Day Three:


Don't go where the path may lead,
Go instead where there is no path
And leave a trail.


Lucretia Hanover, District Six


The wind is relentless and shows no sign of quitting. I can hear objects being lifted up and smacked down onto the grass that is my shelter. The Gamemakers' onslaught blows erratically against my skin like the wind did when we toured around the Capitol during the chariot rides, except this time it's a hundred times more rough.

My hair's become a flag now, like a wild jungle – untamable and unruly. The once stunning golden ringlets that covered my scalp now vaguely resemble a harassed bird's nest. As I continue to take more steps forward, the wind attempts to rock me back on my heels.

I just hope that I'm lucky enough to manage through this unscathed. Actually, you know what? I should get out of this alive and well. Out of all the people in this arena that are deserving of this type of treatment, I should be the absolute last person to cross anyone's mind.

All those less interesting idiots should be the ones with their lives put in danger, not me! Hell, I can barely even fully comprehend what I'm trying to say because of all this noise! This wind … it doesn't even howl; it screams.

I keep my eyes shut in order to avoid getting hit by the violent dust – more likely an involuntary action than a voluntary one – but even if I could open them I wouldn't. My senses are already overloading my mind, and one more certainly wouldn't help.

Still, I'm gonna persist. Even as my lungs burn from exhaustion, I keep walking. My sandals sloppily slap against the soil, and the grass tickles at my ankles. ''Come on, girl, they're just guiding you.'' They are, aren't they? What other choice do they have other than to help a fan-favorite out? They'd be idiots to let me stumble around blind. ''Keep walking – just keep walki—''

A sharp, deep pain throbs at the side of my lower abdomen as I fumble forward and land on something unfriendly, eliciting an unintended gasp from me. It's warm, but not in a good way – not at all. It feels like someone just stuck their hand through me and started squeezing my organs as hard as they could. For a few seconds, my mind simply clamors for the pain relief to come. Finally, I'm able to move again after it wanes.

I breathe slow and extensive before forcing my eyes open. There's no blood anywhere, but as I lift up my plaid button-down, I find that my side is purple and bruised heavily. Every time I touch it, it feels like a needle in being stabbed into my innards.

''Seriously,'' I say, regretting the idea of letting the Gamemakers dictate my movements, ''you guys couldn't have given me a sign? You idiots need pick your targets wisely and stop fucking with the real competitors!''

What makes this scenario worse is that I collected absolutely nothing from the cornucopia except for a small ass tactical knife. My human shields all escaped. Honestly, it was a get in, grab the first thing I saw and get out type of thing. If I had some actual protection, I wouldn't be out here getting hurt.

''Maybe you people should start sponsoring me some gear instead of shepherding me towards … fucking boulders!'' I scream, ignoring the weather altogether. ''I find it ridiculous that you people dare—!''

''Who's out there..?!''

Are my ears deceiving me? Yeah. Yeah, they have to be... Since the Gamemakers find it funny to steer me into a partially buried rock, I wouldn't put it past them to play a soft voice in order to make me go mad.

''Can you help me..? I-I-I'm … I need to get these chains off!''

There it is again. Ultimately, I decide to ignore the sound and keep still for a little bit. The winds are only picking up more in strength, so I wouldn't be surprised if I were to be picked up and flung across outskirts.

In the far view, I catch sight of a few silhouettes. There's a mix of masculine and feminine shapes, but it appears that all the females are carrying heavy objects over their heads while the men are pushing some sort of wheelbarrow. Although they're far away, I can still hear the squeaking that emits from the cart-like structure.

Are those mutts? ''Shit.''

''I'm serious! Is anyone out there?!'' Turns out there actually is someone here. Another tribute, by the sound of it. A girl with curly brown hair and a short, chocolate brown plaid blouse jumps out from behind the large rock that I'm positioned against.

She's bound so heavily with chains like nothing I've ever seen before. Then again, I've never actually seen anyone locked up like that. The cuffs are so long that they wound all around her body, with one ring attached to her neck, and two irons reaching to her waist; along with two manacles fastened to them. Both of her hands are secured by a large padlock, and judging by how tight they look, I'd say that she can't raise her arms anywhere past her chest, nor can she lower her head too far down.

If anything, they'd end up choking her if she took one wrong move. Her eyes, as of this current moment, appear to be closed. Taking this as some sort of chance, I hurry up and scoot away from the line of sight.

In a failing attempt to try and hide my timorous disgust, I'm barely able to hold back my scowl. I see how horribly those chains are digging into the girl's skin, how hurt and beat she looks. No detail misses my eyes. I'm the type of person who hates easily, but I know true evil when I see it.

Stop it. She's a tribute... She's lesser than you, dammit!

My mind's right. After all these years, I still couldn't care any less for someone so dirty and lame – and she's no exception. I'm not gonna lie, though, it's sickening that the Gamemakers want me to take care of this. Someone so pitiful; someone who should've been dead a long time ago.

Still... With my face utterly blank, I sickly reach into the top of my skirt knot and grab the handle of the expensive black plastic. Father always taught me how to be a proper girl, how to never dirty my hands, but it looks like I've gotta be naughty for five minutes.

For a moment, I'm lost, imagining the blood of someone else soaking on a weapon that I wield. There's no way to conceal how ready but uncomfortable I am with this task.

But I distinctly understand that this knife is my ticket to eliminating the competition.


Aaliyah Ransier, District Eleven


It's a stretch to believe that anyone would help me, but I need these chains off. One way or another, I'm gonna get the hell out of these shackles.

I walk over the damp grass, my legs heaving forward against the pressure that's building in my chest. The wind continues to smack me, adding more to the heavy chains that already restrict me. With my eyes squinted, I let in enough light to navigate – and to spot a girl ducking behind a large rock. The one that I was pressed up against earlier.

''Wait, please!'' I call out, never slackening my pace. Each step takes me closer to her, even though I have no idea what to expect. I don't need her, but if she has something that can get me out of these things then I'd greatly appreciate it. And if she doesn't...

Honestly, I hate this. Me relying on her isn't fitting for my personality – it's not fitting for me period. If everything goes according to plan, then I'll ask her to let me go. We can easily walk away from this situation without any bloodshed. I might even play the innocent girl and act weak just for the advantage.

''Seriously, I need your—'' The blonde-haired beauty comes out, her skinny limbs and baggy skirt being tousled by the heavy breeze. One hand lies limply by her thigh, but the other one is behind her back. Something's off. She doesn't look like someone I'd want to associate with, only because of the menacing sneer she lets out. ''Hey..! Do you think that you could—''

She lunges at me with brute force, a lethal knife in her now revealed hand. ''Whoa!'' Her arm swings forward, aiming straight for my cheek. As quick as I possibly can, I squat down and try to reel backwards. Regrettably, I start to lose my balance, and in an attempt to regain it I throw my hands forward, momentarily forgetting that I'm legit locked!

The chains yank forward, gripping my throat harder and forcing a struggled gasp to resound from my lips. Her offensive charge doesn't stop, as she's in my face in the matter of seconds. ''Please—!''

Before I can react, a clenched fist slams into my nose, sending my nerves on edge. Pain spreads all around my face, the blood leaking as soon as she retracts her arm. As I take a closer look at the girl, I realize that she's the one from Six – the one who was acting entitled during her interview.

Am I really gonna be bested by her, all because I didn't run away? That should've been my first natural instinct, to get out before she found me. But no, I just had to seek a way, didn't I?

In the end, it's not dying that scares me – although, that is a huge factor – but it's the pain. The pain of knowing that my District is perfectly fine with the idea of me dying all because of my relationships. And if I fight back for my life, they'll say that I truly am just like my brothers.

I've been hated for things that weren't under my control for far too long, and at last, I think I've finally reached my melting point. Who cares if they hate me? Who cares if I'm forever shunned? Who cares what happens anymore? I just wanna live.

Another attack hits. This time it's the hilt of the knife, butting into my neck, and then my right cheek. My eyesight blurs, but not because of the tears welling up in them. Everything becomes fuzzy, and soon enough, I might not be seeing anything at all.

Throughout this fight, the only thing that I manage to hear are my heartbeats pounding loudly, echoing in my ears, alongside fading taunts from this girl.

But I'm not ready … I'm not ready to meet my mom just yet; I'm not ready to die just yet; I'm not ready to give up just yet.

Somehow, someway, I throw my hands up, ignoring the pain that tightens up against my neck, and gasp as I feel the blade of her knife coldly stab the iron chain. Bile begins to build up, almost threatening to be released, but I push it back down.

What's her name lets out a tired moan. ''Why don't you just accept that you're gonna die?'' she screams, continuing to swing. ''People like you don't win the Games! Why can't you understand that it's better for you to just drop dead?!''

Forcing my eyes open, I quickly step to the side and avoid the swoosh of her weapon. ''Because I don't wanna die. I'm not some weak little girl that can't do anything for herself.''

''Oh, cut the bullshit! I figured that you'd be the type to give some cliché ass excuse!'' She staggers forward in her footsteps, swinging her knife sloppily. Beyond a cocky laugh, she doesn't notice that I'm studying her movements. She doesn't notice that I figured out that she has no idea how to use that weapon. ''People like you deserve to die! When will dumbasses like you get it through your thick skulls? Not everyone gets a happy ending!''

It's now or never.

Bracing myself for her next attack, I duck my head underneath her swing and throw both arms up, contradicting the motion of where my choker chain and shackles are supposed to go. It hurts so much as they tighten, forcing the tears to spill. A sharp pain flares in my wrist, thick blood flowing freely through the wound.

Despite the scream that bursts from my lungs, I continue forward. Judging by the way the girl stopped moving, she either didn't expect for the attack to land or thought that I would quit. ''What the—!''

Both of my arms wrap around her neck, the strong iron locking tight against her Adam's apple. Quickly, I position myself behind her and throw my body downward, dragging her along with me, the knife falling loose from the palm of her hand. The thing about these chains is that if I move my limbs forward, they'll hurt me. But if I pull them backwards...

She sinks to her back, lying on top of me. In a desperate attempt to stop her from escaping, I wrap both of legs around her abdomen and hold still. She tries to scream, convulsing like an enraged toddler before me. Her struggling attacks last long – longer than I'd have liked, but it's worth it in the end.

Instead of it being mine, her cannon sounds, permanently marking the end of her life. Good. Even after the blast fades, I hold on still, just to make sure. When I let go, her body lies still on top of me, and I can't get her off.

The cascade of her life source gushes out from her neck lazily in one direction, the scarlet liquid landing on my arms. Her head leans to the side, and only then do I see how much of a vice-like grip that I had on her. A disgusting, brutal indentation is left so deep that I'm shocked her head didn't fall off.

I … I don't know how to feel about this. Murder. Death. Who would've thought that I'd be the one to inflict it upon another person?

''Are you happy?'' I shout, feeling disgusted but proud of myself at the same time. I could've made a bond with that girl during my time in the Capitol, but instead I took her life a few days later. My only wish is to stray away from the way that people see me, but killing her only pushed me into a deeper hole. And, you know what? I don't care. I really don't! ''You're finally seeing my true colors, aren't you?!''

Suddenly, footsteps begin to approach me. Forcefully, and in an act of panic, I attempt to push the lifeless girl off of me but to no avail. Her knife is ten feet away, but I can't reach it.

In an endeavor to concentrate and get the job done, I'm just about ready to barrel myself a few feet over, until something presses up against my wrist. I nearly cry aloud as I peer over and find a dirty, ripped-up boot pushing my arm into the ground. Multiple people hover over me, staring down with confusion in their eyes.

''Please,'' I say, my voice dim and low. My chest rises and falls weakly, and all of my efforts are in vain because of how winded I am. ''...please.''


Natalie Needle, District Seven


Lately it's been peaceful. I can't really speak for Millet, but I love it like this. We haven't seen a tribute since we left the cornucopia, which is good. Hopefully the others are gonna end up going at each others' throats soon. It's a terrible thing to wish for, but that would be beneficial in the long-run.

The competition needs to dwindle some way or another, and if that can happen without the two of us getting caught in it, then I'm all game.

Guess we're being blessed for good behavior.

With one hand locked around a backpack strap and the other reaching into my pocket, I cautiously look up at the sky, squinting my eyes to protect them from the blazing sun. As soon as my searching fingers make contact with the leading edge of my boomerang – the one that I've had ever since I was a little girl – nostalgia takes over my system.

I miss my family. Remembering them keeps me at peace. Not to say that Millet doesn't, because our relationship has grown and I can honestly call him a brother even after knowing him for only a few days. But family life was better than being stuck in an arena with no sort of tracking.

Dad, Mom … I miss how amazing they worked together. How much they cared for giving us a good life; how easy it was for us to rack up income for things like food and water and clothing, all by selling decorative crafts to wealthy citizens and Capitolites.

I miss my sister Nicole's outgoing and harmless personality; I miss my brother Neil's hyperactive and violent temperament, even if I constantly warned him that he'd get his due soon enough; I miss my best friend Juniper's free-spirited nature and how much she loved the outdoors – if she were in the arena right now, she'd be so relaxed by this scenery.

A sigh escapes my parted lips, and a small tear threatens to spill from the bottom of my eye. ''Did you say something?'' Millet ventures. He surveys me up and down, a curious smile on his face. Just then do I realize that I stopped dead in my tracks and let him carry on without me. ''Need to talk about something? You know I'm all ears.''

As dull as it currently is walking in silence, I decide against bringing up my personal matters with him. ''No thanks.'' He stands there for a couple of seconds, saying that it might be a good time to take a break from our journey. I take a seat, and he companies me.

Millet leans back on the railroad, retracting his legs and stretching in a way that doesn't avoid my personal space. He catches me looking and grants a cheeky smile, something I've yet to see him do until now. What a guy.

Now taking off the backpack that hangs on my left shoulder, I reach into it and look for a container of some type of liquid while avoiding the extra knives that I collected. My hands grasp two bottles – one with water, and the other providing regular milk.

I frown when I raise the bottle of water up to my face and stare at it. ''Why can't we drink the water again?''

''It's not filtered,'' he answers, peering up just a little bit. ''We need to boil it. To be honest, you're better off drinking the milk anyway. It's be better to save our water for when we're really in need of it.''

''Hmm. And what happens if I drink the unfiltered water?'' I inquire.

Slightly amused yet slightly concerned, he shrugs his shoulders casually. ''Oh, you know. Just regular acute conditions that drinking contaminants will do to you – give you diarrhea, make you vomit, irritate your skin and eyes. The usual.'' He and I share a much needed laugh together. As soon as our voices die down, though, he says, ''Seriously, though, don't do it.''

Nodding, I toss the canister of water back into my bag and listen to the sound of it splashing softly. Without another word, I open up the container of milk and eye it for a moment before gingerly swallowing the lukewarm liquid, allowing it to remove all the dryness from my mouth and soften my throat, as well as also burn my insides slightly.

''Hey, Mill,'' I speak up, drawing him from his untroubled state. Usually I don't initiate conversations, and he typically isn't this open, but I feel like talking to him will help get my mind off of things. He offered to speak earlier, so I figure it's not too late. ''I guess I do wanna talk for a bit, if that's not a problem with you?''

''Sure. Lay it on—'' Millet stops quickly and studies me. I'm about to ask him what he's staring at, but then he leans in closer, removes the wire-frame glasses from my eyes, and asks, ''Why are you crying?''

My cheeks instantaneously turn bright red from embarrassment, but it's no use to pretend that the tears aren't there. After about an hour of us simply chatting, I feel like something heavy has just been lifted off of my chest. I told him about how much I miss home, how much I wanna go back, and he told me how he had a sister back in Nine waiting for him. When he spoke about his mother being deceased, I told him I was sorry. Words of his father didn't come, but I could tell that there was someone else that was important, and I figure that it's him.

Not to mention that I also learned a few things about Millet. This mature and authoritative boy also has a caring and tender side to him that he apparently only shows to people that he really cares about; he even displays his emotions to them. Truthfully, I'm happy that it ended up being him that I decided to team up with.

The quiet atmosphere puts me at ease, but then I feel something shaking. Placing one hand on the tracks and another in the air, I sense the movement that approaches quickly. Millet recognizes it at the same time that I do and jumps up to his feet, whispering, ''Train?''

''Mm-hmm.'' Nodding my head, I frantically look around and try to think of a way out. It's so obvious, but in a time like this it's difficult to think properly. Forcefully, I grab Millet's hand and encourage, ''We gotta turn back.''

Frightfully, he shakes his head and uses his other hand to point behind me. When I turn around, I see a group of men with white button-downs, trousers, dressing boots, sun hats, and whips glaring at us. Behind them is a row of people, all with different skin colors, bounded together by some extensive, weird-looking chain.

''We're gonna jump, Natalie,'' he orders, not suggests. What did I do? What did either of us do? How could we be faced with a double threat? It makes no sense. ''Natalie!''

From my peripheral vision, I can make out Millet picking up my glasses and our multiple bags. Even while all this is going on, I just can't put my finger to how or why we're being messed with. Did we do something the Gamemakers didn't like? Does karma feel that we're deserving of repercussions, even though I can't recall us doing anything noteworthy? Are they just screwing with us on purpose?!

''Natalie!'' His voice is so raw, so powerful. It immediately snaps me out of my thought process, but I'm once again lost when I hear the raucous, metallic shriek that comes from the decrepit carriage that soon appears. Despite how trashy the train looks, it defies its faltering shape – all corroded by iron.

Millet's charging footsteps get closer to me, and they show no sign of stopping soon. In a matter of seconds he's right beside me, his arm stretched out to pull me closer to him, but instead of wrapping it around my waist like I expected him to, his arm presses up against my stomach, his boots lose grip – or so it seems – and he goes flying off of the train tracks.

His face contorts from a look of confidence, to worry, and then to horror. I can only imagine what I look like right now. Before I know it, I'm tackled by one of the men from behind and pushed off, as well. As we fall off the tracks, I notice that we're descending down a different path from Millet; he's gonna land straight into the water, but I'm gonna land somewhere on the hills and be crippled.

''What happened, Millet?!'' I scream, furious with myself – furious with him. I know that he didn't jump off on purpose, but my mind keeps convincing me otherwise. Our promises... ''What happened to protecting each other at all costs?! What happened to our alliance?!''

Unexpectedly, my body lands, but not as rough as I was preparing for. Instead, I'm on top of the man from earlier, slowly rolling off. There's an aching pain that surges … everywhere, but at least I'm not dead. I can't say the same for whoever that is behind me. His neck is twisted at an awkward angle, and he's completely still.

Finally, a splash comes – a loud, terrifying one. I don't know how Millet landed – I don't even know if he can swim, for goodness' sake – but a cannon follows shortly after.

T-That's just a coincidence, right? It has to be... We never did anything wrong. Unfortunately, my body begins to grow tired, and I can barely move. The air is several degrees cooler than it was before, and I begin to shiver. A sudden noise of metal lightly smacking against metal occupies my hearing, accompanied by low, grieving mutters.

Great. The tears well up once again behind my eyelids, slowly slipping down my cheeks without resistance. It shakes me to my core and my shoulders heave uncontrollably.

Millet might be dead, and I'm gonna end up starting back at phase one. Kidnapped again. I can't even hold back the drool that slowly drips across my cheeks. ''Are you kidding me..?''

What a fucking joke.


Aspen Northill, District Twelve


Who would've thought that Lachlan's plan would actually work. I mean, him pretending to be one of those hunters and placing both Malik and me in chains was genius – we fit right into the crowd, and no-one even took a second glance our way. As for the horse, we set it free. Neither of us could figure out how to maneuver it properly, and we sure weren't gonna sacrifice it for meat just because we got tired of dry crackers.

Ever since yesterday we've decided to stay in this old, abandoned shack. We haven't experienced any extremely bad weather, but occasional violent winds did swell the orange polythene walls.

Lachlan begins to unbutton his blended blue vest and removes the top hat from his head, slightly putting his hair out of place. ''Guys, I'm beat. It's been a pretty long day.''

''Same.'' Malik utters.

''What, really?'' I ask. Sweeping my gaze around the small room that we're all in, I force a smile to graze my features. ''You guys don't wanna wait and see who died today?''

Lachlan ponders it for a little bit but then eventually decides on, ''Nah. As long as we're not dead, I think I can take one day off.'' As he takes his place on one of the broken-down beds, he says, ''Do you mind keeping watch for a few hours, Aspen? I just figure that—''

''It's no problem. You guys can rest. I struggle to get sleep at night, anyways, so I don't mind.'' It doesn't take too long for the two of them to accept my volunteering, but I still turn towards Malik's disheveled appearance and encourage, ''Get some shut-eye.''

''Wake us up if anything happens,'' Malik advises.

''And if you're hungry, the beef and biscuits that I got from the town earlier today are in the drawstring bags. They're somewhere at the bottom, in bowls with plastic lids on them,'' Lachlan informs, before turning to his side and sighing.

It doesn't take long before the two of them are breathing steadily, without worry or fear. And I'm just here, bored, sitting on the cement floor of our shack.

I decide to get up and walk over to a dusty glass window and take a look outside. Right now is when I remember why I've become so uncomfortable with the dark. Time takes its own pace. I remain hidden within the non-existent lights of nightfall, staring out at the trees.

My heart throbs in fear as I barely stand up against the stool. The sky's hidden above by blackness, with only one sound to be heard: the sound of my own pulse slamming against my ears. You can't do this.

Hours go by, and still no anthem has played. What's taking them so long? A cannon did blast today, I'm sure of it. Even if one didn't, they always recap the showing of no deaths. Is it even actually late enough, or are the Gamemakers playing tricks on us and making it look darker for some odd reason?

Whatever, I guess.

Time trickles by, marked only by how much darker and darker it gets outside. My mind's blank; where there should be dreams and pleasant images is nothing but a heavy darkness. My eyes are stationary as the silhouettes of the equipment in this room make the form of a human, and I nearly scream.

You could describe my insomnia like being drunk all night, but without any of the fun that comes along with it. Actually, it's boring as hell. I haven't gone through any mattresses yet, but I'm certain that picking out my favorite would be more amusing than this. Perhaps I should go to sleep, too. It'll be difficult, but it's worth a try.

And why wake up either Malik or Lachlan? They're both resting well, and making them get up just because I feel that I could gain, what, two hours of sleep, is selfish. Nah. But just as I'm about to take a seat on one of the unoccupied beds, I hear a quiet hoot.

Racing back to the window, I spot it. The owl. It has the head of a perfect peach, and its body is shaped like an almond, except coated in feathers that are the color of vanilla. From its location in a tall, skinny tree, it peers at me with its alien eyes. I've always been fascinated by this creature, but to see one so close, so real, I can't help but feel some type of way.

Its world is three dimensional, simple. It lives moment-to-moment, unaware of mortality and unfazed by moral dilemmas. It hunts, it sleeps, it reproduces. There's something to envy about the creature, but also something to love. It also has no boundaries.

In the inky sky, I watch as it swoops down on a fleeing lizard using its natural senses, grasping the animal with little to no effort, its talons sinking deeply into the lizard's living flesh. And just like that, it flies away, hooting, as if it has some sort of deeper meaning.

...And it does.

Suddenly, the silence surrenders to the haunting sound of footsteps and laughter – the two variations lurking closer to me. A narrow stream of light flashes from some sort of skinny object – probably a flashlight – and three shadows stand still; two females, one male. Someone points to our once secluded haven, and my heart drops.

My breathing becomes heavy and rapid, and I'm trying so hard to avoid making a sound. Each second plays on forever as I stand still, listening to the approaching conversation of my likely murderers. This area's not safe anymore, and I realize that almost a bit too late.

Before I know it, the three tributes make it to the entrance of the shack, but they haven't opened the door yet. As quickly as I can, and with as much force as possible, I begin to drag a small wooden sideboard and ram it into the door as soon as someone begins to creak it open.

For a brief moment, I glance into the pale blue eyes of a slim girl with curly red hair. Although she's not in the room with me right now, I know that the initial shocked look on her face has been replaced with a deranged smile.

I can basically feel her aura from behind the door, and I don't like it.

A sweet and caressing giggle escapes someone's mouth, but it's not intent on providing anything nice. ''Looks like we got one!''

Slowly backing up, I stay hidden within the darkness, feeling every bead of sweat that dribbles down my face. ''Guys...'' I whisper, watching the door continue to be pushed against. ''Guys..!''

A sharp, shiny blade stabs through one frame of the wooden door, followed by another. Again and again, the attack continues, until they can take a look through and see exactly who's inside.

I stand up, quickly brushing the dirt from my clothes and willing myself to do something productive for once. Backed against the wall with Lachlan and Malik both sleeping on one side of me each, and a window directly above my dark brown hair, I try to think, think, think!

In a flash of shock and dread, I twitch nervously, my body frozen. Out of sight, someone reveals, ''There's three of them in there!''

Whether or not I like it, I'm restricted to cowering in the presence of my two dozing allies. For each noise that these other tributes make, my ears become sharper, picking up the delicate and unnoticeable things that aren't easily spotted: their calm and prepared breathing, the wind's light tapping on the windows, and their feet scuffling against the ground outside hurriedly.

''Guys!''


Aurora Maran, District One


If I can do this right, maybe I'll earn Camille's respect. Maybe Mom and Dad will feel that they did something right with me; not just because I'm in the Games, but because they'll be proud of me again.

Proud of me for the second time ever in my life.

As Camille continues to hammer her axe into the wooden door, I position myself in a way so I can see what's going on inside and not be hit by her blade when she brings her arm back. The little boy who was cowering a second ago is now up on his two feet, slapping both of his allies awake.

Both of them are grumpy, and one of them even yells at him. It only takes him pointing at the door for them to realize the hostile situation that they're in. The boy with the Eleven on his shoulder springs up to his feet in a hurry and dives for the ground where his equipment is seated.

Just then do I realize the axe that he reaches for and takes hold of. ''Aether, take the back,'' I insist, ''they might have an escape route there. I'll take the window on the right.''

You'd think this was just a normal tactical strategy, right? But it's not. I wanna get in there and be the first one to claim a kill. I just love the rush that I get when I try to out best someone at their own game, and this game that us Careers play always has to do with kills. If this were ballet, I'd destroy the competition; but since it's the Games, and I know that I'm capable of racking up kills if I really try, then I'm going in as best as I can.

Plus, the window's the easiest way to enter. With Camille focused on the barricaded door and Aether turning his attention away from the open view, I've got the best chance at infiltrating their little shack. Right as I raise my chain whip up into the air, I come to a halt.

Can I really do this? Can I actually kill someone?

The outside painting of the shack makes me think for a moment. Every color is bold and designed with such precise lines. They're curved yet sharply defined; they look so stable, but they also look like they'll tumble at the same time. Like you. I feel like this paint shines more than I do. I'm just in the background, behind all my other allies who are confident in what they're doing, like there isn't any substance to me.

''Aurora!'' Camille shouts, pushing through the door after finally chopping it free enough so that she can jump over the added weight. ''What are you doing?!''

Hastily, I slam the chain whip as hard as I can against the window, shattering it open with one hit. I carefully place my legs through it and enter the open-spaced room, masking my insecurities with a smile.

''You took that long to get inside?'' Camille asks, right when Aether enters through the window that I broke.

''Relax, Camille.'' Aether looks back-and-forth between the two of us, slightly confused. With both my hands up in a calming pose, I continue, realistically speaking to her. ''We're three trained Careers, and they're three regular tributes. We're in no need to rush. All three of them aren't escaping, and that's just the truth.''

''Fuck you!'' the one with the vest curses. His clothes are different from the others, but just like Eleven, he's got a bag in one hand, ready to go. The other hand, though, is reaching into his pocket, searching.

Without another sound, the Eleven boy hurls his backpack at the window near the trio with overwhelming strength – and, with one last look at us, one filled with utter disgust, he grabs the hand of his younger ally, waits for the one with the vest to jump through, and then makes his way out.

Cold air sears into my nostrils as Aether leaps past me, poised and so focused on his target that he doesn't even pay attention to either Camille or me. Every vibration of his footfalls smacking against the cement floor makes me wish that I thought of doing that first.

He grabs the little boy's ankle just as he gets his entire body out of the window, wagging his finger side-to-side and shaking his head, before yanking him back into the room. The boy's grip wasn't strong, as his body flings backward, his legs skidding across the fractured glass.

I try not to stare at him as he lets out a blood-curdling scream, but my eyes keep diverting back to his crumpled body. One moment his legs are obediently escaping, and the next they're rested on a bloody mess that had been perfectly clean only moments before; so clean that I can't even recall what they looked like.

''All right, Aether,'' Camille purrs, drawing closer to both boys. Per usual, Aether remains silent, coolly staring down at the boy from Twelve. He stretches his arm back to unsheathe his sickle-chain-like weapon, his motions continuous even as the Eleven boy screams out for his ally.

It's unfortunate, really. He desperately tries to come back for his partner – friend, ally, brother – but the other one restricts him from doing so, screaming that all three of them will die if they return. And that's the truth. Eventually their footsteps disappear, and now it's three-on-one.

''W-Wait! We can't— I mean—'' I stammer, pausing in between my words. ''Look. Aether, your wrist's still injured. You don't have to kill him. Why don't we let him choose who he wants his killer to be? I mean, it's the least we can do...''

Aether looks down at me, then at Camille, and then back at me again – all three of us have our weapons out, ready to strike. ''You sure?''

I see Camille roll her eyes, but I do my best to ignore her completely. ''Yeah.'' The boy's – Aspen is his name – eyes light up with fear as he scans the three of us. I don't know how to phrase 'Who do you want to end your life', so instead I whisper, ''I'm sorry.'' Oh, who's kidding. You already did.

With shaky hands and glistening tears, he points directly at me. Aether lets go of the boy and turns his back to him, offering me an ''All yours,'' and Camille respectively stands back, tilting her head with a close-mouthed smile.

In his eyes, he stares at me with a horrendous and desolate glint that no boy his age should ever possess. Make it quick and clean, Aurora. No dragging it out.

As my hands tremble and my posture fails to please me, an edge of temper creeps into my expression. People watching back at home can see that I'm hesitant on ending his life, because I'm not ready. Surely Aether and Camille can see that it's not right, as well.

Again comes an error, as my foot struggles to lead me into the proper stance, worse this time. I've gotta do this accordingly, or else he'll bleed out and I'll look like a fool for not remembering basic procedures. Are you really thinking about how much you suck when a kid is about to die?

''Hello?'' Camille torments, except she doesn't know it.

On impulse, as if Camille's words were a trigger of some sort, I flick my wrist as hard as I can and watch as the chain's blade plunges into his heart, slightly left of his breastbone. A perfect shot. His whimpering pleads are silenced immediately, his eyes bursting wide open – hurt and thankful at the same time.

Aspen chokes up blood a second later, and then he drops. Quick, clean, and easy … just like that. With my hands still shaking slightly, I pull my weapon out of the boy, disgusted by how easily it slips out with a pop.

Boom!

With ease, I look away from his dead body, avoiding both of my allies' gazes. He's really gone. None of this would've happened if I hadn't opened up my mouth and invigorated the idea of finding someone tonight; none of this would've happened if I had just let Aether slit the boy's throat; none of this would've happened if—

''Didn't expect you to go through with it, sweetie. Good job on your first kill,'' Camille congratulates, placing a hand on my shoulder. ''You've proved that you can actually work well in this environment and that you're not just a pretty bimbo like your District portrays your girls to be.''

I can't tell whether or not she's taking shots at me, but I hate when people compare me to the stereotypical image of One. I don't like hearing that she wasn't sure of me either. Doubted. Not only by your parents, but even your own allies.

''But you did good. Don't you think she did good, Aether?''

Aether and I have never been close, but in this one moment where we lock eyes and he stares into my soul, I can tell that his words are genuine. ''Yeah, she did. I think we should go back to the cornucopia now. Aurora and I are tired. But if you wanna continue hunting, you can go on ahead. We're gonna head back.''

Briskly, Aether locks his fingers with mine and pulls me forward. He opens the door for me and waits until I'm out before looking back at Camille and gesturing for her to follow, and then coming back to my side.

I pause and sigh. ''Thank you...'' Casting my eyes to ground, I can feel them darken. There's no need to raise my head, because I already know. He can easily hear the sound of pain in my voice.

—none of this would've happened if I wasn't so focused on looking good for the people whose opinions only weigh me down.


25th - Lucretia Hanover, District Six

24th - Aspen Northill, District Twelve


Emma, aw, Lucretia was a bitch, honestly. As a character, I loved writing for her. It was amusing, really. As a person, I probably couldn't stand her in real life. She was the last spot I filled, but she wasn't any less of a joy than the rest. I wasn't exactly sure where I wanted to go with her. She's been a mean, spoiled brat for her entire life, so I wasn't sure if changing her in the Games after two days was gonna be all that realistic. I mean, if she were captured and whipped or something, I'm sure I could've gone all out and gave her a complete makeover, but I didn't wanna go that route. Just the hints of hesitation that she showed at the later stages in her POV was enough for me, but she was who she was - bitchy Lucretia. She was a blast, really. Although she acted entitled and didn't get exactly what she wanted in the Capitol, she still had it all back in Six. And now she's got the woman she's never met in her life - her mom. R.I.P.

Linc, Aspen was a bundle of joy. Seriously, the kid was so innocent. He was polite, clueless, and stupid in a way, but it all tied up well. I loved that his relationships with his family and friends really shaped who he was and kept him as the same person until his last breath. I wanted him to have an alliance from the beginning, but I wasn't sure where to put him. Lachlan and Malik seemed to be the best place, and it worked out, in a way. I didn't know where to place him plot-wise. The kid wasn't gonna get any kills, and his position in the alliance wasn't all that helpful. Malik and Lachlan carried most of the work, and the Gamemakers probably would've gotten bored of him sooner or later. Instead of a drawn-out mutt death, I figured letting him choose his maker was the most suitable option. At least he was able to be fascinated by his obsession minutes before his death - I'd say that put him at ease for a little bit. R.I.P.


A/N: Ayeee! Ya boy's not dead, fuck Irma. Nah, but seriously, prayers out to those who were severely affected. It hit over here hard, but I'm just thankful nothing too bad occurred. We got flooding throughout the city, basically, tons of debris with home damage, trees flying everywhere, and a whole bunch of other stuff that's been cleaned up. The power's switched on and off for the past few days, and it was literal hell without it. Hot af, same music on repeat, nothing to do. I guess it worked out in some way, as I was able to finally start on a book that I should've read back at the beginning of year, so ha! On the plus side, the water was cooler, so showers were nice. I tried to sleep through the storm, was woken up, went out to the patio and got hit by a flying brick but it's all gucci, I suppose.

Anyway, got this chapter up sooner than expected. This shouldn't have been so long. Aurora's POV kinda dragged on a bit, but that's because I was having the most fun writing it. I usually try to keep all POVs the same length, but my bad on this one. Not much else to say but this: some people are gonna have multiple POVs in chapters that aren't totally spaced out and not everyone will be shown before someone has two POVs. Basically, this story is gonna fall in line with the deaths I've got planned and when they happen. That doesn't mean your tribute doesn't have any significance, but I could be plotting something big for them later and just be building it up within other POVs, whether you recognize it or not.

'Kay, that's all. Lemme know your opinions and any predictions you might come up with judging by these previous POVs. I hope you're all doin' fantastic wherever y'all are at and are having a good time. I'ma go finish up this book. See y'all next chapter ^