Day 5!

Reviews!:

SparkHat: Well, I'm glad you're reading, I suppose… XD. I hope you enjoy the parts of the story you've yet to meet, and I'm excited to hear your feedback!

Clis2339: I'm not sure that that would necessarily be "funny," though perhaps you meant "interesting" or "coincidental." I am sorry to hear about your grandmother though, and I didn't know Sonia was going to pass until I'd already written it! Thanks for the review, though!

dreams and desperation: Yeah, it really was. Thanks for the review!

TranscendentElvenRanger: "Well-written"? Thank you! While they can be a pain, I feel they're necessary in the end. And that despite the blood covering my keyboard, I know I will continue to do them. Thanks for the review!

roses burning: A cruise? That's fantastic! First you go to Hawaii without me, and now you go on a cruise without me? Shameful… My parents also went on a cruise earlier this summer, though they didn't take me then either. Thanks for the review!

Also, I'd like to advertise for some stories really fast. On my profile I have a couple tributes whose stories need more tributes (Julian and Daphne), but Daphne's only has 3 left! GO submit if you can!

Also, a story I haven't yet submitted to needs submissions: No One Laughs Last by TheyAlwaysUseADagger. I plan on submitting to the boys from Three and Thirteen, so don't take them! ;)

If you want me to advertise for your story, let me know, preferably through PM. Only 249.99 per word. ;)

Also, I just want to warn you (for a future chapter, of course) about the fact that I will NOT be warning you about any horridness I write during the Games. For one thing, it's the Games, and if you thought you might come across mutilation and be disgusted by it, you wouldn't be here. For another, it might spoil the fact that there's a death that chapter, something I cannot allow.


Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell


He's here, I can feel it.

He will haunt me throughout my time in this awful place, I know. He blames me for what is to happen, though it isn't my fault, I don't think. "An eye for an eye," he whispers in the dark, "a friend for a friend." The whispers become a chant, louder and louder as a chorus of voices rise up alongside his own, drowning out my cries for help, my desperate attempt to escape. The voices grow to a crescendo, howling as they tell him to kill me, that I deserve it. Cold rips through my soul as the darkness invades like a virus, destroying what once was and replacing it with something I don't like.

A sudden and blinding light breaks through the black, and a lance of lightning streaks toward me like a dart, the sound of thunder following closely alongside it. I collapse to my knees, and the deafening roar is followed by a terrible shriek as cold liquid splatters over my back-

I jerk awake, shaken by the nightmare and blanketed in cold sweat. I shake the drowsiness from my eyes quickly, looking around the cave for Blue. I catch sight of him in the exact same position he was in when we went to bed, lying on a raised platform of black stone as the water level rose below him.

Except there wasn't any water here last night. It was dry, safe. We never would have hidden here if we thought otherwise.

Everything clicks as I realize what's going on. The water in the lower part of the cave is about a foot deep, flowing up to where I had been sleeping, which explains why my back is soaking wet. I look to the cave opening, where water, ice-cold and perhaps fresh from the sky, is honestly pouring in. I know we're much lower than the surrounding area; if we stay here much longer, the surrounding area will prevent us from leaving.

I get to my feet, though I'm forced to crouch with the low ceiling. I throw the pack on, my back stinging slightly as my soaked undershirt presses deep into my skin. I ignore it as I wade into the water, my boots dipping deep enough for the frigidness to flood them. By the time I reach my ally, my teeth are gritted and I feel like ice.

I can't prevent myself from tripping as another wave sloshes through, and he wakes quickly, fumbling for his spear as he rolls into the water. He comes up sputtering, his face contorted in shock. He looks up at me for a moment, soaked and freezing, before getting up and making his way to the exit. I follow as quickly as I can, though I'm mostly trying to not fall. The water has nearly reached my torso, and the light in the small room fades out momentarily as Blue pushes through the small opening.

I take a deep breath as I plunge through the small gap, trying my best to hurry before my nerves freeze from the cold. My head goes under, and I begin to panic when I'm jerked to a stop. I can't see, but I can feel the water surging around me, the pack on my shoulders, the-

I'm running out of air, I can feel it. My body, or my bag, is snagged on something, and I'm starting to feel lightheaded. Unable to think straight, panic flows through my cells, and I begin to flail wildly. I almost scream as I feel something grasp my arm, but then I realize that it must be help. I grab the person's wrist, sure it must be Blue. Who else would help me?

Finally, my brain just can't take it anymore. As I feel myself tug free, the already black of the flow seems to grow darker, the overwhelming cold fading away…


Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


The Gamemakers can't seem to make up their minds today. When I first woke up, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Soon after the sunlight began to grow warm, however, heavy rain began pouring over the Arena. Now, it's barely sprinkling. I don't know what they were trying to achieve with the inconsistent weather patterns, but I'm not sure it's working; no cannons have sounded. Yet.

No cannons sounded yesterday either, and while that's normal in any Hunger Games, I guess the Capitol must have been bored. It was the first day without death, and possibly without conflict to my knowledge. Maybe they planned on drowning a tribute earlier, or driving some of them together. Couldn't have been me though. I've been given no reason to leave as of yet, and the former downpour is only getting lighter.

Come to think of it, it may have been a warning.

I'll have to keep on my toes, not that I wasn't doing that already. I don't know where the closest tributes are, or how far away I may be. If the Capitol or the Gamemakers are already growing bored, anything can strike at any given time.

The ground is still covered in a couple inches of water, though it's really not that effective in terms of slowing me down. I can't find a place to rest though, unwilling to get any wetter than I already am. The boots are waterproof thankfully, so at least my feet are dry. The rest of me hasn't been so fortunate, though the sheer heat of the jungle is quickly warming me up. I'm not going to be dying from hypothermia anytime soon, but being wet is annoying.

It's hard to believe how… alone I feel here. I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone else since… Day Two. Since everything went downhill. And now, I'm alone, in the Top Sixteen, and I have no idea how long I'll be here or whether or not I'll even go home. This is all so stupid.

Already, I have changed so much. The only people I ever talked to before the Games are all dead now, leaving me with fifteen others whom I've never spoken to, nor would likely care about my death. Save, I suppose, for Willow from Eleven. Or the boy from Eight, whose name I honestly can't remember. At this point, however, I think they're the only ones I'd feel a pang of regret over, should I see their faces in the sky one of these nights. The three of us are so close in age, such a young age… I'd feel it, at least.

The older tributes, evidently, I wouldn't care so much about. Or maybe it's because the One boy was a Career. I didn't feel anything for him two nights ago; I just shrugged it off and went to sleep. I didn't wonder how he might have died, for he deserved it, whatever it was. Besides, it couldn't have been as painful or horrendous as losing Denny had been.

Who, if anybody, will die today? If the Gamemakers are, in fact, trying to drive some tributes together, what kind of confrontation will they be looking for? No, what kind of question is that? Blood, of course, and lots of it. Pain, suffering. So, the unlucky tribute is being taken to the Careers. Or, maybe, the boy from Nine, who scored a Nine in training. Could be taking him to the Pack too, I suppose.

So, in all likelihood, today's death(s) will consist of a tribute from Three, the Four boy, either of the Fives or Sixes, the boys from Seven or Eight, or Willow. If the Nine boy dies, one of the Careers might go with him, and then it could be any of the four of them, though I think it'd be the One girl. Not that I have any way of knowing, of course.

I groan as I feel the rain grow heavier, the fat drops pounding against the hood of my poncho. I understand why they gave us these now; for this day. I suspect tomorrow will be worse, so I should probably find some sort of shelter before the end of the day. Perhaps I can look further into the metal canister I picked up in the Bloodbath.

I look around, thankful that the rain cannot come down in thick sheets due to the overbearing jungle canopy, and instead comes down in small chutes of water, falling from leaf to leaf before touching the ground. One particular tree near me, I realize, has a massive wall of white hovering beside it, the leaves positioned in a way that anything below them, behind the wide tubes of water, can comfortably sit on the tree limb, only a couple thin slits leaving them visible to the outside world. I examine the holes carefully, making sure to not approach the tree until I am certain that the small, incredibly unlikely shelter is, in fact, vacant. I have no reason to believe otherwise, so I plunge in.

I am almost overwhelmed by the sheer cold, stinging my face and sliding down my torso, but in an instant, it's over. Still in the water, I jump up, against the current and onto the massive branch, pulling my feet away until they're free of the water. I hug my knees to my chest, shivering slightly. I realize now that while the poncho is nearly waterproof, the pants my stylist gave me are anything but.

I would leave, try and get warm, but I have no chance to at the moment. My mind refuses to let me jump back through the freezing sheet, my arms and legs shakily agreeing. I'm going to have to wait until the rain stops, or at least slows.

Sighing, I carefully slip the bag off my shoulders, retrieving the metal object I spent a majority of yesterday trying to figure out.

At the moment, I have all the time in the world. Until this rain gives me an opportunity, I'm going to have to use this fortunate, or unfortunate time wisely.


Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell


I've always hated rain. It soaks you to the bone, makes equipment unusable, and just makes life miserable overall. I should probably be used to it, growing up in a place like Seven, but I hate it all the same. Marching through the torrent, hefting axes and logs and trying to not slip and break a neck. Even in the Arena, the horrible weather refuses to leave me be. My hammock is waterlogged, and while I don't necessarily need it for the time being, I had gotten used to lying there in peace day to day.

At least it's relatively dry here underneath it, I suppose. I've been sitting on the branch about ten feet below it ever since I had given up on getting the water out of it, resolving to wait the storm out. The only con about my current position is the rivers of ice flowing down the tree and, by extension, my back. The poncho may keep us dry, but it doesn't do much to fend off the cold.

I'm in the final Sixteen, in the Hunger Games. The thought is somehow surprising, knowing how little I've had to do thus far to get here. I've outlived a Career, my District Partner, two whole Districts, and others. All I've done is survive the Bloodbath and set up that blasted hammock. I haven't seen another tribute since before the cannons first began to sound.

It's very difficult to imagine myself making it back home. While I likely have the skill for it, it's just not exactly… realistic. Already, what I had thought would be strong competitors this year are already gone, such as the boys from One and Eleven and even the girls from Nine and Thirteen. Heck, even Kenzi is dead, and the Capitol loved her.

My stomach knots itself again as the thought of my District Partner surfaces. She was the only other tribute I spoke to, the only one who's hopes and dreams I understood. Just a few days ago, she had smashed Interview Night, destroyed my suit on the Chariot. Now she's another of over 3500 deaths, caused by the Arena and the Gamemakers and the Capitol. A mere ant, something to be stepped on. And I very well could be next.

I groan as more raindrops begin to fall against my hood, and I carefully look up at the annoyance. My hammock, or my shelter at this point, has begun to overfill again. Time to empty it.

Quickly, I turn myself to face the trunk of the tree, and begin to ascend. The climbing is slow-going with the rain slickening the tree and my frozen fingers, so it actually takes me well over a minute to climb the whole ten feet. I straddle the branch below it, pushing my bag, which I had left strung up with it for the time being, out of the way. I'm about to flip the tarp when voices ring through the air.

"Are you sure we need to be out today?" A girl asks, "The others will all be hiding from the weather, how could we find them exactly?" I turn slowly toward the voice, my heart beginning to beat fast. I curse the Gamemakers as I realize that the rain has ceased for a moment, no doubt to more easily catch my reaction to the Career girls being so close, and so that they might find me since looking up is no longer a problem. I hug the tree as the Four girl explains.

"Yes, which will make cornering them so much simpler. Remember the Eleven girl? She got away because she either saw us coming, or got extremely lucky. If we catch some tribute in their cave or something, they won't be able to escape." Both of them laugh as they pass under my tree, and my petrified body begs for relief from all the tension. Just a few more steps…

I nearly fall in fear when a sound like thunder breaks the air. I whip my head around, and find that, to my horror, the overfilled tarp has ripped almost cleanly in two. And, as though that weren't enough, the water crashes loudly to the ground, and my backpack slips from the knot I used to tie it to the now useless hammock.

I reach out desperately, everything seeming to move more slowly as the bag, my supplies, freefalls through the air. I see my outstretched hand moving toward it, my fingers slowly wrapping around one of the straps. The momentum nearly sends me over the edge, but I lean back as my senses return to me. I throw the bag on my shoulders, breathing a sigh of relief.

A sudden pain, however, makes me scream. I look down at my right leg, where a long and thin line of red replaces the cloth around my shin. I catch sight of the Two girl again, who is preparing to cast another knife. The Four girl stands by, holding a sword menacingly.

I don't hesitate, climbing higher so that I might escape the Two girl's range. I flinch as another weapon embeds itself in the tree next to my left hand, but I keep climbing, until I'm deep in the jungle canopy. I must be seventy feet up, but that doesn't deter the Careers. My heart leaps into my throat again as I realize that they're coming up, less than twenty feet below me.

My head turns in a frenzy, my mind working at a hundred miles an hour to find an escape, a way to survive. Vines? No, I might be too heavy. Going down is not an option. I almost smile as I catch sight of another mangrove, its limbs intermingling with the branches of the tree I'm currently in. Taking a deep breath and hoping for luck, I scramble across the wooden bridge, refusing to look back until I've made it safely to the other side.

One of the girls is blocking the other side of the bridge, whilst the other one is quickly climbing back down.

I begin to make my way down, hoping to race the Career, when a voice calls out from above me, "Mera, he's coming down! Hurry!" I look over to see that the Four girl is still a good ten feet below me, and I know I must speed up. In this race, it's win or die, and I don't like the idea of the latter. As I feel my feet touch ground, I sprint as fast as I can, refusing to look back once again.


Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


An ambush. I'd have never thought that that would be the way I died, though I suppose I'm not exactly dead yet. Aran saw to that, and has continued to care for me since the incident. He refuses to let me do anything, which is incredibly irritating. The Four boy didn't even score a good hit; it's not like this is going to kill me. He was more terrified in that moment than determined.

Until he had me down. Weak. Then Aran shows up, apparently circling the area when he found the Eight boy. I honestly didn't think he had it in him. The look in his eyes screamed for blood, and for a moment there I thought he was actually going to do it. Nobody died though, and I suppose that's good as it means I'm alive with an ally.

The Six boy has a fire going, his poncho and undershirt suspended over it so as to keep the fire going and perhaps dry the soaked clothing in the meantime. Our tarp, black and waterproof, hangs over me like a dark cloud, keeping me out of the rain while my ally suffers through the cold without a shirt on. I wonder if he is used to such conditions, from back in Six. He seldom talks about his home to me anyway, save for small mentions of his sister.

He keeps looking between our fire and me. It seems like he's thinking about how exactly the conversation, which perhaps would have been better discussed yesterday, should start. I've been thinking too, but I don't know exactly what I should be thinking.

He risked his life for me, but he's the competition. I'm his competition, another obstacle between himself and Reyna. He could have let me die, then killed the boys from Four and Eight while they were distracted. He could be in the top half right now, and yet he still managed to save me and spare the others.

One way or another, at least one of us will die. I'm just not sure who I'd prefer to have go home.

I try to stretch out my legs, but hiss in pain as the makeshift-bandage around my thigh tightens. I pray in silence that Aran didn't notice, but naturally, he just so happened to have glanced at me at that precise moment. I look away from his face, his expression filled with concern, then kick myself as I hear him walk over. I scoot myself out of the way as he takes a seat beside me, and I want to laugh as the heavy raindrops smacking against the tarp cease. The Gamemakers want to hear what happens, as usual.

"You okay?" He asks, glancing down at my leg.

"Peachy." I say, a sarcastic smirk contorting my face. "I'm near-helpless in this darned Arena, and I'm supposed to be the one taking out the helpless." I suppress a groan as I shift again to look at him better.

He smiles slightly at that, which surprises me. He takes a deep breath, and I know this is it. "Malaya, where exactly are we planning on going with this?" He asks, looking at me. The words replay themselves over and over in my head, and I remember a hundred tributes in a hundred Games asking the same thing.

"Normally," I begin, laughing slightly, "an Alliance would go until one tribute outlives their usefulness. And while that'd be my go-to answer, it isn't exactly the smartest line of thought in my current position." He smiles, then mirrors my laugh, though it's perhaps a little more genuine. The tension is beginning to wear thin, to my relief.

"That's not exactly what I was going for." He responds thoughtfully, looking away for a moment. "But, would you say, like, Top Ten? Eight? Four? Until the end? All that may be a long way away, but it might be best to start thinking about it now." He looks away sheepishly, and I understand why. This is all under the assumption that we even make it that far, and while there's still a chance, it's still not very big.

"Aran, chances are we won't even-"

"But what if we do? What then?" He persists, and I just look at him.

"Then I guess we do as we're told. All promises and memories and debts no longer exist; we fight it out until only one remains." I answer at last, blinking slowly.

"So until the very end?"

"Until the very end." I repeat.

We're both jolted from our thoughts as an unnatural electronic sound breaks the air. The rain has yet to proceed, and Aran hurries out to our camp to investigate. He returns with the parachute, sitting down beside me as he rips the package away from the cloth. Carefully, he opens the container, and we both eagerly look inside.

A single fabric bandage, several feet in length, as well as a tube of ointment for cuts. Aran looks at me as I quickly move to untie the vine and the small square cut from the tarp (which took forever, by the way, as Aran lost the knife yesterday), and yanks the package away as I reach for the supplies.

"Allow me." He says, kneeling down beside me as he squeezes some shimmery blue liquid onto his forefinger. It stings slightly as he massages the wound, and I look back down at the metal canister as I try to not scream. I cock my head slightly as I catch a flash of white peeking out, and I reach in out of curiosity. Aran doesn't notice my movement, too focused on dressing my leg to care. I recognize the small slip of paper as a note, often a tribute's only connection to the outside world. It can also tell us who sent it.

I'm surprised when I flip it over and read what it says. While I had been expecting some discouragement from Jade to stay with Aran much longer, what I find is completely different.

Until the very end. –Kiara.


Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


Five days. I've been in the Arena for five days. How exactly anyone my age can endure such terror- and trauma- is honestly beyond me. And winning? I might determine that Victory is impossible for someone like me, if it weren't for the thirteen others that have won in the past seventy years. Granted, six of them were trained in some way or another. None of the others were from Eleven, making our youngest Orchus, at fourteen. The fact that I'm still breathing is beyond my comprehension.

On top of all this, it's freaking raining. It's almost as though the Gamemakers are trying to make us miserable. Or as if they're trying to kill someone. Wait a second. The whole reason we're here is to die.

I haven't dared return to the place I saw the Careers. For all I know, they could have seen me, which I suspect they had, and might be watching the area for any sign of me. No, I refuse to die.

Already, I've somewhat acquainted myself with this new section of jungle I've found myself in, and I've found a small animal trail that leads down to the water. I had found myself a tree to stay in during the day, but I don't think it's safe to be that high up with everything being so slick. The rocks and terrain down here aren't very comfortable, but I'll have to make do. I'd rather not die yet.

The weather has been off and on all day, and I can't help but wonder how no cannons have sounded. It seems like there might have been some close calls, but there's still sixteen of us here. What are they playing at?

I freeze when an unnatural sound breaks through the sound of pounding rain against the hood of my poncho. I slowly look around for a moment, before my heart leaps as I recognize the sharp beep of a parachute. I scan the sky for it, and almost cry out in surprise when it drifts right past my head. I scramble forward, attempting and failing to catch it before it hits the ground. I lift it gingerly before finding the clasp, pulling it open quickly.

I can't help being slightly disappointed when I find nothing more than the note and a pocket knife. The blade can't be much more than two inches long, the willow handle about twice as long as the metal. Not very flashy or useful, especially in open combat, but I suppose I could slit someone's throat with it.

I shudder at the thought of blood flowing profusely out of another person's neck, something seen all too often in the Games.

I shove the knife in my pocket, and I finally think on what this all means. I have Sponsors! Not many, but I do have some people rooting for me! That must count for something. I reach back in to the package, pulling out the single piece of paper, already soaked through from the rain.

Everything's a weapon. -Crysta


Devon Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


If I didn't know any better, I'd think that the rain is causing the sea level to slowly crawl up my beach. But the ocean is massive, or so I had learned, and thus a day's worth of rain shouldn't give me any reason to worry. Then again, I used to be able to take twelve to eighteen strides at different points of the day to get down to the water. Today, it's only five to seven, with and without the tide.

I think I'll wait until tomorrow though, hold off moving or whatever until I'm completely certain. I'll move a little farther inland though, just in case.

The river, which is a very long ways from my camp, has also swelled to massive size. By tomorrow, I wouldn't be surprised if it actually outgrew its banks, provided the rain continues. The Capitol might be growing bored though, so the downpour could potentially only get worse. It is, after all, the fifth day of the Games, and nobody has died yet today, nor did anybody yesterday. The Gamemakers might be trying to drive the tributes together, which they technically could do with a Feast of some sort. The way they think is beyond me, honestly.

I look up into the west, where the sun had disappeared over an hour ago. I hate to think of what its rays could bring tomorrow, what death and torment and terror. For now, though, all I see is the seal of Panem, the words of the anthem like a sadistic chant over the Arena.

The Horn of Plenty-

The Horn of Plenty overflows!

Panem shall raise above-

Panem shall reign above-

May our nation never fall, again.

The Horn of Plenty overflows!

The seal disappears, replaced by the words Day Five: No Deaths. I breathe a shaky sigh as the message hovers for a moment, before the seal shows itself once more, before vanishing for the final time today.

What will it bring tomorrow?


Placings!

26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male

25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female

24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female

23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male

22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female

21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female

20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female

19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male

18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male

17th: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male


Kills!

Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)

Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)

Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)

Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)

Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)

Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))


YES I DON'T HAVE THE POINTS HERE. THIS IS BECAUSE I'M CONSIDERING ABOLISHING THEM AND GIVING THE PEOPLE THE FREEDOM THEY DESERVE WHEN IT COMES TO SPONSORING TRIBUTES. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.


Alliances!

Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).

Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)

Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)

Loners!

Infiniti (3)

Cordin (3)

Devon (5)

Darius (5)

Jetta (6)

Logan (7)

Thanatos (9)

Cheyenne (10)

Willow (11)


Questions!

Thoughts on the chapter?

Favorite POV?

Least?

Thoughts on my Sponsoring idea?

What is going to go down?


Until next time,

Lord Z