Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not (and will probably never) own The Hunger Games or the White Rabbit lyrics.

Hey everyone! This chapter was born out of my blatant refusal to study for my two Spanish tests I have before spring break, so that's probably why my writing is more angsty than usual. Verbal exams and foreign languages should never be put together. Anyway, in addition to that, I just tried to re-read Go Ask Alice (hence the chapter title) and got scared out of my mind—yet again. For some reason, I just can't get through it without feeling terrible, so... I decided to try writing from an extremely dark and emotional standpoint. Which is good, because I don't have any extremely action-packed chapters planned out. No deaths for awhile. But I'd really liked some feedback as to how I did with that. And again, thank you thank you thank you to everybody who is still reading, I love seeing every review and I love the constructive criticism.

~The Games, Part lV~

When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving slow
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know

~Jefferson Airplane, White Rabbit~

ѮѼѮ

District 9: Fern Gresham

Their faces haunt my dreams.

I can hardly stand it.

Before this whole thing unraveled, before I was shipped off to the Capitol and turned into someone expendable, it was difficult enough. But now... I think I'm going crazy. It isn't just the distant memory of my mother that bugs me, but the last moments of Fawn's life, too.

At home, it was easy to justify. My dad has it a lot worse after all. Always drinking... always hurting. I never acted out the way Mick did. Never yelled or stole or pilfered medicine from the small apothecary across the street from our house. I'm quiet. Good, even despite my family's low opinion of me. I have nothing left to look forward to, but I'm not nearly as screwed up as they are.

I hope.

It's times like this when I wish I hadn't brought this stupid necklace with me... I want—no, desperately need—my journal. I need to lift all of this weight off of my shoulders. What's a piece of jewelry going to do for me? Nothing! The petal inside of the glass bottle is dying anyway... it'll be shriveled up and colorless in a few days.

Useless.

I've never been an angry person. Sad, yes. Near tears, of course. But never mad. Not when my mom spent so much of her time being so damn cheerful, not when she told me to never let my negative emotions turn into rage.

Life's too short, honey. Don't spend your time dwelling on the bad things. Be happy!

And she was right... life is short.

Somehow, looking at my flower petal cements this fact in my head. I'm going to die die die die, just like everyone else. And I'm going to leave nothing behind.

My hand shakes as I yank the bottle from my neck. I don't even glance at it as I send it spiraling towards a gnarled tree that is barely standing upright. I flinch when the glass shatters, petal disappearing amongst the other leaves gathered at it's roots.

It's like I'm being split in half.

Part of me wants to remain where I am—at the far end of the only path I've been able to find—but the other half is silently begging to get my charm back.

I never realized that regret was such an instantaneous thing.

Unable to deal with the swell of emotions gathering in my chest, I drop to the ground, crawl over to the tree, and start digging through the dead plants and insects.

My fingernails start to bleed after they get torn apart by the roots, but I ignore the stinging for the most part. For all I know, that could be the reason I'm sobbing, but I don't think it really matters.

Does anything really matter?

No.

Not when I can't find my token—or what's left of it.

If I can't find it... if I never see it again... what would mom say?

I can almost hear her voice and it's not hard to imagine how she would shake her head. A lump forms in my throat at the mere thought of it. Oh God... disappointing her memory was the one thing I vowed I would never do. And here I am... in the Games my cousin never wanted me to participate in... tarnishing everything Mommy taught me.

Who am I?

Certainly not the same Fern people are used to.

I think I can feel little pieces of me breaking apart. The part of me that stays calm falls away and my crying gets louder. And there goes my need to keep everything inside. The only personality trait that remains is my pessimism. My lack of dreams. That's one thing I have in common with pre-Games Fern, my utter lack of hope.

I bury my face in my hands, which are caked in dirt and half-dried blood. Each breath I take is shallow. Automatic. I keep hearing my mother's voice in my ear, even though the sane part of me knows she's not really here.

She tells me to be happy.

Impossible, I want to tell her, but the words catch in my throat.

What left is there to be happy for?

At some point, Fawn's voice answers my question.

Nothing, she says, and I can help but believe her.

District 11: Lily Flores

I know exactly how I'm going to play this.

It's all about timing. Position. Stealth. I have my every movement planned out, just like I would if I was playing chess with Andre at home.

And what's even better, if these guys are anything like Andre when it comes to playing chess, this will be an easy ploy to pull off.

It's a long day, though. Rowena, Beech, and Wendy aren't very good with making concrete decisions. I lean back against a tree trunk and listen to their conversations, hoping to learn another valuable piece of information about their alliance.

"We need better food reserves," says Beech.

Wendy yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. I notice that she looks a lot younger than twelve and I try to ignore the stab of guilt I feel.

She's not Andre.

"I know," Rowena answers, brows knitting together. "But we only have one weapon..."

"And we can't leave Wendy here unarmed to watch our supplies." The older boy throws a concerned glance at the little girl, who is now rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her pink dress.

"Or alone."

"Right."

See, normal tributes would be thinking about how a weaker ally would jeopardize their stuff if they were to be left alone, but I don't think that's the case with Rowena and Beech. They care about small, scared, defenseless Wendy, which is more than you can say for me, I guess.

No, you wouldn't let anyone hurt your brother... the better part of me says.

Rowena sighs, "we can't just sit here!"

"We could all go together." Wendy suggests sleepily. "We could wrap our stuff in the blanket and take it with us."

"But, Wen, what about finding our way back?"

She curls up on the blanket, her eyes drifting closed and then blinking open every few seconds. "Bee, we could just look for landmarks."

"It's not than simple Mag- Wendy."

"Sure it is..."

Rowena opens her mouth to protest, but it's no use.

Wendy is already asleep.

Night begins to fall on the arena and the Dream Team doesn't say much as the clouds fade away, turning into stars.

I look up at the sky, wondering how it could look so awful one second and then be so beautiful the next. I wonder if it is an illusion or if everyone in Panem is looking up at the exact same thing Probably not. In Eleven, it's usually very muggy and hot during this time. Andre, along with everyone else, will be walking home now. The giant screen in the town square usually turns off when the sun goes down.

The memory of watching the Games from that perspective—an outsider's—is so real that I forget that I'm here. At least, I almost forget.

That terrible Capitol Anthem plays and I jump at the sudden noise.

Only one cannon fired today.

Sukara Ravo is dead—the girl from Three.

Another round of tears for the loser, I think, rolling my eyes.

Beech and Rowena exchange a look.

"I bet Maggie's going to ask my dad what the pictures mean." he says glumly.

His ally shakes her head at the word 'dad.' I think she was the one who spoke to Caesar about being fatherless.

"I mean, she's way too young to understand and..."

Beech's words trail off. Not because he stops talking, but because I cover my ears. I'm tired of hearing all about siblings and kids and innocence.

It's too much.

I don't really understand why it bothers me so much. I've never had a problem with making anybody lose before, not even in a stupid game of tag. I never minded stealing someone's pieces during a chess match, and this is just like that.

Only, this time, the pawns have feelings.

District 2 Mentor: Gabriel Ashford

I wish I could vanish.

At first, I just wanted to forget.

I didn't want to think about how I cut Crystal's head open or how Cayenne's head washed up on shore after she had been gone for only a few hours. I didn't want to remember what it felt like to see that boy from District 5 commit suicide. And I most certainly did not want to see the corpses that danced behind my eyelids every time I went to sleep.

But I couldn't even have that.

Some of the other victors told me that it would go away with time. Some said that it wasn't that bad to begin with.

They are liars.

It never ever goes away.

And it only gets worse with each passing year.

These kids I'm forced to mentor are dumb; they don't realize that winning the Games comes with bad consequences. All they see is fame, fortune, adoration. They grew up thinking that it was normal to slaughter people. They've trained their whole life for this honor.

So did I.

I lean back in my chair, pressing my fingers into my eyes.

I'm in the Viewing Room. All of the most recent victors gather here. We sit in our designated spots and keep our eyes trained on the large television screen. On our seats, there is a complicated control panel, which we use to send our tributes sponsor gifts. If I press the big yellow button on the far left, a map will pop up, showing me the position of my charges and whatever potential Gamemaker traps are nearby.

I type Adrian's coordinates into the keypad and the Careers pop up on my television immediately.

He is pacing back and forth, listening not-so-intently to Angelina whining and complaining about how her bandage is so not fashionable—her exact words. Scout is polishing his knife with one of the half-dead leaves he found. I don't think that either of the two morons notice how the aforementioned leaf is slightly stained with red.

"Autumn should be back soon," Adrian says, holding his lucky necklace.

Scout rolls his eyes. "Great."

"You're so right Scout—"

And that's the end of that.

I turn back to the map, my eyes scanning the positions of the other tributes. Fallon and Fern are at opposite ends of the same sector. I shudder, disturbed by images that will probably end up in my nightmares tonight. Why did that kid have to dismember Clara?

I don't want to deal with anything Fallon-related, but one of the only other alternatives is far more masochistic than contemplating a crazy ax-murder's next move.

But I am a masochist, aren't I?

I don't even give myself a chance to answer before I'm searching for her place in the arena.

She's with that asshole, of course.

They are walking with each other, talking, laughing. She's even smiling. I don't think I can recall the last time I saw her smile genuinely. She smacks him with the heel from one of her shoes and makes an innuendo out of his previous comment. On the corner of my grid, I notice that the Gamemakers have scheduled a storm for sectors two and five.

Shit.

They start to run when a bolt of lightening sets fire to a tree not three feet from where they are.

I watch them rush into a small broken-down house.

It seems like a normal home. Small living-room, complete with an old TV and telephone. I can see an even smaller kitchen with all of the standard appliances. Beyond that, there are several doors leading to other rooms.

I don't like where this is going.

Sure, I don't know why, but a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I close my eyes, hoping it will go away on it's own.

It doesn't.

My hands start to shake and I begin to wonder when the last time I felt numb was.

Too long ago.

I hear her say something—another crude comment—and I lose it.

My fist slams into the control panel and I get up from my chair. I know exactly where I'm going, though I didn't consciously make this place my destination. I walk the familiar route to the elevator, punch the 'two' button, and enter my bedroom; a lavish hell that has all sorts of cool gadgets, but none of the comfort.

I am going mad.

I go over to my bed, pull my secret stash of Morphling from under the mattress, and travel that Godforsaken downward spiral—the only thing that eradicates the pain.

And, for once, I really do think I'm shriveling into nothingness.

Hallelujah.

The Dead:

District 9: Kale Anson

District 10: Max Bane

District 11: Bengal

District 12: Clara Hellebore

District 4: Cameron Knight

District 4: Fawn Nolan

District 3: Sukara "Suka" Ravo