Secrets.

'Til all my sleeves are stained red, from all the truth that I've said.


Stefan Rui, District Nine Male.


I watch with absent eyes as Marrion shows me my suit, a deep brown with matching tie. She seems happy, content, but I can't bring myself to smile back or even acknowledge it properly. What's the point? This suit isn't exactly going to save me when I have to fight.

"Lighten up, Stef," Marrion calls me, and I cringe slightly from the nickname, something my friends used to use. "I'm sure that the interview will go fine. You haven't got anything to worry about."

"I suppose not," I shrug. "But why is an interview needed?" her eyebrows rise curiously. "I mean, an interview is glorified to showcase certain aspects. Every tribute plays into their hands. Why? Why not be honest up there, and tell the whole of Panem about how you hate the idea of killing and possibly dying?"

Marrion is stuck, her lips moving without purpose. "I'm not sure," she mumbles. "But it's been something that has happened for decades. A tradition, if you will."

"Traditions can change no matter the age." I counter.

Marrion doesn't respond, instead running the suit through her fingers. She feels uncomfortable no doubt, with her lips twisted. I decide to keep quiet and allow Marrion to do the rest of the requirements, such as measuring me to ensure that I haven't gained or lost any weight since the last fitting, before adjusting the lapel and ironing out the tie.

Tonight, the interviews begin. I can only hope Lyra will do something memorable. Frankly, it's sad, because she's remembered for all the wrong reasons. Lyra is a nice girl but she's... odd, and that makes her stand out. Not because she's young or the fact that her odds are next to nothing, but because she latches onto her doll as a safety net.

"Marrion, do you believe that Panem can change?"

The question throws her off and she stumbles, the needle piercing into my skin. I bite down on my tongue and allow Marrion to recover. "Um... boy, you're full of questions, aren't you dear?" she laughs awkwardly.

"I'm inquisitive," I correct her. "Well, with the Hunger Games having reigned for so long, you'd expect some people to continue to carry the simmering flame of rebellion."

Marrion's hand slaps over my mouth. "Stefan!" she shrills. "You shouldn't say that..." she looks around the room, eyes darting around. "You never know who are watching."

"But why hide it? Shouldn't a government be encouraging individuality?" I say, when she pulls her hand away.

"Are you really that naive?" she frowns.

"No," I admit, because I'm not. I studied in school about both the first rebellion and the threat of the second one, and I do know why. But I've never had the view of a Capitolite to debate it with. "I just wanted your input."

"My input is that we shouldn't discuss this, no matter what," she whispers. "Now, please raise your arms." she deflects.

I raise my arms, feeling the slight tremble behind my eyes. I'm sure that, if I focus, it will go away. As long as I avoid anything that could temporarily blind me into numbness, such as death, blood, violence, then I could be alright. I could survive. But, in here, my odds are as weak as Lyra's. It isn't looking good for either of us. One bad sight, and I'll be paralyzed. I won't even remember anything. I could die, without ever knowing what my last sights were.

I can only take that as a blessing in disguise.


Lucia Bailen, District Twelve Female.


"Micah," I sigh, as he stomps ahead. I chase after him, picking up my ballroom gown. "Micah, you need to listen. We can't keep doing this."

He spins around, eyes flared. "Doing what, Lucia? I don't trust him!"

Lucia. Well, that hurts. He's never called me that since our alliance. I bite my bottom lip and look over my shoulder, Cliff standing there with a slight, comforting smile. He's trying, he's so badly trying, but nothing is changing Micah's mind. I'm split between the two, and you can never smile when you're pulled from both sides. I don't like smiling; I don't like this.

I turn back, sighing again. "You just need to listen to him. Honestly, he's a really nice guy when you've talked to him for a while."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover." he seethes.

"Precisely!" I exclaim. "You're being a hypocrite if you don't give him a chance," Micah narrows his eyes at me, but I raise my hands. "Your words, not mine. You shouldn't judge him before knowing him."

I mean, really, after Micah's outburst before the private sessions, Cliff's addition into this alliance is looking better and better. I don't think I could deal with Micah's personality on my own... then again, if I didn't accept Cliff without talking to him, then Micah wouldn't have a problem to begin with.

I messed up, and I just don't know how to fix it.

Micah realises that he doesn't have an answer and turns around, walking away. I wait for a moment before he's gone, before ushering Cliff over. He's all wide-eyed and peppy, but it didn't work. When he sees my face, his own falls. "Oh," he frowns. "I guess I'll find another alliance..."

"No," I grab his wrist as he turns. "I mean, no, you aren't leaving. Micah... he'll come around, eventually... otherwise he'll have to find someone else."

"No, no no," he says firmly. "You do not leave him. You and him were allies before I came along. It isn't right."

"But Micah isn't giving me any other choice," he moves his hand from mine and pulls me into a clenched hug. "He's making it impossible to be there for him," I sigh. "I want you both, all of us, as a trio. I don't want a duo and then a single person, like a third-wheel."

"We'll work it out," he mumbles back. "I can always talk to him myself."

I just nod, because I'm too drained to argue. Dealing with Micah requires too much effort, effort that I can't afford to waste. If he was easier to handle, then things would be okay. But with each word or dramatic outburst he does lately, it chips away a little bit more at my positivity. I've always been positive - no-one has been able to take that away from me - but Micah is trying damn hard. Cliff is comforting and serene.

He pulls back, grinning. "I trust you." I say, because frankly, I do.

"Good," he smirks. "No-one has ever been able to resist the Harlaw charm. I managed to get you, didn't I?"

"With pure luck and trickery," I tease. Above, the buzzer rings and someone calls out the first person. Me and Cliff both turn around to see someone with a clipboard, herding us into a single file. As he reaches us, Cliff pulls away. "I'll see you soon?" I say, hopeful.

"Most definitely." he grins, and then rushes on ahead. I bathe in the afterglow for a few moments before moving into my position. Micah comes barreling down the queue, trying to get to his spot fast. He briskly passes me without a hello or smile, and my heart sinks.

Was it worth it? Was any of it really worth it? And, once more, another chunk of happiness breaks apart and plummets.


Lancel Deimos, District One Male.


Their eyes are practically burning into my skull, yet each time I turn around, they look away. And, by they, I totally mean Lakyn and Lakyn alone.

I try and focus my mind on the sole purpose, which is Gloria's interview. She sits on the chair, looking petite, eyes glowering at Hermes' every word. He goes about trying to insult her in every way, shape or form, yet they just roll off of her body. She answers each question with vigor and tenacity, keeping him at bay. She's doing exactly what Aphrodite told her. Swift, of course, told me that I should crawl into a hole and pray that a Mutt eats me instead.

But he's just ridiculous.

I wait patiently for Gloria to mention something about me, but the buzzer blares. She stands and waves politely to the crowd, playing up slightly despite her bravado. She waltzes down the steps towards me, eyes barely grazing over me before she disappears.

"I hope you trip up and die," I hear a voice, but choose to ignore it. "Traitor. Traitor. Traitor."

I jog up the steps, moving fluently in my crimson suit. The lights bombard my vision, a deep thudding behind my skull. I carefully trace the movements, having watched Gloria far too closely. I soon find the seat - accompanied by Hermes' sneer - and breathe carefully. Focus, Lancel.

"Lancel Deimos," he says quietly, as if we're talking about some secret. I inwardly hold my anger, knowing that whilst we can't outright call me a Career, he'll jump around the abandonment scenario. "What can I say about you? You're just..." the crowd leans forward. "Different."

"Is that good or bad?" I jokingly respond. The crowd laughs, eating out of my hands. "I was always told to stand out, so clearly that worked."

"For the wrong reasons, of course."

Ah, so here it is. "Really?" I raise my eyebrows, playing oblivious. "There's no such thing as bad publicity, Mr Abbatone."

"You can call me Hermes," he smirks. "I think we're friendly enough to be at a first name basis."

I smirk myself. "I suppose so. I mean, Mr would imply you're old, which you're totally not."

The crowd chuckles and Hermes' face reddens. If he wants to play nasty, then so can I. I know exactly how to backstab, trick and deceive. I might not be a Career, but I picked up a few handy tricks. He coughs, lips twitching into a snarl. "You're funny, Lancel," he begins. "But humor doesn't secure your life," there's a pause, the lights increasing. "And with your epilepsy, it might just be a problem."

My eyes widen. The crowd is eating it up, but for all the wrong reasons. No-one is suppose to know... only my family. The bitter thoughts cloud my mind - did they do this, just to spite me and my chances? I have to play it cool. I swing a leg up, tucking it underneath me. "I call it a flaw, but I can overcome it," I smile. "An ugly personality isn't a flaw, though, so I'd be careful."

"The same can be said about you and yours," his voice is angry, but he hides it behind a twisted smile. "Let's talk about your score, which, frankly, could have been a whole lot better, considering the backstage drama our sources have coined onto."

"I think a 9 is rather impressive," I deflect. "I mean, it could have been worse... I could've got a 7, just like Lakyn, the head of her alliance." I add with a smirk. Fire and fire means someone is getting burned, and it isn't going to be me.

"We'll get to the... charming Lakyn soon, but it's about you right now, you little chipmunk," he adds for good measure. I raise my eyebrow. Is the big bad Hermes becoming weak? "Why did you score so low?"

I chuckle. "If you believe that, you're as delusional as you look."

The crowd gasps. Everything falls silent, all except the clicking of the spotlights. I focus ahead, blocking out the attempts of a seizure. The more I ignore it, the easier it could become. I've dealt with this my entire life after all. I turn to the cameras, making sure one zooms in one me. As classy as ever, I stick my middle finger up.

"That's for you, dear parents. Suck on it."


Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.


So far, they've all been odd. The District One boy's buzzer blared early. I couldn't help but smirk as he left the stage, his action having set the bar high for the rest of the night. No-one should've been able to beat. Yet, the District Four girl went up there and talked and talked until Hermes done it again, pressing the buzzer early so she could shut up. Again, I smirked. Still high, still unbeatable. The District Five girl was even worse, leaving Hermes flustered.

Everyone has made an impression. I need to somehow do the same. I don't want to forever be cemented as the volunteer kid. I want my personality and life to shine, not be dampened out by that one action. No-one will understand anyway, so what's the point?

"Rafe Corinthos, District Six." someone says.

Taking a deep breath, I move forward, feeling the sleek, silver suit glide against me. I move fast, feeling the heat of the lights on me. There's a few cheers, just like Constance said would happen. I'm loved, even without doing anything.

I take the seat and smile at Hermes. He, however, grins wickedly. "Hello, volunteer."

A few people laugh. I shuffle awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable position. "Hi," I smile sweetly. "You can call me Rafe, if you like."

"So volunteer," he ignores me. "I think we all want to know why you volunteered. I mean, I already know, but they don't." he adds with a malicious, toothy smile.

"I didn't have much," i begin. I guess I could try and educate him a little. "I had nothing to lose but everything to gain. Either way, something good has happened."

"Selfless," he chuckles lowly. "Is that it? No valiant tale on how you spared a child from the Hunger Games?"

"No?" I reply, unsure. "But you kinda nailed it, I guess. I never thought about that," I answer honestly. "I only thought about the prospect of it all."

Hermes rebuffs the question, leaning forward. "Now, I hear you're homeless," I can't help but wince at that. I'm voluntarily homeless, it's not like I don't have a family, it's just... I guess this was the better choice. "Care to explain why?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

Hermes laughs and the crowd follows suite. They seem to take some pleasure in my obvious discomfort. "That isn't any fun," he pouts. "Can't you at least give us a smidgen of detail? Like, how long your mother has been a morphling addict?"

My eyes widen and my blood runs cold. I can feel the speeding of my heartbeat. How did he know? No-one... no-one knows about my mom. My mind races as Hermes leans closer. "I-I-I-" I stutter.

"Oh, well you're no fun," he pouts even further. "I mean, when I heard that you sung for your private session, I at least thought that you would be... free. Guess you're one of those depressing artists, huh?"

"I-I did more than sing," I counter, hoping the subject will change. "I stabbed and slashed as well. I even used the nunchucks."

"Yeah, yeah," he waves it away. "I guess I'm cutting this one short as well. I just can't catch a break this year."

I open my mouth to ask for another chance, but the buzzer rings. The unusual feeling of anger floods my veins and I stand up, unable to stop shaking. I see red, stomping over towards a plant and flipping it over by the pot. It clatters and smashes, but right now, I just don't care. I can't stop shaking so I move from the stage, leaving a once-more stunned Hermes Abbatone. As I storm down the steps and away from a charging Bryony, the anger subsides and guilt reigns.

I don't like being angry. I don't like the... loss of control. But, with the bloodbath beginning tomorrow, I guess I have no choice. I either fight or die.

I just don't know where my breaking point, nor whether I will cross the line and it'll be too late to save myself.


Rotem Everly, District Seven Female.


The District Six boy passes quickly. He looks angry, with his lips scrunched up. I frown, watching him go by briskly. Jericho nudges me forward, a smile on his face. I smile in return, feeling at ease with him. We may not be allies, but Jericho reminds me of Bence, and I like that. Bence was a great friend. He is a great friend, I remind myself as my name is called.

I blink a few times and walk up the stairs, instantly feeling conscious. I pull down the short, navy dress and scan over my shoulders. No-one is looking. I reach the top and turn again, just to ensure that I'm not be assessed. The District Eleven girl is in the distance, watching me. Our eyes connect for a few moments before my name is called and the lights zoom on me.

"Rotem Everly," I hear his name, calling for me. I walk out, keeping my hands by my side. Maple told me to act natural, whilst Spruce told me to be careful. I could combine the two, but I never feel natural and safe at the same time. I quickly move for the seat, falling onto the plush comforter. His eyes graze over my body, making my spine shiver. "Rotem. What an unusual name, for starters."

"My mother named me." I mumble. My eyes drift out on the crowd, their luminous colours blurring into one massive smear.

"Your mother has appalling taste," he erupts into laughter and the whole audience follows. I can't help but shrink back. "But, what I want to know is, after finding out from sources..." there's a pause that makes me lean closer, despite the danger. "Who your baby daddy is."

My eyes widen. "I don't... I don't know. Wait, do you know?"

"I do indeed," he grins. Is he happy? Does he know them personally? My mother was so adamant about telling me, saying that I was better off not knowing. "Would you like to know?" he gazes to the crowd. "Or, better yet, do you all want to know?"

They scream in response. "...but what if I don't want to know?"

"Nothing personal sweetheart," he winks. "When I have gossip, I just need to tell the whole of Panem. In fact, I even have a DNA test we took."

"How?" I gasp, clawing my nails into the seat. I can feel the sadness swallowing my chest.

"Our inside source took some of your hair after the chariots. It's always been a sneaky suspicion of the Capitol since your mother accepts payment from him," he laughs proudly. I feel even more sick now, looking at the sidelines for some support. Thorn is there next to Jericho, his face twisted into a frown. "Should we spill?"

"No," I whisper. He doesn't hear me, so I lean closer. "No."

"No?" he teases, bringing out the white form. My heart both leaps and falls. "You'll love it, Scrotum. Oh, I mean Rotem. You'll love it Rotem," he whispers darkly. "You will love it."

He keeps saying it, as if it'll change my mind. I might not understand other people, but I know my own feelings, and I trust my mother's instincts. I don't need to know. Knowing will only confuse me and I need to focus on winning, on surviving... on returning home.

"No," I repeat, voice louder. Hermes smirks, some light hair falling into his eyes. I bet he enjoys, playing me like this. I've seen him tear down all the tributes in front of me. "I don't want to know. I shouldn't have to know," I feel a sudden confidence boost, so I stand. "It's my life and I don't want to know. I've never needed him before and I won't now."

"It's not about that, but rather twisting your sanity before you even enter the arena." he replies. When will the buzzer go? I ground my teeth, feeling the tears well against my eyelashes.

"It won't," I decide to respond. "It won't twist anything because... because I don't want to know," I pause, swallowing thickly. "It's not important to me." I lie.

"We will see," his voice booms. "We will see. Panem, Scrotum Everly!"


Bryony Dubois, District Eight Female.


I play with my hair as I take the seat. He looks happy, I can tell, with his grin so wide and teeth shining as bright as the spotlight.

"You look happy." Hermes begins.

"I am!" I chirp. "This is all so exciting! I've never seen someone so brightly coloured. Well, I've seen the Capitolites before, but you're even brighter!"

His lips twitch into a bigger smile, and the coloured blur of the audience seems to rumble with deep laughter. I can't stop smiling, though. Rafe was really upset after his interview, but I don't know why. It is Hermes' job to pry and learn about us. He did get a little too personal, I admit, but I always imagined Rafe as being so tough because of volunteering. I guess he really isn't; it makes me worried for Joshua and Asya.

"Where should we begin?" he asks, voice high.

"Well I was born in District Eight, but you knew that," I smile. "My mom and dad were great but I was different. I never saw it. I mean, I did because I'm really pale, but I always saw my difference as unique. Anyway, I went to school and had quite a few friends but there were always some little children who stared to hard or people who avoided me. I never understood why-"

"Honey," he coos. "We don't care about all that," my face falls and his rises. "We really want to learn about the difficulties of living with albinism."

"I-I just said there wasn't any difficulties..." I mumble. "I mean, people stared, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed being unique."

Hermes suddenly pulls forth a slip of paper. He holds it in his hand, moving it around slowly. The audience laps it up, gasping and slightly cheering. What is it? A smile spreads out over my face and I lean forward, feeling the excitement build inside. What is it, what is it?

"Let me just read you this," he says, flipping it open and bringing it close to his eyes. "That girl is the devil," he utters and my heart lurches. "She's so weird. She's all peppy, as if she thinks she's something special. She's a freak, plain and simple," Hermes pulls away, smiling. "I'm paraphrasing, of course, but that's what some lucky residents of District Eight said when they saw you be reaped."

"What?..." I answer quietly.

He nods, confident. "You heard me, Bryony, don't be naive. People don't like your looks. They're afraid of you."

"I had loads of friends," I counter, my weak voice betraying me. My arms instinctively wrap around my tiny stomach, the many scars feeling heavy and deep against my heated skin. "They liked me," I repeat. "We used to have the occasional sleepover and picnics and talked about boys."

"They were obviously lying to you, dear. Oh, it's okay, I mean, Capitol citizens are judged for looking different but we're better than everyone else, so it's okay," he smiles. I like the Capitol people, just because they like to be individual. Why don't people like me because of doing the same? "Would you like to talk about something different?" he asks, and I nod hastily. "Okay then, what about these suicide attempts."

Everything in my body goes cold and, to keep lock on reality, I dig my fingernails into my side, finding comfort in the pain. I can feel the bitter tears leaning on my eyelashes. "W-Wh-"

"I know everything," he laughs again, the sound booming around the now quiet room. I can only hear the thick pounding of blood in my ears. "You've attempted it four times, one even only a month ago, according to my sources. You slashed your chest, didn't you?"

I can't even answer. My tongue swells, feeling heavy in my mouth. A tear slide downs my cheek, warm and cold at the same time. I cling harder, the sharp sting of piercing skin keeping me rooted. What can I say? That he's right, that I try and hide all the pain I feel for being different? Shivering, I stand up slowly and lift my dress up, revealing my bare chest. This is the only way to face it.

The crowd gasps and even Hermes falls silent. The spotlight narrows in, highlighting the multitude of faint slashes that litter my own stomach. There's no need to answer; this speaks volumes.

I drop the dress, turn, and walk off the hushed stage. The remaining tributes are waiting, eyes wide and mouths agape. Joshua wraps me in a comforting hug, squeezing tight, but I can't bring myself to do the same. Asya is over his shoulder, looking tiny. I smile softly, pulling away from Joshua and walking towards the exit.

I have nothing left to hide. I have nothing to lose, either.


Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.


"The interviews were... interesting, to say the least," Mercury fills me in. I didn't want to stick around and watch more disasters, but she was kind enough to breakdown the important parts. "Let's see... the little girl from District Ten fell down, ripping open her dress. They had to quickly fix it there and then," she pauses, gathering her thoughts. "And the boy from District Twelve ended up having his interview backstage, after refusing to stand in front of everyone."

"This year is full of characters, that's for sure," Micro adds. "Say, has anyone seen Kris?"

I hold back the smirk. "It's not like he could escape, Micro. He's somewhere on this floor."

"I don't think so," he ponders. "I'm almost positive that he never came up."

"That's peculiar," Mercury hums. "Should we send someone for him?"

"No, leave him," I say, standing up abruptly. "If Kris wants to get himself killed before entering the arena, that's his own problem."

No-one says anything. I think it's clear where I stand with Kristopher, and that's as far away from him as possible. He's a practical joker, loose and careless. He's reckless and immoral and obviously doesn't care that much about survival, seeing as he hasn't planned things through that much. He's as good as dead, and I don't want anything to do with that.

Then, on queue or his ears could have been burning, the elevator door opens, revealing the ginger boy-wonder.

"Hey," he chirps. "Sorry, I wanted to wait for Wayne to finish up. He went and got some food from downstairs, so we planned our strategy out," he moves over to the couch, falling down carelessly. "Cool, right? Our last supper and we discussed how to run and kill."

"Most certainly." Micro humors him.

I stand there, blinking at him. He looks up and instantly smiles. "Yo, my magnet," he winks. "Did you want to discuss plans with me? I'm an awesome strategist."

"Discussing plans with the enemy? That's bizarre."

"Enemy? That's harsh," he frowns, looking visibly upset, before a smirk creeps on his face. "Nah, it's fine. Thank you for your help on the scores, though. The list, I mean, considering I was expecting commentary and you didn't give me any."

"You're more than capable of working out your own presumptions." I counter, moving over to the kitchen arena, grabbing a handful of berries.

"Yeah, but I like to hear your thoughts. I value them."

"Precisely," Mercury mimics. "It's better for the pair of you to share what you can. Each tidbit of knowledge could save your life. Right, Micro?"

"Indeed. Except that one incident..." he mumbles.

"Oh yes, but we won't discuss that," she quickly covers. "Come on Ampry, debate this out."

I turn around, my eyes wide. Since when was she all for it? She was the one who told me that keeping a strategy a secret was the better option. "Fine," I grumble, downing the berries and moving forward. I take the seat next to Micro, far from Kristopher. "You're free to start."

"How do you plan on escaping the bloodbath?" he questions smugly.

I smirk. "By moving my feet one after the other, like most humans do. And yourself?"

"I can see this will be pointless," he laughs. "Though I like the bite you're getting. That will help you in the future, Amp," he stands up, Mercury and Micro's confused faces looking up. "For now, I shall retire. Save me a seat on the hovercraft, yeah? Cool. Sweet dreams and sunbeams." he laughs as he walks out.

Silence fills the air. Mercury and Micro have been stunned into silence. Then, it hits me. He lured me into that. He wanted me to be sarcastic. What is his game?

"Asshole," I grumble, slouching back into the couch. If he can act so casual, then so will I. He's confident and I have more reason to be than him, so let's see how it works for me. Of course, after a few seconds, the perfectionist inside of me complains and I stand up. "I'm sleeping. Goodnight."

My method will be better than Kristopher's. After all, who said a slacker ever got things done?


Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.


"Wayne!" I hear Macaulay call, his persistent knocking every morning driving me slowly and surely into insanity. When I don't reply, he pounds the door again. "Wayne, you need to get up now!"

"Five more minutes!" I shout back, pulling the covers over my head.

I had a late night, I don't want an early morning. I hate mornings, bright and early. Not to mention that the Hunger Games is later. Well, not later, but soon. That makes me dig into my comforter even more. Macaulay knocks again, before the lock turns and the door swings open. Pounding footsteps charge towards my bed before the blanket is yanked back.

"Wayne," Macaulay mumbles, his hand rocking my shoulder. "Wayne, you need to get up. Like, right now. You'll be going in the hovercraft soon."

"Have you been drinking this morning?" I groan.

"What? No, you know that I went into sobriety two years ago. I haven't touched the drop." Macaulay's tone turns defensive.

"Then there's no excuse for your behaviour," I chuckle. "No, seriously, I want five more minutes."

"You don't get five more minutes," his voice has turned harder now. With a rough shove, Macaulay flips me over and my eyes fly open. "Get up, lazy bones."

I blink a few times, staring at the ceiling. "You're insane." I deadpan, hearing his footsteps echo away. When I know he's gone - rather than sleep, which is what I want - I get up, heading over to the closet. I pull out the clothes and quickly change, not bothering to fold my clothes like Macaulay asked me to do repeatedly. Looking in the mirror, I grin. "Looking good, Fallows."

I leave the bedroom and enter the main room. Macaulay, Serena and Asya are sat together, eating their breakfast quietly. Noticing me, Macaulay waves. "Come on you."

I grumble under my breath and move forward, the sweet smell of heated wheat doused in sugar drifting to my nose. I take a seat opposite Asya, though I'm more conscious than normal. With all the rumors that surround her, I want to be careful. It all makes sense, if you think about. i tripped and hurt my knee when near her. Another time, Asya entered the main room and the television blared to life, despite nothing being aired. There's some off that surrounds her.

"Are you meeting up with Kristopher this morning?" Serena asks quietly. Obviously, talking to Asya didn't pan out, seeing as the little girl's hands are held tightly in her lap, face twisted.

"I might try and see him on the hovercraft..." I mumble. "If Asya doesn't mind, that is."

"Sure." she replies quietly with a shrug.

"It'll be better for the pair of you." Macaulay adds.

"If you say so," I mumble under my breath, pouring out some food. "I mean, I'm still probably going to die, but at least sitting with Kristopher will be good for me." I add on kinda bitterly.

"You don't know that you're going to die," Serena treds carefully, eyes glancing at Asya. "Either one of you could win and be a surprise," she looks away from Asya, directly at me, eyes full of wild fire and hope. "No-one is certain for survival. The arena alters the balance of everything."

I swallow the food and study her face. "Which also means that it could alter for the worse. I can die, Serena, or Asya could or we both could."

I can't hold the bitterness. Reality is setting in and that means my negativity follows suite; as much as I can try and hide it, it will prevail. I can only hope that I'm proven wrong by my own words, otherwise, I guess this is the end for me.

We eat the rest of the breakfast in silence, until Macaulay and Serena rise. Gently, Serena guides Asya from the room and Macaulay offers a comforting smile. "Time to go, bud," he says sweetly. Just try to think positive for once, okay?"

Yeah, as if that'll happen. But, for Macaulay's sake and putting his worried mind at ease, I nod. "I'll try."


Cliff Harlaw, District Five Male.


Elesa leads me up the stairs, her white hair swishing back and forth. She hasn't said a word, but I can't blame her. What can she say? I've been accepted into an alliance that isn't really whole. She probably thinks badly of me, considering Nebula has voiced her opinions on the matter.

She pushes open the door and light pours in. My heart quickens, pounding against my ribcage. The two large, metallic vehicles stand tall, the wind grazing over the smooth surface. It's beautiful. It reminds me of something that my parents would decorate the house with, just to show off their wealth to the rest of the district. With the sudden peak in energy, my family jumped on top of it, heightening their profits.

"Here you go, Cliff," Elesa suddenly speaks, her hand guided to the one on the right. "You take that one and Ellery will take the other."

"Any parting words?" I joke lightly, but her face only falls.

"It was a pleasure to know you," she says quietly. "Just try your best. Try and make Micah happier, okay? A broken alliance will never prevail."

She quickly departs, lips twisted into a frown. She has no faith in me, but I don't blame her. I mean, it's not like Ellery has ever said anything nice about my skills, because everything that leaves her mouth ends up being abusive in a passive aggressive way.

I hastily cross the rooftop, aiming for the Peacekeeper whose leading tributes up the ramp. Ellery suddenly appears at the side with Nebula, a quiet but tense conversation being heard. I slow down, prying in. "You can leave now," Ellery says sharply. "I don't need a babysitter."

"At least give me a goodbye hug before you go?"

I turn around, just in time for Ellery to shove away an approaching Nebula. She briskly turns and walks towards me, her face weathered and tight. She doesn't look too good, and that's coming from the positively confidence she normally radiates. She doesn't even acknowledge me, heading to the other machine. Does that mean Lucia or Micah will be here? My heart lifts slightly. If it's Lucia, I can feel comfort and possibly like I'm worth something. If it's Micah, I can try and make amends.

I can't contain myself. I rush forward, smile plastered on my face.

It's then that I see Micah, being ushered up the ramp by the Peacekeeper.

"Hey Micah!" I call.

He turns around, eyes widening. "Cliff," he mumbles when I'm practically on top of him, trapping him. "What do you wnat?"

I slap my hand down on his shoulder. "I'm here to bridge the gap, buddy." I say cheerfully.

He grumbles under his breath as we move into the spectacular vehicle. Micah moves forward, but I leave my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to bring me along. He picks the seat right at the end - my hand sliding from his shoulder - as he picks the seat right on the end, with the other seat occupied by the little girl from District Nine.

I'm forced to pick the seat opposite him. I won't let up. I need Micah to feel comfortable before it's too late. "So," I begin, looking at him. Of course, he doesn't look pleased. "For Lucia's sake, we need to get along."

"I don't have a problem," he mutters, eyes jerking around at the room. "Do you have a problem?"

More tributes flood in. "You don't like me," I whisper. "Why? What have I done?"

"You're going to kill me," he replies quietly. "You're a threat. You're trying to kill me so you can be the Victor," his hand is shaking against the arm rest. Instantly, I frown. "They're all out to kill me."

All the tributes fill the seats. I keep my eyes locked on Micah as the door shuts, trapping out the light. I zoom in on his facial features, eyebrows knitted and lips twisted. "Micah?"

"Leave me alone," he snarls, eyes dark. "Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone."

So, I do just that. I quietly slump in my seat, glancing up at the ceiling as the hovercraft rises. My stomach knots, but I don't know whether that's from the sudden altitude or the fact that my life could end in just a few hours, and at the end of the day, I still couldn't find a whole alliance.


Austal Eridote, District Four Male.


The hovercraft ride is rather quiet. I look to my right and then my left, trying to find some sort of entertainment. I don't like this - the silence - because it makes me feel suffocated. Mother kept me away from other children, telling me that they'd hurt me, but I don't see the problem now. I haven't made a massive effort, but no-one has targeted me. Cres was kind despite his obvious looks. Actually, he's the only person from our alliance whose bothered to talk to me. Lakyn does, but it's never nice.

"You okay?" Cres says. I don't know what he wants, but I guess I appreciate his effort, considering he doesn't seem to do it with either Lakyn, Andora nor Gloria.

"I'm fine," I reply more harshly than intended, instantly regretting it. "How are you?" I decide to ask.

"Oh, you know, kinda nervous," he chuckles lowly. "I didn't expect to feel so... odd."

I glance at Gloria in the far corner, but when her eyes meet mine, I flinch. She kind of scares me, if I'm honest. "I see," I mumble. "It'll be okay."

"You can't really confirm that though," he laughs again. "But thanks bro."

Silence falls again. The slight hum from the hovercraft is comforting enough. Then, I frown, gazing out of the window as it grows dark. Isn't it sunny or blue outside? I've always imagined white fluffy clouds and a beaming, hot sun. I can't place my finger on it, but something is up.

The hovercraft begins to slow down. My heart lurches forward as it suddenly twists, causing a few of the tributes to shriek in surprise. I blink a few times as the hovercraft soon steadies out.

"What was that?" Cres says aloud.

"We took a turn," I echo out the obvious. "Where are we heading?"

"We're going to crash!" the District Twelve boy suddenly shouts from the other end. Everyone's head snaps to him, his eyes trembling. "We're all going to die!"

"Highly unlikely since it isn't entertainment," the District Five girl berates. "You need to calm down, bloodbath material."

"You're bloodbath material!"

She only scoffs in response. I can see that people are slightly freaked out by his words, and if I'm honest, they've made me slightly uneasy. Obviously we aren't going to die a few thousand feet above the ground, but it's an ironic reminder of what's about to come. I just really don't want to die,

Mother told me not to do it, and for once, I didn't listen. I've been caged up for so long, I just wanted to know if there were others like me. There weren't, but the experience has quenched my curious mind. The whole experiment of sorts has proven good and bad. I can still die. I might've seen what other teenagers my age were like and how they acted, but I still have to kill and fight. Everyone else has to die.

I really didn't think this through. The hovercraft begins to slow down, my stomach flipping again. It's all in my head. Yeah, it's all in my head. I'm my own worst enemy.

Light pours in and the ramp falls. One by one, the tributes are released by the attendant, but not before she shoots up the tracker into our arm. She reaches Cres and quickly injects him. His teeth clench and a small hiss escapes his lips.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, my mind panicking. I hope it doesn't do too much damage. I can't afford another damaged limb.

"Nah," he groans. "A little sore though."

My mind reels as she lowers the point to my flesh. I grit my teeth and walk, slowly, as it enters and the small beeping object flutters up my arm. Instantly, a pain washes over my body and I force myself to not scream. Cres sees the pain, though, his face suddenly in view.

"You okay man?"

No, no I'm not okay. I couldn't tell him, though. Weakness would be devoured here. "Fine," I lie, trying not to wince as the needle leaves my arm. "Just... preparing."

"Cool," he smirks, standing up. "Remember Lakyn's plan. Everyone in and grab what you can. Leave nothing behind and kill." he repeats her bloodthirsty words, just moments after my interview. Not that I could forget them. Lakyn told me again that night and this morning. According to her, I'm the one more than likely to wreck things by being reckless.

If only she knew how careful I have to be in order to not fall for the pain again. One damaged limb is enough.


Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.


The moment I'm led off the hovercraft, I take a deep breath of fresh air. Well, as fresh as the inside of a building can be. I take a quick look around at the concrete grey walls and flooring, face falling. From luxury to poverty in a second. I haven't experienced such a quick change since Daddy pulled us from poverty with his... shady business.

A Peacekeeper guides me with a hand on my shoulder, but I quickly shrug it off. "I'm not an invalid," I say calmly. "I can walk by myself without guidance."

We walk down the halls, following the crowd. I catch a glimpse of Ellery's dark hair and tanned skin further front. I tuck from the queue, sliding down quickly. The Peacekeepers react badly but they don't stop me from reaching her.

"Hey," I chirp, but Ellery's face is pale and taut. "Are you okay?"

"Okay is a bothersome word," she mumbles. "I'm not "okay" but I am feeling sick. I don't like heights."

"For someone who acts highly to not like heights is... ironic," I smirk, but Ellery isn't in the mood, her lips pressing into a line. "You could cheer up. I mean, we're not on the hovercraft anymore."

"Not the point," she brushes off as we stop, depositing two tributes on either side. "You can't control phobias, Caritta. They do tend to crop up when you are faced with them and even after."

"You're afraid of flying?"

"Of heights," she reiterates. "I am human. I do have fears and weaknesses."

"Could've fooled me," I tease, but again, she does nothing. We move forward slowly, losing two more. "Have you got a plan for the bloodbath?"

Another two more. "We run and engage in whatever we can," she confirms. "Find weapons and kill. It isn't rocket science." she rolls her eyes.

She's so cool. I admire her bitchy attitude because it proves she's better than everyone else, and I want that, need that. I want to be in the cool group, I suppose. Soon enough, Ellery is next. She looks at me with narrowed eyes before she's led into a room. The Peacekeeper grumbles, ushering me forward because I broke the rules. I pout, feeling his hand on my back. "My Daddy would've killed you by now." I mutter, the door opening.

I turn, his face obscured by his mask. "I'm sure someone will kill you soon enough. Then, Daddy won't have to worry."

The door closes. "Oh Caritta!" I hear Delorean chirps. I spin around and smile. "Oh darling, you look divine. I can't wait to get you into this number so you can show them all up. Particularly Angeline's tribute."

As Delorean brings about the packet of clothes and I take the seat, I frown. "Who is Angeline's tribute?"

"The District Seven boy," he mutters, pulling forth the odd clothing. Oh, Jericho Castillo. He's a major threat. "But you can take out the girl. I've heard from a little birdy that you two don't like each other."

"It's not that I don't like her. I just think she's a complete weirdo," I murmur. "But every great bitch has a bullied child under their fist. I guess she's mine."

"Lovely choice," he smiles, walking over with the outfit trapped in his clasped hands. I notice the black texture first, almost like lycra. "This is your outfit. All of it, sadly," he frowns. "It's lycra, if it wasn't obvious. Gosh, it's so hideous."

He hands it to me, the material sliding through my fingers. "What does that mean for the arena?"

"No idea," he smiles. "Doesn't exactly hold many secrets, does it? I would say indoors, obviously. Nothing too spectacular because normally, for that, they have outfits to reflect it. This is plain so I'm guessing the arena must be boring."

I stand up, pulling the outfit in front of me. My fingers experiment with the elasticity, stretching and pulling. It's quite a weird thing to make me wear. I mean, as Delorean said, it's rather ugly. "Shoes?" I ask, dropping the outfit to the floor with disgust.

"Oh, they are lovely," he drawls, handing me the black sneakers. I dig my thumb into the sole, something Daddy had taught me. It tells you how well they can let you run, and boy, I might need to run. "I presume you'll be doing a lot of moving. The thick sole is for that," he echoes my own thoughts. "Whilst the laces are no doubt for the added "style"." he quotes.

"That's all I can expect?" I reply. Something doesn't feel right. It's too plain; it's too mysterious.

"I suppose so," he shrugs. "But, don't worry, beautiful. I'm sure you'll excel with looks alone. I have faith in you."


Andora Seville, District Two Female.


I can't stop looking at the clock. Each time I look away, it nags me and I need to look back. It's not excitement but rather nerves. I am nervous. Who wouldn't be? Idiots. Proper Careers. I don't despise what I am - I willingly trained for it, after all - but I would never have volunteered on my own. I still hold all of the bitter blame on Evander, picking me out for not following his rules methodically.

"A-Andora, y-you should sit," Violet mutters. I look directly in her eyes, watching her shrink back. "I-I was just suggesting."

"I'm fine, Violet," I reply. "I just want to hurry this up. I don't like the unknown."

I really don't. I don't like not knowing what I'm going into. I could've prepared more - I could've talked to the others - but I guess it's too late. Oh well, I doubt I missed much. I got the gist of Lakyn's tyrannical reign that seems far too trivial and Cres' new submissive behaviour. I don't need to know much to know that we're going to fall and crumble, and fast.

Five more minutes.

"Do you h-have any plans?" Violet asks.

"I plan to try and win," I answer, as if it's the obvious thing in the world. I'm pretty sure everyone would answer with the same wish. "I plan to kill my allies in their sleep before running around the entire arena, berserk, murdering everything in sight. I plan to go down in history for having single-handedly taken twenty-three lives."

Her eyes are wide and timid. "R-R-Really?"

"Of course not," I roll my eyes. "Well, I don't know how to dispose of my allies, so that passage may or may not be true."

"What about C-Cres?"

"What about him?" I retaliate. I don't like this; I preferred the quiet, passive Violet that chose not to speak out of fear.

"Y-You can't... you can't hurt your own," she mumbles. "Partners should stick together."

"Yet there's only ever one winner."

She quickly falls silent. Good, I'd rather not speak. It's not that I don't like - well, I don't really - but it's pointless. When I return, Violet will only be around for the recaps and Victor Tour. Then, she'll fade into obscurity. Our budding friendship will have been pointless. And, just like every other relationship, she'll only end up either backstabbing me to further herself or disappoint me. I'd rather avoid both. I glance at the clock again.

One minute.

I count down the seconds in my head, walking slowly pass the tube. Maybe I can peak? No, that's stupid.

I'm scared, plain and simple. There, I admit it. Scared and nervous and antsy but I just want to know, I want to know so I can mentally prepare myself.

The clock buzzes. My whole body turns into gelatin as I motion forward, the tube opening up. I stand on the plate, looking at Violet as she turns blurry, the glass coming down. I carefully control my breathing as I begin to rise. I ascend into darkness, the sound of my heartbeat drumming throughout the small space. Then, swiftly, I'm pushed into the pure light.

I'm blinded for a moment, the amount of light literally burning my eyes. I'm outdoors? The light begins to fade and the arena becomes clear.

The golden Cornucopia shimmers defiantly, even brighter than I imagined. Everything seems so light. I crane my head around, seeing nothing but mirrors, multiplying the tributes. Twenty-four has turned into seventy-two. I push down the panic and focus on a mirror to the side of me, looking at my reflection. I look pale. I guess that's the nerves I won't admit to having.

So there's nothing but mirrors? We're in a circle. There's no way. A quick Hunger Games, huh?

But then, focusing, you can see a gap. It's hard to notice, but the light barely traces a dark shadow that reveals the entrance. It hits me then, as I find another one. It has to be the light, and if so, I've seen this before. It's a training trick at the Training Centre. A maze of mirrors, they call it.

Have fun getting lost whilst you literally watch your sanity break, is what Brick would laugh before he sent us all in, padded weapons armed.

It never happened to me. But, there's a first time for everything.


Secrets by OneRepublic.


The blog for this story is lost hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!

All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.


I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!

Who you want and think will die in the bloodbath?

Thoughts on what the arena could hold? Did you expect it? ;)

And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!


Firstly, there's a poll on my profile! Just choose the five tributes that you really want to survive the bloodbath. I already have them picked out, but it'd be interesting to see if anyone guesses them.

Secondly, I just want to thank all of the submitters. I have loved these characters, but the deaths begin. Please don't take it personally if your tribute dies in the bloodbath... remember, as the author, I have to follow plots, who I write with ease and who I struggle with. No-one wants a story where it's bland and boring because I can't write for the tributes.

And... yeah. Interviews done (isn't Hermes a peach?) and the outfits are revealed. Nothing spectacular, because the arena holds everything: a maze of mirrors! Think of the ones you get at the carnivals without the special effects they have. My ones will have different effects, not body shifting ;)