District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-

It's fuzzy green grass that I see when my pedestal finally stops rising. I look hastily around. There's a beautiful green meadow that looks to be a quarter mile in radius, and beyond that there's a forest. But there's something weird about the wood, and it has to do with the trees. The tree trunks are all whimsically curved, and their leaves are brighter than I've ever known green could be. Fat red toadstools cling to the sides of the trees, and the air seems to hum with something I can't place as anything but a mysterious unseen magic. Though I might just be imagining it, I swear I can see tall purple mountains in the far distance, and just beyond the cornucopia I spot the blue flash of a clear lake.

A soft breeze blows, carrying every calming scent I can imagine; summer rain, the sea, home. By the looks of things, other tributes have noticed it too. To my right, the boy from 8 raises his nose into the air, taking deep sniffs of the sweet-smelling wind.

I turn back toward the cornucopia. The bright gold material from which the horn is made catches so much sunlight that I have to squint if I want to look at it for more than a few seconds at a time. Inside, there are mostly swords and bows, though I definitely do spot a few knives.

"Let the 83rd Hunger Games begin!" Caesar Flickerman shouts. I actually spin around as if expecting him to be standing right behind me, but of course he's not; the acoustics of the arena are exceptional.

"5."

I've had my decision made ever since I was reaped. I'm going to dart straight through the meadow and into the woods without glancing once at the cornucopia. Heading in the bloodbath is too risky.

"4."

I recall what my ally Hopper said yesterday. We're supposed to meet each other just over the first horizon. What on earth does that mean? I tried to ask him, but he just got a dreamy look in his eyes and turned away.

"3."

I turn around so that I'm facing away from the horn, rocking back and forth on my platform. I don't want to look at the cornucopia. There's always a chance I'll see something I can't pass up, something that will persuade me to jump into the fray.

"2."

It's now that my breathing heightens, recalling a moment from a past games that I've watched on television with Grandpa more times than I can count. A few years ago there was a super strong eight-member career pack. While five of their members stayed at the bloodbath to kill off tributes, three of them circled the cornucopia field killing the numerous tributes who decided to head away from the get go.

Upon further thought, this worry is silly, given that the pack has only four members. Stop panicking, Pixel.

"1."

Watching the games on television doesn't quite express to a girl how loud the gong is. It reminds me of when my Grandpa would drop a tool or two in his shop, and the crash would echo around the house for five seconds. When I multiply the loudness of a human scream by at least ten, only then can I put into words how loud it is.

As I flee from the horn with nothing but my bare hands to help me through the games, screams begin behind my back.

I take a quick peek to ensure nobody's following, before, unseen, slipping into the comforting darkness of the forest.

District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-

I speed toward the cornucopia as soon as the gong rings. I've seen so many bloodbaths over the years that it's as though an image of a cornucopia has been etched into my head like a strange work of art.

I come to a stop a few meters away from my pedestal, feeling stupid. A District 2 boy needs a sword, and without one I'm sure to be the weak link in the pack. My best weapon is actually a bladed whip, but given the theme of the arena it doesn't seem like there would be any. Contrarily, the thought of a Hunger Games arena without any swords is unthinkable. They're always provided for the steadfast District 2 classics. I just need to search a bit more, that's all.

Jaehaera and I are the only tributes that earned tens, but even she has proved to be my superior by earning 3-1 odds while I only scored 4-1. I have to prove myself a cold-blooded killer from the start if I want to have a hope of outlasting the other careers.

The adrenaline becomes colder and colder as more and more outliers stampede past. That's when I notice it: on a countertop just inside of the cornucopia, a glistening silver sword sits in plain sight, waiting for me.

My face unconsciously works into a grin as I race toward the weapon, and it fits perfectly into my grasp, almost like it was made for me.

"Nero!"

I turn sharply at the sound of my name, greeted with the flick of Jaehaera's dark ponytail. I raise my eyebrows, awaiting an explanation.

Jaehaera takes a few moments to catch her breath. "I got Declan to guard the horn. You and I are going to rack up kills before the field clears too much."

I nod, sprinting into the thick of the cornucopia field. I swing the sword back and forth to get the feel of it as I search for worthwhile prey.

District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-

I make the decision to head into the fray when the gong rings. Sure, it's risky, but it's rare for a tribute who flees from the bloodbath to survive for long. Way too rare. Fleeting thoughts of past tributes dead in the first few days dart through me, and I don't have a doubt that my decision is validated.

I stop in front of the first pack. The scratchy-looking cloth is a bright orange color, and by the looks of things it's bulging with supplies. I turn left and right to make sure none of the careers are nearby before kneeling beside the pack.

My hands reach for the zipper, and I try to keep as quiet as possible as I open it up. My arm reaches inside, and I riffle through the contents. A few fuzzy red fruits I've never seen before. A thermos of water. A pocketknife.

A smile plasters itself onto my face. I zip the pack closed and leap to my feet.

The 2 boy knocks me back to the ground faster than I have time to flee.

Only my screams do the scene justice. The boy sports a horrifying pleased smile as he raises his sword.

"Help!" I scream, rolling out from underneath his weight. The 2 boy curses. I try to run for it, but he catches up to me in no time, grabbing the back of my neck and throwing me to the ground.

The snap is sickening, and it takes me longer than it should to realize that my arm is broken. In seconds, the agony is setting in, and bones poke up from underneath the flesh like fingers pushing up a blanket.

"You're not going anywhere," the 2 boy says, pinning my wrists and ankles to the ground.

"Get… off… of… me!" I groan, fighting against him. My wrists and ankles are damp with blood, and a thought crosses my mind of how stupid I must look to the Capitol.

With a punch, he sends me sprawled out on all fours, flopping like a dying fish.

The last thing I see is the tip of the career's sword as it burrows into my chest. It only hurts for a second. Then there is only warmth.

District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-

I guess the gamemakers felt like being fair this year, or more likely decided to make things harder for everyone. As I peer around, I can't see any allies or district partners next to each other; in fact, my partner Dory is on the completely opposite end of the pedestal ring from me. Not that I was ever planning on allying with her, but it would encourage me to have her at least somewhat near.

I twirl around and around as the countdown dwindles, and eventually my gaze settles on a grassy hill about twenty yards away. If I fall behind the hill as soon as the games start, I'll remain unseen while most of the major carnage goes on. Then, when the careers are more exhausted, I'll be able to snatch a pack or two from some unoccupied corner of the field before fleeing.

It's not a great plan, and it creates more questions than it resolves, but it's better than nothing. The flashing numbers turn to single digits, and it's no time at all before the gong is ringing.

I turn around to flee to the hill, but that's when my eyes land on something. Thirty yards away from me, there sits a table covered with a bounty of supplies: an unzipped pack filled with gauze, a transparent thermos filled with ice, and three sharp knives. My feet move on autopilot, turning away from the safety of the meadow and toward the stool. There's no way I can pass that up, and I can't let it fall into the hands of a career or stronger tribute.

My feet skid to a stop in front of the stool. I stuff the thermos into the pack, and I'm about to grab up the rest of the supplies when I hear a sound behind me that makes my heart stop: human footsteps.

I whip around at the speed of light and find myself face-to-face with the grinning 10 boy, Orford. By the looks of things, duel-wielding his his style. He holds a sharp knife in each hand, and I'm frozen to the spot as the knives move toward me.

It's when the blade of the first knife hits my chest that somebody finally unpauses my world. I swing the pack toward Orford, but he easily jumps out of the way. I grab a knife from the stool, moving slowly backward as he approaches, heart hammering with fear.

"Don't you dare try to run," Orford warns. "I'll only make your death longer."

"I'm not going to. I'm not scared," I reply. I know my words can't change the inevitable duel about to transpire, but saying the words out loud somehow makes me feel braver.

"Why the knives? District 4 tributes usually go for tridents," Orford says matter-of-factly.

Unsurprisingly, this question takes me aback. Why's he bringing up weapon types in a situation as tense as this?

But it turns out that Orford is clever, not just strong. He's thrown me into another one of my I-can't-move-and-I-can't-breathe states, and I'm right where he wants me.

Pain such as I can't imagine ever having felt before runs through my body. My screams accenting Orford's pleased laughs, I peer down. The blade of one of Orford's knives is lodged uglily into my waist, and blood runs down my leg, staining my pants. Staggering backward, I struggle away from the cornucopia, making a desperate attempt for escape.

A whistling sound starts up behind me. I turn around just in time to see the glint of Orford's other knife in the sun, and then there's not even darkness.

District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-

I have never felt this humiliated in my entire life. These tribute uniforms are so ugly! The tributes should have at least some choice in what they wear in the arena, even if it's something as simple as making the shirt and the pants match.

As the arena comes into view, I lean to one side, attempting to catch my reflection in the blade of a nearby knife. My hair must look so ugly! I wonder how much my mentor's hugs smeared my mascara. I finally catch my reflection in the knife, but I don't have any time to wipe off my makeup smears before the countdown ends.

Killing can wait. I start off of my pedestal and snatch up the knife, holding it in front of my face. I have to circle around a few times to maximize the clarity of the reflection, but it's not hard once I get used to it.

I've just begun forcing the few rebellious strands of hair into my ponytail when there's a cold laugh behind me. I whip my head around, and the only thing I see before the sword enters my gut is Jaehaera's cold, piercing eyes.

"You're ruining my hair!" I scream as she yanks the sword out of my abdomen. The pain is indescribable, but I'm not going out of this world without looking my best.

Jaehaera tells me to do a few things that would surely warrant a thorough mouth-washing back home, and I'm frozen to the spot as blood runs down my legs. Finally, I can't hold myself up anymore, and I fall to my knees.

I try to move my head out of the way as the sword draws nearer. I have to have an open-casket funeral! She can't just decide to scratch up my pretty face at the last moment!

But there's no fighting back, and as I feel the world slowly beginning to slip away, even Jaehaera's cackles of pleasure grow fainter and fainter.

District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-

Each Hunger Games begins with a gong, but since I'm deaf that doesn't really work for me. I could just start running as soon as the others jump off of their pedestals, but my mentor gave me a little contraption to help me out a bit. The metal band is wrapped snugly around my wrist, and it buzzes every five seconds before glowing at the gong. I appreciate that she's thinking of me, but the band really acts as a distraction, and it's the only thing I can focus on while I'm trying to find something worthwhile to grab before running away.

The band glows, and I'm off my pedestal, grateful I can't hear the screams that must be all around me. Everyone says the screams are the worst part of the games, and that they ring in the victors' ears forever, like dirt they can never wash off their hands, constantly reminding them of the horrors they struggle every day to forget.

But I'm wasting time thinking all of this over. I need to grab a pack or two and then leave, and as soon as possible at that.

My eyes land on a butter-yellow pack about ten meters away, and I snatch it up along with a small pouch nearby. In seconds, I'm booking it away from the horn, leaving the carnage behind me.

Mavvi Levist is not going to die today.

District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-

"How ya' doing?" I shout. "Weather certainly is great today!"

"I swear if you…" Declan looks as though he's about to burst from anger.

"I said how's the weather?"

Declan stares hatefully at me, perhaps thinking that being blown up by the mines is a fair price to pay to get my head on a stick before the games even begin.

I just chuckle, turning around. I've been resigned to the bloodbath from the start; why cower in fear on my pedestal when I could go out with a bang?

"Hey you, 1!" I shout.

Sangria turns toward me. "What?"

"How about you come over here? Maybe get off the plate soon to get a head start?"

Sangria laughs. "I may be blonde, but, believe it or not, I'm not stupid!"

The gong rings, and I charge toward the cornucopia, giggling. To my left, the 2 boy offs the girl from District 6, and I hear the screams of two more dying tributes in the next few seconds. Of course, it's only a matter of time before my name is added to the list of the dead.

I raise my hands into the air, standing right in front of the horn.

"Come and get me!" I scream. "Free kill for anyone wanting to impress the sponsors!"

The last things I see are Declan's piercing blue eyes, and the next second his spear is lodged into my side.

The last thing I do as I feel myself beginning to slip away is roll around onto my stomach.

I die facing down so the whole world can kiss my ass.

District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-

Panic fires through my body, taking control of my every conscious function as the countdown dwindles closer and closer to zero. Despite the brightness of the meadow, my pupils feel like they must be the sizes of quarters.

I turn around, prepared to scramble away the instant the gong rings. As the countdown dwindles, I occupy myself by braiding my hair. Such a vibrant red that it looks like fire. The hair of the Weaver family.

The gong rings, and I step off of my plate, ready to scramble. That's when a rather handsome sight catches my eye.

Thirty yards away, an ajar pack is stuffed with packets of dried beef. Bottles of what must me medicine are strewn around it, and a thermos of ice leans against the pack.

My feet are moving five seconds before my brain has time to catch up. There's no way I can pass by something like that. Besides, when's an opportunity like that going to come up… ever again?

I kneel beside the supply hoard, making an attempt to shove some of the medicine into the pack. It's only when i finally get it zipped shut that a bloodcurdling whistle starts up behind me.

The blade of the sword flies over my head, and I barely have time to duck underneath. One of my locks of fiery-red hair flutters to the ground, sliced off from the blow, and a fury such as I've never felt in my life bursts through my veins.

Robbing me of my Weaver hair is robbing me of my identity.

I stumble away and grab a sword of my own, and it's only then that I identify my attacker. The 2 boy (I think his name's Nero?) grins roguishly, slicing through the air toward me.

His first move is a devious one, but I'm prepared. I thrust my sword outward, and it blocks his blow, sending a small shower of sparks raining to the grass. A kind of amusement settles in. I'm actually fighting against this career boy and not failing miserably.

Nero chuckles. "You've actually got some talent, I'll admit."

"My name is Twilla Weaver."

"Don't change the sub…"

"My name is Twilla Weaver!"

It feels enormously gratifying to say my name out loud. I'm not just a number on the computer screen on the gamemakers. I am not just a body to be sent home in a coffin at a moment's notice. I am Twilla Weaver.

And that name sticks with me. It sticks with me even when Nero's next blow sends my sword spiraling out of my grasp. It sticks with me as he lodges his blade into my chest. It sticks with me as I fall to the ground, feeling the world begin to fade.

"I am Twilla Weaver. I am Twilla Weaver. I am Twilla… Twill... "

District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-

I pass the knife anxiously between my hands, running through my plan-of-attack. If I can do anything to impress the sponsors, it's eliminate one of the members of that pesky alliance from 7. Erik and Cerise's alliance has the most love from the Capitol with the possible exception of the career pack, and there's no way I'm letting those two escape the bloodbath alive if I can help it.

Holding the knife so hard my knuckles turn white, I charge toward Erik's back, closing the distance between us...

District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-

"Erik!"

My district partner runs to my side, panting heavily and damp with sweat.

In explanation, I hold up the two hatchets, and a smile creeps across Erik's face.

"Where'd you get those?" he asks incredulously.

I giggle a little. "It turns out being stealthy is worth at least something. Stole 'em from right behind Jaehaera's back."

I hold out one of the identical hatchets, and Erik takes one, running his finger over the wooden handle.

I can honestly say that I've never felt more terrified than a minute ago. I remember splitting apart from Erik and then spotting the glint of the hatchet blades behind Jaehaera. Looking back, it wasn't that hard. I threw a rock to her left, and when she ran around the horn to investigate, I grabbed the hatchets right from behind her. My heart still thumps in my ears over a minute later. That adrenaline rush was terrifying.

But unfortunately I'm given another adrenaline rush far too soon when Erik falls to the ground. There's a small boy on top of him (he can't possibly be more than twelve or thirteen) and he must be foolish to think he can take Erik down.

Dumbfounded, I stagger backward, unable to do anything but watch the scene play out. Upon seeing the face of the attacker, I recognize him as Joule from 3. Joule struggles to push his knife into Erik's neck, and he's lasting admirably long for a boy so young. Erik groans, struggling against him.

"Help me… Cerise…" Erik calls out.

For a second, I can't move. I try to get closer, but it's like my feet are stuck to the ground. The glint of Joule's knife in the sun is what finally renders me capable of motion, and I raise my hatchet into the air before my moral compass can stop me.

I'm about to kill a human being.

I swing the hatchet downward with all the force I can muster.

I'm about to kill a human being.

The hatchet comes closer and closer to Joule's neck, and he screams, trying to get away.

The 3 boy's yells are cut short as the blade of my hatchet buries itself into his neck, sinking inches deep into the flesh. For an instant, Joule's screams are choked by the sound of blood. The next second, he goes limp, and Erik wiggles out from underneath him, letting his head fall free, kept from tumbling off only by the hinge of flesh my hatchet didn't penetrate.

That's when I break. I collapse to the ground, crying pathetically. I just ended Joule's life. And he was so young! I take a look at my hands, the hands that'll be stained with blood forever whether I leave these games with my life or not.

"Cerise…"

"No!"

"Cerise…"

"Be quiet!"

Before I can protest, Erik pulls me to my feet. "We've got our supplies. Now we need to get away before the field starts to clear."

I nod, making my first effort to quell the stream of tears. I retrieve my hatchet from the dead boy's neck, and Erik and I grab a few packs before fleeing into the meadow at one other's side.

District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-

I leap off of my plate as soon as the countdown finishes, tearing over the fuzzy green grass and toward the cornucopia. For now, I'd say I have two main priorities: gathering supplies and killing off the gutter rats from the outlying districts.

I come to a stop about halfway between my pedestal and the horn. I've found myself at a crossroads. To my left, there's a zipped-shut pack that looks to be close to bursting with supplies. To my right, there are a thermos of water and a juicy-looking pink fruit that smells sweet.

Screams are raised all around me. I have to make my decision fast.

After a few painful moments of indecision, I decide I can't bring myself to leave either behind. I sprint toward the zipped-up pack and open it up. It's crammed with microchips and bolts and other mechanical parts I don't know how to use. I actually sigh. I was hoping for something better.

Throwing the pack over my shoulder, I close the distance between myself and the other supply stash, the one with the thermos and the pink fruit.

The problem is, they're just gone.

My gut wrenches in confusion, and I turn around as a mind-numbing agony explodes through me. The last thing I see before falling to the ground is the flick of the 2 girl's dark ponytail.

I can't help but scream at the sight of the fresh blood on her sword as she tears it out of my abdomen messily, and strings of dark blood fly every which way. It's mere seconds before my vision and hearing begin to fade. But even my failing sense of hearing can't drown out what must be the last sound I'll ever hear; Jaehaera's cold, menacing cackle as she flicks the excess blood off of the sword.

I suppose it could be worse. I could have been offed by one of the poor tributes, or, worst of all, that pesky scrap of a girl from 3.

I wonder what death's like.

District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-

I can see why they all say the games are meant to drive you crazy.

From the second these awful games started, I've felt out of my mind, and not just because the adrenaline is making me antsy. I shouldn't be here. None of these kids should be here. Even the careers, who volunteered into this mess, shouldn't be here. They've been brainwashed from an early age, told that he Capitol is good and dying in the games is worth it all for the honor. I'm terrified by the prospect that I may literally be going insane. The stress of this whole thing is just getting to me. My steps are uneven and the tears come in spurts, like a hose being kinked and unkinked. I can't focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Even my vision is noticeably suffering.

I come to a stop in front of a blue sleeping bag, heart hammering like crazy. As I strap the sleeping bag to my back, shrill screams pierce the silence of the meadow. Not like it was ever serene in the first place.

I figure one sleeping bag isn't enough to flee the fray with, so I gather a few more supplies. Some pocketknives. A loaf of bread from one district or another. A packet of edible gel that morphs and bounces in my pocket.

"8!"

Like an idiot, I freeze in place at the shout of my district number.

I swear I can feel my insides crinkle up inside of me. Nero Ryker stands ten feet to my left, brandishing his sword, three feet of deadly metal.

I try to run, but it's like running in a dream; I can't seem to get my feet to move, and the rest of me doesn't want to cooperate either. I don't care how sore I am, or how hopeless it is to escape the 2 boy. All I know is I need to get away, and now!

He approaches, and his debut slash brings the first scream bellowing from my mouth.

"Get away from me!"

I loft a nearby pack into the air and hurl it toward him, but it just flies a few feet and lands with a thud nowhere near him.

Nero chuckles, and a finger of ice runs down my spine. All at once, it's like my body has given up trying to survive. My whole body goes limp, as though the terror is some sort of drug that I've overdosed on and now it's sedating me.

I barely notice as he thrusts his sword into my gut, somewhat at peace with the prospect of being released from the hideousness of this life.

District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-

My heart rate quickens every time my back thumps against the wall of the cornucopia. Shortness of breath isn't the right way to describe it. There isn't enough room in my lungs for me to inhale enough air to survive. I feel like I've been pulled from a hot bath and drenched in ice water, left to cry and shiver with nobody around who cares to help me.

I know the bloodbath of the Hunger freaking Games isn't the best time to be having a panic attack, but I can't help it. And as the cornucopia field thins more and more and the screams of the others fade to nothingness, a thought strikes me worse than anything I've ever felt before.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die right here in the darkness of the cornucopia. I'm going to end up just like Dad.

"Who got Sangria?" one of the career boys asks. By the sound of his voice, he must be less than twenty meters away.

"I did," says a voice that I'd recognize anywhere as the vicious voice of the 2 girl, sending a cold shiver down my spine.

The District 1 boy peeks into the cornucopia and dons a little smile. I make a futile attempt to scuttle into a safer area of the horn, but it's just that: futile. In seconds, the three careers have plugged the opening of the cornucopia, trapping me inside.

"Make it quick!" I beg.

The 2s fall back, leaving the 1 boy at the front. As the point of his spear draws closer, all I can think about is seeing Dad again. The thought of his warm smile after all these years carries me through my death with dignity, even if nothing else will.

Deaths this Chapter:

24th: Lexus Beltran, District 6 Female - Stabbed with sword, by Nero

This girl was a whirlwind to write. She really was a spoiled brat, and she fabricated pretty much everything she said, but her lies weren't just for funsies. This was a girl who thought running away from her problems was as easy as telling a falsehood or manipulating someone less popular than her, but it's great she stayed so strong throughout the pre-games. She (like all of these tributes) never deserved to die this young D:

23rd: Cyan Costas, District 4 Male - Impaled with knives, by Orford

Cyan, Cyan, Cyan. I'd always figured he'd develop more as the story continued, but I honestly think he's the tribute in this SYOT I've most failed to write. He had so much potential as such a caring friend and passionate person in everything he did, but sadly he didn't reach that full potential due to the early death and everything else.

22nd: Sangria Ashworth, District 1 Female - Stabbed in face with sword, by Jaehaera

This girl was a comedy legend, and given her vanity I saw it as only fitting that she die trying to get a glimpse of her reflection. Like, seriously, Sangria had some of the most fun scenes to write out, and by the reviews it seems you've all enjoyed her too. She got on the nerves of the other careers, and most of all on those of the vicious Jaehaera, who ended up killing her.

21st: Hopper Vigo, District 12 Male - Speared, by Declan

This boy. THIS BOY. His scenes were all blasts to write out. From hijacking the microphone at the reaping, scaling the Presidential Mansion during the tribute parade, and annoying the careers in training, all of his scenes made me laugh. It's such a shame he died so young given his stance on life, but I sadly don't think anyone expected him to survive long. Enjoy the afterlife, bud.

20th: Twilla Weaver, District 8 Female - Skewered with sword, by Nero

I admire this girl for always keeping close with her identity. She valued family more than anything else, and the pride given to her by her red hair stayed with her to the very end. It's sad she'll only go down as another data point on the computer screen of the gamemakers, like all these others who don't walk home with the Victor's Crown.

19th: Joule Merchiers, District 3 Male - Decapitated with hatchet, by Cerise

Joule was one of the tributes I took more liberties with the development of. His form described him as a rather snobbish and rude thirteen-year-old, but something about his affection toward his brother Trinket made me see him in a different light. This boy was great, and even though he could be annoying he was dedicated and passionate.

18th: Arthur Wattson, District 5 Male - Pierced through abdomen, by Jaehaera

I'm pretty sure that Arthur's submitter wanted a top-tier jerk, and I hope I've delivered! If anything, his death shows that even the richest and most privileged are at the mercy of the Hunger Games, and his classist behavior was somewhat comedic to portray. Oh, and one last thing. His full name is Arthur Caleb Wattson, but I've never included that in the story. Hope it gives him some bit of respect as he passes on.

17th: Caden Yarnn, District 8 Male - Dispatched with sword, by Nero

Given that some guest submissions are… eh, not the greatest, Caden's form was extremely well-filled-out by his creator. With his death, Caden's family has lost a lot more than the heir of their yarn-spinning business. Let's all hope they recover soon after the death of their beloved.

16th: Harper Lamb, District 9 Female - Speared, by Declan

Harper was one of the three unfortunate twelve-year-olds in these games, and all of her scenes were just sad. She was taken from her family and friends and placed in the foreign Capitol where the ways of life were alien to her, only to be killed mere minutes into the competition that could have landed her on victor's row. Writing her Povs just emphasized how cruel and unforgiving Panem's Capitol is. Happy trails, young Harper, in the greatest adventure of all :D

Alliances:

Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera

11 and 12: Adelia, Remi

Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik

Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro

Wowza! I hope this bloodbath was eventful. I was expecting a 4k-5k word long bloodbath, but I was surprised with an over 6k chapter, like holy crapkittens XD

With the deaths of Lexus and Caden, paperairline and Smiley are now out of the running to have their tribute win. Sorry, guys. I legitimately adore all of these characters but it is my sad duty to kill 23 of them D;

Also, sponsoring doesn't start until Day 2, so the tributes aren't just ridiculously overpowered from the get-go.

For those curious as to how this story will work: Every tribute will get a Pov every day, but I've divided each day into several different chapters to keep them from getting too long. See ya' next time :D

P.S. From now on I'll only be including one question at the end of every chapter, but it'll be worth double points.

Question: Which of these bloodbath deaths was the most surprising?