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~The Bloodbath~

You say the words and my weapon is drawn
This one could be my last time
Some people call it war crime
I may be staring at a lethal sight... to die

~Avenged Sevenfold, Danger Line~

ѮѼѮ

District 7: Almandine Bandica

I step into the tube.

Close my eyes.

Smile.

I feel my body rising higher and higher into the air and a rainbow of colors flash in the darkness as beams hit my eyelids. Just brief, faded blues, not the strong orange colors that tell me the sun is out.

The tube lowers into the earth, leaving me exposed to the air.

I open my eyes.

The first thing I notice is the huge fucking gap in the middle of the ground. It separates me from the Cornucopia and I don't like it. The chasm poses the same issue for the other twenty three losers, but I don't care. I almost feel like we are standing on a cliff, though cliffs don't usually have four bridges connecting the broken pieces of land.

A lot of good that will do me with a bunch of scared morons running for the same thing.

And the bridges are old. I don't think they'll be able to handle that much weight on them at once. I guess I'll just have to get there first...

"Let the seventy-third Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice echos in the sky.

I jump. Fuck! I should have been paying more attention!

I immediately take off running for the bridge that is the farthest east of my plate. Less people... less chance of falling to my death. The platform is swaying in the breeze, but I think I'll be able to make it across in one piece. I can hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I resist the urge to look back and flip the morons off and move forward instead.

This running-and-not-tripping thing is harder than I first thought, the second my foot hits the wood the swaying gets ten times worse. I put my hands out—just in case I do lose my balance—and pick up the pace. The footsteps are turning into voices, which means they are catching up. Weaklings or not, I still don't want them anywhere near me.

I'm almost there when my foot catches on a break in the wood.

I curse, my hands smacking into the bridge painfully.

I prop myself up on my elbows to examine the damage. A layer of my skin has been scraped off, my palms look terrible—and they hurt like a bitch, it's hard to even put them back on the wood to pull myself up. And as I'm trying to stand up again, a hand closes around my ankle. Whoever this asshole is, they are so fucking annoying. They attempt to pull me backwards, but I dig my fingers into a space between the planks, kicking and thrashing as they hold on to me.

Fuck this.

I'm finally able to get this idiot away from me by yanking my leg to the immediate left. Usually, this wouldn't be enough, but the wind has picked up and the bridge is moving so much that the mystery moron loses their grip on me.

I turn my head to watch as two tanned hands claw at the wood, desperate to keep hold of the edge of the bridge.

I push myself up, wincing as a stinging sensation overwhelms my palms.

Time to finish the job.

I see that my would-be attacker is a boy with wide brown eyes, and matching-colored hair. I don't know his name, although I do know that he's from District 10.

I walk over to him—more slowly this time, because he was the only one dumb enough to follow me—and smirk. Then, I bend down, my eyes meeting his. "Do you need a hand?"

"Yes!" he chokes out, scared shitless.

"Too bad."

And then my foot connects with his nose. I hear a cracking sound, followed by a scream, and a flash of red. The next thing I know, a cannon fires, and what's-his-face is as good as dead.

I gently rub my hands on my dress (a horrible excuse for an arena outfit,) and go to join the rest of the carnage.

District 10: Rowena Wilder

I wish I had another choice.

But other than staying on my plate, there is nowhere else to go—only straight onto the madness.

This year's arena was made to invoke violence right from the start. You have to rush past the Cornucopia to get to the safety of the woods, and then there's those rickety bridges... they can't be stable, can they?

I look up at the sky. It's overcast and when we see those sorts of clouds in District 10, it usually means that a huge storm is brewing—not that we have tons of rain back home anyway.

Bringing my eyes down, I see that mostly everyone has made it over to the Cornucopia, and only one or two tributes are left to struggle with staying upright as the wind blows them over. I walk over to one of the empty bridges, making my way across it with small steps and intense concentration. Once my feet touch the half-dead grass, I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

What comes next?

Weapons, I need weapons.

Maybe if I can get a few small things, I can sprint into the woods unseen. It's really only a matter of finding something useful, a task that isn't all that hard. The least precious things, like a tarp or a single canteen, are in the grass. Weapons like swords and shelter-type items like tents are inside the mouth of the Cornucopia, and I will probably die if I go any closer to it... Angelina is greedily sifting through everything in it... so the ground it is.

I crouch down and search through the long blades of grass. I make sure to keep an eye on everything going on around me, though. A few seconds ago, the District 11 boy's head got cut off and it rolls over to me. I flinch and keep my eyes off of it—him—I mean him.

Thankfully, I find a knife lying a couple of yards away from the disembodied head.

That's good. Knives are the only weapons I can really use. I never really got the chance to get the hang of anything else in training.

I pick it up.

Now all you have to do is run. I tell myself, run far far away.

But I can't.

Not when Angelina Devon is standing in front of me with a creepy smile on her even creepier face.

"Well, well, well," she says sweetly. "What do we have here?"

I don't answer her, my fingers tighten around the knife instead.

She goes on as if I had actually answered her. "A scared little girl. No, a scared little dead girl!"

Okay... aren't we the same age? I shake my head... maybe if she keeps the dumb comments up, I'll have time to get away.

"I'm thinking a slit throat will work. Scout?" she calls over her shoulder to a thin boy picking up supplies a few feet away from us. "What do you think?"

"Just hurry up!" is all he says.

"Throat it is!"

I'm not expecting her to tackle me the way she does, so I don't have time to stick my knife in her heart. My body hits the ground with a thump! I gasp, trying to catch my breath. My head hits the ground, and my vision goes blurry for a second or two. And then I see something silver flash before my eyes. Her knife.

I close my eyes and wait for complete darkness.

But it never comes.

Angelina has made a quick change in plans, which she starts by dragging her fingernails down the side of my face. They feel more like a rake than nails and I bet the marks on my face will look very similar to one too. But I don't mind—her elaborate plan to kill me has given me the chance to find my knife again.

I take it by the handle, raise it in the air, and plunge it into her upper arm.

She screams. "You little bitch!"

"Shut up."

Before I get to say anything else—or push her off me, for that matter—someone calls her name.

Her head jerks up, she growls inhumanly, and decides to get up on her own; leaving me to wonder about what the hell just happened. And who do I owe my life to?

Never mind... I have to get out of here.

I stand up, moving in the direction of the woods. My head aches a little, and I'm dizzy, and the cuts on my cheek are bleeding. I'll have to find something to stop that later on, maybe a non-poisonous leaf or something.

The wooziness makes it kind of hard to move any faster than a slow walk, but I push past it, disappearing into the dark group of trees. And now that I see exactly what this place has to offer me, I don't thing I'll be finding any leaves anytime soon. Every last tree here is dead. And whatever type of plants lived on them are laying in heaps at their trunks.

Lovely. This is just great!

I don't know what to do now, where I should go. This "forest" looks exactly the same from all sides. And I only left the bloodbath with a knife. What good will it do me if I end up starving to death before a tribute comes along?

Frustrated, I keep moving forward.

Same or not, it's not safe to stay out in the open like this. Hopefully, I'll find something living around here if I keep on walking. Or better yet, a berry bush! Then I could have something for lunch or dinner—whatever meal corresponds with how long I've been in the arena.

It seems like it's been hours before I hear anything besides the crunching of dead things beneath my impractical shoes.

Voices.

A girl's and a guy's.

I hold my knife up, proceeding into the clearing carefully. Beech and Wendy sit on a small sheet they have laid out on the ground. Wendy is brushing cobwebs off of her pink dress and Beech is counting something small and white—bandages!

Still brandishing the knife, I make my presence known.

"Give me one of those!" I demand, going over to Beech and shoving my hand in his face.

Wendy whimpers, frightened.

I turn to her and my facial expression softens immediately. She doesn't deserve to be scared. "Please?"

The District 7 boy looks at me carefully, especially at the four red marks running down the right side of my face. He exchanges a glance with Wendy, who nods once, takes the bandages from his hand, and hands one to me.

And then she watches me as I place the knife on a pile of leaves and put the band-aid on my face. "Thanks."

I get another nod.

Something occurs to me, though I know it's stupid. I might just need them. You know, until I can gather enough stuff to go off on my own. I slowly pick up the knife and toss it onto the tarp. "One knife, and how many bandages?"

Beech takes them from Wendy, recounting each one. "Ten."

I look to Wendy, because if Beech answers me, I know it won't mean a thing.

"Can I stay here?"

And as I wait for her to say something—anything—I realize that my future hangs in the balance with this twelve-year-old girl.

District 6: Fallon Zeider

I escaped the bloodbath with several throwing knives, a small backpack, and a heavy jacket made for cold weather. I didn't kill anyone, but I saw three people die. The boy from eleven, the kid from ten, and that guy from ten. And, if you ask me, there wasn't nearly enough blood.

An owl hoots in the distance.

I jump, just to keep up with the "weak little boy" facade.

I think about how everyone back home will expect this of me, I think about how Addle will laugh at me, about how he never gave me my glasses back.

Anger builds up inside of me.

He will be sorry—they all will be.

I have only been walking for forty five minutes or so when I see her.

The girl from twelve, Clara.

I remember her interview quite well. She talked about how her older sister is eight months pregnant with her first child. Clara said that she was just so excited to become an aunt, that she couldn't wait to see her nephew if she won the Games. But she can't win them, because then I would be dead. I wouldn't get to gloat or beat Addle up or prove everyone wrong.

She has to die.

I'm very careful to weave in and out of the trees quietly. She can't here me... I have to take her by surprise.

Clara is examining a decaying tree branch as I approach her. She kicks it with the toe of her heeled shoe and bends down to pick it up. She is dressed in black, so I don't think her blood will show up for the cameras, which is a shame. The blood is the best part.

Kill her, a voice in the back of my of head whispers.

But instead of stabbing her in the back right away, I push her down.

She shrieks, and I laugh.

This might be too easy.

I take out my knife. Hold it up for her to see. Her eyes widen and I hear her whisper a single word, "Please," she is so close to tears; it's funny.

It's obvious that Clara is defenseless, she ran into the woods before she even thought of looking in the Cornucopia. The idiot.

I won't make this quick either.

Where's the fun in that?

I bring my knife down on her foot. Clara screams and clutches her ankle, tears running down her face. Her cries get worse when she realizes that she is holding onto a bloody stump and not her foot. I repeat the process with her other leg and now she's pleading with me, begging me to kill her.

I take pity on her and stab her in the heart.

A cannon fires and I smile.

Who's the weak one now, Addle?

District 2: Mercy Tenebrae

"Ditch the Careers, Mercy." Gabriel said, and he was practically begging me to listen to him.

I pretended to give his plea some serious consideration, but I killed the idea with a smug, "No."

Actually, I think my exact words were: "Hell no. What the fuck is wrong with you?" but it didn't really matter, the concept was still the same. Not allying with the Career tributes was stupid, and besides, Angelina would have bitched like nobody's business if I didn't show up for our strategy meeting in a few hours, right before the interviews started. She would have called me weak.

And I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"You're going to have to make a better argument than that, Gabe."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, blue eyes wide. "I'll do it if you just listen to me."

I smirk, "get down on your knees and beg me, I think that would make your point of view easier to see."

For a split second, I thought I saw a glimpse of the old Gabriel, the one who'd call me a bitch and make the implications of my request ten times worse, but he was gone in a flash. The new Gabriel returned and he was actually going to do what I told him. A terrible feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, I couldn't handle the way he was looking at me or how I just wanted him to go back to normal, so I wouldn't have to worry about him at all hours of the day, so I knew he'd be alright without me there every night. But that... it... I hated... this. It. Needed. To. Stop. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to upset me like that.

I put my hand up, stopping his grovelling before it began. "What are you doing? You know what, don't answer that. I just want to know when you became such a little bitch."

"Mercy—"

"Save it," I tell him. "You make me sick."

And he still helped me with my interview, though he didn't come to my room that night.

Those were the last words I officially said to my best friend.

I blink. There's a stinging sensation in my eyes and I don't like it. At all. I push up the sleeve of my dress and rub my eyelids with the back of my hand.

And suddenly, I'm glad that Angelina left me in our camp with Cameron—who fell asleep and left me with the first watch—and took Fawn and Almandine with her to go hunting, I'm glad that Scout and Adrian left to find a water source. I'm happy they aren't here to see me almost-cry.

And then I'm disgusted with myself. I haven't cried since Gabe nearly died that one time in his Games, but he killed that girl before he bled out and I felt ten times better. And anyway, that was a year ago, and I think I only wasted one or two tears on it, which only James noticed.

God, I'm a fucking wimp.

And I can't stay here anymore, I can't let myself be bossed around by serial killer Barbie and I certainly can't spend every night sleeping with one eye open, I shouldn't have to lower myself to such pathetic standards. Mercy Tenebrae isn't some paranoid crybaby, thank you very much.

And I know just where I want to go, too.

Sword in hand, I stand up. I think about slitting the lazy asshole's throat, but decide against it. I'd much rather let him deal with Angelina anyway. It's ten times more entertaining that way, even if I won't be here to see it. I take a few knives, two backpacks filled with water bottles, flashlights, and beef jerky, and leave Cam snoring peacefully without a care in the world.

I actually like being out on my own in the woods a little bit, it's sort of peaceful.

At least it is until the Capitol seal appears in the sky, annoying anthem echoing in my ears.

The first face that comes up is the District 9 male, Kale Anson; next is the District 10 male, Maximum Bane; and then the eleven kid, Bengal. The only girl to show up is Clara from twelve, and the anthem plays once more, followed by silence.

I eventually find him propped up against a willow tree, eyes trained on Clara's district partner, who is shivering in the cold. Brandon gave Drizzle his jacket, how sweet.

It makes me want to vomit.

"Boo!" I whisper with a laugh.

Skylark jumps and curses loudly, though somehow both of his allies remain sleeping. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Don't worry about what I'm doing here," I say, dropping the supplies at his feet. "It's none of your business."

"I knew it," says Skylark. "You just couldn't stay away from me."

"Please, spare me your idiocy, you're not Ransom, so don't try to be."

He rolls his eyes. "I'll kill you before you kill me, if that's why you're here."

"Wrong again, genius." I hit him in the back of my head.

"So if you're not here to have sex with me or kill me," he pauses, and he's clearly not sold on my non-murderous intentions yet. "Then why are you here?"

I drop my sword on the ground and hold my hand out. "You're my new ally."