Fallen.

I'm staring shadows in the eye. Oh, good morning, will you just wait until I die?


Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.


I don't move. I just stand there.

I can feel it running through my veins. It burns, it stings, it's everything I've ever felt, just brimming to the top until it spills over. My heart pulsates, making each hair on my body stand. Lancel and Rotem, they're on the other side. I can't bear to follow them. I heard them, with their tight voices, whispering as Rotem fell through. They'll take her; they'll take me.

The mirrors begin to flicker. I step back - the urge to just flee - before hearing a high pitched noise. The mirrors soon become transparent, revealing everything I don't want to face; that Lancel someone coined me into doing. I should hate him, but I can't. I can't hate someone whose too similar to me.

They stand there, in a group, eyes and faces twisted and looking. My eyes widen and Lancel turns to face me. His lips peel into a wicked smile. He's been waiting for this, I can tell. He says he isn't a Career, but he's acting like them now.

"Now!" he screams.

With the mirrors gone, I charge forward. The boy from District Two has no time to combat me, as I thrust him up against the opposite mirrors with a thump. I hear a hiss, before chaos soon erupts.

His fist comes barreling into my face. I take it on the chin, stumbling. Another hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around. My mind blurs as I manage to avoid Austal's swing of his spear, the wooden end catching his ally in the stomach.

For a split second, I see a knife sliding down Gloria's hand. "Knife!" I howl.

Rotem and Lancel's eyes go wide. Gloria throws the knife, swiftly cutting the air, before I take another punch and things soon blacken. I hear footsteps, fighting and kicking at the legs near my body. I claw at the pebble ground, desperation causing my throat to close up. I feel like I can't breathe. Everything feels suffocating.

I force myself onto my feet. Despite the chaos, things manage to slow down for me to see Rotem and Lancel disappearing through the mirrors, now that the battleground has grown.

Austal is suddenly there in my face. He swings with another punch, which I dodge. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the flashbacks of how Austal overpowered me and made me feel weak, timid, like a scared little child huddled in the corner of his room. I grab his next fist, twisting with all my might. Austal howls in pain; I kick him in the knee, just to shut him up.

But then another hand is pushing me backwards, a glint of silver catching my eye before pain rips across my cheek.

I hiss in pain, agony burning through my face. Cres' face blurs before he disappears into the mass again, a shining sword locked in his hand. Austal stands there, blinking, as the fire seems to eat my skin.

"I'm sorry." I hear Austal says Why would he say that? I stagger backwards, trying to grab onto some sort of support. Bile rises in my throat. My head spins out of control. I stagger and stumble, unable to carry my own weight. I'm sure if Blair - or even Lancel for that matter - could read my thoughts, they'd happily twist the self-deprecating knife. Even as I'm dying, they'd love to kick me once more, just for the sake of it.

I wonder if Lancel truly knows the price for all of this? Something massive will snap his mind around, show him that it isn't all worth it. I know it has for me. I've been competiting to eventually die. Everything before this seems immature now.

"Thorn, quick!" Lancel's voice soon joins the mix, but it seems thick.

The spinning takes over and I fall down hard, unable to think clearly. I hear the approaching footsteps before I even know what to do.

"Thorn!" it's Lancel again, but this time, he's helping me up. But then he's letting me go and shunting me backwards, my back slamming against the mirror.

I finally see my reflection. It wasn't my cheek he cut; from forehead to chin, a single rip across my face that's bleeding red. The sight causes my insides to churn, bringing me down on my knees. My face feels sticky and wet, a few stray streaks falling down to my lips, the bitter taste of what failure seems to be. I couldn't even fight a single person.

Stars pepper my vision, and I slowly fall down. I don't know where Lancel went, but he's gone, their fleeting footsteps confirming that they must be going after Rotem and Lancel now. They probably assume I'm dead. The pain is so bad that the thought of death is pretty welcoming, but the sting of failure keeps me rooted to try and fight for it.

"Austal, get the girl! Cres, help me with Lancel!" a hardened, female voice says. I guess that must be Gloria. I fall down onto my side, suddenly feeling light. The room continues to spin, the light sharply cutting into my already contorted vision.

The voices begin to drift away as darkness takes over. I feel like a feather, protected, as if nothing could touch me. Blair's mocking voice doesn't feel as bad anymore. I don't feel the pressure.

But this isn't death, or at least how I pictured it. This feels different, my mind coming to a halt. Everything falls quiet as my eyes slip shut.


Austal Eridote, District Four Male.


With the District Eleven boy out of battle, I follow Gloria's commands. Compared to Lakyn, she's nicer, but a little bit more ruthless.

The District Seven girl - Rotem, I've heard a few times - doesn't see me coming until I'm thrusting her up against the wall. She grunts, head smacking against the cool slab. Her knee connects with my gut and causes me to stutter, but I keep the hold strong. She fights me, though, as I attempt to pull out the knife hidden in my pocket.

Rotem, however, catches on quick. Her eyes widen and she manages to throw herself out of my grip, and downwards, hitting the floor in a heap. I quickly move back, but her hand shoots up in a balled fist and slams into my groin.

The pain causes me to buckle as everything goes weak. I collapse easily, and she takes advantage of quickly patting me down for the weapon. Didn't she have a spear or something? I can't remember now, she must've lost it. Or she didn't have one. The pain makes it too hard to think straight.

When her hand clasps over the pocket that contains the knife, though, I react. I grab her hand and twist, but she promptly brings her fist down onto my throat, taking away my breath.

She pulls the knife free and begins to stand. I grab her ankle, the fire burning inside of me to do this right, to do something right. Cres will no doubt please Gloria, and ever since Lakyn decided to treat me as a puppy, they all think it. I need to change their opinions, to show them that I can do just as much, maybe even more.

I pull her down swiftly, but she fights back. The heel of her boot comes flying for my face and I barely have enough time to move to the side, cracking into my shoulder blade and causing me to scream.

My arm... the pain causes the numbness to return. It grows heavy and I have to vicegrip on her ankle, pulling her scrambling form with each time she tries to get away. I'm almost sure her face gets pulled along the pebbles and I instantly feel guilt knotting up inside of me.

I flip her over. She kicks again, landing into my shoulder blade once more. I bite down on my tongue until I feel blood flooding my mouth. It's the only thing to stop me from screaming.

I scrabble up her body. Wildly, she swipes with the knife, ripping open my uniform. On the second try though, I manage to overpower the weapon, grasping at straws, I suppose. With a flick of my palm, I'm able to disarm her, the countless times I did it with the practice dummy back in District Four.

The knife skids across the floor. Rotem decides to punch, but I grab the wrist and slam it down onto the floor, effectively pinning her there. She gasps and struggles as I place my knees either side of her body, keeping her down.

"L-Let me go," she pleads, still fighting. Her legs begin to kick, but just can't reach my body. She suddenly clenches her jaw, and the sad face turns stony. "Make it quick." she says coolly.

In that moment, I hesitate. I don't think I ever aimed to kill, at least, not a girl. The boy from District Twelve was mainly luck. He wasn't looking, he was weak, he was easy. But she's a fighter, someone who is trying to beat me. She isn't an easy kill and I can't help but feel in over my head. This, her, the arena, just everything... all I wanted to do was see what was out there, pass my family's yard.

I look for the knife nearby. The silver glints off of the mirror, bouncing back at us. Her head snaps towards it and I can see the hope and desire.

I weaken my grip. I throw myself off of her in an instance, lunging for the weapon. She seems to get up but she doesn't follow, her footsteps growing quiet.

Then, it hits me. I grab the knife and throw with all of my might, barely catching her fleeting form. It slashes across her thigh, bringing her down to the ground once more. I hear her whimper, still trying to get away. Just like a human, she's running. She all would like that. Really, she should blame her leader, Lancel, seeing as he targeted us. As far as I knew, we didn't have plans to attack them specifically.

My arm feels suddenly heavy. The pain makes me nauseous, making my head hum in agony. Slowly, I walk towards her, her whimpers penetrating my brain and making the knot in my chest grow larger and larger.

Gloria soon comes into view. "Austal, finish her," she says coldly. "We need to get out of here."

But soon, she spins around, Lancel swinging his flail as if he has nothing left. Gloria avoids him and manages to kick the weapon from his hand. His eyes go wide for Rotem before Gloria is backing him up into the corner.

I spin around - remembering Rotem - as she staggers through the once-mirrored wall, heading back into the thick of things. Cres quickly grabs her by the shoulders and thrusts her into my direction. I catch her, before a fist pummels my stomach. I gag, choke, before spinning her around.

I see Gloria, Cres now storming towards a weakened Lancel in the corner, bruised and beaten. I see her knife. She aims and throws in a swift motion. I can hear the metal whistling through the air.

Rotem struggles in my grip. It happens swiftly, but everything seems to slow down.

She gets the advantage and, using her knee, hits my gut. I buckle and weaken. She grabs me, and switches our position. The pain spreads out over my back, stemming from my spine. My legs instantly go numb, as if they no longer existed. Rotem lets me go and I fall down hard, the blackness cutting at the edges of my vision. I feel tears well in my eyes, blocking out any light or vision.

Everything falls dark. I hear frantic voices and hasty footsteps, rushing away from the scene.

Used as a human shield. In that one flat moment, I was taken down by my own ally by accident. Hands are soon roaming my body, flipping me over. Light pierces my brain as a whisper of a voice reaches my blocked ears.

"Austal... Austal... guys, I th-hink he mi..."

I think it's Cres. I smile weakly; he was the only one who ever cared for me, and I treated him like dirt because I envied everything he was. Somewhere, in my head, I apologise before everything turns so very cold. The pain in my arm soon disappears. Finally, for the first time in my life, I feel free.


Wayne Fallows, District Ten Male.


I squeal when the cannon suddenly sounds, jumping back against the mirrors. Kristopher groans, turning around to face.

"Bro, I get that it shocked you, but man up." he says coldly. Slowly, his attitude is pissing me off more and more. I step back, looking at the mirror opposite me. Kris also seems to study the objects, waiting to know not only who it is, but how they died. With the mirrors being the way they are - and Kris arrogantly claiming that they target the weaker minds, though that's probably a bitchy jab at me - a younger tribute is dead. For some reason, I can't get the idea of it being Asya from my head.

The screen begins to fog, before the shadows and light soon becomes clear. Each part of me is on alert; I wouldn't tell Kris, though, because that's asking for another lazy joke.

The District Four boy appears with a grin on his face. He's prancing around like a horse, playing with the District Seven girl. But then she grabs him and spins him around, a knife effectively landing just under his neck. He falls, still smiling as the black blood pools around his lifeless body.

The mirrors stop. Light filters back in, and Kris hums.

"I doubt he was that amused," he says aloud. "At least that's another Career down. Dropping like flies."

I slowly readjust my backpack. "Yeah, I guess," I mumble. "But it still sucks."

"He volunteered. He was asking for a death."

Even his heart is turning black. The more and more I look in the mirror - or look to see Kris' reflection - I see him changing. He's becoming darker and more cold. If Ampry ever dies, I doubt he'll even give it a second thought. It's smart, don't get me wrong, but also heartless. No-one wants to sponsor such a thoughtless person.

"We need to keep moving," he speaks again, like he's reciting something. "Hey," he turns, smiling. "Are we stopping because you need a breather? Too much walking already?"

"Quit it," I hiss. "You think it's funny, but it just makes you look like a royal asshole."

His lips curl into a smug smile. "Sorry. I mean, it's only banter. God, you nor Ampry can take a joke. It's called trying to ease the mood. Do you want to be reminder about the imminent death that you might face, or would you rather joke around until the time comes?"

"You're not joking, though, you're being a douche." I narrow my eyes. "Besides. You could've reacted a little more sympathetic to that guy's death."

"He's a Career, Wayne. He asked for this. I'm sorry, when they volunteer with their bright eyes and bushy tails, they're asking to die," he steps closer. The air grows thick with tension. I clench my jaws; if Kris wants to argue, then fine. I won't back down, not when he's been egging me on the entire time. "I also didn't know him. I can't cry over someone I don't know. That's just irrational and melodramatic."

"I'm not asking you to cry. Seriously, do you even listen to me?" I exasperate. I'm growing more and more tired of him. I don't even know what possessed me to ally with him in the first place. "I'm just saying that turning around and saying he asked for it is lame."

"I don't want to argue. Let's go," Kris begins to walk, but for some reason, I can't will my legs to move. When he notices I'm not coming, he turns around. "You really need that much of a break?"

I breathe slowly, willing myself. You can do it on your own, Wayne. You know you can. "I'm not going with you," I slowly say, as if I'm not sure of myself. I'm not. I doubt I could do it on my own. But is it worth it, staying here and being berated and mocked at every chance? He's growing darker; he could easily turn on me. "This alliance is over."

His eyes grow hard. "Fine. You'll die as quickly as the others."

With that, Kris storms down the hallway and around the corner. It doesn't hit me straightaway. I stand there, blinking, mentally wishing that Kris would return. But after a few minutes of wishing, I know it's pointless. I sigh, swing my backpack on tighter, before walking back the way we came.

I make it all the way back to where we sat down - where I was mentally assaulted by the Gamemakers - before my stomach churns.

At first, I think it's because I'm hungry. But then the mirrors catch my attention as they grow dark. My heart hammers against my chest as I spin around, backpack slipping down my shoulder before the shadows swallow the mirrors whole.

A white, bulbous head soon appears as I'm sucked in. The head floats up as a suit soon emerges from the moving darkness. It moves forward, tears pricking at my eyes as fear takes over. I don't... I don't know what it is! I don't want to die! Kris!

I run without thinking. I can't even think straight, my flight mode kicking into overdrive. I drop the backpack at some point, lost to the shadows.

But the head keeps appearing, growing limbs each time. Hands and legs, long and gangly. A pinstripe suit that holds a lithe frame... white claws.

I run around a tree, straight into the man. My heart leaps and I scream, his white claw swiping at my face. The pain feels so real, burning my body and causing me to scream once more when I hit the ground. I scramble through the fake dirt and dead grass, desperate to get away. But he keeps appearing, at each corner and each turn, staring at me without a face. Each time, a little piece of me dies.

I scream harder and harder, pulling my throat apart.

The scenery of dark trees disappear. In the snap of my fingers, everything vanishes. I'm on the white pebble floor, fingers grabbing clumps. The backpack is in front, handles ripped apart and jagged.

It was all fake. Nothing was real. But then the backpack...

A red droplet falls from my face, landing on the floor. Everything slows down as I unclench a hand, bringing the dusted fingers to face. They come back red, and when I look at the now light mirrors, I see the slash across my cheek. My eyes widen, just as the white head seems to come out of the mirror behind me. I manage to scream one more time before a white claw slashes across my throat. First comes the burning pain that rips through my body, before sending me into eternal darkness.


Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.


"He's dead," Gloria says, emotionless, as I continue to look down upon Austal's bloody form, crumpled like a piece of worn paper. A sad smile is forever etched into his face. "Cres, we need to go so that they can pick him up, to take him back home."

Gloria did this. She hasn't even bothered to collect her silver knife, lodged at the top of his spine. She might not have meant it, but she actually took his life. Austal is dead as Gloria's hands, well, her weapons. Does she even feel remorse? I know she didn't mean it, but she hasn't shown any sympathy for taking his life. And not only that, but it resulted in Lancel and his allies getting away, even the unconscious one. They all got away and Austal died. His death was for nothing.

A cannon sounds. My eyes widen. Did that unconscious boy now die? I mean, he looked in pretty bad shape. When I look at the mirrors, though, I can see that it is a boy, but the one from District Ten. The fog stays this time, though. A figure attacks him, throwing him against the mirrors and allowing the boy to run, before jumping in front of him. When he's near, he swipes. He then vanishes. I look to Andora, her eyes look fearful. The white man emerges actually through the mirror and slices his neck open.

Just like that, he's dead. The mirrors really are full of tricks. For the first time, a chill creeps up my spine. Best be prepared for anything.

"Cres," Andora joins in now, still on the floor. Did she even fight? Did they even go for her? I can't help but look at her with bitter eyes. "We need to move."

"Oh, you can move now." I mumble.

Andora stands, her legs a little shaken. She moves over to Gloria, backpack in hand. "Cres," Gloria calls. It's all I hear; my name, my name, my name. They didn't want to know me before. Now, now that Lakyn and Austal are gone, I'm their bodyguard of sorts, their mindless monkey to use as they please. "Come on."

I take the first step away from his body. But then I go back and pull out the knife, discarding it to the side. It doesn't look right. He should be collected with some dignity. I take one final look before we head on down the hallway, leaving behind another.

"Wounds?" Gloria asks.

"None." Andora replies shortly. I have to bite my tongue, my fingers ghosting over the many bruises I can feel forming. But it doesn't matter; I've spent most of my life with them. It doesn't even affect me anymore. It's the norm for me. Another thing my Father prepared me for.

"Bruises and cuts," Gloria chips in. When you look at her, though, you can see she has nothing. Any wound she might have, it'll be under her uniform. "Cres, what about you?"

Neither of their voices are even sweet. Andora seems aloof, whereas Gloria is emotionless and seemingly cold. Austal might've acted cold towards me, but I could feel his warmth, on how he seemed like a good guy. He wasn't like Lakyn or Andora or Gloria. He was nicer, more naive. I'll miss his addition here. "A few," I quietly answer. "Nothing major. Nothing life-changing. I'm still breathing."

The air grows tense as we continue to walk. Why are they still here? Now that we've lost another, there's just no point. Andora and Gloria have no ties anymore. And, frankly, I don't think I even want them here anymore. In fact, I don't know why they've stayed this long.

"I think it's over, you know," I comment when we stop for food. Gloria looks at me, her eyes masked. "It just isn't going to work. Without Lakyn, without Austal, we have no glue."

"I agree," Gloria nods. I knew she would; I bet she's been itching to leave ever since Lakyn was killed. "Andora?"

Andora shrugs. "Sure. It had to happen at some time."

"So we agree. Right, split the supplies and the weapons. Everyone gets a fair shot," Gloria echoes my thoughts, though I don't know why they should. I won't judge. I chose this after all. I grab a backpack and my sword. Gloria takes her remaining knives, and Andora opts for a sword as well, considering she lost her dadao at the Cornucopia during the bloodbath. I mean, it's not like she lost it in the fight; she didn't even move from her comfortable position. "We'll split at the next intersection."

We walk down in silence. Andora limps a little, but her wound has pretty much healed. I'm grateful, I must admit, but it's awfully perfect timed. Just as the fighting is over and Austal is dead, Andora has a miraculous recovery. I can't remove my eyes from her as we hit the intersection, like Gloria warned. She turns to face us, the air between us still thick.

"I'll see you guys at the finale," she voices. My eyebrows rise, quickly switching my look to her. "I better see you both there. Don't let us down."

Andora snorts. "Wouldn't miss it. Not like we're not aiming for it, Gloria."

"You know what I mean," she narrows her eyes, before turning to me. "And I'm sorry about Cres. I could see you liked him," I nod curtly; I'd rather not speak about it. Gloria catches the hint, and nods herself. "Right then. See you later."

And with that, Gloria leaves down one way. Andora stands around for a moment. She gives me one long, last look, before walking down the next one silently. Suddenly, I'm alone. The Careers are well and truly finished.

It takes me a few moments to move. I stay there, rooted. My Father would be angry. He'd be pissed actually. But I don't care, not anymore, not now. Things are changing and I'll have to adapt. After all, it was one of his lessons before me between punches. That the best fighter knows how to adapt to the opponent's movements. Being the same means being predictable.

I move the backpack on my shoulder and walk down the final hallway. I pass the mirrors, seeing glimpses of myself. For the first time in a while, I smile properly, feeling proud of myself.

Nothing is going to stop me now. I have everything to win and everything to lose.


Ampry Erfinder, District Three Female.


I need to move on. Onwards and upwards, for something like that. Everyone will kill eventually. Yeah, of course, everyone will be forced into it at some point. I'm just doing what everyone else will do in the future. I won't forget Lucia - I don't think anyone forgets their first kill - but I won't let it consume me. I want to win. To win, I need to detach myself.

But then they'll come, I just know it. I'm sure watching an emotional tribute is the most entertaining thing possible. So, I'll stay the same, but move on.

I pace pass the mirrors again, flicking the laser in my hands without thought. It bounces off of the mirrors, shining in the distance. I guess I was lucky; I knew that, though, when I saw before the bloodbath. I could be dangerous with this. I already am, with a kill under my belt. Ampry Erfinder, the murderer of an innocent.

Will it give me some credit? I hope so. That way, the Careers will stay away and kill themselves off. As horrible as it sounds, I killed Lucia by luck. I need to find another weak person to do it again. I feel like it'll be the only way I can ever win.

A lump forms in my throat as I turn the corner. Wayne is dead. I saw the... the thing, just slice his throat open. Kris wasn't viewed, so he got away? For some reason, it leaves me slightly unsettled. What has happened to Kris? I mean, I know he's beyond irritating, but nobody deserves a death like that Mutt... if it even is a Mutt. Frankly, I don't want to know, I don't want to bump into it. I wouldn't even know what to do to fight against it. It looked almost indestructible.

All I know is, his appearance has set in a new kind of fear for all the other tributes.

I continue down the path. You wouldn't even be able to tell if you were going the wrong way or not. The idea hits me. I dip into my backpack, pulling forth a role of sticky tape and a piece of cloth. I tear the piece into shreds, sticking one little bit onto the hallway mirror.

I'll do it for every corner. Each time I make a turn, I'll note it down. I'll be able to keep track that way. I smile slightly, hope swelling in my chest. I have the survival down pat, it just means the actual fighting and killing now.

I do it for so long, heading further and further into the maze.

It's only when I pull to a stop and apply another breadcrumb of sorts, that I hear a rush of footsteps. The hope wilts into fear, and I scramble for the knife in the backpack. Every inch of my body is on alert, but confused and dizzy. I can't even think straight, aiming for the knife that seems to be hidden under every fucking thing I had! Where is it?

"Ampry!"

I frown, snapping my head up. Kris comes bounding over, his face flushed red. "Kris?" I frown even harder. What does he want? Still. I pull the knife free from underneath a coil of rope, ready to stab if Kris turns out to be something he isn't. "What are yo- wait, no, how did you find me?"

He holds up a hand full of cloth and sticky paper. "You left clues. I knew it was you, just by looking at it. Very simplistic but a clever idea nonetheless."

"You idiot," I hiss. "They were on the mirrors for a reason. I was keeping track of where I was heading and where I've been!"

He smirks. "You were also basically broadcasting your location. Follow the trail, and it brought me to you. When I saw the first piece and worked it out, I just knew I had to find you," he pauses, swallowing. "I need your help."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?" I ask. "Is it because Wayne is dead? Which, if you ask me, ponders the idea why you either abandoned him or managed to escape from that... that thing..."

"We split up," he says lowly. "Wow, that sounds weird. I mean we split our alliance, and then he died. I don't know where he went or what happened. One minute he's being nice, and the next he's saying that the alliance is finished and he wants me to leave."

"You obviously messed up." I roll my eyes. I'm sure his idiocy put Wayne off. The boy deserves a medal for dealing with Kristopher this long.

"Yeah, sure," Kris dismisses. "So can I be with you or not? Remember about the magnets?"

Sadly, I do. I don't want Kris here either. I'm better on my own, and really, I'd rather be on my own than with Kris. He'll probably send me insane before the arena does. A small ding echoes in the air. I turn, watching the parachute come down very slowly. Kris sniggers as it hits my boot. "I think it's for me." I comment, picking it up. I scan the small message from Mercury, frowning the entire time.

Allies. As long as you're together, me and Micro can support you better. Nobody wants to be alone forever, Ampry -M

Even Mercury thinks it's some master plan. I mean, I'd understand if it were someone less annoying than Kris, but she knows my feelings about him. I swallow thickly, the words like hammers against my wants and desires for whilst I'm in here.

"Fine," I finally say. What am I doing? I don't even know myself. "We'll be allies. But only until the final ten. And, then, I want you to leave."

"No need to be icy, Ampry," he coos. "I'm sure we'll work something out together."

I nod, hiding my disgust. I hook the backpack over my shoulder and snatch the bundle of cloth and sticky tape from his balled fist. "Make yourself useful and place these on the mirrors," I hand them back to him, and he smiles. "Why are you smiling?"

"I'm sad about Wayne, but he dug his own grave," he says rather bluntly. His attitude should knock me back, but it's always the playful ones that are black on the inside. "Now I'm glad we're working together. Your notes from the scores have really helped me so far."

I smile slightly. "Really?" I ask. I bite down my smile though, because a perverted joke is bound to spill from his lips.

"Yeah," he nods happily. It lifts my mood and opens up the possibility of trust. I'll probably always dislike him, but I always welcome compliments. It's nice to be appreciated. "And Wayne, before..." he trails off.

"Well get going. You're not slowing me down." I say, before walking off and leaving Kris to it. I don't know if that story is true, but I have no choice but to believe him. Mercury wants him to stay and, I guess, a little bit of company - even Kris, which is the bottom of the barrel - is good enough for the time being.


Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.


The image begins. Bryony, skipping and prancing before she's cruelly cut down.

They're a comfort to me. With each image sketched out in the dark charcoal, I can feel my heart ease. Bryony didn't die slowly, she died quick. Quick and painless, I can only hope. Her corpse only smiles as it crumples at the bottom, before Asya pops out like a cartoon caricature, cackling madly.

She will pay. No matter what Rafe the bodyguard says, Asya will pay for not helping Bryony out in her time of need. Asya isn't strong, but she should care enough about an ally to throw herself into the thick of things without a second thought. But no. Asya is young and naive and needs all the protection, according to Rafe. But what about Bryony? What about her needs, and how she was just as naive, if not more so?

They didn't think about that. Rafe didn't think because he doesn't care. But then he stands there, babbling on and telling me that Bryony meant a lot to everyone, that everyone cared remotely about the girl they left to die on her own, cold and more than likely afraid.

Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I poke them away, still staring forward. It's an endless cycle. When I go away and come back, they show me the same darkened images of my best friend dying at the hands of another. Asya will pay. That girl - Caritta Husk - will also die easily. I won't stop until their blood is on my hands, just like Bryony's will forever be on theirs.

The motion plays out again. Over and over, never ending. I'll never forget Bryony because they won't let me even if I wanted to.

When it's over - and fire bubbling in my stomach - I walk back to the group. Rafe and Asya are huddled together, and I force down the scowl on my face. Probably plotting against me. Like Bryony, they'll run and leave me to the wolves.

"You okay man?" Rafe chirps. I glower, and have to force a smile on my face.

"I'm fine. Absolutely wonderful." I reply without trying to be sarcastic.

"You keep saying that, but you keep heading out over there..." he mumbles in return. Asya, over his shoulder, stands. She moves towards him and he quickly envelops her in a hug, still facing me. "We want to be a team. I want you to be okay, Josh."

He says it in a way that I don't believe. I heard them, I heard Rafe suggesting that they abandon me. He thinks I'm stupid; no, he thinks I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm emotional, I'm bitter, I'm angry that we did nothing to save her yet we have to protect Asya at all costs.

"I think we should move," Rafe suggests, prying Asya from his arms. "I think we can't hide anymore."

"We're not hiding. We're waiting," Asya inputs quietly. She looks at me, shrinking under my glare. "We... we were waiting for you to get better, Josh."

"I've been perfectly fine the whole time." I lie through gritted teeth.

They know it's a lie, just by the way their eyes seem to look down on me. They probably assume that I'm taking this too personally. But they didn't know Bryony like I did. They saw her scars, but never heard her story full of ridicule and mockery. And she was killed by a weapon that she often used to calm down the suicidal thoughts.

I wanted to protect her. But no, Rafe said get Asya first. I did as I was asked, and look what happened...

The mood soon disappears, becoming lighter. I smile sadly and nod, feeling the hope swell in my chest. It's like how we were, before we got here. I miss the Capitol more than I thought. At least there, no-one was dying or each of us was trying hard to please the other. "Yeah, no, I haven't been fine, but you know that." I admit quietly.

"You told us they kept showing you her death..." Rafe says quietly. "But, why do you keep going back if... if it's emotional?"

I knew they wouldn't understand. He'll never be able to understand until Asya dies. If - no, when - it happens, then he'll understand why you need to keep watching. It hurts, it's the worst thing you could throw yourself through, but it's needed because you fear that, if you don't watch, you'll forget what their face looked like or their hair colour, because you'll only ever picture them in their death position. By doing it, I can remember her piece by piece. I'll never forget her. She'll always be with me.

"I don't know..." I lie again. "I feel compelled to do so." I add, though that's not really a lie.

Rafe looks at me awkwardly. "I think it's unhealthy, dude. And you're creeping me and Asya out a little, I'm not going to lie."

The fire burns again. Oh, yeah, because I don't want to make them nervous when Bryony is dead or anything. You know, death is better than nerves apparently. I bite down on my tongue, trying to hide my newfound anger and hate for them. They don't care; they've never cared.

"...should we go?" Asya says quietly. Her small backpack is held in her arms. Obviously, she's prepared to go. I wonder why? Maybe the guilt is eating her alive. Good, that's more like it.

"Yeah," I smile slightly, but when I turn and grab another backpack, it falls into a scowl. I spin back to them and plaster on another kind smile. "Rafe, do you want to lead the way?"

Rafe begins to walk down one hallway, and we follow. Asya stays close to her special little bodyguard, as if she's scared of me. I saw her eyes and the way they looked at me. She's worried; she's worried that I might hate her for it. She can believe it because it's true, but I won't let Rafe know. I need to avenge Bryony, he just wouldn't understand. No-one will.

Asya won't understand why her death needs to happen. The images will forever be in my mind now. Bryony is begging for vengeance, her voice but a whisper in my head. It needs to happen. For Bryony's sake, it needs to happen.

I hope Rafe can understand why I need to do it.


Fallen by Imagine Dragons.


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

Austal Eridote, District Four.

Wayne Fallows, District Ten.

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.

nb, I loved Austal, but his life and personality was too hard to capture and I had no plots for him. I'm sorry.

I also loved Wayne, Tales. He was one of my personal faves because I related to him on so many levels. Sadly, I didn't know what to do for him.


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

POV that stood out the most?

Five more must die before we reach the final ten. Who do you want to see kick the bucket?

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


I don't know whether the fight was good or not. A lot of you assumed that more than one would die, but frankly, they're too evenly matched. Austal is dead, and Thorn is pretty much unconscious. The others are fine and Andora is miraculously uninjured...

Slenderman is released. He enters the arena ;o

So yeah. More deaths to come. Five more tributes to die before the final ten, though. Nothing important to say, at least I'm not that late, right?