Trigger Warning: Suicide, abusive parents and partners, some hints towards substance abuse and a lot of violent and scary deaths (more so than usual). Also some bad language.
Binah Katayanagi, District 3
"4, 5 metres running round the bend
When the government agents surround you again.
If Diane Young won't change your mind,
Baby, baby, baby, baby right on time."
Vampire Weekend, Diane Young
24.
I hate the Capitol.
It's disgraceful how they think they can take over our districts with force and make us work for them. It's appalling how they spread their propaganda around. Most people in my district just follow the Capitol's laws like sheep but I opened my eyes to the injustices around me. And what did I get?
I got reaped for the Hunger Games.
I rise into place for the countdown. I'm between the Career boy from Four and the boy from Three. I know that Four deserves to die for training for this games. Three isn't as bad but he seems like the type of boy who does everything he's told. I remember his interview, how hard he tried to impress the Capitol.
He's a sheep. He eats up all their lies. He deserves what's coming.
Prosper, my district partner, is two tributes away from me. I glance across at him. My eyes meet his.
He's ready.
So am I.
I refuse to be just a piece in their games. I'm not here to entertain them. I am here to show them the truth.
"Fuck the Capitol!" I yell. Then I leap.
For a moment, I'm suspended in midair.
Then I crash down to earth and I'm free forever.
My name is Zabeth Granville. I'm sixteen years old. My home is District 9.
I'm dying young.
23.
I love Zabeth.
She's so pretty and tough and smart. Sometimes she hurts me but it's okay because we both know I deserve it. I'm not good enough for her.
When Zabeth was reaped, I volunteered. I want to protect her. She has a plan for both of us, a plan to set us free from the Capitol. It'll work. Zabeth's plans always work.
Zabeth is always right. Even when I think she's not, it's just because I'm stupid.
I find Zabeth almost immediately in the dark. She's so close to me. She looks at me with wild hazel eyes. So pretty...
Then she yells "Fuck the Capitol!"
That's the signal. I jump.
There's a lot of noise, a lot of pain.
My name is Prosper Bellows. I'm sixteen years old. My home is District 9.
I'm dying young.
22.
Is this real life?
This isn't real. We could all be organs in a jar pretending to experience things. The Hunger Games is just a simulation. A shadow on a cave wall.
Take the girl from One for example. Her name is Candida, which is a word. What do words mean? Why do humans have language? What would animals say if we could speak to them?
So many questions. So little time.
Anyway, Candida. I'm watching her pick up a knife and aim it at me but is she really picking up a knife and aiming it at me or am I just seeing it? And if she is, is she in control of what she's doing or is there a higher power forcing her to do it?
So many questions...
Am I about to die? What is death? Is there an afterlife?
The knife is going into my skull. Where am I going?
My name is Flash Weatherblue. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 5.
I'm dying young.
21.
I've just had the best week of my life.
I'm homeless. I've been living on the streets for my entire life. There are two types of people on the streets - those who fight to live and those who just fade away. I just can't bring myself to hurt people. I've been living on tesserae and the kindness of strangers.
Until I was reaped.
The people of the Capitol have been kind to me. They gave me nice food and dressed me in pretty clothes. I never wanted the week before the games to end but I knew that it would.
I know that my games will be over quickly. Especially since I'm near the girl from Eleven. She's strong enough to break every bone in my body.
But, in the chaos of the bloodbath, she'll probably only have time to break one - the neck.
I close my eyes, knowing that I'll live in the greatest week of my life forever.
My name is Stitcha Yeschevsky. I'm sixteen years old. My home is District 8.
I'm dying young.
20.
I am a warrior queen and I am destined to fight.
My mother looked into a crystal ball and saw great battles in my future. I'd always assumed that they'd be schoolyard squabbles but I can handle the Hunger Games.
I'm not afraid to die. Destiny has a plan for me. I can't change it.
I rise up into the darkness and look around. My eyes land on the handsome boy from Three, only two tributes away from me. He was the only other tribute brave enough to speak to me in training, though neither of us proposed an alliance.
"Are you a witch?" He'd asked me at the camouflage station, when I'd been drawing the symbols of battle on my skin.
"Yes," I'd said. That's the best way to explain it to the ignorant.
Instead of being scared or disgusted, his eyes had lit up like stars.
"Cool!" He'd said. "Teach me some magic."
"It's not that simple," I'd said.
"I know," he'd smiled, slyly. "I just want to know... what it all means."
So I'd told him everything I knew about the ancient gods and curses and dark spirits and he'd listened.
I know a lot about the spirit realm. My mother is a bridge between worlds. She takes spirits into her body through blood rituals, sometimes inhaling them like smoke, sometimes injecting them into her veins. It makes her sick but she tells me not to worry.
Then there are two explosions. I'm splattered with blood. It doesn't bother me. I wait for the countdown to end and I charge into the fight. I crouch down to grab the nearest weapon. Feeling more confident with my fingers curled around the handle of a sword, I stand up,
And a spear punches through me.
It was always my destiny to die on the battlefield.
In my final moments I look up to see the boy from Three. He's still on his podium, drenched with blood. He looks terrified. I remember reading his cards in training, wondering whether he was someone I could ally with.
I'd seen the darkest destiny I could ever have imagined. Pain. Fear. Suffering.
He stares right at me until someone pulls him away from the fight. I can see all the shock in his eyes and something else, something knowing.
The spirit world is calling me. My destiny has been fulfilled.
My name is Zostra Driver. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 6.
I'm dying young.
19.
Everyone's given up on me.
I'm the youngest of four. In the schoolyard, all my brothers were so protective of me but, when I was reaped for the Hunger Games, none of them even came to see me in the justice building. Even Haymitch, my mentor, the man who's supposed to protect me, is more focused on keeping Hortensia alive. It's clearly because he thinks she has a better shot than me.
I've never felt so alone in my life.
I struggled to find allies in training. I got overwhelmed on the first day and had a panic attack. Now I'm trying not to faint from fear and looking around for someone to protect me. The arena looks so dark and gloomy and I don't want to face it alone.
The girl from Seven is right next to me. She's only a year older than me. She seems nice, not like that monster from last year. I smile at her. She smiles back, nervously.
When the countdown ends, I rush over to the girl but she runs away. I soon see why. The boy from Two - the one who was reaped - is nearby. He has a knife.
"Please don't kill me," I beg. "You're not a Career. You know this is wrong."
He doesn't reply at all. He stabs me, again and again. I don't die quickly.
He seems scared, desperate, disgusted...
My name is Lliam Furnace. I'm thirteen years old. My home is District 12.
I'm dying young.
18.
People are going to be sad when I die.
I'm the middle child. I had to do something to get noticed. So I made it my business to cheer people up. I sing. I dance. I tell jokes. I'm an entertainer.
I'm not a victor.
I hope there's someone else to cheer people up at my funeral. Normally, I'm the one doing that.
I try to keep positive. I'm stuck between a Career and the scary girl from Ten, the one with the same name as that victor. But maybe they'll attack each other. Maybe they'll think I'm not a big enough threat.
Maybe running in to grab some supplies is worth it.
The axe hit me right in the shoulder as I run. It's the girl from Two. Ramona from Ten is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she knew she was a target.
Now I'm the one in the line of fire,
I try not to stop smiling, even as the girl takes another swing with her axe.
My name is Braeburn D'Brickashaw. I'm fourteen years old. My home is District 11.
I'm dying young.
17.
Victory is in my blood.
I'm here to break records. I'm going to be District 7's first legacy victor. I'm going to make District 7 the first outlying district to achieve back-to-back victories. I'm going to be the youngest victor of all time.
Watch me.
There are axes right in front of me. Perfect! The family weapon. I run for them as soon as I can.
I don't know why the boy from One is faster than me. He must be cheating. He gets to the axes first and hacks at me.
It's not fair! I'm the son of a victor. I should win this!
I should've won. I should've lived.
My name is Twig Barkley. I'm thirteen years old. My home is District 7.
I'm dying young.
16.
I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.
My counterpart - the girl from Seven - won last year. Not only that, she won by pretending to be weak. So now if I act strong and confident, they'll think I'm a threat, and if I act weak and terrified, they'll think I'm the next Johanna Mason. They'll think I'm pretending.
But I know my fear is real.
Twig is already dead. I didn't have a hope of allying with him but it was comforting having him around. As long as he was alive, there was a chance he'd be the first target. Even though he was only thirteen, he was the son of a victor and incredibly overconfident. Now he's dead, I imagine I've been pushed up the Careers' kill list.
I wonder if I'm their first target. I don't think I am. I might've been before the training scores were revealed but then the girl from Three went and scored a ten. They're blaming her for sticking a "Kick me!" sign on the girl from Four's back.
I know she didn't do it. I saw the boy from Three sticking the sign to the girl from Four's back on the first day of training, while the head trainer was giving her speech. And I kept quiet.
If the Careers ever ask me, I'll tell them that the boy is the one they have to watch out for. But I doubt they'll ask me.
So I'll take it to my grave.
After hours of stumbling, blindly, through dingy arena, I hear raised voices and freeze with fear. It has to be the Careers. They're close. Shivering with fear, I curl up in a corner and hope they don't find me.
No such luck. Soon there are flashlight beams shining on me and cries of joy. They've found me.
They're going to kill me.
"Want to do the honours, Bagman?" The boy from One asks.
"With pleasure," the boy from Four raises his weapon.
I close my eyes and pretend I'm back at home. The boy from Four helps. His weapon's a chainsaw. Of all the ridiculous things the gamemakers could put in the Cornucopia, it's the one I'm used to hearing.
All I can do is hope that he'll make it quick.
My name is Caroline Oak. I'm fourteen years old. My home is District 7.
I'm dying young.
15.
There's something wrong with my brain.
I'm trapped in a death match, on the run from the Careers, and all I can think about is how many gamblers I've screwed over. I bet that a whole bunch of people bet on my district partner outliving me.
Right now, I feel like a little kid trapped in the world's deadliest game of hide-and-seek. The arena's like my house but bigger... a lot bigger.
The Careers are nearby. A few hours ago, they caught a girl and murdered her with a chainsaw. Judging by her screams, she was one of the two girls left who are too young to be hot, Five or Seven. They sounded so close that I decided to stop moving and focus on hiding. I found a bed and hid under the covers.
Now I just need to hope that the Careers don't see the bed and want to have sex.
Who am I kidding? They're Careers. They don't do human things like sex. Especially not this year. This year, they are all weirdos, even the hot ones.
Now I'm thinking about hot girls. I'm supposed to be thinking about winning the damn games. What's wrong with me?
Maybe it's the fact that I really, really need to pee.
Do people pee in the Hunger Games? They have to, don't they? How come it never gets shown?
I decide to risk it. I slip out of the bed, find a corner and do the deed. I'm not risking my life searching for the bathroom because, knowing the Careers, they're probably staking it out.
I soon realise why people peeing in the Hunger Games never gets shown. It is embarrassing. I feel like my privacy is being invaded, even though it's only by a bunch of random gamemakers who are probably telling their bosses "Hey, this dude is peeing. Don't show the entire country this.". Oh, and Mercedes Matthews, the only District 6 mentor who actually cares.
Just the thought of Mercedes watching this makes me blush. I recited a poem about her in my interview. It was the best one I had. I'm not the most artistic of people, even though I claim to be because it helps me get dates. I mostly write limericks about hot victors but I never really got the creative juices flowing for Ramona Hirose-Snow.
Maybe it's because she's incredibly married.
Maybe it's because nothing good rhymes with Ramona...
I hear raised voices, just as I'm finishing up. I scramble back to my hiding place but it's too late.
The Careers are here. They've seen me.
It looks like I'm going to die.
I might as well do it with style.
"Hey, want a piece of me?" I ask, grabbing the nearest weapon - a candlestick.
The careers laugh, so I lash out with my candlestick. I manage to hit the wrist of the nearest girl, as hard as I can. She doesn't even flinch.
"Ouch," she says, mildly. Then she punches me in the face. My nose splinters. My vision swims with red. I stumble backwards, into the corner where I'd relieved myself earlier.
Let me die on my feet, I think. Don't let me die in a puddle of my own urine.
So I spit blood at the Careers and put up my fists as one of the boys readies his chainsaw.
My name is Saab Koenig. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 6.
I'm dying young.
14.
I like to think I'm the smartest person in the room.
When I met my district partner, I realised I wasn't.
I'm not an idiot. I'm smart enough to get into the JAMB, actually. I've been thinking about my games strategy since I was a little kid. The plan revolved around having a tough district partner. A cowgirl, maybe.
Instead, I got Ramona Lopez.
I didn't ally with her. I don't know where she is. I hope, with all my heart, that she's nowhere near me.
Without a tough ally to organise offence, I have to focus on defence. Which, in an arena as dark and claustrophobic as this one, means hiding. I've hid through two anthems. I could probably hide for two more.
Then the wall behind me bursts open.
Something slams into my back. I try to pull away but I'm stuck, like a spider in a web. I can't see what's attacking me but I bet it's a mutt.
The Capitol must've got bored of my strategy of hiding for the whole games. They don't realise that kids trying to survive don't think about how interesting they're being.
The mutt's slime keeps me glued in place as bony spines shoot through my body. I have no idea what that thing is.
Sometimes it's better not to know.
At least I know that Ramona will never find me.
My name is Juan Valdez. I'm fifteen years old. My home is District 10.
I'm dying young.
13.
I don't want to jinx myself but it looks like I might win.
I'm not the smartest tribute in the arena, or the strongest. But I'm not weak or stupid. I'm covering all my bases.
I also seem to have the best luck a tribute from Twelve has had since Haymitch. I was lucky enough to find the Careers on the first night. I got caught right below them as they murdered the girl from Seven. Her blood dripped down through the ceiling and onto me as I held my breath, hoping they wouldn't realise that another one of their opponents was directly below them. They didn't.
Now I know where they are.
I'm camping out by the base of the stairs. Once the Careers have swept the upper floors of the house, they'll come down the stairs. There's a closet nearby that I've practiced squeezing into. I'll hide in it until they've moved far enough away and then I'll sneak up the stairs.
I'll make sure I'm the last outlier they'll find.
Which means that, before me, they'll find Jura, the giantess from Eleven. They'll find Ramona, the girl from Ten who shares a name and a cold, calculating stare with District 3's most recent victor. They'll find Binah, the girl from Three who'd scowled all through training only to score a ten. The chances are that those three girls will take a chunk out of the Career alliance.
On the second day of hiding by the stairs, I start hearing screams. Judging by the voices, it must mean that the Careers are being attacked.
This is too good!
I rush over to my closet and open the door, careful not to let it creak.
It's full of clowns.
The moment I see their garish clothes, their ghoulish makeup and their bulbous, red noses, I scream. I don't care if the Careers hear me. I can't hold it in.
Clowns are my worst fear.
The clown puppets leap at me, strings dangling from their limbs. They're all holding tiny spears and cackling. I turn and run. I have to get away.
I don't care if it kills me. I just have to get away...
I can hardly see anything. I trip and my head cracks against something. I feel my brains spill out.
My name is Hortensia Rhinehardt. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 12.
I'm dying young.
12.
I feel powerless when I can't hurt people.
Snapping that girl's neck in the bloodbath made me feel so strong. It's like pushing little kids around in the playground except there's no teacher to tell you off and make you cringe and squirm. To make you feel insignificant.
I'm in heaven, honestly.
The only problem is that all the easy prey - cannon fodder - are dying off. It's just the girl from Five and the boy from Eight left. Maybe the boy from Three in a pinch. Everyone else seems tough enough to put up a fight.
I've been stalking the girl from Five for the last two days. She found a chute that led to the house's basement so I followed her down. She's easy to find, even in the dark. Her hair is bright red and, the moment my flashlight beam lands on it, it shines as bright as an orange in the midday sun. The only problem is that she's fast, and she can fit into gaps I could never dream of fitting into.
I finally catch up with her as she's examining a plant growing under fluorescent lights. She looks so weak, so vulnerable.
I charge.
She dodges, sticking her foot out. I trip and fall, face-first into the plant.
Vines curl around my wrists. Thorns dig into my skin. I'm trapped, helpless.
Powerless.
The mouth of the plant is right in front of my face. I can see a pool of clear liquid resting in it. It smells sickly sweet.
I try to pull away but someone climbs onto my back and forces me forwards, further into the greenery. A hand forces my face forwards, into the mouth of the plant. My face burns as the liquid touches it.
I can't breathe. The burning fluid fills my nose and mouth.
She's killing me.
That pipsqueak from Five is killing me!
My name is Jura Spice. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 11.
I'm dying young.
11.
I hate pretty people.
In the academy, I was the only boy in my class who wasn't a complete stud. My hair is dirty blonde rather than golden. My eyes are a dull shade of grey. My nose is crooked. So are my teeth.
That didn't stop me from being picked.
My test scores speak for themselves. I'm a victor. It even says so on my birth certificate.
Now I'm absolutely sure that the academy made the right choice. Mostly because my allies are all a bunch of gorgeous airheads and losers who need someone to whip them into shape.
Partly because I don't think any of the vapid pretty-boys from the academy can compete with the boy from Three. I'm not quite sure how a skinny, bespectacled boy from District Three managed to become this games' sex symbol but somehow he managed to pull the angle off in his interview. In fact, I think that Candida has the hots for him.
It's pretty disturbing but my district partner having a crush on an outlier is the least of the problems in my alliance.
The bats that attacked us on day three didn't do much damage. We got scratched up a bit. Picaresque got hit by the worst of it. One of her eyelids is a little swollen. It really freaked her out, more than it should've.
Then the dolls started arriving.
Drones started flying in, carrying dolls made to look like us. The first one had my hair and my clothes. Now the only one left who hasn't been targeted is Picaresque. She's been whispering about curses and some rubbish ever since. Bagman and the Twos also seem jumpy.
Whatever trick the gamemakers are playing on us, it's really bothering my allies.
Picaresque looks off into the distance and freezes up.
"Something moved," she mumbles.
I scoff, but I glance in the direction that Picaresque had sensed the movement from. I notice a drone floating towards us, carrying a tiny bronze-haired doll. Picaresque.
I can tell this won't end well.
The drone drops the doll at Picaresque's feet. She shrieks and starts shaking. The gamemakers have really outdone themselves. The doll is covered with vivid, red stitches.
Right on the back is the words "Kick me!".
I pick up the doll, hoping to examine it. Something isn't quite right. Then an ear-splitting scream fills the air.
Instinctively, I drop the doll and press my hands to my ears. My other allies do the same, trying to protect their hearing.
But Picaresque... she rams her spear right through my throat.
My name is Victor Beaufort. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 1.
I'm dying young.
10.
Nobody knows that I'm scared of the dark.
At least, they didn't until my doll showed up. Its eyes were torn out.
The arena is so gloomy. It's been hard to distract myself from all the monsters lurking in the shadowy corners. So I did it the only way I knew how.
By slicing people up with a freaking chainsaw!
It's so cool having a chainsaw. I don't think there's ever been one before in the Hunger Games, so it's great being a first. When I first picked it up during the bloodbath, my allies reacted a range of different ways. Candida asked what a chainsaw was doing in a house. Victor shook his head and said that it wasn't worth getting no kills in the bloodbath.
Cornelia clapped me on the shoulder. "You do you, Bagman," she said.
That's what I intend to do.
When Picaresque kills Victor, I hesitate. Maybe it's because she's my district partner and, for a second, I don't think she'd actually kill me. Then I realise that Picaresque has completely lost her marbles and I need to run.
But it's too late. My other allies have scattered. I'm her target.
Pain shoots through my leg and I know she's got me. Picaresque tears the spear up through the back of my leg, severing tendons, making sure I can't run away. Then she plunges it through my back.
And the darkness comes to claim me.
My name is Bagman Clerval. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 4.
I'm dying young.
9.
I make friends too easily.
My allies - my patients - are all great people, despite their little flaws. I don't think I could bring myself to harm any of them. As the alliance's medic, it's my job to make people better.
But it's also my job to kill. I'd kill any outlier that crosses my path, even the boy from Three.
What I feel for him is just biology. I've always had a thing for intelligent boys, the kind so rarely found in One. I'm not going to let it get in the way of... whatever I'm working towards.
I'm not sure I'm working towards victory anymore.
Victor was beyond my help. There was a second cannon, so I'm assuming that Picaresque has found another victim.
But I don't know who the real victim is.
Why are you running from her, Candida? She's sick. She needs help.
I've checked over Picaresque's injuries from the bats countless times. She wasn't that badly hurt and she doesn't exhibit any symptoms of rabies such as hydrophobia or foaming at the mouth. I imagine that the stress of the arena has triggered some sort of nervous breakdown.
I'm not a therapist but I'm probably the closest thing she'll get in the arena. Maybe I can help her.
I turn around and retrace my steps. While I walk, I think about Picaresque. I've been keeping track of her ramblings over the last few days. She seems to think that the girl from Six, who she'd killed in the bloodbath, was a witch, who'd placed a curse on the alliance. The dolls were just a sign. I know that the only way that I can help Picaresque is to find a rational explanation behind the dolls.
So I think back to training. The girl from Six can't be responsible for this, since she'd died before the dolls had started showing up, but maybe she has an ally. The only person she spoke to in training was the boy from Three...
The same boy who'd spent most of training staring at us with dark, serious eyes. I know because I'd been trying not to glance over at him and mostly succeeding. I was tempted to ask him if he wanted to join the alliance but then Picaresque started freaking out over that sign on her back and she'd banned all outliers from the alliance.
We all remember the "Kick Me!" sign. We'd found it on Picaresque's back on the first day of training and she'd had a complete meltdown. We'd had no idea who'd put it there but, after the scores had been revealed, we'd come to the conclusion that it was the girl from Three, who'd gone on to admit to it in her interview. And now the words "Kick me!" have appeared on Picaresque's doll.
I haven't seen either of the tributes from Three since the bloodbath. They ran away from the fight together. I almost hit the girl with a knife but she blocked it with a door. If they'd been spying on us for all of training, maybe they'd know our weaknesses. And, given that they're Threes, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think that one of them had reprogrammed one of the sponsor drones to deliver us the dolls.
They'd been with the boy from Eight, as well. When I think back to the expertly-tied nooses around the dolls' necks, the careful stitching on the body of Picaresque's doll. I wonder if the boy from the textiles district is also involved.
There isn't a curse. The only thing threatening us is an alliance containing at least one very smart tribute.
I carry on through the house, my hands raised in a gesture of peace. I can't speed up. I don't want to spook Picaresque. But I also need to tell her this theory I have.
"Picaresque," I say, hoping she can hear. "It's me, Candida. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I think I've fi-"
The spear comes out of nowhere. I realise there's no saving her.
There's no saving me, either.
My name is Candida Dubourde. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 1.
I'm dying young.
8.
My life was perfect before the games.
Now I'm a mess. The bats made my face a mess. There's a curse on my head, something I can't fight or control. I just need to kill everyone. I need to get out of here and then everything will be perfect again.
Then the pain in my head will go away.
My head is full of screams. The witch from Six hadn't screamed as she'd died. She'd just stared across the bloodbath at the boy from Three. The handsome boy from Three, covered in blood like he'd already killed, or been killed.
He's still alive. I need to kill him. I need to kill everyone.
I find Cornelia next. She's holding a flaming torch. When she sees me, she lowers it towards the floor.
"Do you want me to do it?" She asks. "Because I will. I will burn down the whole arena."
I throw my spear. She dodges and drops the torch. Flames burst up from the floor as we charge at each other. I hurl myself at Cornelia and manage to knock her onto her back. I pin her arms down to the floor and she screams as flames start creeping up her wrist.
Her other hand grabs me by the neck and squeezes. She rolls out from underneath me as I'm struggling for breath.
Then she forces me into the blaze.
It hurts. There's pain everywhere. There are screams everywhere. I'm burning up.
I scramble out of the fire but it still hurts. My hair is burning. My clothes are burning. I can see the skin on my arms beginning to blacken and blister and bubble.
Cornelia shoots me a look of disgust and pity before running away, cradling her injured arm.
It hurts me as much as the fire and the headaches. I am disgusting. I am pitiful.
The curse has come true.
My name is Picaresque Heath. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 4.
I'm dying young.
7.
I didn't ask to be here.
I was just a strong-willed teenager. I didn't like being told what to do. Then my teenage rebellion got out of hand and...
I got rigged into the games.
Now I'm sorry for everything I did. I just want to be a kid again.
We all ran when Picaresque killed Victor. Judging by the last four cannons - the first three being for Victor, Candida and Bagman, the last one being for someone I'm yet to find out - I'm the best at running.
I want to leave but I'm too scared to leave. I'm too scared to stay here. This room's too small. This arena's too small. I have claustrophobia.
This is my worst nightmare.
I'm sorry for killing that peacekeeper. I wish I hadn't thrown that rock so hard. I wish I hadn't failed my mother.
I know I'm dead the moment I smell smoke. I tentatively open the door to see all my escape routes blocked by fire. I'm trapped.
As I'm pounding at the walls in panic, I start to slip out of consciousness. It's hard to breathe with all the smoke. I know that I'll be dead before the fire gets me.
My name is Gravel di Maggio. I'm sixteen years old. My home is District 2.
I'm dying young.
6.
I'm a cruel kid.
I'm not an eighteen-year-old, six-foot-tall Career. In fact, I'm quite the opposite. But you don't have to be one of them to be cruel. I've learned that from all the kids who teased me in the playground because of my limp. I also learned that when someone hurts you, the best way to get them to stop is to hurt them right back.
I realised pretty early on after being reaped that I was the least likely tribute to win. Nobody pays much attention to a crippled twelve-year-old, especially one wide-eyed and so innocent and adorable.
Nobody apart from the Threes, my allies.
Well, one of them's my ally. The other one just tried to kill us.
Binah's the perfect ally. Fearless, selfless and so, so gullible. She might be good with computers but she sees the world in black and white, ones and zeros.
Big, scary Careers who need to be killed and sweet, little kids who need to be protected.
If we make it to the final two, I'll bet that she'll hesitate. I won't.
As for Fawkes, he's probably the tribute most like me in the arena, which is pretty impressive given that he's the oldest tribute this year and I'm the youngest. Just like me, he spent most of his time before the games trying to appear sweet and harmless. Unlike me, he was able to drop the act in the arena.
It turns out that he's something of a mastermind.
We'd all worked together to split up the Careers. Fawkes had made the plan, found all the equipment and a safe place for us to hide. Binah had reprogrammed the drone. I'd made the nooses. All the while, I'd been wondering when he'd betray the alliance.
And whether I should make the first move.
Earlier this morning, a feast had been announced and Fawkes had taken it as a signal. He'd set one of the arena's mutts on me and Binah. He'd even named the creature Preston, which is adorable of him. I wonder how he'll react when he finds out that Binah's killed Preston. She somehow managed to feed the monster a bottle of acid. Now she's got another bottle in her backpack.
We're going to the feast. The gamemakers promised a "special reward" for going to the Cornucopia and activating the sprinkler system. We're looking for Fawkes as well. We can't hide from him so we might as well strike first.
I don't want to be him when we do.
The arena's getting hotter. Someone must've set it on fire, which is probably why we're supposed to turn on the sprinkler system. Binah and I have no idea how many people are left. There were eight when we fell asleep but any number of opponents could've died in the night. Fawkes was keeping watch. He was supposed to tell us but he didn't, for obvious reasons.
We wander around in the dark, heading towards the Cornucopia, where the button for the sprinkler system is supposed to be.
Then a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
I scream.
My scream dies as something slices across my throat.
My name is Ernest Curtain. I'm twelve years old. My home is District 8.
I'm dying young.
5.
Everyone knows my name.
Ramona's a common name in Ten. I hadn't known it was common in Three as well until I learned about Ramona Hirose. When she won the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games, it led to years of teasing. Everyone compared me to her. I suppose we're a little similar. We're both smart and ruthless.
But, since everyone thinks I'll be the next Ramona Hirose, I'm everyone's first target. Since the games started, I've been forced to play more defensively. I'd managed to climb up to the house's roof. When the feast was announced, with only five opponents left, I decided it was time to come down.
Now I have four opponents left.
I let the boy from Eight's body drop to the floor. It was so easy to slit his throat. I used to work at a slaughterhouse. It wasn't any different from killing an animal.
I felt nothing. I still feel nothing. I get no joy from killing but it doesn't bother me. It's simply something that has to be done.
The girl from Three is nearby. I throw one of my knives and it grazes her shoulder. I throw a second and it goes wide. Maybe my aim isn't the best.
It doesn't matter. I've coated my knives with poison. Even if she escapes, she'll die.
But still, I'd rather she died quickly. I just want to get these games done.
I start advancing towards the girl. She ducks around a corner, running scared. It'll be easy to kill her.
But then, just as I'm drawing close, something hard cracks against my head. A burning sensation spreads across my skull. Some liquid drips into my eyes, blinding me.
Acid.
Not just acid. Strong, concentrated acid.
The pain is unbearable. I feel something drip into my nose and mouth and realise that it's my skin, melting away.
I feel... scared...
My name is Ramona Lopez. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 10.
I'm dying young.
4.
I'm tougher than I look.
I have the same job as Luka Starkwain. Being a delivery boy - or a delivery girl in my case - isn't as hard as it must've been back in his day but I've had my share of fights.
Eleven had it coming.
I don't know who's left as I rush towards the feast. I've got my eye on that "special reward" that the gamemakers have been talking about. I might have to fight someone but, last time I checked there were only eight tributes - three Careers - left. There have been four cannons since then.
Going to the feast is a risk but it's a risk I have to take. Nobody won the Hunger Games by playing it safe. If one of those four cannons was the boy from Eight then I'm the youngest tribute left. I need all the advantage I can get.
There's a Career by the Cornucopia, pacing the floor. She's not going for the sprinkler button, which is pretty smart of her. Maybe she thinks we'll all be lured here for her to kill.
She doesn't look so good, though. One of her arms ends in a blackened stump.
I can probably take her.
I charge, my knife at the ready. She blocks me with her axe but she's a little shaky. She's off her game.
"Did you burn yourself?" I ask, as our blades lock. "Aww, isn't that a shame!"
"I started this fire," she hisses. "I'll end you."
I laugh, dodge, double back on myself and stab her in the stomach.
"Not before I end you," I taunt.
She looks me right in the eyes, surprised.
Then she grins.
She raises her axe and buries it right in my chest.
The last thing I hear is her voice.
"Think I'd just roll over and die, Five?"
My name is Stema Ashwell. I'm fifteen years old. My home is District 5.
I'm dying young.
3.
I'm used to taking a few hits but I don't think I'll get back up from this one.
Five's dead but she tore my stomach open. My guts are hanging out and I'm trying to hold them in with my one remaining hand. I have two opponents left and I don't think I'm strong enough to outlive them.
My vision is beginning to fade when I see the girl from Three approach me. She has a knife in her hand.
I like the girl from Three. Sure, I wanted to kill her. We all did. She'd upstaged us all. But she's like me. I can see it in her eyes and the way that she faces the world like it's an opponent that has her cornered. There was no love in the house where she grew up.
It might not have been like my house, with all the beatings and the cigarette burns. With all the heat and pressure, enough to make a little girl fall in love with fire. But it definitely wasn't good for her.
"Who's left?" I ask.
"Gravel, Picaresque and Fawkes," she replies. I realise that she must've missed two cannons.
I shake my head. My body shudders and I start coughing up blood. "I killed Picaresque. In the night. There was another cannon. It's just us and one more person."
"Fawkes," she whispers. "It has to be."
I try to recall which of the outliers had been Fawkes. I remember Caesar Flickerman saying the name with enthusiasm and realise that he's the boy from Three, this girl's district partner. I can tell by the sadness in her voice that he's hurt her. I don't know what he meant to her. The pair from Three hadn't shown any sign of being friends or enemies in training.
"Would he... make it quick?"
She shakes her head, sadly.
I know what I want.
"Then I'm rooting for you," I croak. "I know you'll make it quick."
She gives me a sad, knowing look and then slices my throat open.
My name is Cornelia Lavenza. I'm eighteen years old. My home is District 2.
I'm dying young.
2.
When she comes for me, I assume that she's a nightmare.
I must've lost consciousness at some point. I've been drifting in and out of consciousness, between nightmares and an even more nightmarish reality, for the last few hours. The mutt that had dragged me away and bitten me when I'd been about to kill Binah and end these games must've been venomous, since I've been getting worse and worse and worse.
I've been tormented by the ghosts of my victims. Well, they're not really my victims. I'd never killed anyone directly but I'd set so many deaths in motion. I've got blood on my hands.
I also know that the living can hurt just as much as the dead.
Binah must still be alive. That's why I'm still here. That's why they haven't taken me out of here yet.
She glides over like a spectre. Binah is a girl of darkness and light. Dark hair with a streak of white cutting through it, making her look like the Bride of Frankenstein. Dark eyes, ghostly skin.
Dark bruises on her throat from Preston's hands. I'd been so proud of him, the Frankenstein's monster I'd raised to kill her and Ernest. Because I'd been too much of a coward to kill them myself. I thought I'd been so clever, naming him after Joules Chau's son.
I'd forgotten that he'd come second.
The light glinting off the knife in Binah's hand reminds me.
"Have you come to kill me, Binah?" I ask.
Binah looks sick. She sways and sinks to her knees beside me.
"Is it because I hurt you?" I ask.
"No. It's because you're hurt," She whispers, softly. I'm shocked. I've been forced to put up with Binah Katayanagi pretty much every day for the last two weeks. I know her better than I know myself. Soft isn't the word I'd use to describe her. She doesn't take prisoners. She doesn't compromise. She's loud and harsh and brutal and yet...
She's a better person than I'd ever have a hope of being.
I know why she's so confrontational. Four years ago, Régine Maurin tortured her best friend to death. To be honest, I'm impressed that Binah's been able to hold everything together for the last couple of weeks.
I laugh. "Stop being so... noble. It was easier when you were the district partner from Hell. I felt less like the bad guy for wanting you dead."
"You really wanted me dead?" She asks.
"I wanted to live," I say. "I wanted to have the rest of my life. I didn't want to die. I thought I was too young to die. Then I realised that everyone else was even younger and even then I fought. I tried to break you down because... that's the only way I know how to fight. My weapon up here," I try to move my arm to point at my head but I don't have the strength. "It hurts more every time I use it. Because I knew it was wrong. I was just too scared. Something had to give and then... you lied to me..."
"Did I?" She asks. She looks so innocent. I remember when we'd sent the dolls after the Careers. She'd seemed so upset over their suffering, even though they'd volunteered for this. But I'd also watched her slit Cornelia Lavenza's throat without batting an eye. Maybe she just doesn't like causing suffering.
I, on the other hand, used to live for spectacle. I didn't care who got hurt and how. I just wanted to put on a show.
"You told me you loved me," I say, thinking back to my fight with Binah by the Cornucopia, before the mutt had come. "When I had a knife to your throat and I'd just insulted you and your dead best friend. Honestly, Binah, how stupid do you think I am? You must've been so scared and angry and desperate and I'd made you like that. I made you lie. I made you act like me. I hated the thought of turning into a monster but it was only when I realised that I was turning you into one as well that I..."
I can't speak anymore. I break down, sobbing. I remember a nightmare from earlier. I'd been tied to a stake and Manel had stood right in front of me, aiming his crossbow at my throat. The look in his eyes had been terrifying, so much anger and heartbreak.
"Please don't kill me," I'd begged, struggling against the ropes. "I love you."
"Do you?" Manel had asked, coldly.
"I do," I'd cried. "With all my heart."
Manel's eyes had flashed with a knowing look. He'd shook his head.
"You have no heart, Fawkes," he'd said. "You're a monster."
Then he'd pulled the trigger.
We'd both known that I'd been lying.
I'd been desperate the night before the games. I'd needed a distraction and then the boy of my dreams - everything beautiful and glamorous and exciting about the Hunger Games - had strolled into my elevator.
"Everyone wants me because I'm a victor," he'd told me. "Nobody wants me."
I hadn't wanted Manel, not the real him, anyway. I'd had a crush on him from a distance but I hadn't known him. But I'd wanted to know him. I'd wanted to fall in love with him. I'd wanted to make him more than just a distraction. I'd convinced myself that I'd get the chance.
Now I don't think I will.
"I don't want to kill you, Fawkes," Binah says.
"You don't have to," I whisper. "I'm dying. I did everything to live. I did everything... And I'm still dying."
She looks conflicted. I wonder what she'll do. Binah used to be so easy to read but now it's hard to tell anything anymore. I know that she deserves to live. I don't. All the other tributes were my puppets. I was the boy pulling the strings. My trick with the dolls was enough to drive a Career mad. Raising Preston from the dead just got him killed and Binah hurt.
And what I'd said to Binah by the Cornucopia, how I'd gloated...
I don't know what I'm turning into but I just want to be myself again. I used to consider myself a nice person. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make people happy.
What happened to me?
"I'm dying too," she says. "How about we both lie here, forget we're supposed to be competing against each other and see who dies first?"
"Sounds like a plan," I say, shocked. "Let's give the Capitol the greatest, most dramatic finale in Hunger Games history."
Binah rests herself on the floor next to me. Even with the cold, damp stone at my back and the fever raging through my blood, I can feel the warmth of her. I want to reach out and hold her hand - to comfort her, somehow - but I can't move.
But I can still talk. I'd always considered words one of my greatest weapons. Maybe I can use them for good. Maybe I can make up for everything I've done to Binah.
"This all feels like a romantic film," I say. "You know, the part where they both lie down and look up at the sky together? I miss the sky. It's one of the things I took for granted."
It's true. I'd spent so long dreaming of the stars that I'd never appreciated how beautiful the sky was.
"I've... never seen a romantic film." Binah says.
"Good," I say. "You'd hate them. They always have the same ending, where the guy and the girl end up together. A happy ending. Which is okay until you compare it to real life and then it just makes you sick. I'd always thought… I'd get my happy ending. I guess I never will."
"You could still win," Binah says, quietly. I know she means well.
But I can't articulate how much winning the Seventy-Second Hunger Games will hurt me. Because, if I win, Binah will die. I realise that I hate myself. I hate what I've become.
I feel... something for Binah. Something that... isn't hate.
"But I'll never forget what happened." I say, sadly.
Binah doesn't reply. I have to glance over to check she's still awake. Her eyes are open and staring at the ceiling. She looks so peaceful. She's actually kind of pretty when she's not scowling.
But, strangely, she still looks like Binah Katayanagi, daughter of two teachers, best friend of the boy who'd died four years ago to Régine Maurin's knife.
My district partner. My Bride of Frankenstein.
I wonder what I look like. Nothing good, probably.
"If I die," I say. "Forget I existed. Don't let me hurt you when I'm dead. I did it enough when I was alive."
"What about if I die?" Binah asks. "Don't forget about me. I want someone to remember me."
"Don't you have a family?" I ask. "I saw your parents in the Justice Building."
Binah doesn't reply. I know that kind of silence. She's got a great big knot of hurt feelings inside her. Something that she's scared of facing because she can't even think of how to untangle it.
I want to help her. If I die, I want this to be the last thing I do. Trying to build up one of my opponents to make up for everyone I've broken down.
"Did they love you?" I ask. "It doesn't mean there's something wrong with you if they didn't. It's not your fault. You deserve to be loved by someone."
"Do I?"
"Of course you do," I say, trying to block out the pain from all the poison inside me. "You… you saved my life. In the bloodbath. If I make it out alive, I'm never going to forget that. You're somebody, Binah. You'll always mean something to me. I just… I want to be better than this. I just want a chance… to be better."
The pain inside me grows. It feels like my body is tearing itself apart. All I can do is hope that Binah forgives me, before one of us dies. If I survive this, I want to keep a piece of her alive, in my heart. I want her selflessness, her sense of right and wrong, her moral compass.
Because I think she learned much faster than I did that this isn't a game to be played. This is so much less then that and so much more.
I, Fawkes Chau, the puppet-master of the Seventy-Second Hunger Games, am nothing more than the Capitol's puppet.
Suddenly, something shifts inside me, something terrible. I can't hold back a scream.
My limbs are bursting open. There's something inside me. It's been growing for hours. Now it's bursting out.
All I can see is dark green tentacles, like the mutt that'd attacked me.
Binah sits up beside me. I can see her eyes fill with fear. She doesn't know what to do.
But I know what she should do.
"Kill me," I gasp. "Please, I... I can't take it."
Something like understanding flashes in Binah's eyes. She hurls herself at me, knife drawn.
And a storm of tentacles rises up from my body to stop her.
I scream again. Tentacles burst out of my mouth, forcing it open. I can't move. I can't speak. All I can do is think.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Please kill me, Binah. I don't think I can live like this.
I don't want you to die anymore.
Then, finally, my district partner - my angry, hot-headed, heroic district partner - plunges her knife into my throat.
The tentacles relax. Binah falls onto what's left of my body. Her face is only inches from mine.
"I'm sorry." She whispers.
I look into her eyes and I see the stars I've been searching for my entire life.
My name is Fawkes Chau. I'm nineteen years old. My home is District 3.
I'm dying young.
1.
I always knew I'd go out like this.
I'm hunched over a computer, frantically trying to type as peacekeepers pound at the door. But I can't think of them. I can only think of the Capitol security systems I'm picking apart.
I remember how all this started. Ramona came to me with the news that Lumas Taffeta had died of an overdose. I'd been saddened by the news. Lumas and I had both had so much hatred for the Capitol. We'd been friends.
But Lumas had both been more than that to Ramona.
She'd begged me to look into his death, to use my computer skills to uncover the Capitol's secrets. I'd agreed to it. But I'd uncovered just a bit too much to keep to myself.
So I'd spread information about the Capitol's atrocities across the district.
I'd taken the sparks of rebellion that were blowing across District 3 and turned them into an inferno.
Now I've made sure that the Twelves can get out of here safely. But I know that I won't be leaving this room alive.
So I might as well make the most of my last minutes and ruin President Snow's day.
I've got two ghosts who I need to lay to rest. Two dead district partners from my district who didn't deserve what they got.
Fawkes is easy. He tried to maintain this mysterious, secretive attitude throughout the games but he never hid the things that he loved. He loved showbiz. He loved all the bright things on the TV screen.
So when I leave Beetee a trail of breadcrumbs that'll get him into the Capitol's TV network, I think of my old district partner.
I can't forget what they did to him. Fawkes might've done bad things but that mutt... I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
And in the end, on the cellar floor, I felt closer to him than I'd done to anyone for years. Ramona told me that she'd felt something similar for her final opponent. There are some bonds stronger than alliances.
I think Fawkes and I had only found ours after our alliance had fallen apart.
Dellon's a little harder to satisfy. He liked chaos. There's no single, clean way to cause chaos.
I just have to do as much as I can, as fast as I can.
I slip the pill into my mouth as I'm replacing all of the files on President Snow's computer with videos of vomiting Komodo dragons. It's called nightlock. One bite and I'll be dead.
I trust it. After all, my mentor was the one who developed it.
Ramona's gone. I suppose I shouldn't be angry at her for ditching me in the Control Centre. There's a big, fancy reason behind everything she's ever done. Until I went through my games, I couldn't understand the reason why she'd let Régine Maurin slice my best friend apart. I'd hated Ramona. Now everything's less black and white. I don't think there's a way that she could've saved him, other than killing him on the spot.
That was the only way I could save Fawkes.
I understand Ramona's reason for going rogue. She wants revenge, just like I do, and her weapon of choice - poison - is useless when she's in here.
The door bursts open. Bullets fill the room. I can hear them thud into bodies. One of those bullets has my name on it.
But not if I can help it.
The Capitol are idiots if they think they can take me alive.
I send one last virus to President Snow and try to think of some poetic last words. But I'm not Fawkes. I don't have his way with words.
There's this voice in my head yelling, "Screw it, Binah! Just say something!"
So I do. The first words spoken in my arena. The last words of the first tribute to die.
"Fuck the Capitol!"
Then I bite down.
My name is Binah Katayanagi. I'm twenty-one years old. My home is District 3.
I won the Seventy-Second Hunger Games.
I'm still dying young.
That was another incredibly fun chapter to write. Remember all those minor characters with references for names in The Bride and The Widow? I decided to give them all POVs. Binah has an entire story of focus so it seemed fair to give all the other characters a moment in the limelight as well. Candida's the one that surprised me the most while I was writing this. I didn't expect her to figure Fawkes' plan out but it just turned out that way.
Fawkes turns up a lot in this chapter because he's definitely more connected to the other tributes than Binah is. He's such a big, extroverted character that a lot of characters know who he is. They all make different assumptions about him but very few of them are very accurate, since he's so secretive. This is only the second POV that I've ever given Fawkes and he's definitely moved on a lot since his POV in The Bride and The Widow. He's finally realising the error of his ways but too late to make an impact on anyone apart from Binah. They definitely have one of the strangest relationships as district partners and it's a key part of both of their character arcs. I don't think that either of them could've done so well without the other.
Most of Binah's actions in this chapter occurred in The Bride and The Widow. Her death scene is the only new ground covered here. I'm sorry for killing her off but she was unlikely to survive the rebellion and this seemed like a fitting death for her. She remained defiant until the very end and definitely played a vital role in the rebellion. Binah got really unlucky, winning only two years before the whole rebellion kicked off. She made the most of it and definitely did enough to avenge Dellon's death.
Next is the Seventy-Third games. I'm not a big fan of my first daft so I'm planning to switch things up. I've got no idea how long it'll take but I don't think it'll be too long.
