A Song for Snakes and Rats

Days 7 and 8 in the Arena

Female Tribute from District Seven, Rahni Vohra

I wake to the stars. The smell of smoke lingers around, suffocating, smothering the smells of the jungle. I blink my eyes open. Ash sits on my face, weighing my cheeks, sticking to my nose. I'm alive, I think. How?

I lean up, attempting to take in my surroundings. I'm on the edge of the jungle. The fire seems to have stopped, burning all the tall grass and even parts of the jungle west of me. I smirk, thinking about it. The little snake. She fooled us all. Getting me and Proteus to rush into the Cornucopia. And everyone feared the Career Killers. . .But what will they call Tassia? The one who kills us all.

The mistake of underestimating her won't happen again. I won't be so careless. I won't think like the Careers. The word automatically fills in my mind, causing me to cringe. Or maybe that's the pain I'm suddenly feeling. My skin seems to have waited until my senses are back and online before signaling how much of me was burned.

Hesitantly, I look down at my legs, examining them. Burns line them both, the pants ripped away. I don't know how bad it. If I can walk just yet. But I'll have to try, because let's be honest, the smoke will attract the scavengers.

And when they come, I'm going to kill them all. Starting with Tassia and ending with Rowena.

I curl my leg up, bending it at the knee. The pain is manageable when I grind my teeth, and I'm only a bit dizzy by the time I've curled them both up to my waist. I don't know how much skin I've lost, how much of me I left back on the dirt and in the ashes.

Thankfully I still have my club. Lose my legs, but not my weapon. Thinking like a true Career.

No, like a true Survivor.

As I'm standing, the announcer Brittania Eldenberry says, "Congratulations, Tributes!" I look around, wondering where the seal is at, trying to still be aware despite the blasting noise. If I was a tribute, I'd use it for cover. I'd use it as a distraction to strike.

And who knows who is out there. Rowena. Tassia. Denim. They've all proven dangerous at this point.

"With six of you left," she continues. Six, I think. Someones dead then. I think of Proteus. Of him being the one who is most likely dead. Again, I tell myself I'll kill Tassia and Denim for him. But truthfully, it's more so for me. "We're awarding the survivors with a feast!" A feast? Seems fit given the supplies are now burned to crisps. "And before you discount the invite, think about your bellies!" She laughs. Literally laughs. "It begins at dawn! Good luck, tributes!"

I wipe the sweat from my head as I wobble to my feet. The pain up my legs comes in flashes. My calfs one moment are nonexistent, only to be so excruciating that I'm having to exhaling though my nose. Still, I'm thankful I can feel them. Means they aren't completely ruined.

The seal appears as I breathe. I smirk, seeing the face of Denim appear. Seems Tassia has her first kill under her belt. I don't bother waiting for it to fade, to transform into someone else. I know he's the only one. A part of me is thankful not to see Proteus in the sky, but then there's another part of me, that was briefly hoping he'd died. Now that we're separated it's going to be hard to realign.

Before sunrise, I'll need to be stationed. I'll need to be ready to face off with Rowena at the feast. And so with that in mind, I take to the trees. I position myself under a huddle of shoulder like plants, waiting, wondering who will die today. You mean who you will kill? The thought is intrusive and I shake it away. To pass the time, I fixate on the dryness of my tongue. I think about home, although those memories aren't much easier. I can't help but think about how people will see me, after watching me bash in Chime's head and toss an axe into a girl's chest. Even if they were Careers. They were still someone's children, too.

I try to hold onto that as night turns to morning. Slowly, I rise, careful not to cause too much noise. There's no telling who else is already positioned around the horn.

As the sun appears, so does the table with a white sheet. It blows in the wind. The smell of warm bread lingers in the air. Food? I think. That's all they're attempting us will.

But then I realize that's enough. There she is. Tassia. She's running full sprint for the table.

And I'm up, moving, sprinting.

"Rat!" I yell.

But Tassia's already at the table, already running past it, not bothering to grab anything. I notice the large pack on her back and stop. She wouldn't need the supplies.

I turn in time to see the knife coming. I throw myself down, barely dodging the blade. Rowena comes at me full sprint. And I'm up, charging at her. She holds two, three blades. I count them as she runs. As we get ready to face off.

She throws another blade and I dodge it. Barely.

And then we're facing off. I'm swinging out with the club, hoping to crush her skull, but she's quick. She's slashing out with the blade, hoping to gut me. I hope back, dodging, preferring to keep my intestines under my skin.

"I'm going to kill you," she says.

"Not if I kill you first," I say back. Then I'm scooping down, grabbing the ash, and throwing it into her face. She screams, leaping back. But the dust catches her. And hopefully so will my club.

I'm swinging, hoping to tear her down like I did Chime, but she kicks out. I lunge forward, feeling the breath leave me. I attempt to exhale, attempt to balance myself, but the time is ticking. Rowena is back on the offense. She stabs out. I attempt to dodge, but then she's slashing forward, closer, and I'm feeling the blade enter me.

Then we're closer and I'm swinging the club harder, faster, catching her and sending her to the dirt. She scrambles like a spider flipped on its back. I swing down the club, connecting with her shin. She screams. But I block it out. I block out the words. Career Killer. Career Killer. Moving in closer, I hope to end it all. Just one more swing, I tell myself. But then Rowena is lunging forward, hands forward.

I feel the pressure and the blade. See her eyes widening as she falls on me. Blood fills my mouth and I spit.

She blinks. Face covered with blood, she starts to cry. Not laugh. Not scream.

Then I'm feeling the blade leave me, feeling the warmth pool all over my belly. Rowena attempts to get off of me, but struggles.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her. Watching. Waiting. Rowena drags her leg, completely unaware. Completely wounded.

"You're not going to win," I say.

"I'm going home," she says.

"No," I say. "You're not." And that's when Tassia comes running, comes sprinting in. I scream, lifting myself up, hoping to add some sort of distraction. At least a Career won't win, I think, as I feel my own life fading.

Rowena doesn't catch on in time. She's too wounded. Too busted up. And Tassia has the blade. Then she's throwing it, the knife curling out of her palm and landing into the center of Rowena back.

I fall back. Then Tassia is over me, too. The little scavenger. The little Career Killer.

Male Tribute from District Twelve, Viridian Ahane

I watch as the girl from District 9 takes the knife out of the girl from District 7. A canon follows. The girl from District Two slumps forward more, but she's dead, too. I know it. Her canon sounds then, confirming my thoughts. The knife in her back must have punctured something deadly, slowly killing her.

I swallow down the fear I have for this girl who hid as the other two fought. She just laid there in the grass, setting the poor girl up. She doesn't even grab anything from the table. She only turns and runs back to the jungle.

Two more of us dead, I think. Only four of us left. And surprisingly, one of those remaining tributes is me. Despite what they all thought, despite what I even thought, I'm here still.

But I need to be smart. I need to plan this out. My stomach grumbles in protest. I'm hungry, barely eating these last three days. I know the feast is more for me and probably the others than it was for these girls. They don't seem to be starving.

I look around, anxiously waiting to spot someone else standing there, waiting. I outran the girl from Six two days ago. But today could be different. Today could be the end for me. If I'm not smart. If I'm not careful.

Just breathe, Viridian. I take out the knife, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to take in the dried blood. I close my eyes, counting. One, two, three, four. It doesn't do anything. I'll never forget what dried blood looks like on a blade. I'll never forget how I killed that boy. Bringing the knife down into his chest cavity as he attempted to shove the blade away. I cut him good. I killed him.

And I don't even know his name, I think. I hadn't wanted to remember it. Killing strangers was better than killing allies, I'd said. But killing strangers is still killing and there's a part of me—the part of me that clings to innocence—that says if I only knew his name, I would know who to apologize to.

He isn't going to hear those apologies, though. I know it. My mind knows it. So it's time to stop thinking about it. It's time to go back home and just forget these eight days happened. I swallow. My heart races, pounding against my boney chest. Who am I kidding? I'll never forget this place, the people, the smells. I'll never forget what it's like to sweat all day, all night. I'll never forget how warm blood is. I'll never forget what monkey's smell like—a mixture of dog and cat and something feral.

But right now that doesn't matter. The memories aren't going to keep me fed. My fears won't either.

So slowly I move from the edge. I take tiny stops, thinking the dead grass will act as some cover, but it doesn't. I saw everything. District 2 and 7 fighting. The girl from Nine coming and finishing it. The field shows all. There's nowhere to hide.

And so if Six or the boy from Seven wants to get me, they will. I'll only have the chance to run. Or maybe I'll fight. Who am I kidding? I've never been a fighter, only an opportunist.

I make it to the table. Turning around, I do a full scan of the field. No-one is there. Not yet, at least. I pull the sheet off the table and start shoveling in the food in my pack. After throwing in bread and other tin containers, I look back up. But this time, there she is—the girl from District Six. She's standing on the edge of the jungle. Her knife is out. We make eye contact, but she doesn't rush towards me. She doesn't come sprinting across the field.

Maybe she's hoping the boy from District Seven will kill me. I try to think of his name, and unlike the boy I killed, it comes to mind. Proteus. I remember someone saying it. Great. I'll know the name of the person who kills me.

I look around for Proteus, but he isn't there. And then I'm hopeful that he isn't going to show, that what got this field also got him and now he's slowly dying off in the jungle somewhere. It's cold, but I'd rather take my chances with Six and Nine.

When Six finally creeps out to the field, I stand there, watching her, slightly frozen. I should rush her. I should finish this before the others show. They'll have heard the canons by now.

And at that time, there it comes. The loud snapping of branches. I turn and see the boy from District 7 busting through the bush. He looks at me. Eyes wide. Slightly afraid.

Yet I'm the one who's truly terrified.

Female Tribute from District Six, Tressa Whitelock

The boy who killed Errol runs, full sprint, pack slung over shoulder. I tell myself that I'm going to follow him. That I'll ignore the feast and pursue Errol's killer instead. But then again, that wouldn't be that hard to find, considering I abandoned him. Considering I'm just as much to blame.

I left him. Drugged out. Completely vulnerable. All because he was deadweight. All because I was afraid.

"I'm sorry," I say to the trees, to anything that's listening. I imagine Errol's mother watching, hearing me, forgiving me. But that's silly. Almost as silly as hunting down the person who killed someone because they had to kill to survive.

Still, it gives me meaning to target someone. To stop surviving and try to actually be a contender in these games for once. With four tributes left, the time for hiding has come and gone. We're all going to have to kill to get back on that train.

And sadly, District Twelve knew that. He's smart, I'll give him that.

I turn back into the brush, forgetting about the table, about the boy from District Seven, Proteus.

He's found his district partner by now.

As I walk through the jungle, I hear him scream. I hear him begging her to stay, but he has to know she's gone. For a moment, I feel what he feels. My mind goes back to me, seeing Errol dead. I'd left him though, chasing the attacker instead of truly mourning my ally. I hadn't even remembered seeing the hovercraft come and pick up Errol's body.

At least Proteus stays with Rahni, even if it is pointless. Maybe he's better than the rest of us. After watching District Twelve kill Errol and after watching how the girl from Nine, Tassia, killed her own ally, I'd say Proteus is better. Less broken, really.

And it's because of that—the decency, the holding on to his humanity, the remaining wholeness—that he won't win. He'll never leave these Games. The good ones never do. And I knew that, I really did, and I think it's why I volunteered for Alex. She's too good for the Games, even if she rejected me. Even if she didn't love me like I thought she did.

I'd said I'd volunteered for her because she was weak. But I think it was more than that—I didn't want her to die, sure, but I also didn't want her to live like this—reliving deaths and preferring the shadows and knowing your innocence is gone. You're a celebrated murderer now.

But I haven't killed anyone, I remind myself. Not yet. And so there might be hope for me. No, I tell myself. I'm going to kill District Twelve. I'm going to avenge Errol's death. It's the least I can do for leaving him.

I owe it to him. And District Twelve doesn't deserve to win. Neither do allies who abandon their fiends. Eagerly, I shake that thought away and keep walking, keep pushing myself in the direction I saw him running. Unless I plan to let him get away a second time, I should probably pick up the pace. I should probably start running, too. But then again something tells me that District 12 isn't someone who runs far, who really thinks things through. He'll stop and eat. He'll get tired. He'll get careless.

He'll get desperate. Again. Like he did with Errol. Like he did with the table. He was the only one of us to take from the feast. It says a lot about him.

The rest of us more worried about the others. Him more worried about his grumbling gut.

As I walk further, picking up the pace, I try not to think about my parents. I try to think of ways that they'll be missing these next few days on the screens. Maybe they'll be at work. Mechanics work weird hours, I tell myself. Maybe they'll be too busy working on the trains to think about their daughter and the Games.

It's silly, really, to think that work is going to distract my parents. Their daughter is only three tributes away from going home. They're probably more sleepless now than they were on the opening nights. Because I'm so close to coming home now, yet at the same time my goodbyes are all they have left of me.

A/N: Ugh, this was the hardest chapter for me to write. Rahni's POV, the ending, it had me teary up unexpectedly. I swear I think each chapter will get easier to write, but it doesn't. I truly have enjoyed each of these tributes narrative. These two ladies were especially hard to say goodbye to. Still, this is where their arcs ended for me.

As for the remaining tributes, Tressa, Proteus, Tassia, and Viridian. These were my top four for a while now.

Random fact: Tressa has zero kills. Viridian has one kill under his belt. While Proteus and Tassia both have two kills to their credit.

Questions / Interactive:

Thoughts on the chapter?

Are you shocked that Rahni and Rowena both fail this chapter?

Who do we think will make it to the finale? Only two will be there.

Deaths are based on realism, plot development, and if I struggled to capture your tribute's voice.

7th. Male Tribute from District Eight, Denim Lane. Amy, you know I loved Denim. We had many talks about him. For a while there he was a possibility for victor, but when it came down to it, this is where his story ended. His arc came to full close. He thought he'd be the spider. Turns out he was just a fly (or a rat) caught in a bigger web. Thanks for submitting the fighter to my story.

6th. Female Tribute from District Seven, Rahni Vohra. Jake, Rahni was my favorite female tribute in this story. I probably shouldn't say that, but I loved her plotting. I loved her strength. I loved how she became the very thing she swore to stop. I loved her moment with Chime, insisting they weren't Careers, and instead he called them Career Killers. Thank you for submitting the "Career Killer" to my story.

5th. Female Tribute from District Two, Rowena Austal. Ace, I loved Rowena and how she genuinely wrestled with who she was. She was a more complex Career, which is what I look for when accepting trained tributes. Specifically, I enjoyed her wrestling with the outcomes of what would happen if she won: what would her becoming victor be like? Would she be another Medusa? Also, I really enjoyed who she became in the end. She was a leader. She was strong. Thank you for submitting her to my story.