A/N: thank you again for the interest you show in my little fan fiction. I'm glad you're reading it, even if you like or don't like it.
Thank you for your time. xx

The Trial Games.

Kringle was heaving from his run. Even with my less than commendable eyesight I can see the droplets of sweat running down his chubby face onto his collar, which was also drenched in his efforts.

He was in the year above mine; a seventeen year old. I didn't know him well, only that he was the son of the supermarket owner. Now that we were both here, exhausted and trembling in fear and exhaustion- I almost wish that I had made more of an effort to get to know him. He had always seemed sort of depressed, and had suffered abuse for being so well fed.

I watch from my hiding place amongst the ferns as Kringle desperately stares around the block for a means of concealing himself. His eyes pass over my little garden- possibly knowing that someone with his frame would never comfortably hide amongst its shade- and instead begins to contemplate climbing the stairs.

'You have to be faster than that Kringle,' I think to myself desperately. 'Now isn't the time to think about options...'

The sudden blast of the school alarm makes my body stiffen in shock as Kringle jumps to attention. Someone else had died, along with their family. That had been four bells so far, meaning that only twenty of us were left in the arena.

Frightened by the bell, Kringle finally begins to climb the stairway. With him out of sight, my curiosity for the tin object beneath my hands finally gets the better of me and I slowly, carefully shift my head so my chin rests in the dirt and my eyes can see my prize.

I have found a small, tool-box shaped tin lunch box- patterned with a cowboy print that reads "American Cowboy" on the side and a smart handle on the top. Half buried in the dirt, its lustre has long since faded. It looks as if it may be over a hundred years old- just in good condition.
My fingers itch to open the lid and peer at its contents, but common sense and fear take the better of me. It'll make noise to undo the latches, and noise isn't something I can risk.

I lay my head flat against the ground once more, and through my peripheral I can just make out Kringle on the upper level- scoping the quadrangle below him. I press myself deeper into the dirt, even though it wouldn't help my situation if he could see me. However he doesn't notice me, and begins to leisurely walk along the top half of the block.

Another alarm rings through the block, and as my thoughts immediately flick to Holden- a flash of white and green bolts into the quadrangle and outside before the tribute can be recognised. Before I could even assume that the mad dash for freedom was all there was, I hear a whistle of metal piercing the air, Kringle's hoarse shout and mocking laughter.

"Too slow fatty."

I turn my head and feel my jaw stiffen as Kringle's large body slumps over the upper railing. Blood is foaming from his mouth in large red bubbles as his body twitches and jerks. I watch in horror as his eyes begin to bulge and roll into white, his body slowly slipping top first over the barrier- and I just notice the silver stake in his throat before he falls.

A sickening crunch, and his body hits the stone ground at full force. I began to shake as the alarm bell rings out once more- confirming the boy's death. Tears, not of sorrow for Kringle- but of fear roll sideways into the dirt as I beg myself not to sob, not to move.

Squelching noises fill the block as I assume Kringle's attacker removes their stake from his neck. There is a snort of disgust and a muffled flump as the attacker rolls Kringle over onto his back. There is a moment's rummaging, and then silence. As quietly as I could, I move my head just enough to recognise the attacker and a breathless gasp escapes me before I can stop it. The killer stiffens.

It's Crux.

One hand coated in Kringle's blood, the other clutching a menacing looking crossbow- the boy I knew as my best friend looks around his surroundings for the source of the noise. His face is wary, but his eyes are murderous- unlike anything I had ever seen before in him. He leaves the bloated corpse and circles my hiding place, surveying the upper balconies.

"Little girl..." Crux hisses, a smile twisting upon his face. "Come out, come out... I won't hurt you..."

His light brown hair is speckled with sweat as he smirks around at the block around him. I am suddenly very aware of how tall he is, how thin but muscular my friend has been all these years. Yet, I can't recognise him. The blood on his hands... it isn't Crux.

'This can't be Crux...' my mind whispers. 'It can't be him... he wouldn't give in to killing people so easily, their families-'

My breathing has gotten faster; my heart on the verge of an attack. Crux steps directly in my line of sight, staring towards the upper railings. I plead with myself to slow my breathing, but it only becomes heavier.

Then his head snaps in my direction, and Crux's eyes lock with mine as his smile twists even wider- revealing canine teeth I had never seen before as he laughs almost hysterically.

"-There you are-!"

I scream as he lunges upon me. My right hand grips the handle of tin lunchbox as Crux pins my abdomen down with his knees, gripping my chin with his left hand as he readies the crossbow. His face leans in closely and his psychotic grin is so near I can feel saliva on my face just from his breathing. My breathing becomes shallow as Crux's eyes reflect an unrecognisable emotion.

"-I was hoping to leave you until last Maya." He whispered, stroking my cheek with the pad of his index finger, whilst still gripping my neck. "You could've tried harder to hide... you should know by now my peripheral vision is matched only by your marvellous hearing..."

His voice is unlike the voice I'd grown accustomed to. It's smooth but venomous. I can't speak. I feel as though tears are welling up in my eyes- though my eyes are dry from not blinking. Crux chortles, and lifts the crossbow.

"-where would you like it Maya?" he asks gently, smiling as his grip tightens. "Would you like it to be quick? Painless?"

My body trembles, and my right hand begins to quiver against the lunchbox. My eyes suddenly widen in realisation. Before Crux could lift his crossbow further, I pulled the tin box from its burial plot and swung it upwards into the side of his skull.

He falls sideways into the ferns as I stumbled to my feet and leapt from my garden; clutching the lunchbox tight to my chest as I ran. Crux yells my name and the ferns rustle as he staggers to his feet- but I don't look back. I run for my life.

These games were worse than I had feared. Not only was I fighting for my life, I was fighting alone.

'I have no friends anymore.'