Gah! We've had a lot of forest fires here and I have been non-stop covering them for work. I've got to go to them, take pictures and interview firefighters, which is cool, but really energy draining. Anyway, enough about me!

Here's the final update for the 50th Games. It's longer; hope this makes up for my lapse of updates! Leave a comment on your way out!

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Chapter Twelve

Just seconds ago Haymitch discovered the arena's force field, but here he was running; searching for whoever let off that scream. Haymitch jumped when a small flock of pink birds flew out of a nearby tree. He ducked on the ground when he saw one of the birds' large, sharp beak come towards him. He hurried up from the ground as soon as it was safe and rounded a boulder, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Maysilee.

She was the one who screamed before she was stabbed through the throat by the birds. Haymitch wondered if she accidentally ran into the Capitol mutations or if they were searching for a tribute to kill.

Haymitch hurried over to Maysilee's side. She was gasping for air, taking in large breaths; her body shaking with every breath. The harder she gulped for air, the more blood poured out of the hole in her neck.

Without thinking, Haymitch grabbed her hand and held it tightly between his rough hands. "It's okay," he whispered. She stared at him, her light grey eyes becoming seemingly darker with each passing second. "You're not alone."

She blinked a couple times, unable to say any words. Haymitch brushed the hair from her face and gave a weak smile before placing his hand back over Maysilee's. They stared at each other until Maysilee's breaths became shallow. Soon she finally stopped, after what Haymitch estimated to be five minutes.

Five minutes of pain, suffering and fear — all done by the Capitol. Haymitch hoped Maysilee found some peace in the fact that she did not die alone.

He reluctantly let go of Maysilee's hand. He softly brushed his fingers over her face to shut her eyes. His eyes caught the reflection of something gold peeking from the inside of her jacket. Haymitch pulled back the edge of the jacket to reveal a mockingjay pin.

Normally, personal items were not allowed into the arena, but it must have meant something special to Maysilee for her to risk bringing it in. He took it from her jacket and stuck it in his pocket. He zipped up her jacket and placed her hands on her chest before walking away.

Haymitch's thoughts were a jumbled mess. If I insisted she stayed, would she still be here with me? Now there's only two left. Where should I go next? What am I doing?

Haymitch aimlessly walked in the clearing, unsure of what to do. Before he realized what he was doing, he noticed that his cover was blown — he was out in the open: semi-unarmed (with his knife in his back pocket) and distracted.

Before he could correct himself, he noticed a thin body just up ahead. He stopped walking and watched as the figure came closer until he could make out the other final tribute.

The District One tribute had long blonde hair, blowing free in the wind. She menacingly held and axe in her hand and hungrily stared at Haymitch. Her bright, almost evil-like, green eyes bore into his before she broke out in an evil smile.

The tribute began to run towards Haymitch with her axe raised in the air. Haymitch took a couple deep breaths before throwing his body to the left, missing her blow by only inches. He quickly got up from the ground and blocked another fatal attempt from the tribute.

Haymitch took out his knife from his back pocket and aimlessly slashed around in hopes to separate the tribute from his space. Her left arm was lacerated, but she didn't seem to notice. The tribute then ran towards Haymitch, using his outstretched leg as a stepping-stone. She leant up against his body and hit the side of his head with the butt of her axe.

Haymitch stumbled back, touching the painful spot. The tribute once again leapt into the air with her axe high in the air. Haymitch quickly kicked his leg out and delivered a painful blow to her stomach. She fell to the ground, tossing the axe from her hand. Haymitch quickly rushed to her, trying to get the axe away from her grasp.

She bit his arm and he punched her square in the face. Haymitch soon found himself on the bottom of the pile, receiving a round of blows to the head. Both tributes were gasping for air, giving all they had to stay alive. He forced the palm of his hand to the tribute's nose, causing her eyes to water and vision to compromise.

Haymitch pulled himself up from the ground and picked up his knife. He turned around only to come face to face with the female tribute. The next five seconds happened in slow motion: the wind up of the axe, its effortless glide through the air, and soon the searing pain. He looked into the eyes of the female tribute: they were cold and unforgiving. It was clear she was raised for this moment. Haymitch just didn't understand; and he probably never would.

He looked down to where the axe was lodged in his body, just below his stomach. He watched as the tribute mercilessly pulled the weapon out and prepared to give the final deadly blow.

Oh, God, he thought. My family is watching this.

Haymitch blocked the blow with his left hand and with his right hand, stuck his knife in the tribute's left eye. He closed his eyes as he heard the tribute's screams, not wanting to see even what he was capable of doing. He quickly opened his eyes and watched as the tribute fell to her knees, clutching her eye socket, blood oozing from her fingers.

Haymitch took off, trying to get enough distance from the other tribute. He clutched his lower half, trying to hold in his intestines and whatever else was on the verge of falling out. He fell to his knees repeatedly, each time finding the strength to get up.

Images kept flashing through his head: his mother, brother, Gemma, the train, Effie. I cannot die like this…I will not die like this…

Haymitch saw the plateau in the distance before falling to his knees once more. The force field! If he could just make it there, he could use his knowledge of the force field to his advantage. He looked over his shoulder and saw the female career making her way to him.

He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth in the process, and made one last dash towards the edge. He gasped for breath, feeling his lungs and throat burn. His shirt and pants were soaked with blood; Haymitch could taste the blood and bile mix in his mouth.

He stopped in front of the plateau and collapsed to his knees, facing his opponent. She clenched her teeth, drew back her arm and released the axe. It went soaring in the air, coming straight for Haymitch. Instead of watching the axe's path, he kept his eyes on the tribute.

He moved his body to the left side, sending the axe over the plateau. The tribute let out an angry scream, only to quickly stop when she saw the axe flying back towards her. Her single eye widened as Haymitch moved his body to the side once more.

She thought she had won. She thought she would leave the Capitol and return home. She thought this tribute would die. She thought wrong.

Before she could even move out of the way or plan her next step, the axe lodged itself in her head. The canon sounded, marking the end of the 50th Hunger Games.

"May I present the winner of the Second Quarter Quell," a voice boomed. "From District Twelve, Haymitch Abernathy."

Haymitch, however, didn't relish in his named being called as the winner. He didn't smile, give a congratulatory fist pump or anything.

Haymitch Abernathy, now the only living victor from District Twelve, collapsed on the ground; darkness quickly enveloping him.