A Pair of Brown Eyes by The Pogues

I saw the streams, the rolling hills,
Where his brown eyes were waiting.
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes,
That waited once for me.

Arena Day Three

Santana Belmont, 16, District Two

Sleep seems impossible in here. After the first sleepless night, I thought just pure exhaustion would ensure that I got a good few hours the next night. That doesn't seem to be the case because here I am awake to watch the sun rise once again.

I might have well been on watch all night because every night sound seems to be enough to wake me. Connor took the first watch and just his footsteps as he walked over to wake me for my turn had me jumping to my feet. I guess it's better to be woken up to a false alarm than to not wake up for a real attack.

Unable to stand the inactivity any longer, I sit up and see Venice's eyes following me. I nod at him and look around for my backpack. After a brief second of panic I see it leaning against one of the nearby tree trunks.

"Sorry, I moved it," Venice whispers. "I was trying to clean up the camp a little."

"It's fine," I reply. I can understand the boredom of being on watch. I've taken to peeling sticks and branches with one the sharp edge of my machete to pass the time. The first night the only thing that would quiet my anxiety was to pace around, but light of my own sleeping issues I decided it was best to choose a more quiet activity.

"Where's Connor?" I ask, raising my voice a bit when I realize that he isn't sleeping around us.

"He got up to go find water a few hours ago," Venice shrugs. "I guess he couldn't sleep."

I nod, deciding not to tell him about my own sleep problems. It's really not anything he should be worrying about anyway. "When he comes back I think we should try and have a look around."

"What for?" He asks and I give him a look. We talked about it last night a bit, but it's killing me to just sit here. There are others out there that are willing to do what is needed to get home and I feel like we're just waiting for them to run into us. I hate playing this waiting game, it makes me feel vulnerable to their agenda instead of the other way around.

"Okay, okay," he says, putting his hands up in mock defence. "We'll see what Connor thinks when he gets back, shouldn't be too much longer."

"We already know what Connor thinks," I remind him. After a bit of discussion last night it was clear that Connor was not keen on the idea of beating the others to the kill. He said it was amoral to kill people that we weren't even certain were threatening us. I agree with his stance, but I also just hate sitting around like this.

"What do you think, Santana?" He asks.

"I think it's necessary," I sigh. I hate saying it, the idea disgusts me, but it's true. I'm sure Pascal told Connor the exact same things he told me, but it seems to have hit home harder for me than for him. "What do you think?"

He pauses for a second. "I'm not sure what I think. I mean I don't like it but-"

"You can't think that I like the idea?" I interrupt, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

"No, that's not what I meant," he assures me. "I just... I don't know."

"Okay," I say, turning back to digging through my bag. I don't even remember what I was looking for but at this point I just don't want to continue this conversation.

"Santana that's not what I meant," he says again.

I look up for a second and give him the warmest smile I can. "I know, don't worry about it."

I hear footsteps and my hand goes immediately to the handle of my machete. I sigh when I see that it's just Connor, who is carrying three large water bottles in his arms. Venice gets up to help him and I follow a second later. The bottles are a lot larger than I remember when I pulled them from our bags last night. They must expand or something.

"So, what's the plan for today?" I ask as cheerfully as I can. By the look that Connor gives Venice I know that he also remembers our late night talk. I try to keep the defeat from making my shoulders sag, but I promise myself that I won't push the idea anymore. I don't want to look like a worse person than I am.

"I don't think we should stay in the same camp for too much longer," Venice suggests. "We could walk around for a bit, maybe find some food for when our supply runs low."

It's not exactly what I had suggested, but it leaves room for interpretation. A real smile crosses my lips as Connor quickly agrees to the idea. As long as we're moving I'll be a lot happier and Venice must know that.

Jalissa Kessey, 18, District Three

"District One is pretty industrial. You'd never find trees this big or grass this green there. It's mostly buildings and concrete, really."

I nod along with his memories and try to picture it myself. By what Hollis has told me, District One and District Three aren't all that different. There wasn't much in the way of nature back in my home district, in fact I'd only seen a tree that was taller than me a handful of times before coming here.

"I can't think of anything else," he trails off and gives me a shrug. He's been trying to help me stay out of my thoughts by telling me stories about his life. I love hearing about another district, it's not something we learn about in school which I'd never thought was strange until now. Before meeting Hollis the only thing I'd known about District One was that it made luxury items, and I really didn't know what that meant either.

I close my eyes and try to think of something else to ask him. "What does your house look like?"

"It's small and cramped. The outside is grey and there's a little garden in the front yard that my mother used to take care of before she started refusing to leave the house." When he mentions his mother I can see the redness begin in his cheeks. "The grass is really tall, it hasn't been cut since my father-"

He trails off again and I frown. I'm not trying to make him uncomfortable, but it seems that any mention of his parents makes him squirm. Before I can stop myself, though, the question is already out of my mouth. "Since your father what?"

He hesitates for a moment and I almost tell him that he doesn't have to answer. Before I get the chance, however, he speaks up. "He died in the war. Shot by a rebel in the last few months of the war."

My hand instinctively goes to his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. I had no idea or I wouldn't have pressed him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he says, giving me a forced smile. "I've gotten over it, really. That's why I'm here, actually, I think it would make him proud to know that I'm still as dedicated as he was to what he fought for."

I nod even though I don't quite understand. He doesn't seem upset, so I decide it's not bad of me to ask more questions. "So you volunteered for this to make your father proud?"

He nods but that doesn't really answer what I want to know. "Why would he be proud, this is so dangerous?"

"It's not dangerous for me," he shrugs. "My family fought with them, we've been loyal to the Capitol since before I was born. They'll protect me."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I may have only just found out what the Hunger Games are, but I can say with fair certainty that I don't think it works like he says. "Who told you that?"

"My mother, who else?"

"How does she know though?" I press, trying to get him to understand without telling him myself. "Did someone tell her that you would be protected if you volunteered?"

"Well, I don't know," he says, and I can see the gears turning in his mind. "She just said I would be. She wouldn't lie to me, I know she wouldn't."

"I'm not saying she lied," I say carefully, noting the change in his voice. "I'm saying she might not have known."

He just looks at me, seemingly unable to say anything else. I squeeze his shoulder again, not really sure what else to do except wait for his reply. I could never understand why he volunteered, or that other girl from District Six either, and I kind of respected his courage in doing it. Now that I know the truth, the only thing I feel is pity. He didn't even know what he was getting himself into, and his mother had him do it anyways.

"I need to go for a walk," he says finally, standing up. I grab his arm to keep him from walking away from me.

"No, Hollis, just talk it out with me," I plead.

He looks at me for a second before allowing me to pull him back down to the ground. "I just need to think."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just don't want you to not know."

"No, I'm not mad at you," he says. He opens his mouth again to say something else but closes it again a second later. I feel just awful for prying. It's none of my business anyway, and now I've made him upset. Was it really worth him knowing and being miserable for the rest his life, however long that is?

"Do you want to hear about District Three?" I ask, the first thing I can think of to take him away from whatever thoughts are attacking his mind right now. Hollis did the same thing for me since Leina died, and now it's my turn to make him feel better if I can.

He nods and for the second that we make eye contact I can see tears forming in his eyes. He quickly breaks the gaze to look down at the ground.

"Okay, let's see," I begin. I'm not really sure what I was going to tell him, but now I have to come up with something. "It's a lot like how you described District One actually, a lot of buildings and cement. I live in the middle of town, so I only visited the district border a handful of times as a kid. It was the only natural part of District Three that I've ever seen."

"What's past the border?" I am surprised to hear him speak again, even in such a mild tone. I consider my answer carefully for a second, but try and I might I am unable to come up with an answer that I think will be good enough for him.

"I'm actually not sure, I don't remember ever asking anyone," I shrug, hoping not to see the disappointment on his face.

"Why not?"

It's a question I'm not exactly ready for. "I'm not sure, I guess it never mattered what was outside of District Three. I wish I would have asked, though."

Ariella Saville, 14, District Twelve

I hate being out there. I hate feeling vulnerable to someone stumbling upon me by accident. I hate the thought that every breeze whipping through the branches could be an attacker.

Maybe that's what brought me back to the strange building?

It's not anything close to a house, but it's shelter. It feels safe, even if it's a false comfort. Something drew me back in here, even hours after leaving it out of fear of the thing collapsing further. I spent almost all of today looking for it.

Now sitting here huddled under a desk that whatever caused the building to crumble left untouched, I feel safer than I have since I was launched into this place. Maybe it's just enough to have four walls around me. I don't know, I don't care. I just know I won't be leaving again until something happens to change my mind about this place.

I think maybe Bayard was right, at least about the alliance part. I'm used to being alone, but this is a whole new type of loneliness that I have never experienced before. I guess before I really wasn't lonely at all. If I would have taken two steps out of my bedroom door I would have been surrounded by family that I knew cared about me. I chose to be alone, but I couldn't feel the hollow loneliness I feel now.

This is different. If I step out of my little sanctuary the only people I'd encounter are looking for my blood. I'm sure that not one of them knows my name, and not one of them would care to. Maybe I chose to be alone, but this is way more permanent than before. I can't just decide to leave my room and apologize for talking back again.

I'm stuck here alone, and that's that. This is what true loneliness feels like, and it hurts more than I ever thought possible.

Who would have known that something I wished upon myself for so long could start to feel like I was being buried alive in the coal mines. I don't know how to stop the hurting, it just runs too deep. It's a hard pill to swallow, knowing that the only people who care about me are so far out of reach. Living with the fact that I spent all the time I had left with them pushing them as far out of my life as I could.

I don't care what they did anymore. I won't say that they were right for what they did during the war, but I just don't care. I want my mom, my dad, my family. I want to be out of this place and back home with my parents yelling at me to open the office door.

I'm not sure when I started crying, but I suddenly become painfully aware of the tears running down my cheeks. I don't care that I'm being pathetic or pitiful or whatever anyone would say if they saw me huddled under a desk in tears. I don't know what else I'm supposed to. I really don't.

I hear a crash from the other room and I am on my feet behind the desk within seconds. I look around me for an escape, something I never thought I would have to think about within my safe haven.

There are none. Nothing except the closed door that faces me. Not a window to climb out of nor a crack in the wall.

I am shaking as I take careful footsteps towards the door. Perhaps it would be better for me to stay in hiding, and maybe I would if I had my head screwed on right. My hand is already on the doorknob and by the time the thought hits me the knob has already let out a creak as I began to turn it.

Unable to take the torture of waiting to see what I will encounter, I throw open the door and poke my head out. I scan what's left of the building outside of the office, which really isn't much at all. I see the cracks in the walls and ceiling, the uprooted floor boards and the leaves that have made their way inside. I almost dismiss the sound as nothing more than a strong wind breaking through the cracks.

Then I see her. A girl with her small body pressed against one of the far walls, dark eyes wide and lips parted. I don't recognize her, at least not by name. Her face and long, thick hair make me think I must have seen her before but not more than a passing glance at most.

She's trembling as much as I am, but she doesn't appear armed which comforts me slightly. I swallow thickly before finding my voice. "Who are you?"

For a moment she only stares at me, and then she opens her mouth as if to answer. Half a second later she makes a bolt for the exit, a large crack in the wall that is closer to myself than to where she is standing.

Before I can understand my reason for doing so, I make a run for the exit as well. I reach it just a moment after her, grabbing hold of her arm as she tries to slip through the crack.

"What's your name?" I ask again. She pulls her arm away from me, the look in her eyes getting more and more frantic by the second. I hold on tight, finding that my grip is stronger than her struggles.

"Melita," she gasps, and with one last, firm pull she manages to free herself. The force of my letting go pulls her down into the dust and dirt, but it only takes her a moment to take off running back towards the trees.

I stare at her until she disappears from my sight. She wasn't armed, she was just as terrified as I feel. I should have asked her to stay, or I don't know done something. Maybe this is my punishment for everything I've ever done wrong, eternal loneliness. I'm starting to think this is a fate worse than those who have been graciously taken by death.

Harlan Pearce, 12, District Eleven

I think I've resolved myself to the fact that I will never be able to sleep in this place. No matter how comfortable Carina has tried to make me, it just isn't helping. The forest atmosphere brings back too many memories, and they just refuse to let me sleep without waking in the midst of a nightmare.

Sometimes it helps if I walk around a bit and then try to fall asleep. It both gives me peace of mind that there is no one around, and it helps to tire me out a bit. Either way, here I am doing at least my sixth or seventh ring around our campsite. Far enough away that they won't hear me and think that I'm an attacker, but close enough that I can easily find my way back if I need to.

I've had this strange sensation of being on edge ever since we got into this place, but tonight it feels different. I attribute it to lack of sleep, but it feels like somehow my heart has grown to sit on my lungs leaving me both overheated and gasping for breath. I'll make sure to mention it to Carina tomorrow, she says that she learned a lot about herbs from her time living with the messengers during war. Maybe she'll know something that will take the edge off whatever this is.

Then I hear it. At first I can't put a name to the sound, but as soon as I take another step forward I know that it was footsteps. Not just footsteps, close footsteps.

I pause, putting my back up against a tree so that I am able to see everything around me. It doesn't help very much, considering it's quite dark. I am able to see dark outlines but nothing more. I should have brought a lantern, but that would draw even more attention to me. I swallow thickly, hearing the footsteps echo in my ears.

I look up and grab the branch closest to the ground, heaving myself up into the tree as quickly and quietly as I can. I can't be that far from camp, but I don't really know how to tell exactly how far. The footsteps are closer now, and when I tuck myself into a nook of branches and look out at the forest, I can see a spot of light that doesn't look near as far away as I wish it were.

I put my hand on my chest, hoping to quiet the beating of my heart. I don't know what I am supposed to do. I know that I should find the camp and warn them to take hiding, but the light is so close now that I would risk revealing myself if I came down now. I bite at the skin around my fingernail until I taste blood. I just have to hope that I a long ways away from camp and whoever is holding the light will never come across them in the first place.

I force myself into complete stillness as I glance over the branches, my eyes set on the light that keeps getting closer and closer. I don't know if it has been seconds or minutes since I've been up here, but I begin to see the outlines of two heads as they approach.

Then they stop moving. I hear a sharp sound, as if one of them is shushing the other, and then nothing. Have they spotted me? I don't think the light can reach all the way up here, it doesn't look that bright, but maybe I judged that wrong. I repeat over and over to keep calm, even as every instinct shouts for me to make a run for it.

A second later, I make the mistake of looking around the two people. My eyes had been so fixated by the light that I didn't take the time to look around them. Now that I have, I immediately regret it. Not far from where I imagine the peoples' feet to be I can see the dim light reflecting off of a long spreading of leaves. All of them in the exact pattern that Carina spent all of the first day teaching Flint and Kyra how to replicate.

I put my hands over my mouth to stop the scream that I can feel creeping up my throat.

Time seems to speed up as I see the light move and then be placed down just a few feet away from the shelter. I am at the wrong angle to see any of them, but too clearly can I see the two, quite large, tributes crouch down in front of it.

A shriek shatters my eardrums as Kyra wakes up. I cover my ears, unwilling to hear any of this. They're going to kill them. Kyra, Flint, Carina, all of my friends. They're going to kill them. That's all I can think over and over. They're going to kill them and I'm sitting here without the nerve to do anything but watch with my hands over my ears.

A boy, I now see by the light that there is a boy and a girl attacker, pulls Kyra out from inside the shelter. She struggles against him, her blonde hair going everywhere, but he only wastes precious few seconds before silencing her shrieking. I can feel vomit rising in my throat as I see the large blade come down and her voice cut off a second later.

Flint and Carina have also been awoken, but I only hear Flint for a second before his voice too is silenced.

Suddenly I see a figure bolt from underneath the shelter. I almost cry out for Carina to run faster, but I stop myself a second prior. She's going to make it. Please, please let her make it. I can see her outline getting further and further away from the other two. I push Flint and Kyra from my mind, my only focus being Carina. She's going to make it. She's going to be okay.

Then I hear a sound I have heard many times before, a gunshot. My breath catches in my throat, but nothing seems to happen and I still hear the crunch of Carina's boots against the forest floor. I almost allow myself to sigh in relief, but then the footsteps stop and the forest is silent.

I grab at my own pocket, ripping out the cold piece of metal before I can think about what I am doing. Another gunshot rings out, this one from my own hand, and then silence. I am unable to see anything beyond the tears the cloud my eyes, but I hope to Panem that I missed.

Kyra Lacasse, District Ten

Flint Calloway, District Twelve

Carina Ricter, District Eight

Song: A Pair of Brown Eyes by The Pogues.

A/N: There it is, the big triple death. I apologize to the lovely submitters of these three lovely littles- Jalen, SomeDays, and Salt the Snail. I loved them all, but no one can be safe in the Hunger Games for very long. I was forced to make a plot decision and this was it, I hope there are no hard feelings.

It is getting harder and harder for me to kill these tributes. I love them all so much it's probably unhealthy. This story is turning out better than I had hoped, but that doesn't mean these choices still aren't difficult. The Games only pick up the pace from here, so I hope you're all ready for the ride.

Reviews are nice, please leave them. I'll put some prompt questions down below to help get you started.

What did you think of the writing in this chapter?

Who are you rooting for the most at this point?

Basically it for now. I am still in exams so yes updates are going to be a bit more slack than usual. Hopefully not too long between the next update, however.