A/N: Here we have the third installment to this series, about the little Bloodbath boy I created for Oceanside, 13 year old Bison Seville of District 10. Happy reading, and please review if you can! This starts right from the beginning of the Games since, well, Bison died 24th xD

As the countdown dwindled, I began to shake so bad I knew I was going to fall off of my platform. Well, I wasn't actually going to, but I was scared. Hailea was only two pedestals down, and she tried to cheer me up with a small smile, but it just made me queasy. I had been planning to run in and grab a few supplies against my alliance's wishes, just so I wouldn't be dead weight like Cameron, Liv, and even Hailea sort of herself. I didn't want Camillie and Catherine to have to carry all of us, and anyway, even Catherine wasn't much more help than the rest of us. I could see Camillie steeling herself; she was too nice of a girl, and even then she was only fifteen, but she seemed like she was so much older. I couldn't run in; I just couldn't. Everything started to fog in my mind and the moment the gong rang, I bolted out of pure instinct. I dashed off into the foliage on the dunes and kept running and running and running. I was crying, tears dripping down my face, and I heard shouts behind me. Was it the strong kids who probably had killed everyone else already? I turned around, and I gasped as I saw Camillie sprinting over the dunes with a pack in her hands, shaking herself, trying not to cry. I ran to her instinctively, and then we sprinted together into the jungle.

We climbed a tree and sat in some of the lower branches. Camillie set down the pack and started to cry softly. I put my hand on her arm, trying to comfort her, but I didn't even know what was wrong. I'd just have to ask.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, cocking my head.

"They're all gone," Camillie whispered. "I think Liv got away, but...the twins and Hail, they're dead."

The words sit uncomfortably between us. This girl is no savior. She's just a nice fifteen year old girl with a little sister she wants to go home to, and she just took pity on us, thinking she could be some hero and bring one of us home to redeem herself and show her little sister that she was more than another girl from Twelve. I gripped Camillie's hand tight as we sat there in silence. At night, the cannons fired, seven of them in a row, and Camillie started to sob again. The faces of Catherine and Cameron and Hailea were in the sky, as well as the faces of the boys from Nine, Eleven, and Twelve and the girl from Eight. It was a pretty big Bloodbath compared to most years, but that was just because there'd been lots of young kids this year like myself, and the dead twins and Hailea. All three of them were twelve; they were the only ones, I think. Yeah, the only ones. I huddle up to Camillie as it begins to drizzle cold rain and night takes its full hold. She doesn't object, and I snuggle up against her and fall asleep in due time.

When we wake up, it's only been a couple of hours since we fell asleep. A cannon's fired, and the rain is coming down in sheets and whipping around like crazy as the wind gusts in, snapping huge branches off of trees like they're toothpicks and throwing animals and plants into the air. Thank god Camillie and I strapped ourselves onto the tree with rope from her pack, or we'd be injured, maybe even dead. Another cannon fires, and I look at Camillie, worried.

"We have to find better shelter," Camillie murmured. "This rope won't hold forever."

We waited for a little bit to see if the winds would die down. They weren't; if anything, they got even more brutal. Finally, Camillie tugged on the rope and undid the knot. The moment the rope was loose, the wind snapped it away, and it almost blew the two of us out of the tree. Camillie and I clung to one another and braced ourselves against on another, and we slid haphazardly down the trunk. I slashed my palms open on the bark, but at least I didn't fall.

The next hours were living hell as we crawled through the mud and decay on the forest floor as the rain drenched us and turned us cold and sopping wet and the wind made it hard for us to make forward movement. As we crawled, towards the buildings nestled on the western side of the arena that would surely provide better protection, three more cannons fired. Finally, the winds and the rain were too much. It felt like tiny bullets were slamming into my cheeks and every other piece of exposed skin as the rain pelted me, and the wind was like a whip snapping everywhere. I almost got blown away from Camillie, and I screamed and held onto her foot and pulled myself to her. As the winds and rains finally died down as dawn broke across the horizon, we found ourselves at the edge of the jungle. We huddled at the edge, and I looked at Camillie incredulously as a sixth cannon fired.

"Look," I whispered, pointing as the hovercraft descended and retrieved the sixth body from the dunes. Brilliant golden hair cascaded down, and Camillie gasped. Only one girl had hair like that. Serephina Manchas of District Two. The girl who scored an 11. A storm had killed her.

That night, as we prepared to make a night trek out to the buildings just in case the storms came sometime later down the road in the Games, the faces played in the sky. First up was the girl from One, then Serephina. I smiled. She seemed like a nice girl, but she could also throw a spear smack dab into my pupil without exertion. The storms had probably killed her, and I was thankful. The boy from Two, the girl from Four, and the boy from Five were also in the sky! Later, after the Games, I learned that the boy from One, the murderous Cephas, had taken advantage of the storm and had slaughtered all of his disconcerted allies. After the boy from Five, Liv's face was in the sky. Later I learned that Liv broke her neck falling from a tree she was resting in during the storm, and she quickly died. Camillie and I were the last two of our original alliance left. Camillie sighed and motioned for me to follow her. Eleven of us left, only on the second day. I had a feeling the Gamemakers wanted this one to end quickly after the twenty two day saga of Calla Espenson and Garry Manchas during the previous year. I would rather it be over quick, too. That way I'd die or go home quicker and not have to suffer as much.

The day had been calm, sunny skies and hot breezes drying everything up. I was clean and dry and felt good. My clothes and shoes were no longer soggy, and I felt warm. The Gamemakers were intent on changing that. Soon after Camillie and I got within the area of the pools, restaurants, and the huge tower, it began to pour again. There was no crescendo like last time. One moment it was dry and sunny, and the next clouds burgeoned out of nowhere and began to shower violently down on us. It thundered; it hadn't done that before. Camillie and I sprinted towards the hotel, the most stable looking building, as lightning cracked through the air. The winds quickly kicked up, and they screamed past me, leaving wind burn on my cheeks. Tears pricked my eyes but were whipped away by the gusts. Finally, oh thank the heavens, which were actually tormenting us at the moment, we reached the hotel. We ducked inside the lobby. I fell to my knees in relief, sucking in dry breaths. But rain still poured in through the cracked windows and open front doors, and the lobby was chilly and damp. Camillie looked at the twisting stairwells to the upper floors of the building, and then at the stubby stairwell into the basement. She beckoned for me to follow her, and she drew out the sickle she'd grabbed from the Bloodbath as she crept down the stairs. Her shoes squeaked against the metal and she cringed with every step. She waited at the corner, and I huddled beside her. I had no weapon, but I picked up a small stone that had gotten stuck in my shoe. It wouldn't do anything, but it felt good to feel as if I were really ready to prepare myself. What if that One boy, angry with the loss of his allies, was waking up and ready to kill us in anger. We heard soft footsteps padding around the corner, and the head of a tired boy peeks around the corner, a rusty pipe in his hands.

Camillie leaped forward, and I crouched down, refusing to watch as Camillie slashed at the sleepy boy with her sickle. She cuts open his stomach three times, and he groaned, dropping the pipe. He pushed off of her and tried to run, blood gushing out of his stomach wounds. Camillie watched as he stumbled out of the front doors and collapsed on the cement as the rain and wind battered him, blood pooling around him. His cannon fired a couple of minutes later, and by that time Camillie and I had entrenched ourselves in the deep recesses of the hotel's basement, pulling boxes and other clutter around ourselves. She used an old, faded bedspread to cover us up. Our smaller, thin bodies fit well underneath the thick quilt. She began to sing soft songs to herself, and I listened and let them lull me to sleep.

In the basement, we didn't even bother to look at the faces that filled the sky. We didn't even bother to move from our nest in the dry corner of the basement. We had enough food and water to last us more than a week with the tough way Camillie was rationing everything. I barely noticed the days changing; the basement was always dark and dank and quiet. Cannons fired, almost all of them at night, and one by one our competition dwindled. On the seventh day, another cannon fired, and Camillie frowned. I propped myself up on her elbows, and asked her what was wrong.

"That was the twenty first cannon, Bison. There's only one other tribute left."

Suddenly the ground began to quake, and we heard screams from above and the screeching of metal. We stumbled out of the basement to see Christopher of Four tumbling down the stairs. Camillie snatched up her sickle and sprinted at him as he tried to stand and grab his dagger, which laid a couple of feet away from him. He was too slow, and he groaned as Camillie stabbed him in the chest twice. His cannon rang ominously, and Camillie smiled, standing up, blood coating her front. She tossed the sickle to me, and I yelped, dodging it. But she was throwing it to me, not at me. She wanted me to fight and kill her.

"I have a plan," she whispered. "Chase me."

She rocketed up the stairs, spewing curses about how her sickle missed me. With no other choice but to follow, I galloped up the stairs after her. The wind and rain bursted through the shattered windows and open doors into the bedrooms and halls and stairwells. Camillie kept running, and she was faster than me. I was running out of breath, but we were near the top of the stairs. Finally, we reached the roof. The wind and rain battered us, but it settled down. They wanted us to have our epic final showdown. Camillie smiled sadly at me, and she let me corner her on the roof.

"Push me," Camillie whispers when I'm close, so quiet I wonder if the audience can hear. "I've always wanted to fly."

I shake my head; she can't be sacrificing herself for me. She smiles sadly.

"I'm not brave enough to go home, Bison. I've killed people. Wendy will never look at me the same way." And with that, Camillie steps onto the ledge at the edge of the roof. The rain and wind totally fall away, and Camillie tries not to cry.

"I love you Wendie," she murmurs, and then she turns around and flashes me one more hopeful smile before diving off of the roof. I scream and leap after her, but I catch myself before I fall. Hanging from the ledge of the roof, weeping pitifully, I hear the snap and crackle of Camillie hitting the cement too many stories below. I let myself drop, too, but the hovercraft appears out of nowhere and locks its claws around me after I've fallen a couple of stories. I look at the mess of Camillie's remains on the ground, and all I can do is cry. I didn't kill anyone. I pulled a Uriah Matherton. Camillie should have gone home. She worked for it. I just rode on her coattails to Victory. I collapse once I'm inside the hovercraft and refuse to move; the doctors have to carry me as I struggle to the medical room to check over my vitals and see if I'm okay. All I am is a little dehydrated and a little starved. I don't have a scratch on me. I never had to fight; I never had to kill. I just cry and scream and kick and then I'm nothing, because I just can't do anything any more.

At the Crowning, I was shocked to see the blindsides and plotting and skills of the other tributes. Chen and Cephas played a dangerous week long game of cat and mouse and Steale hanged himself after killing Andi and Caitlin shot Chen's brains out with her bow before Christopher threw her out of a window while she was searching the hotel floor where he was hiding out. Then there's Camillie and myself, hiding and sniffling under a pile of blankets in a dark basement. And I won, and she was the runner up. It doesn't make any sense. When Snow crowns me he looks bored and dissatisfied. My crown is thin, made of silver with two teardrop shaped sapphires that look like the rain, and two round emeralds that look like Camillie's too caring eyes. I hate that crown.

On my Victory Tour, I give tiny bits of sympathy to Four and Eight, but it was Camillie who killed Burlap and Christopher, not me. At Twelve, however, I stand on the stage and I cannot speak. I don't really care about Walter and his huge family; that kid had so little chance of winning. Then again, I was the same. No one expected the skinny, pitiful thirteen year old from Ten to win. All the other tributes expected to stand on the stage at the Victory Tour in Ten and stare into the hollow eyes of my father and my sister Gazelle and gives empty apologies. Now it's me. But I can't say anything, because I see Camillie's parents, soft faced and caring just like her, ignoring me and huddled around their weeping little girl. Wendie. She looks at me with her big green eyes, filled with tears, the exact same eyes that Camillie had, and I can see how much she hates me, and I want to cry myself and tell her how sorry I truly am.

Once I get back to Ten, I'm overjoyed to be free of my Mentor Tassel and Escort Kasia. At least Tassel is human, but she's fake and so patriotic its disgusting. And Kasia...she's loud and bright and joyous and I don't need to see her. I move into the empty Victor's Village with Dad and Gazelle. We build the nicest ranch in the District behind the Village and buy the best horses. I take riding up as my talent, and Gazelle and Dad are happy. But me? Riding isn't fun. I now have two dozen of my own horses, and none of them like me. I don't like any of them either. My happiness is hollow and false. The only two things that give me a sliver of true happiness is seeing my family happy themselves and sending a quarter of my Victor's earnings to the Montegro's every year. It's more than enough to lift them out of poverty. I never send a letter asking them how they're doing. I never visit them. I send the money. It's all I can do to commemorate Camillie.

A/N: I hope you liked this portrayal of Bison and Camillie! I had to make it sort of out there and have lots of natural deaths for Bison to even come close to winning, so I made the monsoons/hurricanes/typhoons, whatever you want to call them. If Camillie hadn't been mine you guys know she might've won, because she's even more than she is here, but I really enjoyed revisiting her, and I can't wait to get to the chapter where I get to write Camillie's Victory! :)

Please review with your thoughts! :)

Until Next Time,

Tracee