And, Day Seven people! About time!

I am so sorry guys. I had no motivation whatsoever, and when I did, I'd sit down to write and only lose interest again. I got the new laptop though, and it's fantastic!

Reviews!

dreams and desperation: Yeah, I'm a real jerk XD. Thanks for the review!

roses burning: The fact that you take the time to review is amazing! There are so many who seem to have disappeared, and it breaks my heart, but you, dreams, Clis, Misty and a few others have always been here. Thanks so much for the review!

Clis2339: I've already had my toenail ripped off, so I'll go with that one. And yes, it was incredibly uncomfortable. And, um… which one am I getting paid for? XD. Probs the shower to be honest. Thanks for the review!

Again, I love all my readers. I love all my tributes. I love all the authors who have taken the time to write for my characters. This site is my break from the mortal world. I can create my own fantasy and brutally murder anyone I wish out of anger (no, that's not what happened to Jetta. She was submitted as a tortured soul). Thank you guys so much!


Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell


"So what's the plan from here?" Henry asks quietly, studying a jar of some grasshopper-looking bugs. Already, he's taken to chopping a couple up and mashing them together, putting them in a plastic baggie. I'm unsure how exactly he managed to get enough money for it, but I'd get no answers asking about it anyway.

What's the plan from here? I resist the urge to gag at the thought, as I have since I saved him from drowning. Since he saved me from drowning. He still seems shaken by the experience, but the collection of herbs and powders and insects seems to have lifted him ever-so-slightly.

I know he was wondering aloud what he should make next, but he unknowingly voiced my thoughts. Where do we go from here? Where do we want to be? How long will this last? At what point will my ally become a burden?

With all these questions stinging my mind, I ask: "What have you made?"

He looks up from his ponderings, a broad grin spreading over his face. "Well, let's see- I've just mashed together a healing salve that should help blood to clot faster, I have a mixture for rashes, though I haven't seen any poison ivy yet. I even have little pills to help with headaches!" He shakes his fists triumphantly, and I can't help but laugh. He cocks his head, that wicked grin on his face, and I imagine him with a long, pointy hat and a wand. Assuming his little formulas work, he could be a little wizard from the old stories- the ones about a lightning-shaped scar, a basilisk, a dark lord and a school of magic.

I am reminded, painfully, of the outer world, which I so desperately want to get back to. The thing is, there are over a dozen others who feel the same way, including my young friend. I couldn't bear to be the one to rip that away from him. He's told me about his sisters, his grandmother the miracle doctor, keeping even old Hazel Cardigan alive for the past couple decades. That lady is almost a hundred.

But I have my own home. Father, who I abandoned all those years ago. Mother, who reappeared after the Reaping. Tycho, my old nemesis. Coraline, my only true friend. I'd have to give that up so another may return to whatever it is they have. Would I be able to ever willingly make that sacrifice?

"Henry." I say slowly, my thoughts running wild. We've been here a week, and yet neither of us has given voice to the shadows of our heads. "What is the plan, do you think? How long do you think is safe for us to, well… remain? We can only endure so much, and I'd hate for it to come down to us…"

He looks up as I speak, his intelligent eyes scanning my face, my soul. "How am I supposed to know?" He jokes, but I can tell he's afraid of where this is going. "You know more than I do; how far do you think is reasonable?"

I think for a moment. He handed me this decision. I could take it and run, or I could hold out a little longer.

"There are thirteen others out there." I say. "The likelihood of either of us surviving on our own, with so many still capable of killing either of us, well… I don't like those odds. And I'd rather one of us go home than a Two or even… even Mera." As soon as I say it, I know it's true. If I died, I'd rather Mera, my only connection from home, die too. If I couldn't, I'd love to see this boy win.

Henry visibly releases his breath, and the color begins to return to his knuckles, wrapped tightly around the hilt of the Six boy's knife. He blinks slowly, looking at me quizzically. "And?"

A hundred Games and a thousand Alliances fly through my mind, and I take hold of a singular idea that succeeded more often than not.

"How about the Final Eight? By then, we'll each have a one-in-eight chance of survival, technically speaking. That's seven deaths away, and by then we could be here another week." It hits me then just how slow these Games are progressing. So many fallen in the Bloodbath, and only three in the days after. I very well could be with this boy well after Day Fourteen.

Henry strokes his chin in thought, and I fight the urge to laugh. I know he's trying to be comical again, worried even as the deal is more than many can hope for.

"You know what, Blue? You've got yourself a deal." He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly. He gives a small smile before returning to his supplies.

"Now, what was that recipe for anti-hemlock?" He mutters.


Cassia Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


Day Seven. I had been hoping we'd be farther along by this point, maybe the Top Twelve, but there are still so many left. Besides myself, we have that wretched, self-important Mera, my idiot Partner Mason, Malaya and Jasper, who abandoned ship, all from Career districts. Despite having five trained killers remaining in the Game, there are ten others still out there somewhere. Hiding. Watching, maybe. It's difficult to be an effective killing force if you can't cover as much ground. Two people on patrol at a time, and one left behind to defend the supplies. This seemed like it would be so much easier when there was going to be six of us. Not anymore.

Especially not today. After the events of last night, Mera's fun, Mason stealing her kill- which was hilarious- she was furious, I suppose. She ripped into him last night, and not in the fun way. It took forever for me to fall asleep last night, listening to her shouts and threats. This morning, however, she was gone.

She didn't take any supplies, no. We checked her tent, finding that only her sword was gone. All our bags are here, and we can't figure out whether anything's missing from them. It seems she just woke up and went hunting before we could.

Mason's staring at the fire, a slight smile playing across his lips. He hasn't said much to me this morning, though what is there to talk about, really? We've gone to great lengths talking about the others since this Game started, since we Volunteered. We already know plenty about each other; we trained together, and knowing your enemy's strengths is all you need in the Hunger Games. There's no reason to discuss last night's kill, the girl wasn't even that important in the greater scheme of things. I couldn't even tell you her name. She was just another face in the sky, another one I'd have to kill.

I subconsciously run my hands over my knife vest, wincing slightly as the edge of a fighting knife tugs over the scar of my right palm. The Five girl's aim is either quite extraordinary, or she's extremely lucky. I do know her name. Devon Rose. She and her Partner are one of the few remaining outlier pairs. She didn't particularly stand out to me, the Fives never do, but now she's on my hit list.

"Think we'll catch anyone today?" Mason calls loudly. I roll my eyes before walking to sit across from him. He knows as well as I do that no tribute would dare venture into our camp with both the Twos here, and it's honestly best that neither of us leave before we locate Mera.

I voice my thoughts to him, and he scowls.

"Who cares what she's doing? She's out pouting; I don't see why we should suffer because she can't handle the fact that I'm better." I roll my eyes, wondering how exactly shooting a girl on the ground in the neck makes you "better."

Granted, he did shoot a squirming Six in the carotid artery. With a crossbow. But that gives him no right to berate Mera. Even if I don't necessarily like her.

The skies are clear today. I don't know what the Gamemakers are playing at; the rain should have made it more difficult to us to find tributes, though I suppose it did help us yesterday. It might have flushed them out, but the limited visibility, coupled with the already dark jungle, would have undoubtedly made our jobs even more difficult in general.

I guess the single death was good enough to satisfy them for a bit.

Mason snarls before getting up and making his way to the tent. I watch him go, imagining the anxiety he must be feeling in this place. His desire to rip peoples' heads off probably doesn't help, nor the fact that only three tributes have died since the initial Bloodbath. It's been a week, and only eleven tributes have died. I haven't the slightest clue what happened to the Nine girl and the boy from Ten. The rest were felled by us, or at least near us. Marcus was killed by the Nine boy, or so Mason claims.

One week, and the Careers are already down to three. Three against twelve, I'm not a fan of those odds. But I don't have to be.


Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


Aran wasn't as distraught last night as I had thought he'd be. We both new that the chances of the one cannon yesterday being hers were relatively high, especially this far in the Game. With all that rain yesterday, we had figured they just wanted to prove they were in control. They wouldn't kill a "major player," not in such an anticlimactic matter. They wouldn't have killed the girls from Ten or Eleven, because their deaths would need to be more heartfelt. We didn't die, either. Aside from Jetta, that leaves only a handful of potential kills.

He seems more at peace almost, not having to worry about her anymore. My leg wound has healed considerably since we got the cream, and I've been left with little more than a limp, and so he doesn't seem much concerned after me, to which I'm thankful. He seems to really be getting into the attitude of the Hunger Games, a free-for-all-type persona.

He's been practicing with that bow a lot more too, the constant thud of arrows striking trees a constant companion since I woke up. He's a crazy straight shot with that thing, and the trees surrounding our camp are now peppered with holes. He's been rotating as he takes aim, if only to make sure he doesn't break another arrow.

He sighs, rolling his shoulders as he follows the final shot, before moving to collect them for the hundredth time this morning. I'm not sure what it is exactly he's trying to prepare himself for, but he seems more determined than ever.

"Aran?" I call hesitantly as he rips an arrow free, sticking it back in the quiver. He freezes, turning slowly to face me. He cocks his head, and the storm behind his eyes surprises me. The one look, which he quickly masks, is one of anger, regret.

He studies me for a moment, and my fingers twitch involuntarily toward the javelin. His expression is unreadable, but I hold his gaze. Finally, the tempest dies, the weapons fall to the ground, ignored, as the Six boy walks away from them.

Toward me.

I panic for a moment as I imagine him venting his frustration through strangling me, beating me, as I had seen in past Games. He just plops down next to me, moaning softly. I turn toward him, shivering despite the heat. The crazy, intense heat. There are tears in his eyes now, and his expression seems darker. I jerk away, gazing back into the hot, dark jungle.

"Malaya?" I cringe pathetically, and I want to cry. I don't know what's going on. Why am I here? Where I have to hurt others just because they're out to get me? I-

I freeze as a cool, rough hand brushes stray strands of auburn from my face. I've been here so long, I don't even notice them anymore. My head is gently turned away from my problems, and instead toward the man whose problems chose him. He cocks his head, smiling softly.

"You're the one who called me over here." He reminds me. The world seems to fade as he speaks, laced with trust and void of pain. I think back to my life before the Arena, only two short weeks ago. I had three boyfriends, for the sake of popularity, my greatest social ally.

This man, whom anyone else in my position would have killed the first day, has continued to show me compassion and empathy in the past week. As a complete stranger on that rooftop, he braved his fear of who I'm supposed to me in order to get to know me.

Adrenaline courses through me, though different from what I've known before. A rush of joy, of bliss. Without thinking, I lean in, catching his lips with my own. My blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the voices of everyone who ever warned me against this. The only sound I can hear is Aran's soft grunt of surprise, though it's cut short.

I found someone who knows me for who I am, and doesn't want me to be someone else. I'm never letting go.


Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


This jungle has brought a whole new meaning to discomfort since the rain started the other day. Even though I was under cover for most of it, I am nearly completely soaked from head to toe. The water drips from my head, coats my fingers, drags down my clothing. Every step results in a squish from my sock. Very uncomfortable, very annoying, and ultimately terrifying.

Until last night, I had begun to wonder what had happened to the other tributes. Two full days without a death, after ten in the first three. Surely, the Capitol had begun to grow bored?

Hence the rain, I think as I trudge upriver. I've been marching all morning, trying to map out the snaking currents, which I suspect is the only source of water in the Arena. It's fresh and flowing, and must come from somewhere; the Gamemakers wouldn't have some continuous, flowing circle. I'm not even sure that's physically possible.

I yank my boot from the mud with a loud sucking noise. The rain didn't only kill Jetta last night; it made stealth impossible. If anyone was nearby, they'd have likely found me by now. But I would have heard them too, and probably would have escaped. Depending on the tribute, I guess.

I shiver at that thought. Has my mindset changed so much already that I sit pondering my own demise? This jungle seems to warp your own thoughts. I'm sure it's the stress, the constant fear, but this place is still unnatural. Constant vigilance is required, for one misstep could break your neck. One false turn could have you marching headlong into the Careers' camp. Denny and Keola never would have survived long out here.

But they didn't, did they? I feel another pang for my allies, who I had always thought to be my last chance at talking with people who weren't trying to kill me. I wonder if any of the others feel the same, those whose Partners are lost. Does the girl from One miss Marcus? What about the boys from Six, Seven, Eight and Nine? Three of them lost their connection to home the first day. The Twelves, the Thirteens, already gone. Rebelle seemed so sure of herself, how did she fall so soon? What hope do I have if even she can't pass the first test?

My foot suddenly sinks into the mud, and I trip over a hidden root. I groan as I crash to the ground, noting that my clothes are covered in wet slop now, and they'll need a deep clean in order to even live in. I'm about to scream when a voice calls out.

"Mason? If that's you, I swear I'm going to rip your head off! I wanted to be alone, you stupid gnat! Show yourself!" I freeze as the Four girl's footsteps quickly draw closer, her strength allowing her speed through the mud my light weight would never allow. I push myself to my hands and knees, scrambling into the nearby shadows. I press myself in between the trunk of a tree and a thick fern, pulling my knees in close and lying on my side. I feel so exposed as the footsteps pause, the girl's low voice calling sweetly.

"Oh my! Has a savage animal dragged something through the mud here? Wait a moment, there's no blood… Perhaps someone civilized has decided to pay me a visit! Don't be shy, little friend, come out!" My heart stops as her footsteps approach, but I don't dare look up. The fern shakes beside me, and I hear the older girl humming to herself. She's got to be right next to me.

She steps past, and I listen as the sounds of her wading through the undergrowth recedes. After a moment, I shakily rise to my feet.

"There you are, friend! Come play!" I whirl around, away from the voice, and a sharp pain strikes me in the upper right arm. I scream in pain, but my legs don't register the fire consuming my right side. I run, faster than I ever would have dared otherwise, given the terrain. My feet manage to find hold on stones and roots and dryer bits of earth. The adrenaline carries me over the river, deeper into the jungle. I don't know how to get back to my familiar tree hollow, but I have all my supplies on my back anyway. The pack seems light now, barely a hindrance as I weave among the trees.

Light. In the dimness of the jungle, I see a pinprick of sunlight, pure and certainly cooler than the humid jungle. Impossibly, I run harder, unaware of how close my pursuer might be. The gap grows wider, until I finally break the tree line.

The ground changes, but that hardly registers. I pause as I gaze over the expanse of blue before me, a cool breeze blowing through my hair. How long have we been on an island?

I cry out again, exhaustion and fear and pain overcoming my body. I step back in to the familiar trees, though I stay close to the sand as I stumble around, trying to find a place to hide.

I collapse against a tree at last, relaxing slightly.

Another figure, one I don't recognize, tentatively steps into the clearing.


Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


The water's gotten steadily closer the past few days, now maybe ten feet from the treeline. I suspect it will steadily grow faster, driving the tributes back until they're trapped on the volcano, a good few kilometers into the jungle. Or perhaps the rate is random, as most things here are. I mean, if the rate was in any way constant, how much space did we have before the Games began?

I shake my head, an act that has been much easier since yesterday. No hair flying in my face, slapping me in the eyes. I feel colder somehow, however, more vulnerable. I can't help but jump as the cool sea breeze twists around my exposed neck, as I imagine the knife that should accompany the breath of Death. It's impossible to rest here, especially with nobody watching your back. It's me against fourteen others right now, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Having so many left at this point isn't uncommon, but it already spells out a rather lengthy Games. At the current rate, the Games should last roughly six weeks, unless you include the eight fallen the first day. That would indicate two, but another bloodbath is unlikely unless there's a Feast of sorts. Seeing the lush greenery and perhaps more than abundant food source that is the Arena, that seems unlikely. Maybe that's why the ocean is encroaching on the island; they're worried about the death rate.

Either way, it isn't affecting me as of yet. I never was the most noticeable tribute; I wasn't particularly skilled nor had a lack thereof. I'm just your average tribute who knows how to make a fair camp and likes long walks on the beach.

Dagger in hand, of course.

I sigh from my hammock, dried since the rains, though the humidity of the jungle still manages to gather water while I sleep, or even walk away for a couple hours. I'm growing tired of the monotony. In between the life-or-death situations, which I haven't really come across yet, the Games are truly boring. I'd never say it out loud, but the Capitol makes it seem like the ultimate Game of endurance, skill, and strength. Most tributes could probably hide in a tree for two weeks before anyone even remembered that they existed. Perhaps that's what happened to me.

I get up, my legs protesting slightly as they carry me to the white sand, seven feet from the alcove of trees that make up my camp. I turn to the West, unsure of what I'm doing, but too restless to stay put.

It's the same as every day since I arrived here, but today feels different somehow. The world seems to be holding its breath, making me uneasy. I keep going all the same however, my knuckles white around the hilt of my gift from yesterday. The waves lap lazily against the beach, before receding so far that a larger wave comes crashing down. Perfectly normal. For a death match.

I freeze as a bird screams out up ahead, her flock taking to the skies. A slight figure emerges from the tree line, freezing, staring out at the sea for a moment. I remember her: can't be more than fourteen, her grey jacket plastered with mud, agile on the sand. The girl from Ten. Cheyenne Bruno.

She cries out, whirling around and back in to the jungle. She's the first tribute I've come across in days, and I quickly follow her. Diving into the jungle, I listen for the crashing of branches, the squelching of mud, before it stops. After a moment, I come upon a particularly thin tree, the girl lying against it. She watches me, defeated. She makes no sound as I slowly get closer.

She closes her eyes, when I'm a couple meters away, and I find, to my horror, that a knife has been wedged into her upper arm. I shuffle forward, examining the wound. She flinches away, and I feel myself grow dizzy.

A lab. A scientist. Screams.

I push the thoughts away, focusing on the girl's face. Her features are scrunched in pain, her freckles nearly nonexistent from the days' worth of dirt.

"We need to patch you up, Cheyenne." I say, keeping my eyes from the knife. She cringes at my voice, but she gathers the will to respond.

"Just leave me alone."

"And how would you expect me to do that? I have stuff to help, and you're not even going to help me help you? Come on, we'll go back to my camp." I speak soothingly, as I had to Riker when he was younger. I'm not sure how well I remember those days now, a dream long ended.

She cracks open an eye, studying me cautiously. "Who are you? I took note of every tribute here, and you weren't one of them. What are you?"

I cock my head slightly, concern forming on my lips. My hands then reach up to play with my hair, something I do when I'm nervous or deep in thought. But there's nothing there, and it dawns on me.

"Infiniti, District Three." I say calmly. "I cut my hair. Figured I might survive better that way. You're Cheyenne, right?" I add, attempting to build up some kind of trust with this girl. She nods slowly, and I stick out my hand.

"Let's go get you cleaned up."


Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell


What I still don't understand, is how this happened in the first place. Alliances are risky enough in the Arena, but an Alliance between an honestly mediocre outlier and a Career? Unless the Career was younger, this has likely never happened in the history of the Games. At least, not since the Careers themselves came about. So what made this connection?

I've been watching the pair from One and Six for only a couple minutes, but it still feels wrong. I should leave, I know, before I'm spotted. Close proximity to other tributes more than often ends in confrontation, and confrontation always ends in death. But I suppose my curiosity is winning, for now.

They're just… talking. Casually. Probably about their Districts and families, perhaps about the others. I wonder how they felt when their respective Partners died, if they stopped to consider that there's another out there who wants to get home as much as they do. They probably don't care; anyone who sides with a Career must be heartless. But the boy seemed so nice in training; I remember him trying to help me with a sword, though I was much better with knives.

They pause their conversation, peeking out of their little tent and into the woods behind them, opposite me. I get up slowly, turning my back to them as I quietly begin to walk away.

I don't get very far.

A thin, silver javelin slices the air next to my head, sticking into the mud ten feet in front of me. An arrow follows a moment later, nicking my jacket and spinning to the ground. From behind me, I hear the word "Freeze!"

Like I have much choice. I think stupidly, racking my brain for any way to escape. How many javelins did they have? Arrows? Do I dare try to find out?

"I'm sorry, Ori." I whisper to the trees, turning around to face the Alliance. I try my best to appear nonthreatening, but my fingers itch toward a knife hanging on the outside of my vest. Do I try to fight, or handle this diplomatically?

Before I speak, Six carefully hands the loaded bow to One, who draws it back again, aiming for my chest. Six takes a step forward.

"It's Devon, right?" He asks, "From Five? The mother?" I stare him levelly in the eyes, nodding slowly. He looks to Malaya, who lowers the bow. He looks back to me and approaches steadily, One glaring daggers at me. She subtly raises the bow, watching.

"What do you have, Five?" He asks, a few feet away. "Besides the knives, of course." My hand instinctively reaches for the weapons I got in the Bloodbath, and I catch One pull back the bowstring. Aran's tone is kind though, and I slowly lower my hand. He looks at me quizzically.

"Nothing." I answer at last. "The vests were only a few feet from Cassia and I, and I grabbed one and ran before she could stick me." I recall the horrible cries of the Thirteen boy, then the Two girl. "I caught her in the hand, though."

Aran smiles at the last bit, but confusion is still kicking me in the head. Why am I still alive?

"You have any Allies, Devon?" He asks.

I narrow my eyes, but decide to tell him the truth: "No," I say, "I'm completely alone here."

"How would you like to not be alone?" He glances back to Malaya, who has lowered her weapon in confusion.

"Um…" I start, thinking. It would be nice to talk to someone for once, instead of walking around the jungle like a homeless lady. Then again, I'm not sure I feel comfortable in an Alliance with A Career.

However, if I walk away, I'm probably dead. "That would be nice." I finally say, hesitant.

Aran grins, sticking out his hand. "Well Devon, welcome to the Alliance!"


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

16th: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female


Kills!

Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)

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

Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; 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))


Alliances!

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

Malaran (Araya?) and Devon: Malaya (1), Devon (5) and Aran (6)

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


Potential Alliances!

Fragmented: Infiniti (3) and Cheyenne (10)


Loners!

Cordin (3)

Darius (5)

Logan (7)

Thanatos (9)

Willow (11)


Questions!

Thoughts on our new Alliances, potential and expanded?

Think any need a name change?

Who do you feel like we haven't heard from in a while?

Catch any references?

This makes the third day without a death so far. What do you think of the pace at which the Games is going along?

Who'll fall next/soon?

Until next time,

Lord Z