path over the snow. "The victor," I say firmly, still quiet enough that hopefully Logan won't be able to hear me.

The mutt turns and stares at me. Its birdlike yellow eyes take me in, dull with annoyance. Then it turns back around and begins to continue on its way.

"Wait!" I hiss in frustration. I thrust out the slip of paper for the mutt to see, but it ignores me, its massive paws moving through the snow like giant boulders. It disappears behind another wall, slithering tail giving me a flippant flick.

I stand, defeated, paper in hand. It seems that the Gamemakers were either lying, or once again plotting against me. I have the mutt's weakness! Surely it should reveal some kind of resource like the dragon did when I used the strange stone. The mutt shouldn't be so dismissive!

I grind my teeth and follow after the beast, still gripping my slip of papers. "Come back, here, you stupid animal!"

I stomp after it, turning the corner only for a sword to slam into my chest.

Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M

I pull back my sword to plunge it into the Career's body, but she rolls out of the way just in time and it clangs against a piece of marble instead. I pant as I heft up the sword, staring through the gloom, my breath coming quickly and exhaling into puffs of smoke from my mouth. She stands slowly, hand slowly going to her belt to remove a dark shape. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but her face is shrouded in darkness.

"It's you," she hisses.

My eyes widen as the length of a whip reaches toward me. I raise my sword and try to parry it as if it were another bladed weapon, but the whip merely wraps around the blade and yanks it from my hands.

The girl from Two. The one who scored a 10 in training. Her remaining ally must be somewhere near, but I have no time to think.

As she lunges toward me, I duck down just in time for her knife to whistle above my head. The two of us silently dance in the snow, our movement impeded by the deep snow, until she suddenly spins into a kick, foot colliding with my stomach. I nearly fall headfirst into the snow, but catch myself with my hands planted on the ground. I feel and hear the air of the knife above me, and thrust myself backward and to the side so that she loses her balance. She doesn't seem to be very steady on her feet. Still, she recovers in an instant, turning on me with hate in her eyes. She cracks her whip in an obvious moment of intimidation, then reaches down to grab my sword from the ground, examining the blade.

"You were easier to overcome than I thought you would be," she says, still looking at it. Her tone isn't taunting or even pleased. It's like she's just stating the facts. I still can barely see her face, or which weapon she raises toward me now.

I heave in breaths, my life flashing before my eyes. Natalie laughing with her head thrown back. The Warriors sitting around Dante's mother's dinner table eating pie. Terra telling me to run during the bloodbath, sacrificing herself for a boy she barely knew. This can't be where it ends.

"For all the confidence you had to confront the Careers..." she shakes her head, taking a fighting stance, moonlight reflecting off the sword's blade. "...you couldn't even take on one of us."

I hear the mutt shuffling around behind me. My chest rattles with a shaky breath. "You killed Volt," I say, my voice imbued with hate.

"You poisoned Cyprian's mind," she hisses back, eyes flashing. "You are the reason he betrayed District Two!"

I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"He was my friend, and you turned him against me!" she yells. She lifts the sword high and lunges toward me.

I let out a yelp of panic and jump to the side, anticipating her whip wrapping around my legs, but it never happens. Instead I hear a loud guttural growl and a yelp of pain. I look behind me to see the girl falling to the ground, red claw marks dripping blood across her face. The mutt lifts its paw to strike again and the girl roars in fury, jumping away. The mutt's yellow eyes are alight with a pure anger that I've never seen before. Its throat rumbles again, its hackles raising.

As it raises its paw again, the girl's whip wraps around it. The mutt pulls on the weapon until it snaps, but she's already gotten the upper hand. Her sword cuts its limb clean off, and it roars with pain, swatting her away with its remaining paw.

"Leave it alone!" I yell in desperation. I have no weapon, but I can try to end this.

As she heaves her sword toward the creature again, I run up to her and wrap my arms around her midsection. I throw her to the ground and as she sputters, landing in the snow, I can see that her face is mutilated and covered in blood. I recall her punching Volt in the face in this very same position, and I finally let out my anger, letting my fist collide with her jaw again and again. Volt may have been too manipulative for his own good, but he was my friend.

As I pull my arm back for another blow, a sharp pain bursts in my side. I kneel up to stare down at the knife in my abdomen, just as her own fist collides with the side of my head.

I hit the ground like a rock, snow billowing up around me. I instinctively reach down to pull the knife free, but the girl is already on her feet, and she kicks me square in the face, sending me reeling backward.

I hear her draw in a difficult breath as she draws close to the muttation, which howls with pain, cradling its stump of a paw. As she approaches, it yowls and lifts up its head, baring its sharp fangs and narrowing its yellow eyes. The girl lifts her sword and plunges it into the creature's eye.

"No…"

The girl pulls the sword free with a heavy grunt, the entire blade covered in gore. Then she turns to me, dragging the blade through the snow.

I struggle to my feet, holding the knife inside my body. I grab the handle and try to pull it free, but the pain is too immense.

The sword slices through my belly, and I stare in horror as my intestines spill out over my skin. I collapse back onto the ground. "Please, no!" I scream, begging with every ounce of life that I have left.

Leto stares at me, face dark, bruised, and bloodied. I reach down desperately, trying to gather my entrails and shove them back inside my body where they belong. "You can just leave me!" I plead. "Please!"

She approaches as swift as an angel of death. I reach up with one bloodstained hand to block the sword as it descends onto my neck.

The blade lodges into my throat and I feel blood spurt onto my face, and in an instant all is black.

Caillou Wight (17)- D3F

A cannonshot resounds throughout the arena. I look up from where I'm sawing off a piece of viscous fat from the bear's hide to see a group of birds fly from the trees and into the sky, spooked by the noise. I hear the distant cracking of snow from the mountain above.

I return to my task. It's difficult to cut through such thick fat with tiny little arrowheads, but they are made of silver metal and won't break unless I apply a gargantuan amount of pressure. I begin to slice the fat again, but I hold the arrow too tightly and my prosthetic finger almost falls off.

"Shit," I mutter, fumbling with it. I carefully reattach it, then look up once more to the pale dawn sky. I shiver from the chilly air and the snow under my feet, but beams of pink-gold sunlight warm my face.

My legs and torso are inflamed and itchy. The rash that started on my leg has only worsened, now crawling up my abdomen and nearly at my chest. The redness was once only itchy, but now it's ablaze with pain and hot to the touch. I automatically reach down to scratch it and have to stop myself, letting out a sigh. My mind goes to the little flowers that Blossom recommended I use. 'Jewelweed,' she called it. Little orange flowers with three petals. Too bad the snow has covered any greenery that once decorated the arena.

I wonder for a moment who has perished, and more importantly, how. Possibly they were killed by the elements if they had no shelter or way to make a fire.

I have only three competitors now. The thought makes my throat dry. I reach for my canteen of water and take a large drink. The Capitol must be itching for a victor.

I sit down to make a fire in the little spot that I've cleared of snow. I set the blob of fat on a piece of wood that I built, watching as slowly begins to bubble and cook. Bear fat is disgusting, but I need to eat. In the meantime, I take out my baggie of crackers, the only other food source I have left, and nibble a bit on one.

Suddenly I hear a tinkling noise from above, and my head snaps upward. The parachute descends with a tiny silver box attached, right to the bear carcass. I eagerly climb over the beast's head and hide to grab it out of the air. Sliding down onto the snow, I sit with my legs curled under me and fervently open the box. Inside is not food, water, or a little weapon. Instead, a sheet of paper lies on the bottom of the box. I reach for it with a shaking hand, holding it gingerly. A familiar image greets me; a drawing of me and my best friend Jessica, sitting together on the floor of her apartment. I drew it for her birthday a few years ago. Her beautiful face smiles at me from the paper, looking lifelike with her dimples and crinkles around her eyes. Staring into her face, I feel a heavy sense of longing. We've fallen out of touch a bit in the last couple years, but I never forgot the true friendship and acceptance that she showed me in the hardest times in my life.

I scoff as I examine my own face, hardly able to recognize myself. My drawing skills have improved a lot since then. My mentors couldn't have sent me a more recent drawing? How did they even get a hold of it?

But deep down, I know why they sent it. It's a reminder of what's at stake and who is waiting for me back home.

I notice a small slip of paper sitting in the box, written with some kind of message. I pull it out curiously. Remember, in mirrors you see others, in art you see yourself.

The message brings a smile to my face. It was the conclusion we came to after an evening of philosophical discussions about art and its meaning in our lives. We were just kids pretending we knew anything. But it still resonates, despite all that's happened. It seems I'm not the only one who remembers our friendship fondly. Not if Jessica managed to get this sent to the Capitol for them to send to me. The mentors probably reached out to see if my family had anything to send. Surely they would use this opportunity to give me some encouraging words. Giving advice through sponsor messages is strictly forbidden unless it's related to how to use the gift, but there has to be a reason my mom and my brother let Jessica be the one to pick the message.

My eyes widen as I remember the gift that the sponsors sent me a long time ago when I needed food. I quickly dig it out of my pack, staring into it and back at myself. The mirror is miraculously unbroken after all this time. I'm nearly blinded by the reflection of the light off the snow behind me, blinking several times and setting down the mirror. A small smile appears on my face. Jessica always said that I was the artistic one and she was the clever one. Another thing we always argued about, sometimes playfully and sometimes seriously. But it seems that I might have to finally acquiesce.

A faint cracking sound reaches my ears as I carefully place the mirror and the drawing inside my pack and return to roasting my fat. I smile into the flames, reaching out to warm my chilled fingers. Another sound resounds throughout the arena, almost sounding like another cannon. I look up to see if more birds will be spooked, but then I see the distant mountain, covered perfectly in white snow, has cracked like an egg.

My heart pounds in my chest. No, it's not the mountain. It's the snow cracking, compressing, and falling. I watch as if frozen as the snow slowly begins to slide down the mountain in large chunks, speeding up as it goes. The loud whumph! sound it makes brings me back to my senses. I grab my backpack and my crossbow and make a run for it.

Looking back, I can see the dusting of snow as it approaches through the trees. Then before I know it, a large heap of snow extinguishes my fire and engulfs my bear, covering it completely. I turn back around and run as fast as I can, focusing on my steps in the snow, trying to keep my balance. With another glance backward, I realize the wall of snow is now as high as my shoulders and growing taller. It glides along the ground as easily well-cooked meat sliding off the bone.

With a desperate cry, I heave myself forward faster and faster, willing myself not to slow. I won't be overcome by an avalanche, not after everything that I've been through, not with my family and Jessica surely watching.

The trees become sparser as I hurry onward, and I eventually can make out the clearing just beyond the forest. Panting, I urge myself forward, legs aching with the exertion and the cold. I emerge into the clearing and sprint toward the Cornucopia, hoping against hope that the Careers won't be waiting for me there. Turning around, I notice that the avalanche has slowed and shrunk in height, but the forest has been completely consumed, whole trees devoured by the relentless wall of snow.

I bend over, hands on my knees, drawing in gasping breaths. The avalanche seems to have petered out, only a small layer of powdered snow reaching my feet in the clearing. Then, as suddenly as it began, everything is still again, quiet as death.

I stand up straight, shielding my eyes from the glam of sunlight off the snow as I stare over at the Cornucopia. It would seem that I was right- the Capitol is itching for a victor. And it seems the Gamemakers wanted me out of that forest and closer to the other tributes.

I cautiously draw an arrow and laid my crossbow, approaching the golden horn with bated breath. Certainly if the Careers were here, they would have come to kill me by now. Still, I can't be too careful.

It's almost time to go home. Back to Jessica and my family.

---

Obituaries:

5th) Logan Wheeler- D6M. Killed by Leto. Created by Greywolf44. Poor Greywolf! Their tribute Tiffany got 3rd last year and now Logan gets 5th. So close, yet so far away. I loved Logan so much- he was a genuinely good guy who just wanted to help out his family and his community. Simple, yet so powerful and engaging. I seriously considered making him the victor for a while, actually, but ultimately I think Leto's martial training got the better of him in this scenario. I'll miss writing him, for sure.

Like I said, our victor will be crowned next chapter! After that, there will be two post-arena chapters. The next chapter will finish out Day 17, since this one only had the morning of Day 17.

Leave a review telling me which lucky lady you think will win! You know, I realized that in our final eight, only two were boys. And now our final four are all girls. It was not intentional at all. Hopefully next time I will try to keep more gender equality!

The kill stats have been upgraded!

Kill Stats:

Most Kills:

Passion Mavros (17)- D1F- four kills: Sparrow, Alder, Pagani, and Thorn.

Second-Most Kills:

Leto Larston (18)- D2F- three kills: Rai, Volt, and Logan.

Tied for Third-Most Kills:

Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F (dead)- two kills: Terra and Cyprian

Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M (dead)- two kills: Caiden and Jeremy

Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M (dead)- two kills: Dylan and Rylex

Tied for Fourth-Most Kills:

Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F (dead) - one kill: Marlowe.

Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F (dead)- one kill: Callum.

Until next time~