Torchy Conden, D8 (16)

I was Torchy Conden. The firebug of Eight. The bane of Peacekeepers. The scourge of the District. People pointed to me in the streets and whispered to their children that I was what happened if you didn't stay in school. So why on Earth was Merle into me?

"Torchie?" she asked when I came back from gathering firewood. And how did she do that? How did she somehow say my name in a way that I knew it was a diminutive and not an adjective? Not that she was one to talk about names. Merle. It sounded like some piece of detritus you ran over on a dirty road. Look out, you'll hit that merle!

"That's my name. Don't wear it out," I said. That sounded a lot cooler in my head.

I started to stoke the fire, taking pride in perhaps my last shred of manliness. I should have left Merle a long time ago. She was soft and sweet and definitely not Victor material. I would have left her, but... I felt guilty. I felt like a rat leaving her alone. She'd get herself killed the second I stopped watching out for her. She wanted to ally with Beth, for goodness' sake. 'Beth is just misunderstood!' she'd said. 'We should help her!' Sometimes there's no helping people. People like Merle didn't understand that. People like Beth kill people like Merle, and that's why people like Merle are so rare. Maybe that was why I didn't want to leave her.

A shadow fell across the doorway to our cozy little bonehouse. I jumped up and whirled around, ready to attack. Merle stood more slowly, ready to greet the newcomer.

"Who is-" she stopped dead and took a step back. Even Merle knew there was no befriending the figure in the doorway.

Out of all the murderers and butchers in the Games, Jack was maybe the worst I'd ever heard of. I wasn't even sure he was human. He might have been a mutt, planted among us by the Gamemakers to fool us into thinking he had a soul. I couldn't even look into his dead eyes, since they were covered with a blood-spattered mask- the same blood that soaked his machete.

You can get past him, I thought when Jack took a step into the room. He stepped a little to the side, toward Merle. I could sneak past him and get halfway across the Arena while he was still working on her. My legs tensed to start, but I couldn't do it.

"Get away!" I yelled. I flew at Jack and shoved him toward the wall. He barely budged, except to raise his machete. I raised my arm as I backed away, escaping with a slashed arm instead of a severed head. As Jack was about to strike again, Merle chucked a chunk of cinderblock at his head. She had more fight than I thought.

My only chance in Hell was to keep moving. Jack was nearly indestructible, but he was also slow. I dodged around the constricted bonehouse, throwing things at Jack and feinting. I was hoping to open a path for Merle to escape, but she was in the far corner of the room, and she probably wouldn't have run even if I told her.

Time to go big or go home. As Jack raised his machete, I ducked underneath it and shot out my arm. I plunged my hand into our roaring fire and grabbed a log. Fire may have been my oldest friend, but it still hurt like a son of a gun when I grabbed that stick. I swung the log at Jack's pants, playing a hunch that would either save us or kill us.

"Run!" I screamed, grabbing Merle's hand and yanking her past Jack, who burst into flames as soon as the log touched him. In an Arena this nightmarish, it was only logical to assume the Gamemakers would give us flammable clothes. Jack started to flail and stumble around the room, giving us time to escape. As we ran, the light coming off Jack lit our way. When I looked behind us, he was still upright, swinging his machete like he could kill the flames.

"Your hand," Merle said when we finally stopped.

"It's nothing," I said. What a way to get myself hurt. All of this over a girl.

Most of these are the ending of the Games, but it just felt better to write this moment for Torchy. If you haven't read the non-Career Resurrection Games, it was based on horror movies. Jack was submitted with that in mind and is exactly the Jason Voorhees copy he sounded like. Torchy winning the Games wasn't as cool a moment as Torchy killing Jason.