District One: Victory or Death

Chandler Kennel, District One

I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always a murderer, a psychopath, a sadist. Once upon a time, before I had heard of such things as the Hunger Games, of the war and the Capitol's revenge, I was different. I used to laugh, to cry, to love as much as any other boy in town. But what happened? Now I do none of these things. Emotions are weak, my father taught me. I have nothing left in my heart. I stand here, in the midst of the carnage, watching the still bodies of the children that I slaughtered. And I am indifferent.

I feel nothing. I am nothing.

I have fought. I have killed. I am a murderer. And worst of all, I don't care. I was raised to be like this. To become a tribute. To become a victor. To bring honor to the family and the district. But I see none of these things. Instead, I see a monster every time I look in the mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I can still see the body of the little twelve-year-old, with his throat ripped open, his body limp and lifeless. He was lunging at me, ready to kill me. I had no choice. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

I believe I am lost.

But then I remember her. The girl I saved. And suddenly I have hope.

It was a frosty midwinter afternoon two years ago. I had finished training at the gym and was on my way home when I passed by. I was in the rougher side of town, where the strongest liquors and wines were produced, where one could easily get wasted for a low price. Normally, only the stoners and drunks hung around here. Regular people like her and me avoided passing through this side of town whenever we could, especially after it got dark. At the time, I had no choice. There was going to be a snowstorm that night and I wanted to be home as soon as possible.

Anyways, she was getting mugged. She had strayed out of the safety of the main road, of the dim, cracked, cast-iron streetlights, and had been accosted by a knife-wielding thug in an alley. I don't know why I stopped. Maybe it was because she was so different from the girls that I normally hung out with, the bad girls, the cold-hearted killers from the Academy. Maybe it was because I still had a little bit of a heart back then, maybe I still had something that I could call a conscience.

For whatever reason, I paused for a moment. The sun was setting quickly, and I knew I had only half an hour, at most, to get home before the real creeps started coming out. But I stopped anyways.

"Stop that," I told him.

He saw me and grinned. "Now look here, buddy, I don't want troub—"

Before he could finish, I grabbed his arm, and, with a quick flick of my wrist, disarmed him. His knife disappeared somewhere in the muddy, week-old snow piled up on the ground.

"That's too bad," I snarled. "Because I do."

His face went pale. He was used to dealing with weak, unarmed, children, not a fully-trained tribute like me. I squeezed his arm as hard as I could, making him yelp. He was, in essence, a coward.

We don't like cowards here in District One.

"Go," I hissed. "And don't come back."

The goon took one last terrified look at me, and ran.

"Thank you," the girl called after me as I turned and walked away. But I was already gone.

Caramel Burgundy, District One

There is no hope. There never was any hope for me.

Things might have been different, a long time ago, when I was younger. But now they are no more.

As I stand here, watching as the bodies of my friends and classmates lying around me grow cold and still, a strange feeling rushes through me. No, it's not nausea or disgust. It's something much stronger. Something like…elation?

I've got to admit, watching people die, bathed in blood and guts, has always been interesting to me. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the Hunger Games, the festival of gore in which twenty-three children perished every year. Something in me is constantly yearning for blood, for death, for vengeance. I've felt these urges before, many times. And I've always managed to keep them down. But not today.

"You sick bitch!" someone yells at me. I turn to see a muscular boy about my age jumping at me as he swings his axe downwards. Stupid bastard. I flick my knife out of my sleeve and stab him in the chest before he can even blink. His body slides to the ground, blood splattering out of the wound and getting all over the place. It's obvious that he won't be getting back up. Still, I don't turn away from the boy until his cannon sounds. That makes…nineteen dead? Five of us left. Who's left? There's me, two of the older boys, the twelve year old psycho, and…Gemma. My best friend. But she has to die for me to come home. Surprisingly, I find that I don't mind. In fact, I would quite enjoy it. Especially if I killed her myself.

Reinvigorated by the possibility of having to kill my best friend, I head deeper into the forest, making no effort to conceal my movements. She'll find me sooner or later. And we're the last two girls left in the arena. Hopefully she will know what that means.

Before long, I can hear loud footsteps, mirroring mine, coming from my left. That would be Gemma for you. That loud-mouthed whore couldn't be quiet even if her life depended on it. Like now.

Without pausing, I pull another knife out of my sleeve and send it flying into a tree trunk, twenty feet away. It quivers, embedded right up to the hilt. A tanned, round face framed by long locks of dark blonde hair peers out from behind it. Gemma.

"That was low, even for you," she gasps. "Caramel."

"We're in a fight to the death right now," I sneer. "We don't play by the rules here." And it's true, we don't. Who is she, a five year old? Any fool knows that anything goes in the Hunger Games. But not Gemma. She was always reluctant about training, reluctant to kill. And now she's going to pay for it.

"Well, come and kill me then," she challenges. "You wouldn't kill me…would you…?" She falters as she sees the maniacal grin that must be plastered on my face.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," I reply. Before she can respond, I'm running towards her, twirling my knife like a baton. I slam into her, pinning her to the ground. "I'll tell you a secret," I whisper seductively, hypnotically as she squirms beneath me. "I've always hated you, you bitch. I've wanted to kill you for a long time…and it looks like I'm going to get me wish!" I giggle insanely as I say the last part.

I'm slammed to the ground and Gemma's hands are around my throat before I realize that I might have gone too far. She's not as skilled with weapons as I am, but when it comes to brute force, Gemma wins, hands down. "How could you?" she screams as she slams my head into the dirt again and again. I try to fight back, but my punches and kicks seem to have no effect on the enraged girl.

Things might have gotten pretty bad if the cannon hadn't sounded just then. And then again. Which meant…

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed the voice of our district escort. "I present you the male tribute of District One…Chandler Kennel!"

Gemma looked up, momentarily confused. Just in time to catch my boot in her jaw. She tumbles backwards, groaning and rubbing her chin. I painfully pick myself up, stumbling forward and almost falling into her.

Slowly, steadily, I raise my last knife and slam it into Gemma's chest as hard as I can. And I do it again. And again. And again. Until her cannon sounds. I collapse onto her, her blood smearing my face, knowing what must come next.

"And our female tribute…Caramel Burgundy!"

Woa...that took a while to write. Anyways, here are our District One sadists! Don't worry, not all of the tributes are going to be this violent. And while you're reading this, click the blue button down there and maybe leave a review...;)