Sasha Grotrekk, 13
District 8 10th Female
The thick canopy of leaves creates almost absolute darkness in this area of the forest. Francina, Nimona, and I sit in a tight circle. Still, I can hardly see them. Nimona blends in especially well, her dark skin and hair melting straight into the shadows.
"Want to play a game?" I ask. We've been sitting here in silence for almost an hour and I'm desperate to break the silence.
"What kind of game?" Francina asks, her voice laced with confusion.
"Best and worst days," I say.
"What's that?" Nimona asks, also confused.
"I just made it up. Basically, you say the best and the worst day of your life. Nothing after the reaping is allowed because that would be cheating. You go first."
Nimona sits in silence for a while, not responding.
"Well, if you have to think about it that long, it wasn't really your best day," I say. "Let me go first. Best day: when I was adopted. Worst day: when my parents died." It's a straightforward answer, but it makes enough sense.
"Well, I don't think I have a day that bad," Nimona says. "But I woke up one morning and there was a dead body right outside my house. He was literally just dead. There was no blood or anything. We called a peacekeeper and the guy was carried away. We never saw him again."
Francina shuffles into a different position, clearly unnerved. "How did he die?"
"We never found out," Nimona says. "His eyes were so empty. Like the windows of an abandoned house. Anyway, best day. When I got to sit at the cool table in seventh grade. I felt bad for the friends I used to sit with. But when you're invited to a better lunch table, there's really no turning back."
"Wow, that's kind of lame," Francina says. "As for my best day… uh… I was thirteen when my parents finally let me dye my hair."
"You really went overboard with that," I say. I can see the streaks of blue, green, pink, and yellow from all the way over her.
Francina nods. "Yeah. Worst day was when I squeezed a packet of dye too hard. It exploded all around the bathroom. The stains are still as vivid as paint on the mirror and the counter."
"Why did you squeeze it?" Nimona asks.
"I don't know," Francina admits, laughing. "It was just really jiggly."
Francina hands around her thermos of water, and we each take a sip. Refreshed and relaxed, the three of us stand up and continue our nomadic path through the woods.
Thred Curtis, 18
District 5 9th Male
I honestly can't believe this crap. This is a death game, not a garden for romance. If I could, I would kill Threada right now. But that's a sure-fire way to be either kicked out of the group or murdered in my sleep. I try to remind myself that it isn't a big deal; there's plenty of time left for her to die in the coming stages. But something about her presence still irks me in a way I can't describe.
Dawson shivers, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "When did it get this cold?"
"Last night," I say. "It's still early morning. It'll probably warm up later."
Threada wrinkles her mouth. "I don't think so. The weather has been a bit too nice as of late. With the exception of that giant lightning storm. But that's not important."
"I bet it was important to the tributes who were caught in it."
Rollag rolls his eyes. "You two need to shut up. Now hurry up. The grass is getting greener. There's totally some sort of river coming up."
I shiver as the first gust of biting cold wind hits me. "If there is one, I bet it's frozen."
"There's no way," Rollag says. "And even if there's a thin layer of frost, it'll be easy to bust through."
Our conversation drops off as we continue our path through the woods. The grass underneath is crunchy with a thick layer of frost. I don't have a right to complain. I'm the only tribute outside of the careers who volunteered for all of this.
The four of us are all shivering by the time we come to the river. It's thin enough to be crossed with one long step, and at least half a centimeter of liquid is frozen on the surface.
Threada stamps her foot on the surface, but it only cracks up slightly. "Damn, this is tough," she groans as she continues to stomp on the seemingly thin layer of ice.
The four of us have to stomp for at least fifteen seconds before my foot flies right through the surface. Freezing cold water floods into my shoe, and I yank it backward, completely numb from the fiery cold pain.
Dawson kneels next to the hole and dips his thermos underneath the surface, letting the container fill with water. Dawson takes a sip and then spits out the water.
"Damn. Damn, that's cold. We have to wait for it to warm up."
Dawson crosses his arms and holds it close to his body. Meanwhile, Rollag, Threada, and I fill our own containers with water. My fingers start to turn blue when they've been touching the thermos for only five seconds. "This water has got to be below freezing. I've literally never felt anything this cold."
Threada shrugs. "The gamemakers have probably tampered with it. Now it's time to find out if it's poisoned as well." She brings her thermos to her lips and takes a sip, cringing as it passes her teeth.
Threada coughs, pounding her chest twice. "Well, it's definitely clean, but we'd better wait a little while longer for it to warm up."
Brigitta Channel, 18
District 8 9th Female
All of the others are gone. Felix and Sybil and Boltson are dead, and Threada is probably at the other end of the forest by now.
This morning is freezing cold, cold enough to make my teeth chatter. I see myself as relatively hardy, but I can't deny that this cold weather makes me want to curl up on the ground and cry. The cold temperature is almost painful.
Which makes it all the more surprising when I feel the first blast of heat.
Knitting my eyebrows in confusion, I take a single step forward before stopping in my tracks. Through the frost-covered trees, I can make out a thin trail of smoke up ahead. Another wave of heat hits me, giving me the energy to keep moving forward.
I'm too enraptured to keep track of the time. It might be a minute, it might be an hour when the heat becomes consistent: a solid wall of warmth that seeps into my bones. A sigh of relief involuntarily tumbles from my lips.
I stop myself at the ledge, a single step from tumbling into the pit of lava. A small pebble flies out from under my foot and lands in the dark pit. The pebble breaks through the black surface, revealing the glowing crimson lava underneath.
What's even more surprising is the girl curled up at the edge of the pit.
I move closer to the girl, and I notice that all of her fingers are black from frostbite. I recognize her purple face as Lycra, the girl from my district who scored an eight. A small bottle is clamped into her fingers. Reading the label gives me chills despite the warmth issuing from the pit.
Take these orally to numb the pain. It'll all be over soon.
The story pieces itself together in my mind. Lycra was dying from frostbite and was drawn to the warmth of the pit. But the damage had already been done. There was no getting better.
I feel for her heartbeat just like my father showed me. She's alive. I've got to put her out of her misery.
I shove my arms around her torso and slowly drag her to the ledge, then push her over. She wobbles back and forth over the ledge for a few seconds, then disappears from sight. A cannon fires the second her body hits the surface of the crimson lava.
A rumbling sound comes from behind me, almost like the noise of a whirring engine. I turn suddenly around, frozen in place as the small marble countertop rises out of the frost. Two words are carved into the marble: choose one.
I move my eyes back and forth between the two figurines on the countertop: a silver crescent and a sphere made of blue crystal. The silver crescent is carved with exquisite attention to detail. I pull the crescent close to my face to get a better look at the repeating patterns carved into the surface. When I pull my eyes away from the small object, the countertop is completely gone. I've made my choice. Which tributes will suffer because of it?
Cloth Topper, 18
District 8 6th Male
One moment, I'm walking on solid ground. The next moment, I've been knocked straight off of my feet, tumbling down a steep slope. In my rolling descent, I catch a few glimpses of Velvet. It isn't until I reach the bottom of the slope that we knock straight into each other.
"What happened?" I ask, rubbing my head.
Velvet shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Wait," I say. "We're in a big hole." It isn't just one slope: the land slopes upward in all directions, leading down to the point where we stand. Small twigs line the perimeter of the hole, pointing inward. They seem to be suspended in midair.
"Look, Velvet." I point at the twigs. "What are those for?"
Velvet's face suddenly falls, and he begins crawling out of the hole. "Those aren't sticks!" he shouts. "Those are metal bars! They're trapping us in here!"
A trill of panic rushes through me as the bars begin to grow, moving toward the center of the hole. "We need to get out!" Velvet hisses. "Come on!"
Adrenaline rushes my limbs with energy, but the snow is just too crumbly to climb anywhere near high enough to reach safety. Just as I come near the surface, I tumble backward, landing at the bottom of the hole amidst a torrent of dirt and frost. By the time I regain my balance, the bars have closed up. We're completely trapped.
"Holy fuck."
"Yeah. Holy fuck."
The net of metal bars is moving downward now. In a matter of moments, it is pressing down on the top of my head, and I have to crouch down to keep from being crushed.
Velvet and I share a terrified look. In that moment, I realize we're doomed.
Crochet Undersee, 18
District 8 11th Male
I've been travelling along the river for days. It's the only thing that brings me life and hope now that I'm all by myself.
The moment the lightning storm separated me from Cloth and Velvet was the moment I realized just how vulnerable I really was. Up to that point, I had felt safe, but only because of numbers. When Dressal and Marble were alive, I remember being almost completely fearless.
Now that I'm all on my own, I find myself constantly glancing over my shoulder, jumping at every slight sound. Paranoia is setting in. Lack of clean food isn't helping.
I continue travelling well into the night. By the time I'm too exhausted to continue travelling, the cold has returned: a chilling, biting cold that completely consumes me in a matter of minutes. When I collapse onto the frosty grass, I'm too exhausted to pay much attention to the death recap.
Then I see the faces of Cloth and Velvet. They're dead too, along with Lycra. There are thirteen of us left. Only one of us needs to die for this stage to be over. As I think about Lycra, Cloth, and Velvet, how they might have died, I feel absolutely nothing inside. The games are changing me.
Lycra Torren, District 8 5th Female
Cloth Topper, District 8 6th Male
Velvet Reigns, District 8 7th Male
Remaining Tributes (13): Preston, Francina, Dawson, Thred, Electron, Nimona, Organza, Madras, Rollag, Brigitta, Sasha, Threada, Crochet
