A/N. (...)

Raffaella Silva, 17, District Five Female

I take another bite of the scrambled eggs and then push my plate away. It hurts a little to leave unfinished food on my plate, but I'd rather not be full to the point that it hurts during training. Besides, all the food we don't finish? They throw it away. All of it. It doesn't matter if it's on my plate or not; it's going down the garbage chute.

I push away from the table. Today, I intend to make good use of my training time. I spent most of yesterday trying to pull myself together. Serge from Eight tried to talk to me, but he gave up when I wouldn't respond.

"Hey, Raffaella," Raydon calls. Because District Five only has three Victors fit for mentoring, someone always has to mentor two years in a row. This is his second year. "We need to talk."

I nod and sit down in the living room. He sits opposite from me.

"Raffaella… what happened yesterday?" he says. "You did practically nothing all day!"

I shrug.

"Today, spend more time on the survival stations. Learn how to use a knife. Figure out poisons and traps, since you obviously aren't going to win by brute force."

I smile weakly.

"Do you even care?"

I nod.

"Then you need to get your act together. You won't win if you waste all your time."

I nod. I know. I don't plan on wasting my time today.

He sighs. "You still won't talk."

I smile and nod.

"Can you talk?"

I nod.

"Why won't you talk?"

I zip my lips.

"Fine then. Do it your way. Good luck."

I get up and wait by the elevator for the escort, who takes me and Aaron down to the Training Center. While I spent all of yesterday getting my act together, Aaron was on the move. His peacekeeper training is definitely giving him an edge; I saw the boy from Two eyeing him nervously. I think he's with Serge in an alliance now.

We're soon released to do whatever we want, and I suppose I should follow Raydon's advice. He did win this thing once. If I remember correct, they called him "the angry boy" because he channeled all the anger inside him into his fight for survival. He's still angry today; I heard he threatened the male tribute from our own district last year. Not pleasant. I head over to the station on poisons.

It's surprisingly empty — only the girl from Six is here — because most people learning survival skills focused on edible plants, building fires, and finding water. Then again, this isn't a survival station. This is a weapon masquerading as a survival station. I shouldn't think about that. I'll call it a survival station anyway. I just got my act together, and I'm not about to fall apart because the idea of killing someone makes me queasy — which it does. I bite my lip. Focus on the books here, Raffi. There isn't even a trainer here, just a collection of books and a few quiz machines.

I originally came here thinking about plant poisons, but it turns out that there's much more, such as rat poison. Come to think of it, last year, the girl from Six killed the girl from Eleven with rat poison. Better watch out for that one.

There's a tap on my shoulder. It's the girl from Six from this year, the only other person at this station. She can't possibly be trying the exact same thing as her counterpart last year did, could she?

"Hey," she says, blushing from embarrassment. "I'm not good with this whole social things…"

I smile at her. I'm not a social person either.

Her shoulders relax. "You know, you seem like you're going for stealth… right?"

I nod.

"Okay, good. I am too, so I was thinking… maybe we could team up? I didn't want to find someone else because I thought they'd slow me down, but I think we could work something out… Maybe?"

And? I gesture. I also point in the direction of Serge. Aren't you with him?

"Well…. To be perfectly honest, my mentor told me to find someone to get my back… and I don't trust Serge. He's talked to almost everyone and I think he's lying to some of us."

I nod. It's a reasonable worry.

"So…" she says, trying to fill the silence. "Do… you have any, um, thoughts?"

I simply smile and zip my lips. Of course, I have thoughts. I just don't intend to share them.

"Do you talk?"

I shake my head and smile.

"Can you talk?"

I almost laugh. I've heard this question so many times; it's almost funny.

She shrugs. "Okay, then."

Over her shoulder, I see Serge rapidly approaching. I point. She turns around.

"What's going on?" he asks, drumming his fingers on the table beside us. His tone is completely non-confrontational, but I see why Christina doesn't trust him. He's too uptight and worried about having control.

"I asked Raffaella to join," Christina says, her voice soft but firm.

"Whew." He runs his other hand through his hair. Ah… it looked like she was double crossing him. He looks at me funny, probably wondering what Christina saw in the silent girl that ignored him yesterday, but he nods. "Okay. As of now, the plan is…" He drops his voice, and I get a little closer to hear. "...take out one of the trained tributes at the Cornucopia. Aaron and Diesel are the in charge of that. If they need any help, try to help them out. But you two; work together and hold the supplies deep in the Cornucopia. I'm going to go tell Delmar to help you. Make sense?"

Christina nods. "Got it."

I nod as well.

He smiles. "Good. I'll see you guys around."

Both of us watch him as he goes to the spears, where the boy from Four is.

"What do you think?" Christina whispers.

I draw my finger across my throat. I don't trust him.

"Same," she says, "Should we do it, though?"

My initial response is to reject it, but if we take off on our own… we'll have a whole pack on us. So I nod.

She sighs. "I don't think we have a choice."

Allio Spottedberg, 13, District Nine Male

Ryzee's flimsy pile of sticks and string clatters to the ground, and she sighs in frustration. "I can't do this!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the girl from Eleven — Clover, I think — watching us. I can't tell if she's assessing us or just being amused.

"It's not that bad…" I venture.

"It is that bad! I'm gonna die… I didn't mean that literally."

"C'mon, we've only been here…"

"For an hour!" she interrupts, "We won't have hours to build a trap in the Games."

"Good point."

"Let's move somewhere else. Find something that we both could work on. You've got no problem with traps."

I shrug. "Okay. Where?"

"I don't know… Didn't Rusk tell us to check something out or something?"

"He did?"

"Yeah. During breakfast."

I think about it. "I don't know…"

Someone interrupts our conversation. "Excuse me?"

We both look. It's Serge. I'm pretty sure Rusk said something about him going around and talking to everyone. I guess it's our turn.

"Yes?" Ryzee says, slightly startled. No one else has talked to us so far. I think most people just don't want to get close to people they'll have to kill.

Serge clears his throat. "I just wanted to talk to you," he says, looking only at her. "Can we go…" He waves towards the corner by the empty climbing wall.

Ryzee looks at me, and I look at her, then at Serge, then back at her. I bite my lip. I think I know what he's up to. "Sure…" I hesitate. "Go ahead."

Ryzee seems concerned, but she follows Serge to the corner, my eyes trailing them. He doesn't realize that I don't need to hear Ryzee to understand what she's saying. She talks with her hands as much as she does with her mouth.

He says something, and she responds, pointing to me and asking for clarification. Is it about me? He says something else, and then she gets nervous, playing with her hands. He's trying to convince her to do something. It's his alliance, isn't it? That huge web of connections he's been building, right? I've seen him talk to almost every non-Trained tribute. Now he's trying to rope her in.

But only her. Of course, he'd do that. I did tell Ryzee to go do whatever was best for her survival… but I don't know if I really mean it anymore. I don't want to die.

He says something else, also beginning to wave his arms, almost mirroring her movements. He's too good at this. I'm pretty sure that's some psychological trick. Ryzee bites her lips, faltering. No, no, no…. No one else in their right mind would want to help me… and if she leaves, I'm on my own. I would rush over, but that'd make me more enemies. I don't need any more obstacles than I already have. I grip the branch in my hands even harder and bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself glued to where I sit. I can't do anything; this is up to Ryzee.

She shakes her head again. Score! Wait. No. He's got her thinking again. It's hard to believe that I'm willing her to be stupid, but I need help if I want to live — and I want to live. I don't want to die!

She shakes her head, clearing it, and says something, stamping her foot as she does so. When Serge opens his mouth again, she turns around and marches back. I pretend to be engrossed in the pile of rope and branches beside me.

She plops down beside me. I ask, "What's up?"

"No- Nothing," she stutters, her face still red. "It's all fine."

"Really…"

"No," she says, "It's not. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but I'm telling you anyway."

"What?"

"He wanted me to leave you and join his alliance."

Knew it. "And…"

"I told him no."

"Because…"

"Because I said I'd stay with you," she says, "But it's so hard…" Her voice begins to rise. "But I'm going to stay with you."

Noble thought…

"And yeah, sure, these are the Hunger Games," she says, standing up and beginning to stop her foot. "And I'm supposed to be all backstab-y and cruel, but no! F*** that! I'm not doing it."

Everyone around us has turned to look, and she quickly sits down again, her face red with frustration and embarrassment.

I try to squeeze out words. "Well… thanks." That sounded pathetic. I try again. "I'll do my best to show you that it was the right decision."

The same voice interrupts us. I glare at Serge. He either doesn't notice or isn't fazed. I assume the second.

"Look," he says, "I thought about your terms."

Ryzee perks up. What terms?

He continues. "And I think I can accept them."

"Really?" Ryzee blurts. Way to go for being subtle. You didn't have to make it obvious that you didn't think he'd accept.

"Yes."

"Um, excuse me," I interject, "But… what are these 'terms.' "

"Well," he says, scratching his head, "I'm taking both of you into the alliance — if you want to, of course."

Slate Valour, 18, District Two Male

I tap the neck of the trainer here with the tip of the fake sword. He nods and walks off. I could get used to this. The swords here are built differently from the ones at home, designed with decorative value in mind as opposed to pure function.

The girl from Nine suddenly cheers. She and her district partner are talking with the boy from Eight — Definitely worrying. I glance up at the Gamemaker balcony, which seems relatively empty at the moment. I look to the other side of the room, where the hidden balcony is. With a window made of one-way glass, all we see is a mirror while mentors and journalists often spend their time up there. The only reason I know is because my father mentioned it a few times. Is he up there right now? Can he see my concern? He'd call it a sign of weakness; if he's up there, I'll get chewed out when I return to my quarters tonight. Augh, why did he have to be picked as my mentor? Rather, why did he volunteer to be my mentor? I'm pretty sure I have better odds at victory with a different victor; my father will ditch me the moment I get weak. I'm nothing more than a trophy to him, as are my mother and sister. I'm fighting this fight for them, not for him.

Animata, who just came up, nudges me. "Hey."

"What?"
"You distracted much?"

I shrug it off. "Not like you'd care."

For a moment, she almost looks hurt. Uncharacteristic of her. "Don't be so quick to judge. There's more to all of us than meets the eye."

I nod. "True, true. Like Serge."

"The guy from Eight?" She's been paying attention. Who knew? "He's definitely a problem," she says, narrowing her eyes. "If we can get him alone, he'll be no problem to us, but he's up to something. He seems to be more focused on getting social than actual training."

I stand with my mouth agape.

"What?"areshe says. She laughs. "Didn't think I had an actual brain in my 'proud' skull?"

"W- well, I-" I struggle. Get it together, Slate. I can deal with reporters, Gamemakers, and even my father, but your district partner surprises you and completely messes you up. "You're just always so… callous."

"Of course. I might not actually be a jerk, but I'll say whatever the **** I want. And don't ever think to pull the 'not appropriate card' on me. I'm no royalty, and I never pretended to be."

I smile.

"And I guess I've misjudged you," she says, "I always thought you were a privileged, stuck-up brat. And an arrogant one at that. Like the kind of person that would cut up that thirteen-year-old from Nine." She spits those final few words.

I shudder. "No. I'm not in here for the gore."

She shrugs. "Neither am I, though the katanas here are sweet."

"The weaponry is really beautiful," I say.

"They almost make it into an art."

Art. Not exactly what I'd call these weapons, but I guess it's true. Then again, with the Capitol, it seems like they have a penchant for turning non-artistic things, such as killing, into arts. I'm still not quite sure what I think about that. Sometimes, in Panem, it's better just not to think too much.

"What do you think of the others?" she says.

"I really don't have a problem with anyone. They're all fine. Why'd you ask?"
"I really can't stand Splendor," she says, not bothering to lower her volume, "She's so uptight and prude. She can't take a joke."

I hold back a laugh. "That's what's bothering you?"

She tilts her head, not sure what to make of my response. "What about it?"

" 'She can't take a joke.' It's that big of a deal to you?"

"Not exactly… It's more of the way she looks down on the rest of us like we're beggars. Of course, we're not as rich as she is — except for you — but she holds her nose up in the air like she's a perfect princess and augh!"

Out of the corner of my eye, Splendor sits on a bench, able to clearly hear everything Animata just said. Great. "Just calm down," I say, "You don't have to be friends; just work together for now. Only one of you can come out of that arena anyway."

"Work together?" she says, "Look around. Does this look like any form of teamwork?"

The Tens are huddled around the traps. The Sevens are having a bit of fun on the climbing wall. The Ones sit on the bench by the wall, not saying anything but making it clear that they've got each other's backs — and Splendor doesn't look too happy with her lips pressed firmly together. Animata's right. This isn't teamwork, even in the farthest stretch of the word.

"You do have a point."

"Exactly. We're not a team, and that's because for some reason or another. We just don't fit."

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"This alliance is just as good as no alliance. There's no point in keeping it if we're going to work like this. If we're still this mess by tomorrow, I'm breaking the alliance."

Christina Ford, 17, District Six Female

The girl from Two is loud. Really loud. Or maybe she just doesn't care what we think. Both ways, I get more information, and the more I know, the more I can do.

The bell soon rings to signal the end of the day, and I say goodbye to Raffaella. She hasn't said a single word all day, and I'm not too sure how I feel about that. She doesn't look like the lying type, but that doesn't tell me anything. If she were a good liar, then I shouldn't be able to tell. In times like this, what you look like is more important than who you actually are, and the best players of the game are those who can convince the audience that they are who they say they are, and I've got an edge in this area. Sure, the shimmering Ones know how to act because they've been taught to do that, but I learned from experience. The difference between acting well and not acting well was the difference between life and death, and it's the same way here.

Serge holds the elevator doors for me, and on the ride up, he, the Threes, the Fours, and I stand awkwardly, staring at each other.

Serge tries to diffuse the tension. "You all are awfully cold to each other."

Harbor snorts. "We're all in your alliance because of utility, not for your 'charming' personality. Besides, what happens if we reject? Do you sic the group on us?"

"Woah, calm down. Don't be so touchy. I didn't mean anything by that."

Harbor shrugs. "Is it really being touchy if we'll be at each other's throats in a few days?"

The elevator stops, and the Threes get out. Render appears to be in on the plan, but his partner isn't. I can only wonder why.

Soon, it's my floor, and Serge says a goodbye as I leave him in the elevator. He's too friendly. No one in the Hunger Games is naturally that friendly. The trained tributes might appear to be the biggest threat, but I wouldn't be surprised if Serge ended up killing several of us. As a wise man once said, the biggest threats are the people closest to you. At least, I think a wise man once said that. It could just be my own thoughts rambling.

I find Diesel sitting in the dining room, sipping on a glass of juice. Neither of our mentoisanywhere to be seen.

"What's that?" I say, pointing to the drink.

He shrugs. "Passionate Love Fruit or something like that. Not like any of it matters. Hearing them talk about food is like hearing another language."

"Is it good?"

"Why don't you get some and see?"

I order a glass from an Avox.

Diesel slumps in his chair, making him seem shorter than he already is. "I'm pretty sure our mentors gave up on us."

I press my lips together and don't reply.

"Jagger was here when I came in, but he left when he saw me." He chuckles bitterly. "Maybe he's feeling guilty about not being to do anything for us."

"Then we'll have to do it for ourselves," I say, "If our mentors won't help us, we'll have to show them we're worth saving."

He laughs. "Do you think we're worth saving?"

I open my mouth to protest, but my words get stuck halfway up my throat. "Well fine. Maybe we aren't. That doesn't mean I'm not going to try to save myself anyway."

He nods. "Serge talk to you?"

I press my lips together. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"What choice did I have?"

"Good point."

"I heard he told you to work with Aaron and take out a trained tribute," I say, "Sounds like a death wish to me."

"Probably is. But we're all stuck now. I can't tell if he's controlling or just really optimistic."

It better be the latter. Gosh… I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

A/N Yes. I'm alive. Rapidly losing interest in the Hunger Games fandom, but still alive and writing. I also started a blog for writing practice, if you want to check it out. It's at josephswritingdump. blogspot. com.

I won't bother with the questions. Let me know if you're reading, will you?

Joseph