Jonathan Wright, D6

I was the middle child, so I was used to being forgotten. The older child was entitled to privileges and preferential treatment by virtue of her birth. The youngest child was entitled to privileges and preferential treatment because he was too little to know better. The middle child deferred to the oldest and cared for the youngest. What was I entitled to? Neither.

Being called up to the platform for Reaping Day was the first time I'd ever had a crowd of people look at me. It was cosmically unfair that the only time I would ever be the center of attention was when I was dying, and I was only dying because everyone saw my name, didn't know who I was, and assumed no one else did either. It was the highlight of my time in the Capitol when Seutonius looked right at me and said "Here's Jonathan Wright!" To him, I wasn't a middle child. I was the only child.

Surely the Careers wouldn't forget about me. We all blurred together to them. They had no idea that I was any different than the other kids they wanted to kill. And yet when the Bloodbath started, none of them came for me. Nero went for Ruby and shattered her back. Beth went for Harmony and Mist killed Mouse while muttering what sounded like arcane tongues. My one advantage came through and I slipped away invisibly.

The fragmented and unstable Career alliance quickly imploded. The only survivor was Eltara, and she died four days in. After that, the elements took over. There was no food in the Arena, and I would have died with most of the others if it hadn't rained on the third day. I conserved my energy by hiding in a pile of rocks. My only company was the pack of dogs that ran by on the fifth day.

There was something eerie and unsettling about being alone so long. I wanted nothing more on Earth than to hear another voice, but it was at the same time the most terrifying thing that could have happened. The quiet stretches went on so long that sometimes I would say something just to ensure I hadn't gone deaf.

After the first week, I wasn't alone anymore. I couldn't tell, later, when I'd made up my companion. As soon as he arrived, it was like he was always there. In the darkness of my pile, which I left only perhaps twice daily, I heard a voice. I knew it was only in my head and that I'd invented it, but it was better than nothing, and soon it became more than that. My friend, who never had a name but answered when I called, wasn't real, but that didn't mean he wasn't real. I narrated my actions and made one-sided small talk with the nonexistent listener, and the presence of my voice grounded me in reality. It amused me that we were stuck with each other. I couldn't leave my friend because he was all I had, and he couldn't leave me because he wouldn't be real without me imagining him. Even if he wanted to leave like all the others, he just plain couldn't.

I lost count of the days after the first week. Nearly all my time was spent in my pitch-black hiding place. First I lost track of minutes, then hours as I started to come out irregularly and never knew whether to expect light or darkness, and then days. There was no routine to keep me in order, since I had nothing to eat and slept on and off all the time, more and more as I lost energy. I didn't even know who was left with me. I knew there were three of us left, but I'd forgotten to look at the sky one night, and I missed the faces.

Two cannons came right after each other as I was telling my friend about my favorite book. The Anthem played and I burrowed out of my hiding place to see why. It was light outside, and it burned my eyes. I didn't have the energy to stand, so I sat on the charred grass as the music played. A voice broke in after the last note.

"Presenting the winner of the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, Jonathan Wright!"

He remembered my name, I thought. Oh, that's why the music was playing, came my next thought. I stayed seated as the hovercraft came down. It didn't seem real to me yet, and it probably wouldn't for a long time. It must have seemed real to some part of me, though, since I felt my spectral friend fade away. I didn't need him anymore, but I knew he'd be back if I ever did.

Later I found out how I'd won. With Tributes like me that hid all the time, the Gamemakers always sent something eventually to flush them out. That had been the plan with me, but it just somehow never happened. They must have forgotten.

Not that I'm bitter about being a middle child...