OK OK, I'm so sorry for the REALLY late submission. I'm trying to get back into the routine of updating at least once a week AND OH BOY I'M TRYING!

I'm also thinking of writing a Sherlock fanfiction after this one, so if you like Sherlock, that might be a good thing to satisfy your hunger ;)

Last thing! It's my birthday soon (the 5th of October) so I hope you send me a present through the web c:

Thanks!

*In the Blink of an Eye

Bronte Pratt, District Six

A lake! Finally somewhere to have a decent wash! I've got to say, having a shower in a stream is not all that glamorous. Especially what I'm used to. As I trek across the shoreline, I fantasise of hot steaming showers with orange blossom spray pounding out of the vents. Delicious.

It's then that I notice the humans. They can't be tributes: they're too tall and their movements are similar to those of an animal. Just then, the tallest one pricks its head up. It slowly and deliberately turns to face me. What have I stumbled upon?

Movement from the water. Oh god, not more? But it's a tribute. I can hear her tinny voice screaming over the light breeze. But I can't hear a word she's saying. Or the wild gestures she's making. Should I run or fight? Run or fight. As the pack of four climb to their feet, I choose the more dignified option. Run.

Emilia Jatos, District Nine

Thank god. A distraction. Whether she got my end of the stick or not, she bolts for it. The creatures, being like all other pack animals, dive straight into the hunt. Which leaves the beach clear. It's now or never.

I plunge back into the water which has surrounded me for the past two days. It feels good to be free. The current almost pulls me towards shore, like there is an invisible man drawing me in on a rope. Nearly there. You can do it.

The tiny waves splish onto the beach and I follow them gratefully. I lie there, just feeling the cold ground against my cheek. There. Safe. The darkness behind my eyelids is my oblivion.

And then my happy little silent world is a place of hoarse breathing and suddenly I know. That was no spontaneous pack dash. Of course one would stay to keep an eye on me.

It's over.

Goodbye.

I close my eyes, squeeze my dove charm tightly and pray to God as the first teeth rip into my throat.

Bronte Pratt, District Six

A cannon! Not another one? I can't stop to look around me. So much running. So little exercise. The dratted searing pain begins once more in my side. The arena is not that big anymore. Where can I run? Soon I'll hit the barrier and then I'll be cornered. Circle back round? Follow the force field?

Before long, the things behind me are going to get wise to my tricks. They'll cut in front of me. What would I do then? The force field is now in my sight. Think. Think! Your life depends on it!

Nothing comes to me. I'm going to have to stand my ground. Die fighting. At least she went down with a bang, Dad would say.

Twin footsteps echo mine, but they're not human footsteps.

The force field is just there. Draw out your knife. Don't drop it. I turn and stop so quickly that the animalistic humans almost crash into me. Their pearly white eyeballs almost make me retch, but I act quickly. A flailing stab here. A downwards sweep there. Yes, I definitely caught something.

Boom. One of the mutts falls back, brains spewing from a bloodless head.

I'm deaf. Black spots cloud my vision. I look curiously at the knife in my hand. Why do I have a weapon in my hand? The world sways and spins, yet suddenly I'm back. The noise hits me like a bulldozer. Manic laughing, but it's not the mutts. It's... a boy.

I look dozily to my left. He holds a huge long object. A rifle. 'How on earth did he get that?' I think as my mind slowly clears.

"Are you saving me?" I ask him tentatively and maybe a little hopefully.

He grins a wide grin with a mouthful of small pointy teeth. "I'm going to save you from these monsters," and as he talks, he reloads and shoots another of the mutts floundering on the floor. Its stomach bursts open with a spray of pink organs and smoke trails from the gun. "But when I'm done, I'm either going to shoot you or keep you as my pet."

I open my mouth to protest, to turn and run. He shoots the last two mutts with a flourish.

It's out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"And if you run," he adds in a whisper, "this will be finding your head." I shiver as he holds up a shiny bullet.