w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

Wren Maddox
District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old
Day Six

When I was Reaped, I was worried. I was apprehensive.

About what the Games would be like for us rebels. About how I would handle them. About what would happen.

I hid those worries under a façade, though. I remained calm. I smiled, made eye-contact with everyone I walked by, and when I got to that stage, I didn't show emotion. I didn't want to show anyone that I was panicking.

That I was afraid.

That I was afraid of dying. Of not being able to see District Twelve, my family, and my friends again.

Everyone worries about that, though. No one wants to die.

Everyone wants to go home. Everyone wants to return to the people they knew and loved.

I'm not everyone, though. I'm Wren.

And my wants go above everyone else's.

I want to go home. I don't want anyone else to.

Uncrossing my legs, I stand up, glancing both ways down the hallway. It's quiet, and when I take my first step, it's the first sound I've heard in a while besides my own breathing. I found this hallway yesterday, and after the two cannons yesterday, I decided to stay here.

I could stay here, but I don't trust it. I don't trust the Gamemakers, either.

I begin to walk down the hallway, glancing over my shoulder occasionally and looking down each hallway I pass. Remaining cautious, I walk through a narrower hallway, and as I walk down it, it gets darker. At the end I see some light, and I pick up the pace, already taking the risk of coming down this hallway.

I need to be more careful.

Reaching the door, I stop short, seeing that it leads to nothing. It drops down, and below me is all rubble. I glance around the room, noticing that this is where we started. This is where the Bloodbath took place. Where Marlin died.

This is also where Kolter died.

Where I killed Nathaniel.

The balcony that once wrapped around the room is all destroyed, lying in a big heap of rubble and debris on the ground. It's not that big of a drop, and along the wall, there's a piece of the balcony left. Throwing the spear to the ground, I wrap the backpack straps around my wrist. I grip my hand around the pillar along the doorway, swinging down to reach onto the piece jutting out from the wall. I slip, and I grab the other pillar on the doorway, making my way along the wall.

I release myself from the wall, falling downwards, attempting to lessen the impact by putting my backpack under me. I land on my butt, and I get up, shaking off the temporary pain. I grab my spear, and as I turn around, I notice there are weapons lying around the room.

There's a machete and a bow.

What happened here?

You killed here, Wren. That's what.

Shaking my head, I avoid those thoughts. The thoughts where I contemplate my own self-loathing. Stepping around some of the debris, I walk forward, bending down to pick up the machete. There's dried blood on it, and I look for the machete, seeing it's on the stairs.

This must be where the Careers fought.

Where the girl from Two and the boy from Four died.

More than happened here, though.

I place the machete back down on the ground, and as I look around the room, I notice that the only door that's easy for me to get to is the one Aella went through. The door that she abandoned us through, the door where she betrayed us.

The door I also went through.

The door that led me to her.

The door I went through to kill her.

Standing in the middle of the room, I stare at the door, not wanting to go through it. Refusing to go through it. If I go through, it will only remind me of her. Of what I did to her.

Of when I killed Aella.

I'm still bitter. I'm still disappointed.

I'm still shocked.

Of her leaving us.

Of me killing her.

Being in this room is only making things worse for me. It reminds me of the Bloodbath, where Marlin died. It reminds me of the fight between the two alliances, where Kolter died and where I killed Nathaniel. It reminds me of Aella, where I killed her.

It reminds me of everything I regret. Of everything I've done wrong here.

Of the girl I'm becoming.

Killing Nathaniel was one thing.

Killing Aella was another.

I killed Nathaniel out of self-defense. I killed him to avenge Kolter.

But, with Aella, I killed her because I felt like I had to. I tracked her down, I followed her, I stalked her because I felt like I had to. Like I had to kill her because she left us for dead. Because she abandoned us and didn't care what happened to Kolter or I.

I killed her because she betrayed us.

Is that an acceptable reason, though?

Or is it careless? Or is it a misconstrued motive?

Either way, she's dead. But, now, do I have the motive to kill again? To risk my own life for some ulterior purpose? At this point, the only motive for killing is to win. To return to District Twelve as victor.

If it means furthering my chances of becoming victor, then I'll kill. I might not want to, but if survival means anything to me, I'll have to. I'll have to do the one thing I've been so conflicted about, the one thing I have never been too sure about.

But, now, I know it's what I have to do. There's no time to be ambivalent anymore. There's no time to worry over the possibilities, the 'what ifs.' If I have to kill, then I will. I will because it means victory.

It means winning.

I killed to save myself. To keep myself alive.

I killed to get myself closer to victory.

And I'm willing to do it again.

I'm willing to kill again.

Otrera Hale
District Four Female, 18 Years Old
Day Six

"Who do we have here?"

From around the bend, I hear Ceylon's voice. I take a short breath, and as I hear the sound of someone trying to run away, I figure that I should join him. That I should see who will be Ceylon's next target.

Who his next source of entertainment will be.

"Otrera, come look!"

Jogging, I turn the corner, seeing Ceylon a few feet away from the boy from District Nine. The boy stands there, his knife in hand, not looking afraid of Ceylon. Ceylon towers over him, but the boy doesn't look scared. Ceylon chuckles, tossing his spear up in the air and catching it. Ceylon thrusts his spear forwards, purposely missing the boy. The boy jumps to the side, running forward right into Ceylon's arm. Ceylon pushes the boy off, slamming the end of the spear on the ground.

"This will be fun," he says to himself, and as the boy tries to run down the side, Ceylon catches him. Ceylon wraps him in his arms, squeezing him. The boy swings his knife, missing Ceylon completely, and eventually, it slips out of his hand. The boy from Nine's hand is still free, though, and with one swift motion, punches Ceylon in the face.

Ceylon shouts, dropping the boy back onto the ground. He scrambles for his knife, and with one kick, Ceylon launches him into the wall. I shake my head, pressing my hand against my forehead. I don't want to see this.

I don't want to see Ceylon play with him like this. As if he's not real – as if he's some dummy.

You did this to yourself.

You allied with the boy in the first place.

"That's enough, Ceylon," I say aloud, nearly regretting it. When Ceylon does something, I stay quiet. That's how it's always been. Ceylon does, I remain quiet. "Just kill him already."

Ceylon perks up, slinging the boy over his shoulder. He glances at me, and the boy lifts his head up, his whole face straining with pain. His eye is all bloody, with hair slicked back and pressed down against his head. Ceylon snickers, and with one more forceful toss, he throws the boy into a showcase.

The glass shatters.

The boy collapses to the ground.

Ceylon raises his spear, and I look at the boy, already writhing on the ground. He sits there, curled up into a ball, and just as Ceylon inches the spear closer to him, he looks up. He kicks out his feet, going right for Ceylon's ankle. The boy attempts to stand up, but with Ceylon's on kick in return, is sent flying back into the wall.

The boy lets out a shout.

A shout of pain.

I wince at the sound, and although I want to look away, I find myself staring. Staring at what Ceylon is doing, at what I've never seen in him before. He's an animal – this is the real boy I allied with.

Not the one with the charming side. Not the one playful one. Not the carefree one.

I made a mistake.

With a grunt, Ceylon plunges his spear downwards towards the boy. It impales the boy in the leg, and the boy bites down on his lips, muffling his groan. Ceylon yanks out the spear, plunging it into his other leg. This time, though, when he rips out his spear, he tilts the boy's head up with the tip of the spear.

"That was fun," Ceylon says, catching his breath. The boy looks up at him, and with one last attempt, tries to push himself to the side, but Ceylon stops him with his spear. "Don't bother, buddy."

"Ceylon," I say, already regretting this, too. Just let him be, I think.

Ceylon pulls his spear back, and I make eye-contact with the boy from Nine for one last time. I shudder, looking away as Ceylon thrusts his spear forwards, right into the boy's neck. There's a cannon immediately, and I curl my fingers into a ball, and when I open my eyes, I see Ceylon staring at me, that smirk on his face.

That morbid smirk. That sinister smirk.

"Did you have fun?" Ceylon asks, ripping his spear out of the boy's neck. He turns around, facing me completely, the spear still in his hand. He still has that smirk, too, and I begin to shake, but I suppress it. I keep the smile on my face, unsure of what he's going to do next.

He doesn't look done.

"Can we go now?" I ask, my voice trembling. "Let's find someone else, Ceylon."

Ceylon comes closer to me, and I step backwards, only cornering myself. Ceylon plays with the spear in his hand, rolling it and then tossing it from hand to hand. He stares at me, his lip trembling as his smirk grows wider. "

"I like it here," he says, now in my reach. He's too closer for comfort, but I stand there, knowing that if I make one wrong move – if I do something that he doesn't like – I could be his next target. "Don't you, Otrera?"

"Yes," I say, trying to anticipate his next move. I gulp, thinking about running and not looking back. About running away from him, about leaving him. But, when he takes one step closer, I know that isn't an option. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, he grips his hand around my throat. "Cey-"

"I see it in your face, Otrera," he says, and with one thrust, throws me back against the wall. My head slams against the wall and my ears ring for a seconds, his grip on my throat getting tighter. I squirm, trying to release my neck and to actually be able to speak. "But, I don't care. I don't care what you think. That was the most fun I've ever had here."

"Cey-"

"Shush," he says, dropping his spear and pressing his finger up against my mouth. "I'm talking."

Please… Ceylon… Please.

"Ceylon," I manage to utter out, his hands tightening around my throat. My throat tenses up, and I'm short of breath, desperately trying to claw at his fingers. His face becomes redder, with his eyebrows narrowing as he stares right into mine. "Plea… Please…"

"Did you see that, Otrera?" He says, gripping his other hand around my neck now. With every pulse, it constricts even more, making my vision begin to fade. My eyes begin to bulge out of the sockets, and I resist the urge to shut my eyelids. I can barely breathe, and now… I can't even see anymore. It all turns blurry, and I can barely make out his face, that smirk on his face. "Did you see?!"

The pressure on my throat worsens, and I feel myself becoming numb. I can't feel it anymore. I can't feel his hand wrapped around my throat, and when I get a clearer image of his face, I still see that smirk. That smirk that attracted me in the first place.

The smirk that made me want to ally with him.

I trusted him…

And now… He's killing me.

I should have always seen this coming.

He was too unpredictable.

"My family," I whisper, unable to breath as I gasp for air and tilt my head upwards. He presses his thumb right below my jaw, sending a sharp pain through my cheek, and slowly, my eyelids begin to shut. "Ceylon…"

My family.

My mother. My father. My brothers.

I couldn't help them… I couldn't save them…

I failed them…

I failed myself.

Claire Dasilva
District Eight Female, 18 Years Old
Day Six

There's one cannon.

And then, within few minutes, there's another.

Glancing at Cailen, I make sure she's still asleep, and as I look at her, I watch her toss in her sleep and I watch her chest rise and fall. I watch her lie there on the bench so peacefully, so unaware of everything that just happened. Two more cannons, meaning two more deaths.

That's two more tributes down, leaving only seven of us left.

Seven.

I carefully stand up, making sure not to make too much noise or make the floor creak. I grab my backpack and my spear from the wall, and I begin to tip-toe away, but I pause, looking back at her. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, trying to reassure myself that this is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing to do for the both of us.

If I want to win, I have to leave. If she wants to win, I have to leave.

If either of us wants to win, it's time we go our separate ways.

This alliance… It's time is up. It served its purpose. With only seven left, how much longer could we possibly be together? There's no other time to leave her, to break up this alliance once and for all. Without Nathaniel and Gerri, things might not have been the same, but now, it's Day Six.

The Games are coming to an end soon.

I want to do it before I wait too long. Before something happens, before I regret not doing it all.

Before I regret not leaving her.

Before I regret not abandoning her and going off on my own.

As I walk down the hallway, I find myself stopping every few steps and glancing over my shoulder. I glance over my shoulder just to make sure that Cailen is asleep, that she isn't awake. That she won't witness me leaving her.

I don't want her to see me doing this.

She would be upset for this. She would hate me for it.

I would too.

I nearly reach the end of the hallway, and even though I want to look over my shoulder, I don't. I face forward, taking another step, and before I turn the corner, I hear something. What I hear, I don't know, but I hope it's not her. Please.

After one more step, there's another sound, and it comes from behind me.

"You can leave if you want," Cailen speaks up from behind me, her voice quivering for only the first words, and afterwards, she holds some sternness in her tone. I freeze, and I carefully prepare to spin on my heels to face her. "If you want to leave, I understand. I won't stop you."

"Cailen…," I say, turning around, seeing that the firm voice matches her face. She doesn't have the smile on her face that she usually did, the obliviousness in her eyes as she started at the paintings or the statues. This isn't the Cailen that I remember from the Capitol.

Did I do that to her?

Did I make her this way?

"I understand," she repeats, nodding her head, her whole facial expression looking exhausted. She seems tired, but not in the sense that she wants to sleep – tired in the sense that she's fed up. That she's done with allying me. "It's your decision and I won't support or stop you."

"It's not like that," I say, trying to reason with her. In all honestly, I never expected it to come down to me and her. I expected me and Nathaniel, not me and Cailen. "I don't want to."

"You have to," Cailen interjects, her voice's firmness unwavering. "I've heard and seen it all before. You're doing what you have to, not what you want to. You want to win, Claire. I get that. You know what, though?"

"What?" I ask, unsure of where she's going with this. Afraid of where she's going with this.

"I want to win too, Claire, and I'm willing to do the things I have to do," Cailen states, staring directly at me. I look away, feeling ashamed. Ashamed of what I tried to do – leave her when she was sleeping. Abandon her. "If this is what we have to do, then so be it. We'll leave each other because we have to."

"Are you sure?" I say, gulping, knowing that this is exactly what I want. Do I want to leave her? Not necessarily, but do I have to? Yes, just like she said. She's smart enough to know that.

"Yes," she says, nodding again. "There are only seven of us left, Claire. I was foolish to think that this would last forever. That Nathaniel and Gerri would still be here."

I nod my head, offering her a half-hearted smirk, as if it's any consolation. As if it'll excuse me for what I was about to do.

Turning back the other way, I take my first step, and I pause, glancing over my shoulder. Cailen is standing there, playing with her hands and rubbing them on top of one another. I offer her one last smirk, and to my surprise, she doesn't return it. She stands there, her face expressionless, looking hardened.

"Claire?" She says, her voice much quieter.

"Yeah?" I say, turning back around so I don't have to face her any longer. I don't want to stare at the girl I've made her become. The girl that the Games have made her become. That girl isn't the Cailen I allied with.

"I'm glad I met you. I'm glad we allied, too. I mean that."

For the first time, her voice falters. She almost smiles, but she takes it back, swallowing all emotion that should come with those words. She sounds conflicted, if anything.

Like even she doesn't want to say what's leaving her mouth. Like she doesn't want to do what's about to happen.

"Same to you," I say, resisting the urge the shake to my head. I begin to walk forward, feeling her eyes still staring at the back of my head, but I don't look back – I just keep walking, keep distancing myself from her. I mumble under my breath, and as I turn the corner, I tilt my head towards the ground.

I had to do it, I remind myself. I had to leave her.

Talking about leaving her was one thing, but actually leaving her… I didn't expect it to turn out like this. For her to be awake while I attempted to abandon her, for her to not stop or reason with me. I didn't expect her to accept me leaving. I didn't think she was like that.

She wasn't like that.

The Games changed her.

The Games changed me, too. It's not just her who was changed.

They've made me more resourceful. They've made me more self-reliant.

They've made me more determined.

They've made me want victory more.

District Nine, Marlon Haigh – Placed 9th

District Four, Otrera Hale – Placed 8th

Author's Note:

Two more deaths. Wow.

So, seven left. Six more until the victor. And, with this rate, it should be within a few more days. I like to keep things fast paced and keep it moving, okay.

By the way, the poll results for your preference for victor are up on my profile. Was I surprised with them? No, not really.

Next chapter should be out next weekend. Oh, and I cut down to three POVs. I have my reasons, but it really shouldn't make any difference. So, until next time!