Came Back Haunted.

The smile is red, and it's eyes are black.


Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.


Rafe pulls us into a box room, the mirrors more spaced and providing more room. Asya is at his side, tear-stained cheeks bright and clear.

"We'll rest up here," he says cheerfully. Unlike him, I knew Bryony more personally. Her death wouldn't affect him as much as me, I think bitterly. He guides Asya onto the floor, dropping his backpack. "We should see what we have, see if anything is... musical," he adds with a sad smile, bending to unzip the first one. "I have a pan That could work well. What ab-"

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

His words are toppled over by the sound of six cannons, signalling the bloodbaths. With each sound, my heart clenches. Bryony is one of those. To the Capitol, she's simply a contender out of the game, another noise to project into the arena for the other tributes lucky enough to survive. I should've saved her, I should've gone to her no matter what... I failed her.

"Do we know all of the deaths?" Rafe asks. I was suppose to be the leader of this group, but I guess Rafe can see I'm not in it anymore. Sadness might never be replaced and, if so, Rafe needs to ensure Asya will be safe. "I only..." he cuts himself off, face twisting into guilt. "And the District Nine pair, naturally. Everyone else is a mystery."

"A mystery about to be solved," I say bitterly, walking over to the mirrors. I can't cry for her because they'll be watching. They'll use it against me, question and pry into a friendship that should've been kept secret. After everything Bryony went through, revealing her scars to the whole of Panem, to be cruelly bloodbathed. I turn around, looking Rafe dead in the eye. "I don't know why we didn't find her first. She was too innocent for this."

"Look, man, it was an accident," he defends. How can he defend murder as an accident? "I'm sure that..."

"Sure that what?" I grow increasingly angry. "Bryony should never have died, end of discussion."

He doesn't respond. From the corner of my eye, I see Asya tense, knees tucked under her chin. She doesn't say anything either.

As Rafe continues to pull out items for Bryony's wake of sorts, and Asya continues to stare ahead with glassy eyes, I focus in on the mirrors. What's their game? What do they want? The mirrors seem pointless, just reflective surfaces. But it's the Capitol, and if they can kill a girl whose been through so much already, then they can alter the most simplest of household objects.

I'm caught off-guard when the anthem suddenly blares. Rafe looks up, eyebrows knitted. "What the hell?"

All three of us look towards the ceiling, only to see a mirror planted up there. So where are the faces going to be projected? Anger floods my veins; I want to see Bryony one more time, her face clean and white, not marred by the blood or turning blue from the lack of a beating heart. I snap my head around until the mirrors all around us begin to cloud, as if fog is rolling over them. Asya stands up, freaked out and backing towards Rafe's sudden open arms, enveloped in his caring nature.

For some reason, it bugs me. Rafe and Asya are close. Me and Bryony, we were like that, before they stole her away. Well, before someone did; I'll more than likely never see who killed her. It could be for the better, but revenge would be sweeter.

The clouded mirror soon turns into a picture, black swirls and stripes painting a clear sight of an image. It's the District Nine girl. Despite all the black making a charcoal-like picture, you can make out their appearances. My eyes widen and the falx in my hand suddenly goes limp by my side. The tendrils move and swish, like a puppet on strings, playing out the scene of her murder. It's cartoon-like, a large knife landing into her small body despite the obvious difference in size. Her district partner has a smack into the back of his head, and the picture shows the back of his dark hair, skull opening like a crater in the ground.

"It's not real," Rafe suddenly speaks as the image zooms in on the gap, patterns underneath probably representing the brain. "It's all been... dramatised."

"It's entertainment." I mutter, as I see Bryony, signature white skin highlighted.

I step forward, heart thumping. I can see who will kill her, who will make that deadly move. The scene shows her running, skipping and hopping like a rabbit, before she's confronted by a figure I can't quite work out. Whoever it is, they run forward, pushing a large blade into her stomach and running with her impaled on it, until she's slammed against the mirror. I hear Asya whimper, but can't tear my eyes away. I step closer and closer to the mirror, fingers aching to touch the show.

The murderer turns around, revealing dark skin and dark hair. District Eleven, Caritta. From the corner of the screen, a tiny figure emerges.

It's Asya.

I spin around, eyes flared. "You were with her?!"

Asya tenses, and Rafe's grip becomes more secure around her smaller body. I remember losing her after fighting away the Careers, and then trying to find her. But wasn't she waiting in the hallway, like she was told? She was there when I met up with Rafe. The whole incident is a blur. But, the mirror says Asya was there, and the anger bubbles inside. "Hey," Rafe counters. "It's not like she killed her."

The anger inside of me makes me shake, like I'm vibrating. "You could've saved her!" I almost scream.

"No she couldn't," Rafe growls, moving Asya - still locked in his arms - to the side. "You need to relax. Asya didn't kill her, and she couldn't of done anything. You saw the image, the girl moved so fast that Bryony didn't even see until it was too late."

I guess Rafe is right. I can't expect Asya to save her, not when Asya is but a child herself. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "I suppose," I mutter. "I'm sorry, Asya."

The mirror behinds her reflects the Career from District Four being almost decapitated, a small but grinning head sat on top of a large tomahawk.

If we're going to forever see the deaths, manipulation won't work here. You'd be able to trust someone and know it. I guess... I guess that means Rafe and Asya have always been decent, and here I am, threatening Asya for doing something out of her power, judging Rafe for not caring as much as I do, when I knew Bryony much more personally.

"I'm sorry." I say again, but they'll never believe me. I turn around, still seeing the girl's image on the mirror. I'll make her pay.

But, in my mind, I say goodbye to Bryony, laying down black roses on her body, a gentle hum in the background. Goodbye, Bry, I'll never forget you. I'll get your revenge.


Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.


Lakyn's shadowed head bounces on the floor, still grinning. It's morbid, but that's the point. Everything has been thrown out of whack, more dramatic and a lot less realistic. I doubt Lakyn would've smiled when she died, even if I didn't see it happen. Maybe it's like a caricature? It'd make sense, a subtle mocking of when we all fall eventually.

No-one is looking anymore as we continue to walk down the hallway, Gloria up front like some rabid animal, knives in her hands.

"Has anyone seen Austal?" I ask when we finally stop. No-one has bothered to ask him, even though we know he hasn't died.

Andora drops, face slightly white as she shuffles a backpack into her lap. Despite an obvious flesh wound, she's taking the hit harder than I thought. "No," she mumbles. "Have you?" she adds with a sarcastic tone.

"Not since he chased off after Lancel's ally," I mutter, leaning against the mirror. I glance as Gloria begins to pace around, eyes snapping at every sight. She looks paranoid; but it could simply be the fact that we're surrounded by our own images; that would drive anyone mad. "Gloria?"

"What?" she turns, face hardened.

"Are you okay?" I ask. With our leader now dead, someone has to take charge. I don't want the position, but it's not like Gloria or Andora is jumping for the power.

It takes a moment before she responds. "Fine," she grumbles. "Are you going to hurry up?"

I look down at Andora, who looks up with a glower. "Does it look like I can go any faster? I was stabbed."

She is the only one injured. Well, from what we can tell, anyway. Without Austal and Lakyn, and with Lancel never joining us, the Career pack has already been dwindled down to just three current members, four if Austal returns to us alive, if at all. I hope he does. I like the little guy a lot more compared to the girls; I've always wanted a younger brother, and Austal is that, even if he treats me kind of bad.

"We need to keep moving," Gloria says, still pacing like some caged animal. "I don't like this. Staying still means staying open."

"We need to let Andora bandage up her wound first." I say, voicing Andora's obvious infliction. She can't walk much more, otherwise it'll rip open and be more vulnerable to infection. I learned that much from all the beatings.

Gloria doesn't look impressed but doesn't answer. In all honesty, I don't see why we're together at all. Lakyn brought us together and, I guess, we felt obliged under tradition. But really, without Lakyn being a forceful glue, they could leave. Gloria and Andora were the members more than likely to abandon or walk during the bloodbath, without Lakyn's notice. They could just leave. So, why aren't they? Something is keeping them here. Maybe they think they can't do it without staying in the alliance, or maybe they feel compelled to stay.

With each passing minute, it looks as if Austal has gone, now probably having witnessed Lakyn's demise. Will he miss her? She was always openly rude to him, treating him like he was nothing because he was younger when, in reality, him and Gloria are the same age. I bet it was an excuse just to make him feel crap about himself. Yeah, can't say that I miss Lakyn too much.

I turn and lean against the cool material, hearing Andora hiss, and Gloria still pacing. My head throbs, skull feeling tight. I don't know what's about to happen, but I can practically feel the tension. It's suffocating and heavy, expectations demanding. We are Careers, and we're not to die this early. If it was me, my Father would've flipped the entire house upside down in anger and disappointment.

"Cres..."

"What?" I turn around, frowning.

"No-one said anything," Gloria looks confused. "Think you're hearing things, you know."

This is the most Gloria's ever talked, and it's been nothing but slightly hostile. Maybe it's paranoia or something, or maybe seeing Lakyn's death has really shaken her. Wait, I doubt that, considering I'm sure her knife was aiming for Lakyn in the first place, before sinking into the little girl. "No," I say clearly. "I heard my name."

"Wasn't us." she defends herself, and when I look down at Andora, she nods curtly.

I frown even harder. Who said it? I definitely heard it, loud and clear. The voice was familiar too. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know the voice has said my name before. Then again, me, Gloria and Andora don't talk that often. They've probably never even said my name aloud before.

Just then, another bounding noise joins. I spin at the urgency, raising my blade. Gloria is quick, lining her knife up in one direction, whilst I watch the other. The footsteps get louder and louder, until I see Austal's bobbing head running towards us. I sigh, suddenly smiling.

"Hey," he breathes, panting hard. "Sorry."

Gloria looks him over once, knife still poised, before turning around and continue her impatient wait. Andora doesn't even look at him.

"Don't be sorry," I smile sweetly when he looks at me. His face tightens and he nods, turning my smile into a frown. "How did you find us, though?" I question.

"Mirrors," he replies, pointing to one in particular. At first I turn, thinking it was mine and it was Austal saying something, but no. He points further down at a mirror that looks just like the rest, nothing physically different. Maybe they're all different? "From the other side, you can see through. I saw Gloria walking around. So, I just followed the hall around and it came out here."

I nod, drinking it in. Another Gamemaker trick. But, it doesn't explain on who said my name. "I'm sorry about Lakyn," I shrug, feeling like it's necessary. He might not have even liked her, but it feels appropriate, to apologise for his district partner's demise. He just shrugs as well, not really fazed. "When Andora has been patched up, we'll head off."

And even though he just nods and steps aside, barely taking my warm welcome, I know that with him here, it'll be easy. Gloria and Andora won't talk, and Austal can help make things easy. I need this alliance to work. I need to stick to tradition, to please him, because if I go home and didn't do it properly, I'll never live it down... quite literally.


Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.


"So I guess we got lucky," Kristopher smiles, handing me the protein bar. I instantly notice the bite he took from it. "Oh yeah, sorry, I got hungry."

"That's disgusting," I frown, but take a bite anyway. It's not that it's a problem, it's just gross. I can't be too fussy or picky though. I swallow, glancing around at the mirrors. "I'm surprised they've even let us live this long. We haven't done anything, not even in the bloodbath."

Kris scoffs. "That's where you're wrong, buddy."

I frown, looking at him harder. "What do you mean, I'm wrong? I was with you. We didn't do anything worthwhile, not that I'm complaining. As far as I know, we have no targets on our back because of it."

"Technically we don't. But, I might've done something with a backpack or two," he pauses, looking at me with devilish eyes. "Nothing major... but a food samples of food are now poisoned."

My eyes widen. "What? How did you manage that?"

"I bent down... and poured the poisons onto the food?" he then laughs loud, booming against the fragile mirrors. "Nah, seriously, it was easy. I just grabbed a few bags, ran with them and hid as I done it, before putting them back. I don't know who has them, but at least we haven't got to worry about witnessing it. Someone will die and we'll be alright, you know." he finishes with a proud smile.

I don't know how I feel about that. I swallow thickly, looking away. I guess it was Kris' decision after all - and he'd probably call me lazy or something if I call him out on being merciless, which would annoy me - so I keep quiet. It would benefit the pair of us, but still... I don't know. Something about his pride over it makes my stomach uneasy.

Silence overpowers it all. At some point, Kris stands, walking across the hall. He runs his fingers gently over the mirror.

"Do you think these are a trap, you know, what with them showing us the deceased, rather than pictures in the sky or whatever," he says, but before I can answer, he clicks his tongue. "I guess you wouldn't know. I mean, if you think about it, these are the perfect tools to use their tricks on. I could easily imagine something like a tribute popping through, or maybe even the other side being visible."

"Yeah, and how would you know that?" I challenge him. I never knew Kris was this smart. He always seemed average, in a sense, with extra sarcasm and pride.

He shrugs. Through the reflection, you can see his eyes darken. "You should never trust anything in here. Even the food could've been poisoned."

"Rather rich coming from you," I quickly say, hiding a smirk. It's true; you shouldn't trust someone, and Kris has made that clear. Attacks are still possible, whether you see them happen or not. He turns around, a playful smile on his face. "What?" I deadpan. I have a bad feeling about this.

"What about we test it out?" he smirks. "We could try and prove the theories we have," he bends over, rummaging through his backpack. He soon produces a wicked knife, curved blade and serrated teeth. When did he get that? Shows that Kris is full of surprises. He turns again, pointing the mirror at his reflection. "If I stab it, we might get some sort of backlash."

My eyes widen. "Why would you do something as stupid as that?"

"It's helpful knowledge," he says calmly, but his lips are still peeled open happily. "We can learn to use it to our advantage in the future."

"That doesn't make sense." I frown, my stomach doing somersault after somersault.

"Life sometimes doesn't make sense," he argues. "But to find out the mysteries, you need to investigate."

I watch with wide eyes as he stabs the mirror with his knife. The blade bounces straight back - but with much force - and knocks Kris off of his feet. He lands by my lap, grunting at the impact. Again, I have to try and hide my smirk.

"That wasn't very successful," I look at him, but instead of embarrassment, I see those light eyes. I'm starting to think that Kris has gone off the rocker or something. "You're proud of that?"

"Of course," he says as he brushes himself off. "I now know that impact is much greater," he steps forward, leaning in to inspect the damage. "And yet, there are no marks."

"But you hit that pretty hard." I frown again. My stomach slowly dies down, leaving me just unsettled. All of these emotions are draining me more and more.

"I know," he laughs. "And not a single scratch or dent. Whatever this mirror is made of, it's strong. But see Wayne... we now know that, if we are attacked, we can push their weapons into the mirror and they'll be blown off of their feet, like jumping jacks."

I swallow again. "I don't think jumping jacks bounce that hard. And, besides, I'm not grabbing any weapons."

"But that's only because you're lazy," he smirks. The anger boils under my skin and the feeling of unsettlement is quickly replaced by fire. I hate it when he does that, when he pokes fun at the one thing I don't like. Sure, I'm lazy, no need to go around and tell the whole of Panem. "It's just precautionary. I'd rather be prepared than sorry."

"I think I prefer safe than sorry," I grind my teeth together, feeling the protein bar squish in my hands. "Precautionary sounds like you're looking for trouble."

"They did always say I was a bad boy," he laughs again, coming back to sit down. "Hey, my protein bar," he frowns, looking down at my fist. "You can let it go now, I think you've shown him who is boss."

I open my fingers and drop the bar to the floor, in a big, goopy mess. "You can have it," I mumble, standing up. "I'm going to walk on ahead. Gotta keep moving and that." I use as an excuse, walking away before Kris can do squat. The more and more time I spend with Kris, the more and more I regret accepting his offer for an alliance.


Caritta Husk, District Eleven Female.


We walk with ease down the halls. For some reason, Ellery isn't fearful about what's around the corners. She seems... oddly comfortable, leading me into whatever damn mess she wants to head into. It's her fault that I went into that bloodbath. Daddy's advice was ringing in my head, but her glaring eyes only a few platforms away overpowered him. I went in and fought because of her, because I wanted to make her proud in a twisted sense.

"This way," Ellery says, walking ahead. I hastily follow, eyes in awe at how the hallway has led into some strange room, more spaced. Ellery walks forward, head tilted towards the ceiling. "The mirrors are still up there. By their shape, I think the room is a hexagon."

But something in my stomach flips. Something seems dangerous about a room with such an easy entrance. "Ellery, we shou-"

My voice is overpowered by the sound of sliding glass. I spin around, watching in horror as a mirror fills the gap that was our entrance. My heart thumps in panic and I rush over, banging on it hard. "Let me out!" I scream.

"I guess it was a trap." Ellery mumbles.

"Really?" I exasperate. "We're trapped, Ellery! There's no other way out and this mirror isn't moving!" I push again, desperate and needy for it to go. No, no, I don't want this, not now. "Ellery!"

"Try moving that mirror one more time," Ellery commands. I take a deep breath, pushing again. This time she's watching, and through the reflection, I can see her face fall. "So, we're stuck in here. I guess it provides us with some decent safety from the other tributes."

"You could look at it that way. Or, you could see that we're stuck in a mirrored room with no way out." I snarl. I don't like this; I'm surprised Ellery hasn't blown up about it yet.

"Your attitude is not needed," she mumbles, running her hand over the smooth material. "We need to calm down and think rationally."

I can't think rationally, not when I'm trapped. Between us, we have weapons, but barely any food to survive two days. I highly doubt the other tributes will kill themselves within two days, which means, for all purposes, me and Ellery are screwed unless we get out. Of course, her constant hierarchy was great at the beginning... but right now, it's annoying to say the least. I need an angry and determined Ellery, not some girl who believes that rationality will save us from starvation.

"Ellery, we need to find a way out," I say, but she ignores me, continuing to slide her hand along the glass. "Ellery, are you listening to me?"

"I'm trying not to, but you're making it very hard at the moment." she replies absently, not even bothering to turn around.

"Fine, whatever, it's not like I'm trying to save us or anything." I glower, spinning back around at the mirror.

I can see Ellery behind me, but the most of it is just me, staring back with glassy eyes. What's so special about these mirrors? They don't look menacing or even scary. If it's a Gamemaker trap, it's a lame one.

But as if hearing me, the mirror begins to blur. It's not noticable at first, but then, the blur stretches out, like something waking up to life. I stare harder, my fingers aching from the grip around the bloodied hatchet in my hand. But looking back is still me, same dark skin and dark hair... until my mouth moves, but I didn't do that.

"What the-" I cut myself off as my eyes widen. The reflection's mouth isn't moving at all, but I know I spoke.

The lips peel into a toothy smile, before the girl zooms back, darkening as the edges blur and transform into that of tables and chairs. I gulp thickly, remembering this in my childhood. I'm so mesmerized by the sight, I forget to speak. Ellery should see this... but I need to see this.

The girl's face is clear, tears streaked on her cheeks, glittering on the black surfaces. She's upset, particularly when a flying object smacks her in the head. My lips part, as the girl wails. It's piercing and loud, and I quickly clamp my hands over my ears. She screams and howls, the shadows around her altering slowly, like tendrils of white breaking the black or glass ready to shatter. The scream continues to break through, until the shadows are shattered by the volume.

"Caritta!"

I snap back out, the movement taking my breath away. I struggle to compose myself, every inch of my body against me. I turn to Ellery, her face now white and contorted into fear. "E-E-"

"Don't look into the mirrors," she whispers, throat hoarse. It's only then I notice her eyes are red-rimmed, pupils dilated. "Look at me only."

I swallow again, desperate for saliva. "W-What did you see..." I mumble.

Her eyes harden. "It's none of your business," she sneers. "Just don't be an idiot and stay away from the mirrors."

I flick my tongue over my lips, cracked already. "It's hard to do that when we're trapped in a room where they're everywhere." I whisper, afraid something might... jump out at us.

"Look at the floor then," she hisses. "I'm only trying to help you, imbecile. Don't look at the mirrors, or do I have to physically force you to stare at the floor?"

I nod weakly, my head spinning. That... I never wanted to remember it again. I never wanted to know what it was like, the shame and guilt eating away at my soul. Ellery lets me go, pushing me away from her and shielding her arms with her arms. Gingerly, she lowers herself to the floor and stays put, knees curled up under her chin.

I don't dare look up as I join in. Even from the corner of my eye, I can tell that the mirrors are moving - or at least shifting - and the black is clear in such a light environment, moving like a living thing. It was a trap all along, and it wasn't as lame as I thought. I wish I was right more often.


Cliff Harlaw, District Five Male.


Lucia.

I stumble down the hallway, my mind but a blur. I don't take in the surroundings, focused only on seeing her image, played around like a puppet through the mirror. The District Three girl, she killed her, stabbed her through the chest with a menacing smile. Why? Lucia wouldn't have harmed her. Lucia was sweet, nice, and would never, ever hurt a fly. She put up with Micah despite everything. Shouldn't that say something about her character?

Micah.

Well, his death hurts as much. With him dead as well, I'm alone. Granted I would've probably been on my own with Lucia's death and Micah no doubt running, but I'm well and truly alone. No crazy and peculiar Micah, hidden around the corner, afraid I'm going to strike him down. No Lucia, hoping and praying that we can get along, just so she isn't pulled in-between.

All alone. I struggle to force down the emotions. I was always taught to hide them at the right places, at the right times. With dozens of cameras watching me, I guess it couldn't be a more perfect time to mask my emotions.

I stop, taking a deep breath. I never had plans on what to do if I was alone. All of my plans surrounded the idea of me and Lucia, sometimes including Micah.

I just... I don't know what to do. I was lucky to find them, sad to lose them.

I glance around the room, staring at my multiple complexions. I can see the sunken eyes and black uniform, masking the hallway in shadows. What are they even for? I don't know. I need to focus more on my survival, not the bitter memories of Lucia, determined and kind. Meat-girl, forever gone. A short and sweet friendship. I'll have to remember her as much as possible. Same goes for Micah, his quirks making him unforgettable.

For them, I keep moving, holding onto the backpack and sword. The glint catches a bounce of light and moves it, making the area seem brighter.

From the corner of my eye, I see a mirror suddenly grow dark.

Panic overrides my body as I spin around, raising my sword. It's obviously a trap, but it could be anything. I have to be prepared, even though I know that I won't win. Something inside of me has died. My morals, my code, it can't continue in here. My parents treated me to be poised, but can a murderer be poised? I look at the mirror harder, watching the shadows move, darkened tendrils dancing on the surface. It's like when the tributes are shown, only this time, the shadow is fuller, wider.

"Cliff..." I hear a hoarse whisper. My heart leaps to my throat and I stumble back until I hit the opposite wall.

The shadows contort and shape, revealing a ghostly image of what could only be described as my Mother. Her ashen hair and weathered eyes, looking at me with burning, black desire. "Cliff, you've failed me," she says, orbs snapping into a glare. "You're failed me!" she roars.

A million thoughts race across my mind as I sprint away, dropping the backpack. My worst fear was failure, for disappointment. My Mother, who I loved, who I wanted to make proud no matter what. No, no, it's only a dirty trick played against me.

But, as I run down the hall, her image chases me, forming on every mirror.

"You've failed me, coward!"

"You've allowed yourself to be a fool! You deserve to die!"

I can't stop panting, tears welling on my eyes so heavily that I don't see a mirror suddenly in front of me. I slam hard, bouncing back and off of my feet. It's a dead end. I look up in horror as her image stretches out, growing and becoming more horrific. The shadows contort her delicate features into that of something from a horror story, black and lithe, slowly caressing the mirror.

No, no, I'm not... I don't deserve to die. No, this isn't her. This isn't my Mom...

"You've destroyed this family," she hisses, hair sprayed out like that of a monster, jaw unhinged, revealing an elongated tongue and razor teeth. "You're the reason that we were never better off! You broke our hearts!" she bellows as her jaw reaches the floor. Her image grows, extends, until it's ready to explode. A howling scream pierces the air, deafening my ears as she finally combusts.

Out of her mouth sprays glass. I manage to cover my face just in time, but the cutting shards dart straight through my flimsy jumpsuit and into my skin, setting my entire body on fire. I would scream, but I don't think I have the energy in me. The Capitol have emotionally drained me in a matter of seconds, just by taking my Mother's face and turning it into something horrid, forever ruining the image in my mind. I might never see her again, and I'll die only ever remembering the dark, Capitol-tuned version.

Another explosion happens, shards of glass raining down on me and forcing me onto my back with such force, it knocks the wind from my body. I howl in pain, feeling as if I'm being stabbed all over at the same time, hot knives pressed into my skin. I feel a dark thud behind my eyes, a weak thump in my chest. I weakly open my eyes, a large piece of the object laid in front of me.

Her dark face returns, smaller but just as dark.

"Die, bastard child." she spits with venom.

A cracking noise breaks the deadly silence. I hear the movement, before the entire mirror crushes onto my back, taking away the pain for good.


Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.


I will not look, I will not fall into their devious, poisonous trap. I can't go through that again. Everyone will think of me as weak, as useless as the other tributes.

Caritta is nearby, looking at the ground as well when the cannon shatters the unnerving silence. I see her eyes glimpse up at me, curiosity clear.

"No," I mime, trying not to snarl as much. Violence more than likely won't quell her; maybe if I say it nice and slow, she'll understand that looking is giving them the power to break her. It'd probably send her insane and she might kill herself or, even worse, she might try and kill me. I'm not prepared to end her life as of yet, but I will if she turns into a rabid zombie, courtesy of the mirrors. Caritta stirs, moving her hair. "No." I say this time.

"But we need to know who died." she argues, biting onto her lip. She looks a lot younger and innocent, and I can't help but question my state of mind when I offered the alliance to her.

"It's not important," I lie. It is. For a game plan to work, you need to stay one step ahead, and that means crossing the lines and ticking the boxes when it comes to your competitors. "Caritta, I swear... if you do it, I will no longer be your ally. I will walk away."

"What, to the other side of the room?" she counters. I internally berate myself for failing at that, but I keep strong. "Fine, I won't look."

"No, go ahead and look," I take a different approach. "Obviously whatever you saw wasn't important to you, even though it seemed to scare me."

She pulls into herself a little bit more, eyes now conflicted. Good, be conflicted, that way you can't do something stupid. "It was." she mumbles.

"Then don't do it."

"We need to know, Ellery... you can break me out of it." she says. It rushes at me, the reality that she's sacrificing her possible lack of sanity towards an alliance that I plan to eradicate when it suits me. As she stands, I leap forward.

My eyes fix on the shadowy image of what seems to be a person, standing at the foot of a mirror. Their face turns out to be Cliff and my stomach drops. What happened? He's on his own? But the mirrors play their tricks and Cliff is reduced into a fetal position on the floor, as the mirrors break and explode, raining down shards of glass that tear into his skin, pulling screams from an anguished throat.

It fades and the black abyss returns. I try to shield my eyes, but it's too late. Caritta is already lost, eyes looking glassy as they stare ahead.

My eyes lock onto the black mess in front of me, drawing me in. Somewhere in my mind, I growl and try to fight, but in reality, I fall easily to the trap like anyone would. I can see the darkened edge, the cliff at the tips of my mirror-self's feet. Just the sight makes me sick to my stomach, heart thumping at my chest. It takes my breath away and I struggle to breathe, the sheer volume of the height being stretched out as the landscape shifts to show the deadly drop.

No, don't... I can't peel my eyes away, even as the image plays against the fears that plague my mind. No, no, please don't.

Mirror-me is pushed forward, her face masked into something of fear and pure terror. It's not me, not really, because heights are the only thing that have ever made me into a blubbering wreck. It's a common fear, the mere thoughts able to paralyse me into a frozen state. She tries to fight it, lips ripped open in a scream that blasts at my ears, sending a shiver down my spine.

Then she's pushed finally, feet slipping on the crumbling rock. A scream escapes my throat, though I don't know whether it's real me or mirror-me. The picture zooms in on the swift plummet, my breath gone and my heart leaping to my throat. I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Everything is suddenly so hot and thick, like a hot blanket being stuffed over my mouth.

Pointy rocks appear at the bottom. She lands on the spikes and another scream escapes my throat as the shadowy version of me explodes into a blackened puddle.

I zoom out of the picture and am instantly blasted by the light mirrors. My knees go weak and I fall down, digging my nails into the pebbled floor. I take gulp after gulp of fresh air, trying to slow my body down.

It was a trick. Show us another death - just what we need to know to survive - and then lure us into the trap again. I swipe at my teary eyes, hearing Caritta land down next to me.

"I-I-I-" she babbles, words sloppy.

"Never... again..." I breathe. I turn to look at her, anger fleeing to my face. "I am... never, ever doing that again, you got that? You... you want to be reckless, you do it on your own..."

She looks at me, tears peppered across her eyelashes. "I-I-"

"Yeah," I cut her. "I can't go through that again. I'm not saving you next time."

A part of me doesn't want to look up. A simple mirror has reduced me to this, and it's stupid, because a mirror does nothing but reproduce our pigments and then reflect it back to us. It's an object and it's pulled me down to this, someone so intelligent now forced to show the emotions and fear she wanted to conceal. Hesitant, I look up, the mirrors still clear; the blackness obviously having evaporated. I pull myself to shaky legs, gritting my teeth. Caritta does the same, a bitter reflection of what happened to me.

"Caritta?" I say, flexing my fingers. I still try and control my breathing, but it's coming back. Just slowly.

She spins around, sniffing. "Yeah?"

"You're lucky that I don't kill you," I whisper hoarsely, watching her face tighten. "But I won't, because you're not unintelligent like the other district people, are you?" she shakes her head and I smile. "Well find us a way out and I'll let you have the first sponsor, no matter who it is presented to."

Because if bribery makes her work faster, and in turn gets me far away my fears, then it's a win-win for the pair of us.


Came Back Haunted by Nine Inch Nails.


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

Cliff Harlaw, District Five.

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.

Jake, I'm very sorry, but I couldn't think of what to do with Cliff, so he kinda became a mule to what the mirrors do. I'm sorry.


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

POV that stood out the most?

Thoughts on the mirrors, and what they might play for other tributes?

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


I doubt anyone expected Cliff to die. It's sad, but sometimes, I need to not be predictable. That, and I had no idea what to do with him, whereas I have development and subplots planned for the others :/

So my mirrors! Think of the darkness as some sort of Inception-inspired design. That, and black charcoal drawings with a more cartoon affect to it.

For anyone who can't see it, the mirrors (for now) show deepest fears. They just know what makes you break, i.e. Ellery and heights, Cliff and his standing at home etc.

This is early because the next one might be late, I dunno. I need to work on FFYL's Reapings.