District Eleven-

Fawn Foxe 17 and Thomas Gerard 18

Fawn Foxe 17 POV

Lunch on the last day of training is the best time to form alliances. I scan the room and try to see anyone that was any good during train. And not a total jerk. After a moment I settle with the kids from 10. Sliding into the seat in front of them and plunk my tray down on the table. "Hey," I say lamely. "What's up?" The girl asks. The boy looks up quickly and clicks his tongue a few times. "Hey," he finally responds, a blank expression on his pale face.

"What's your names 10s?" I ask, digging into my lamb stew.

"I'm Evelyn."

"Lee."

I nod and wait for them to say something.

"I see your pretty good with knives," Evelyn says, flipping her brown hair out of her face. "I used to throw glass at home." She nods and points to my scar, a white line that trails from my left eye to under my jaw. "Is that how you got that?" "No," I say and offer no explanation. She doesn't ask. Subconsciously, I touch my scar lightly and think about my father at home. He probably doesn't know I even left, probably too drunk to notice. Paul would car, and I hold onto the memory of his smile telling myself that I need to come back home.

Lee lets out a few more clicks and looks frustrated. "What's with the clicking, Lee?" Evelyn asks. "I'm using them to see you, as sort of a, sonar, I guess." With a start, I realize he's blind. Explains the milky blue eyes, I think to myself. I don't waste my breath to ask him. A Peacekeeper steps into the room, his crisp white uniform reflecting the light and making him look like a light bulb, and calls, "Fawn Foxe." I rise and follow the Peacekeeper into the Training Center to show the Gamemakers my skill with knives.

Thomas Gerard 18 POV

I watch the girl from my District follow the Peacekeepers her brown hair brushing the small of her back and swinging with every step. My right arm twitches and I pin it down with my other one. How could I kill her? Maybe I could just snap her little neck, but there's no fun in that. Maybe I could push her off the roof… watch her fall… hear her scream. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall… Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…

After a few minutes she emerges again from the double doors, her scar curved like the blade of my scythe. "Thomas Gerard," they call. I stand and shuffle the room, my collarbones sticking out painfully. Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the boy ran away as the victor.

I enter and pick up my scythe. Robotic dummies spring to life, rolling towards me. I swing my scythe like I had in the fields as long as I can remember. The sun that beat down at me for hours on end, while I harvested, Peacekeepers watching like hawks. Heads and limbs fall around me, wires sparking and dented metal. Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies… Ashes… ashes… they all fall down.