District Two: Ashes to Ashes

Alden James Stamos, District Two

We played together. We trained together. And now we die together.

It's been only half an hour since they've thrown us onto this godforsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere and already three-quarters of us are dead. James. Tyler. Cass. And over a dozen others. Their bodies litter the ground drenching the earth with their blood. Their faces light up the sky, bathing the arena in a sickly glow.

Most of the other tributes are still fighting it out at the Cornucopia, cutting each other down with reckless abandon, whether friend or foe. This is what we have trained for. To fight, to kill, without mercy, without remorse, without pity. All in the name of entertainment, to satisfy the twisted creatures that rule over us with an iron fist.

No wonder why the other districts think we're psychos.

And me? Am I any better off than the rest of them?

My eyes, the eyes of a predator, scan the arena, looking for a target. And I find one.

The muscular eighteen year old glares back at me from twenty feet away, his brutal black eyes warning me not to mess with him. I grin, brandishing my eight-foot lance as I do so. He makes a slicing motion across his throat.

And before he can react I stab him through the chest and kick him off the cliff. The poor bastard won't know what hit him until it's too late. Boom, the cannon sounds, splitting through the blood-reeking air. What was he thinking, facing off with me? Me, the psycho tribute dedicated to only one thing: getting back to the boy he loves.

My entire family was murdered when I was seven. I still don't know who did it, or why. All I can remember is that my best friend, Niall Hoult, took care of me after that. The Hoult family was one of the wealthier families in Two. As they were better off than most of the other parents in the district, Thomas and Esme Hoult could actually afford to support another child. And so I found a new home, a home where I was happy for the first time.

I'm not sure when I started loving Niall. The only thing that's for sure is that I've had to keep it to myself all these years, not daring to admit my real feelings, fearing rejection from Niall, from his parents, from the entire district.

Then came the night they came to take him away.

Winning the Games had been Niall's dream ever since he was old enough to be reaped. Training became his life, his obsession, even though his parents disapproved of it. And over the years, he became bigger, tougher, and deadlier. He became ruthless as he trained, careless of the death and horror of the Games, guided by only one motive: to win.

Ever since the Quell twist was announced, Niall hasn't been able to stop talking about the games, going on and on about how wonderful these games are going to be and how he's going to volunteer because this is the last year he can be in the Games and how he's going to be the first tribute from District Two to win a Quarter Quell.

I wasn't like him. I went to the Games Academy with him. I grew up with him, training and becoming stronger. While he became ruthless, I still retained some of my humanity, I still loved him. So when the Peacekeepers showed up at the door in the middle of the night to ship Niall off to the Games, I volunteered in his place. I begged them to take me instead, unable to bear the thought of losing him. I was a coward. I had taken the one and only dream of the boy I loved and shattered them with my selfishness, because I couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Niall has every right to hate me.

There are only a few of us left. Even as I stand here, the tributes around me are dropping like flies. A brutal girl about my age is hammering in the skull of another girl with a rock. A boy who can't be older than fourteen crushes the throat of an eighteen year old with his bare fists. Boom! Boom! Two more cannons ring out. Three tributes remaining. And I'm one of them.

I exchange a glance with the other boy left and a moment of understanding passes between us. Two boys are left. Only one can live. Then he leaps at me and I hurl a spear into his stomach with enough force that it punctures straight through his abdomen and out of his back. A quick knife blow to his throat puts him out of his suffering. The final cannon sounds.

I'm sorry for shattering your dreams, Niall, but I'll come back to you. I promise.

Charlotte Salt, District Two

Trust no one.

The second the gong sounds, I rocket off of my metal plate, sprinting for the Cornucopia as fast as my legs can carry me. The others are close behind me. The others. They look like my fellow tributes. They act like my fellow tributes. They even sound like my fellow tributes, gurgling and rasping, when I skewer two of them through the lungs with my sword. But they're not my fellow tributes. They're monsters, muttations of the Capitol, out to get me. What for? I haven't done anything wrong. I've been a loyal citizen my entire life! This must be a dream, then. And when I run this sword through myself, I'll wake up. Or is this reality? I lost the ability to distinguish between the two long ago. Real or fake? Light or dark? Now all I see is a constant gray.

Something-or someone-lands with a thump behind me. Even as I spin around, ready to confront it, an axe blade sinks into my arm, cleaving a deep gash into my bicep. The pain is explosive, dizzying, nauseous. So this is real. I hope. I hold on to the agony as long as I can, embracing the pain, not wanting to lose my only foothold in reality.

But the girl in front of me has other plans. Even as I struggle between my two worlds, she swings her axe at me again—my sword is immediately buried into her chest, gouging a great red hole where her heart should be. If this is reality, then these must be muttations, savage monsters out for my blood.

Mutts. Mutts everywhere. They may look like the children in my district, the boys and girls that I've gotten to know over the course of eighteen years, but they're trying to kill me. It's alright if I fight them, if I injure them, if I kill them. The real people won't feel it. The real children, the real boys and girls that I'm supposed to be killing, are safe, back at home.

They're out to kill me. I'll kill them first. I have to kill them. And then what will happen? What will the Capitol do to me next? Send me into the Quarter Quell—wait, this is the Quarter Quell. I can still remember the President reading the card months and months ago—but it seems like hundreds of years have passed. The twist! Twenty-four children from each district are selected, but only two can go in. The rest...they die.

And for a second, my mind is clearer than it has been in months. This is the first round of Hunger Games. And I will win it. Even if I have to kill every single one of the other twenty-four children here with me.

Already blood runs slick through the dirt, slicing jagged lines of red all over the mountaintop. Cannons are booming almost nonstop, each one announcing another death. The air is thick with the screams of the dying. I fight my way through the mass of bodies, dead and living. I fly into a blood-induced fury, striking at anything that moves as I make my way around the arena. Until there is nothing left to fight, until my blows meet only air. Twenty-two corpses are scattered around the arena. I've won.

"The tributes of District Two," a disembodied voice booms. "Charlotte Salt and Alden Stamos!"

Crazy tributes, huh?

Sorry for the delay, I've been really busy lately with finals and end-of-the-year activities and summer break and all that fun stuff. But now that all of that's over, I can finally get back to writing this :). Expect me to update about twice a week from now on, on Sundays and Wednesdays.