A/N: Hi guys as you know in the last chapter I dropped the plot changer and this edition I'm starting a wider range of character POVs, reviewing everyone's thoughts. Tell me which ones you like so we can add to the story! Thank you for the positive comments and please continue reviewing, love to hear your thoughts and get so much feedback!

snoobydoobydoo :) xxxxxxxxxx

My leg falls asleep I sit here for so long, gobsmacked. It's late and the moon is a sparkling silver crescent on a lightly-lit switchboard of stars. Its all gone from their presence. His face, his identity, his district, his name, him. Banished into the darkness where they've all fallen.

Then I start letting the tears roll. The Capitol are watching. Haymitch is probably sitting there, wherever it is he sits and waits, thinking, Good job, sweetheart. I need to milk the mournful lover thing until it gets old and the Capitol stop pitying me. Then I have to rely on my skill to survive. But hey I got an 11. I can hunt, fight, survive, kill.

Its not like I care too much. Peeta and I were barely close enough to be considered friends, let alone star-crossed lovers. I was indifferent to him at best. We were thrust together for a few days even though we had previously never even spoken a word to each other. But he kept me alive.

What's keeping me alive?

Cato POV

'Lover boy,' Clove remarks, and then bites off a bit of a bread roll. 'You got him.'

I nod sternly, looking around. Some squirrels or some other idiot animal ransacked our food for tonight while we were out hunting.

I carefully examine the landscape we've set up camp in for tonight. We chose well, lots of space, lots of firewood. Of course there's these ugly patches of wildlife all shrivelled and grey but I conclude that they're not going to magically grow legs and spear us to death with one mighty blow.

We've got a fine array, which grows and decreases depending on what type of day it is, whether we can get closer to the water. Still, there's one less in the arena. And Lover Boy no less. So at least we won't get anything of their sickeningly pathetic act which has enough corn to it to make you want to vomit.

Clove calls me delusional insisting I want to hide out here, waiting for him to emerge. She says I'm obsessed and going to get myself killed. Trust Clove. She wants to wait out for her by the lake and tells me she wants to be the first to stick a knife down her throat.

'Night, Cato,' she smirks, after another lecturing session about how she senses she is down by the lake, rolling into her sleeping bag which she has smothered with a blanket she found lying around at the Cornucopia.

'Night.'

Foxface POV

Another one dead. Too bad, he was one of the good ones. I wonder if he had, any supplies with him, that I could go and sniff out, any food…food…

No, my brain nags me. You've already got enough. Today, while the Careers were out hunting I stole a small pack of dried meat strips, like the ones they give to wolves, so they, the Careers, are feasting on bread rolls. I'm lurking in a sturdy young oak tree watching them, keeping deadly silent.

But I have never known hunger like this. I can't make food, produce food, hunt food, kill food or prepare food. I can run fast and I'm the smartest. As far as my talents go, they're not particularly useful for the arena.

Still, there's one less. One less for the Capitol to bet on, one less for the greedy sponsors with money overflowing in their deeply padded pockets to issue gifts. I got a 3 in training, so I've only received one gift: a spear. I know they want me to go around and start spearing people, fighting, make this girl part of the action. Because they think I can fight. Then why have I been hiding up a tree for so long, sponsors?

Thresh POV

Final five, I tell myself. More like final death. My sister would say something hopeless like, 'You could win, Thresh!'

But my family – my grandmother, sister and I – have decided to be honest about these Games. Even if I win, I'm going to die inside. Even though it's a Games, even though everyone is putting on some pathetic show like a persistent posse of puppies, I still want to be a person. That's the only thing I want to be. These are my Games, and I'm not playing by anyone's rules.

I'm not joining a pack of wolves, or the Careers, or whatever. I'd hate myself because then I'd have to kill and lie and snigger. Instead I escaped. I'm in the meadow now, a sharpened piece of wood as a knife, heavy boulders, selected herbs and some wheat. If only I could make the bread that reminds me of District 11, of home.

So the District 12 boy is dead. Its hard to believe a person just slips through your fingers and is gone forever. I prayed that someone – perhaps him – could kill a beastly Career, so I wouldn't have to. I try to be a merciful human being. But there's another less for me to kill. But there's another less person before I lose my person.

Why couldn't I have died?