Day 7:

Weller Worthen, 18
District 11 Male

A week in, and they were down to almost a third of the tributes remaining. Weller was one of them. He never even considered the possibility of him getting this far, or surviving for as long as he did. He thought the Games would go by in a flash and leave nothing but bodies behind. He thought things would be much more difficult...

He had to count his lucky blessings, though. Every day he woke up alive was already good enough and he was glad to see the Sun rise again and again. That was a mindset that kept him sane most of the time.

He stared over his shoulder at the sleeping Darra. A grim thought crept into his mind. Eventually, Weller would have to betray her. After all, there was only one Victor and why wouldn't he want it to be him? After all he had been through? It would be nice to finally put his past behind him and have a future to look forward to. A future he made for himself.

But...Darra had a past too. She had told him all about her deceased brother, her family, her worries about letting them down and causing them even more grief. It was the perfect sob story. A young girl who had already lost a loved one to the Capitol, refusing to let them take her as well. Why wouldn't she be a contender?

She had what he didn't. A family.

Fuck. No, no, no, Weller was not going to get jealous over this. He and Darra had bonded over their grief, and they had to accept the fact that neither of them could truly understand each other's pain. He was much too different from her, from literally everyone else. That was just the way it would be.

Plus, Trevor was waiting at home. Trevor! Weller couldn't leave the kid all alone. Not in a world like Panem, where he'd be eaten alive and spit back out. No, Trevor needed that guidance, that role model and saviour. He needed somebody to show him the way. Nobody else would spare a moment to think about a little boy lost on the streets. Nobody would ever waste their breath to show him a bit of kindness. Nobody else would be there for Trevor. Except Weller.

And if Weller couldn't this for himself, then he could at least do it for someone else.

"No new cannons?" Darra muttered, rubbing her eyes.
"Good morning."
"Are we still in here with like, ten other losers?"

"Seven. I've been keeping track." Weller stretched. "Bit by bit, they fall. But there's only a few of us left."
"They're not falling fast enough."
"Well, you think we can do something about it?"

As they shared a measly breakfast, they began to work out a plan. Their sponsor gifts had certainly helped. Weller knew it was inevitable at this point; despite so few tributes remaining, they'd all have to confront each other eventually. And someone was going to die, no matter what.

Darra consulted the map again. "You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"And if we got to kick some ass, you ready for that?"

Weller smirked. "Sure."

It seemed that the Gamemakers had heard him. Because it didn't take very long before the pair spotted another tribute. But upon seeing who it was, Weller felt his heart sink a little. He knew Darra would probably feel just as anxious as he suddenly did.

"Fuck," Darra muttered. "Fucking damn it. That's Veles."
"He's your district partner, right?"
"Yeah. Shoot, um...I guess we gotta go for it. But isn't it...y'know..."

"Taboo to kill your district partner? I have no idea," Weller admitted. "What do you want to do?"
"Oh dear God..."

Veles had seen them. And he didn't look very happy.

"Shit," Weller cursed. "He's coming."
"Alright, we can take him on. Are you ready?"
"Darra. He has a shield. We can't break through that!"

Veles leapt across the bridge. He slammed into Darra, shield and all. Weller pulled a throwing knife out from his bag and tossed it at Veles. It hit the shield and bounced off.

Darra was knocked backwards, Veles looming over her. In one hand, he held a dagger; the other, a throwing axe. And, well...shit. This was not going to end well for one District 7 tribute and Weller had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be Veles.

So Weller practically jumped on top of Veles. If he couldn't break through that shield, then he was going to make it impossible for Veles to properly use it.

His mind began to race as he wrapped an arm around Veles's neck, the other hand attempting to hold a second throwing knife up to the boy's throat. What the hell kind of plan was this? He was going to get himself killed! All that inspirational internal pep talks, just for Weller to do something as stupid as to put his entire self in danger...

"Darra! Help me!"
"I'm on it!"

His ally picked up her axe and swung it at Veles's chest. He blocked it with his shield, then threw his back over, forcing Weller to tumble off, but not before ramming the throwing knife into Veles's throat, carving a deep red line.

Veles suddenly collapsed to his knees, his hands grasping at his throat as he tried to stop the bleeding. Weller grabbed Veles's arm, trying his best to rip the shield off. When Veles wouldn't give it up, a new idea formed in Weller's mind.

"Darra, give me a hand please? Take this."

Weller pulled out his shiv and quickly stabbed Veles in the back with it. In a way, he felt like he had to. It didn't seem right, to let Veles slowly bleed to death and he seemed to be in a lot of pain, so it was best to just quickly end the misery. He promised himself he wouldn't wish a painful end upon anybody and he had to honour his own words.

"Six," Darra declared, holding up five fingers on one hand and one on the other. "Six losers left. And us."
"I told you they'd fall."

And we might fall too, Weller thought to himself, but he didn't say it out loud as the cannon boomed through the arena.

Twill Chintz, 16
District 8 Male

He was not over it.

Twill knew the smart thing to do was dust himself off and move on. Claodis was dead. He could not bring her back. He couldn't even avenge her either, because Stravos had to go and get himself killed before Twill was able to confront that bastard. It was all out of his reach. In a way, her story was more or less forgotten.

By everyone except him.

If he died, who'd remember her? Who'd tell the story of the tributes from District 8? She was just like him, an orphan on the streets with nobody left to love. At least Twill could just bat his eyelashes and whistle at richer old ladies if he desired some company. But Claodis didn't. At least she didn't die alone, but not even that bittersweet thought would ever erase the guilt from his mind.

He had received some sponsor gifts that had given him hope. Twill had never held a gun before, but there was a first time for everything. It had to be a message. It was clear that inaction simply wouldn't do anymore. He needed to get blood on his hands if he wanted to prove he deserved to win.

The cannon he heard told him that he was now in the top eight. Lucky number eight. Twill wasn't sure who was left that could have gone like that, or if it even mattered. Everybody was now an enemy.

He continued to roam around, stopping for the occasional food, water or bathroom break. The handgun he was carrying felt foreign. He only had a few bullets, which meant that each shot had to count. There would be no room to be wasteful. Secretly, Twill was dreading ever having to fire the gun in order to save his life.

Needless to say, it didn't surprise Twill a lot when in the late afternoon, he spotted a familiar shadow. Of course the Gamemakers would try and dump him into a bout of drama by forcing him to cross paths with another tribute.

Twill felt guilty again. What happened the last time he let his guard down? Now there was nobody to throw themselves in front of him as a heroic sacrifice.

They tribute in question was wearing all grey, their clothes clearly dirtied from a week in the arena. Twill had been trying his best to keep up with who was left and who had perished but his brain felt like mush and suddenly nothing was clear anymore.

Actually, no. He didn't want to know who this was. Because then they'd feel familiar and he could possibly get attached and he'd never be able to go through with killing them. Blank slates were easier to destroy then walls covered in personality.

"Hello?" The tribute had seen him. They wrapped their arms around themselves. "Who's there?"

Twill didn't respond. Instead, he raised the gun and pointed it straight at the tribute's face.

They gulped. "What...what are you doing? Are you going to shoot me?"

It would probably take him only a few seconds to pull the trigger. If he didn't flinch, they'd have a hole through the head and that would hopefully be enough to quickly kill them. But he couldn't. There was something nagging him at the back of his mind, telling him not to pull the trigger and give this tribute, this starving scared tribute, a chance.

Twill lowered the gun. "Who are you, again?"
"I'm Clair. From District 12."

"Hi Clair." Saying their name out loud reminded him of his district partner's name but Twill tried to push that thought away. "I'm Twill."

"You should leave," Clair said quickly, jumping back from him. "Please leave me alone."
"I'm not gonna shoot you anymore."

Twill began to ponder his options. Clair was just about ready to run off, but the arena was clearly unkind to them and they had practically nothing. He still had quite a few supplies. So why wasn't Clair seizing the opportunity to kill him themself? Even if they had no weapons, they could at least give it a try.

Actually, he had a different idea in mind.

"Clair, are you looking for allies?"
"No." Clair shook their head. "I'm not the kind of person you should be allying with."
"Are you sure? You don't have anything. No food, water, nothing. I've still got enough supplies for two people."

Clair hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"If it's fine with you."

The tribute from 12 awkwardly folded their arms before they finally spoke again. "I wouldn't mind. It might be nice. But I'm bad luck."
"Okay."
"No seriously. I'm like, really bad luck."

Twill tried to nervously laugh it off. That got a tiny smile out of Clair for a few seconds, reliving the tension he felt. "Well I'm sure it won't be that bad. You'll be safe with me."
"Okay. I trust you, Twill."

He hoped he wasn't making a fatal decision.

Amelia Williams, 13
District 5 Female

Every cannon made her jump. But it also made her a little pissed off. That was on more kill she'd never get the chance to claim for herself.

She couldn't explain why she felt this way, or why she was desperate to jump onto the nearest tribute and tear them to shreds. Maybe it was because nobody expected to her to go as far as she did and that was just so satisfying.

Good. Keep underestimating Amelia Williams.

But where was her acknowledgement? Her sponsor gifts? Did the audience really hate her that much for betraying her alliance that they were withholding items from her. Rotten bastards. Fine. She didn't need them. She could keep herself alive and she was a doing well job if she did say so herself.

She had to admit, it was kind of fun being the bad guy.

Another day had passed by without her running into another tribute. She was starting to grow a little annoyed. Seriously. Where was everyone? Plus, it was way too dark for her to keep searching in hopes of accidentally running into someone else. Or, she could potentially slip and plummet to her death. That was the last thing Amelia wanted.

Fine. Tomorrow was another day and would hopefully bring a new opportunity.

Once the sky was dark enough to keep her from properly seeing anything, then anthem began to play. Only one face was visible in the sky tonight, that of the boy from 7.

"What the heck?" Amelia said out loud. That guy!? The one guy who had actually tried to kill her? Him!? Wow. The remaining tributes must've been more ruthless then she realized. Truly, there were no innocents left. Not like Amelia claimed to be one of them.

"That's what you get for killing my ally, you no-good rotten tree-hugger!" Amelia yelled as Veles's face slowly faded away and he was never to be seen again.

Hmmmm. Hopefully, nobody would call her out on her hypocrisy. She didn't care. She was trying not to care. She had been on her own for a week now. She was over it and everyone else could get over it too. Dead tributes were like storybook pages. Just another smidgen of detail in the tale of the actual Victor.

She should've gotten the jump on Veles when she had the chance.

Amelia lay down, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position to sleep in. Granted, she never actually slept in the arena. Just rested, then woke up every hour or so to check her surroundings. Then repeat. It was exhausting, but it was the only way she could keep herself safe while still having enough energy for the next day.

How she missed pillows. Beds. Blankets. A warm room with a closed door, a roof over her head, and a window that separated her from the outside world but still allowed her to marvel at it. A soft gentle hand placed on her head, a tender kiss on the cheeks, whispers to have a good sleep and that those she loved would see her tomorrow when she was awake...

"Whatever..." Amelia muttered to herself. She had almost managed to drift off. Stupid sentimental thoughts, keeping her awake.

This time, she kept her mind blank. She was stubbornly going to think of nothing. That actually seemed to work, because it was tiring as she was finally drifting off a second time.

Amelia found herself standing in the clouds, all white and fluffy and billowed at her feet. Her legs would actually go through them as she searched the area, going in whatever direction she felt like. They must've been high up above Panem, but it didn't feel any colder. The sky was a bright pleasant blue and well-lit and-

Someone grabbed her ankle and then she was falling.

Through the clouds, plummeting straight towards the Earth. She could see District 5 underneath her and she tucked in her head, bracing herself for the inevitable blow. Instead, she went sailing past the ground and into a chasm that had opened up. It was spewing a thick, orange molten fluid whose flames threatened to eat the edges of her clothes.

Arms reached out and lunged at her, pulling her further into the hellish chasm. They were bones, with no muscles, skin of flesh attached to them. Skulls slowly sailed past her, yet to be burned alive by the chasm. She began to frantically reach for the edges of charred rock, trying to pull herself free and out of here...wherever here was.

"Are you leaving us again?" The skulls asked her.
"Go away!"
"You're going to betray us, aren't you? Or leave us to die?"

Amelia grunted as she kicked one of the hands back into the molten pool beneath her. Her hands were starting to slip off. She couldn't hang on for much longer. The exit to the chasm was such a long way up. She might not make it.

The rocks began to crack.

The skulls began to moan.

The hands multiplied.

She was falling again.

Amelia jolted awake, accidentally slamming her head against the ground. She groaned, rubbing at the sore spot a bit as she sat up and let her eyes adjust the darkness. So it had all just been a nightmare. She rarely got any kind of dreams in the arena, let alone one so damn terrifying...

No way could she fall asleep anymore. Amelia just sat there, unsure of what to do.

Until she noticed the shadows. And their whispering. And how they were much too human to be figments of her imagination. That gave her an idea. Sleep be damned.

9th place: Veles Dragomir, District 7. Stabbed in the back by Weller.

I like this guy. Veles was a really cool dude, but I think he was too cool for this arena. Hell, he's way too cool for TMH. He had a really captivating story, but unfortunately, his story would be one much easier to tell if it wasn't for the Games. And as a result, I found myself constantly staring at a blank wall, unsure of where to take him. He was a loner with not a lot of social interactions or bonds, which made writing him a little more difficult. At least he gets to be reunited with his sister. Thanks for him, Sparky She-Demon!

Yeah, so this chapter is a little short than what I typically write. And I left out the alliances and kill count stuff just because I didn't feel like putting it in. Honestly, this chapter should've been ready to go last month, but I often got stuck in multiple places writing this out. I do want to keep up with updating this story as much as I can, and I don't know how possible that is for the time being.

I will not abandon TMH. I will not discontinue TMH. I will finish it and give all tributes closure, no matter how long it takes me.

Anyways, congrats to the submitters of Elise, Amelia. Zilla, Darra, Twill, Red, Weller, and Clair. Your tribute(s) are in the Final 8!

That now means sponsor gifts have been reduced to one person per chapter. So choose wisely. Also, I will not be writing the Final 8 interviews, as I genuinely dislike writing interviews out and I have no ideas on what to do for them. Sorry.

See you all next chapter,

-Vr