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Evan Aleces
District Five Male, 17 Years Old

It'd be easier.

To ditch him. To leave him behind. To let him die.

Pushing myself up from the bottom of the hill, I stand up, looking over at Chet. He's a few feet down, lying on his back, staring up at the sky. I could leave right if I really wanted to. I could leave him and let him soak in his self-pity as much as he wants. But, he'd probably kill himself then; he wouldn't get the attention he wants.

He wouldn't get the attention he needs.

Do I think he feels bad about Limnic and Inger? Yes. Do I think he's being melodramatic? Yes. Do I think he should suck it up and realize where he is? Yes.

But, of course, I can't always get what I want. And apparently, neither can Chet. For the past two days now, this is all he's done; sulk around, whine to me some more. It's the same thing over and over again too, about how it's his fault and how he let them die. So, I tell him that it is completely his fault and that he got them killed. That's what he wants to hear, isn't it? Besides, he sure does love hearing himself talk.

I just can't stand it anymore.

And no, sitting down won't help. Leaving him might, but even then, I'd still hear his voice in my head. His high-pitched, irritating voice that always seems to be rambling.

"Hey-"

As he turns his head to look at me, I shut my mouth. I regret ever saying anything, the frown on his face being more than enough of him today. I nod my head, gesturing for us to keep walking, and at first, he seems reluctant. You know, I would prefer for him to stay, but I can't be that forthright about it. I'll let him down easy – into grave, preferably, but.

He walks over to me, his arms sulking, his head still looking down. I kind of like this image better, anyway; I don't have to see his face. I just see the top of his messy hair, half of pressed upwards from lying down on the ground and resting his head. Biting my tongue, I continue to walk, only the sound of his footsteps letting me know he's still there.

There's still the thought of him not being there. With every step I take, I hope that he won't follow.

And that's when I see it. In the distance, there's something… but I don't know what. They don't look like the mutts we dealt with before Inger died, but larger, a broader back on them. Although it's dark, it's gray enough for me to see that far. They're black creatures, the fur spiked on their back in a wave-like appearance.

For a moment, I know we should turn back, that we should just keep going. That I should let this boy live, let him wallow in self-pity some more. But, I can't. I can't for my own well-being… for my own sanity. Every minute spent with Chet is another minute that I'm on the verge of just letting myself get killed.

We continue to get closer and closer to the mutt, the thought sticking in the back of my mind that I can get myself killed here too. That I might get caught in this whole idea, getting too close for comfort. Ignoring my doubt, I slow myself down, wanting to catch up with Chet.

As we near each other, our shoulders almost touch, and then I start to drift apart. He's still looking down at the ground, his shoulders pushed out. Chet gets ahead of me now, and from this distance, I can see the mutt completely. It's probably up to about my knee, with four-legs and dark fur. It's still snooping around over there, not yet aware of where we are.

Just give it some time.

Once we get close enough, I prepare myself to do what I have to do and run. I grip the knife in my hand tightly, standing right behind Chet for the perfect spot to strike him. One more step is all we take before I open my mouth, let out a shout, and get Chet's attention.

"Chet! Watch out!"

Chet snaps his head up, seeing the mutt now in front of us. And, just as he does, I go through with my plan; striking him in the back of the head with the handle of the knife knocks him to the ground, his hand clutching to it. I don't think it was that forceful of a swing, but apparently, it was. Chet lies there, the groan he just let slip through his throat being enough to get the attention of the mutt now.

And then it sees us.

And before it can come close to me, I'm out of there. Chet is lying on the ground, a weeping sound coming from him. He's not trying to move at all and seems to have given up already. It's probably better that he die now, anyway, since he wouldn't have made it too far.

He doesn't have what it takes.

Once the mutt begins to trot over here, I kneel down, snatching Chet's backpack quickly. He's still groaning, rolling back and forth, his eyes closed shut. I give him one last look, the mutt getting closer and closer. As I begin to jog away, I refrain from looking back.

What's done is done.

The sounds catch up to me, the sound of growling and crying and tearing. Chet's crying out, this time I can sense the pain in his voice. The pain of the mutt on top of him I assume, the teeth digging into his skin. It's a morbid image, but Chet had it coming all along. I don't look back, either, since I know that if I do, I might feel bad. Not bad in the way that I actually cared for the boy, but because he was my ally. That I just let him die like that. But, when I think about it, he never meant much to me.

He was just there.

To act as an ally. Bait, if anything. Something to defend me with.

Limnic didn't mean much, too, or Inger. I never intended to care for anyone; I'm here for own my purpose, after all. To win. To survive. To overcome the Hunger Games.

I never cared for any of them.

I don't care for a lot of people.

I never have and I never will.

Alamar Seward
District Four Male, 18 Years Old

"Constance, fetch me a knife."

Looking up at the group in front of me, I see Constance still standing there, not following my orders. For once, she stares back at me, perhaps that I wasn't serious. But, no, I need another knife. This one has dug far enough into the ground, turn after turn as it goes through the dirt. It's a mushy type of dirt, making the blade dull and useless at this point.

That won't stop me, though.

I can find a use in everything.

"Now," I add, my voice low. "Get me a knife."

Constance bends down, a knife stuck in the ground right next to her. Picking it up, she wipes the dirt off of the blade, placing it in the palm of both of her hands. She lays it across them, walking over as if it's some platter. A platter with the only thing I could desire – victory. A platter of victory in the form of a knife; it's a great image.

She hands me the knife, and as I grab it, I look up at her. I'm sitting down against the tree, and now thinking about it, this is all we've been doing since Carina died a day ago. The bitch had it coming, but I thought she would have out lived Audric. At least Carina can do something.

With one extension of my arm, I whip the knife forward, looking back at Constance. "Fetch."

Constance nods her head, complying with my demands once again. She walks back over to the knife, and as I begin to look at my other allies, I see that they aren't doing much either. It's pathetic; the Career pack already down a member. Ceres is just sitting at the edge of the flatland where this tree, Audric is pacing around, and Kace is making too much noise while going through the backpacks. Then we have Constance, but at least she's doing something.

She's doing whatever I ask for.

But, that doesn't excuse everyone else's actions.

"Carina wouldn't be proud of us right now," I say, only half-joking. She really wouldn't. "Isn't that right, Audric?"

Audric stops in his steps, looking at me from his side. His body is faced the other way, his head now looking at me, and as he begins to walk over, I can't help myself but open my mouth again. He's too easy to antagonize, and we don't want to go out and kill, I'll entertain myself in another way.

"Excuse me?" He says, and really, I don't know if he heard what I say or not. So, I repeat myself. He deserves to hear it.

"Do you think Carina would be proud of us right now? I mean, you were the last person to see her…"

"What are you insinuating?" He says, a scowl on his face. This is probably the first time I ever saw him get snappy, actually having something to say other than some plan for me to think about. I don't value his opinions, but at least he gives me something.

He does more than Ceres and Kace combined.

"Oh, nothing," I drawl, leaning my head back. "I'm just thinking about Carina and how she died is all. Care to share any of the details? You had a front row seat."

"Do you have any details about the boy from Eleven or girl from Eight, then?"

Hearing the defiance in his voice, I snap my head back up, the scowl still on his face. Now, what is he trying to insinuate? Is he questioning my ability to kill? My ability to deal with it? If he is, then he has another thing coming for him. And it'll be worse than Carina's death.

"At least I made a kill, Audric," I retort, scoffing at his lack of kills in the Bloodbath. Or any day, for that matter. "If you want to count Carina as your kill, which I would, then you have successfully made one."

"Dymas killed her," he says, his voice keeping the same expression.

"And you just watched, isn't that right?"

"What did you do to help her exactly?" He snaps, the temper in his voice being noticeable now. "Nothing. You sat here playing with that knife and toyed around with Constance."

"What about you? You watched Carina die. Could you not kill Dymas, is that it? You didn't have it in you to kill the aggressor?"

"That's enough."

From the corner of my eye, I see Ceres standing there, not much emotion on her face, either. She stands there, her arms to her side, a blade locked into her belt. She's looking at me, as if I'm the one to blame. It's Audric, not me. He let Carina die, while me? I saved the Careers from a potential death in the Bloodbath by taking care of my two victims.

Audric did shit.

"That's cute," I jeer, rolling my eyes. "Watch out, Ceres. Audric might sit back and let you die as well."

Audric lets out a deep breath, going back to where he was before. He continues to pace around, and as I watch Ceres go back to her spot, I feel no different about her. I don't hate her, or even feel any anger towards her. If she didn't intervene, my spear would probably be through Audric's skull by now. This isn't the first time she's spoken up to end an argument; back in the Capitol, she always told Constance and Carina to shut up.

She just has to watch that mouth, though. That might get her killed.

"It was just getting good too," Kace says from behind me, taking a seat down next to me. He has his sword lying next to him, the blade perfectly wiped down and cleaned. He's thinking too much about it.

"Yeah," I say, a sigh following it. "It was."

And, truthfully, it was. It was just getting good.

But, for me, this is only the beginning.

If they think that was good, they should see what's coming soon.

Then they'll really be impressed.

They all will.

Copper Donoghue
District Eleven Female, 16 Years Old

Another gust of wind.

Another footstep outside.

Another grumble of a muttation.

With every sound, I flinch, not being able to fall asleep. Every sound keeps me awake, scared to look outside. I couldn't expose myself like that, but what will happen then? I'll be locked in this tunnel for the rest of the Games. It might be a good hiding spot, but this won't get me anywhere.

I'm just hiding. That's all I've been doing. Yet, I don't feel safe. I don't feel comfortable.

I've tried to get over it, to set my priorities straight. If the Gamemakers were going to kill me, they would have done it by now, wouldn't they? They wouldn't let me just hide out in these tunnels and wait out until the end of the Games. That's idealistic, which would never happen in the Games. But, there's nowhere to go; not without any allies, anyway.

But, I chose to be alone. I chose to go into the arena without any one by my side.

So, why do I keep questioning my own decision?

Turning over, I extend my legs, bringing my arms up to my chest. Closing my eyes, they want to snap open at the sound of another gust of wind, the breeze going right through the tunnel and giving me the chills. I ignore it, but now, I'm shivering. Shivering not just from the cold, but from how scared I am.

And I hate to admit it. That I'm scared… for the first time in my life, I'm scared for what's to come. That I have no control of the situation, that I don't know what will happen. It's all unpredictable.

This time, I snuggle my head into my shoulder, so that if I open my eyes, I can't see anything. My neck is strained, but it's helping. I can only hear everything now, the eerie sound of the wind and the sound of something dripping somewhere in the tunnel. As I begin to drift, the sound of the dripping monotonously repeating in my mind, I soon smell something.

It's a smell I haven't sensed before. It's a piercing smell, one that makes my noise itchy. It burns a little if I breathe it in, and as I open my eyes, I notice that I can't see anything. It's too dark, so I reach for my flashlight, turning the brightness on to its max.

And that's when I see it.

Right in front of me, it's the gas. The gas or fog or whatever it is from the Bloodbath. It's the same color, the grimy look to it creeping up on me. It fills the whole tunnel I came in from, slowing moving towards me. I can't inhale that… that's how the boy from Six died. He died from inhaling it.

I begin to panic, scrambling to get all my stuff together. The tunnel is too low down for me to actually stand up, so I crouch down, pushing myself along the wall of the tunnel. I slip into the one behind me, occasionally looking back to see if the fog's still following me. It lingers behind, the thick fog climbing up the wall and down it. It swallows the hole, not being able to see through it.

I can't stay here… but I don't know where any of these lead. I never went this far out.

What I see next doesn't make this situation any better. I come across two tunnels, one to my left and one in front of me. But, when I shine the flashlight in front of me, there's fog that way too. It's trapping me in, so I take a quick left, speeding up my escape quicker. I have to go… if I don't, I'll die. I can't die.

I can't.

Then there's another two-way system. One in front of me, one to the left. But, this time, the fog is coming in from the left. Now, I have fog coming in from the left and from behind me, so the only way to go is straight. I just have to hope that the exit is near… I can't be in here for too much longer.

The gas begins to become more smelly, the smell making my eyes water. I ignore the small annoyance, and now, I see a small opening in front of. I literally launch myself forward, bracing myself for impact, but when I get into the clearing, my jaw drops. In front of me, there's a boy… and behind him there's fog.

It's the boy from District Eight, Rollo. He's stuffed into the corner, and as he turns his face towards me, I shine the flashlight on him more. On the side of his face is all burnt from the fog I assume, the skin boiled over and all puffy. His eye is deformed, the skin around it a dark red color. He reaches out his head, the fog beginning to swallow the rest of his body.

Then I feel something on my foot. It's the gas… I'm wasting time. As I shine the flashlight around the area, there seems to be no way out. I panic even more now, frantically spinning around as I watch the fog begin to encompass us both. Why would they do this? Kill two tributes at a time?

Was it to clear out the tunnels?

Is this their idea?

I inch closer to Rollo, our bodies now being right next to each other. With every groan from him, I bite down on my lip, the taste of blood in my mouth now. The fog is coming from sides now, and as it gets closer and closer, I know that there's nothing I can do.

They wanted me dead.

So, they're going to kill me. Nothing is stopping them.

Nothing has ever stopped them.

Keeping the flashlight in my lap, I keep looking back and forth between Rollo and the fog on my right. I can hear him mumbling words, but nothing's audible. Giving him one last glance, I see that his body isn't moving anymore. He's stopped squirming and making noises, the gray fog swallowing his whole body. All I can see is his arm, reaching out at me still, but no motion in it. He's dead… He's dead and now it's coming for me.

It's coming for me.

The fog finally reaches my hand, but I pull it back quickly, the pain shooting right through my arm. My own skin begins to bubble over too, red spots now spreading everywhere. My fingers feel nimble and my nails hard, and all I can do is drop my hand back down.

All I can do is let the fog take me.

All I can do is let the Games take me… to kill me… to let me die.

To let me die…

It was always inevitable.

There was never ever anything I can do…

I was never meant to win…

District Three, Chet Perry – Placed 15th

District Eight, Rollo Damario – Placed 14th

District Eleven, Copper Donoghue – Placed 13th

Author's Note:

Have to pay my respects.

Chet Perry: Chet was never meant to go far or to do well. He was meant to serve his purpose of forming the alliance between him, Evan, Inger, and Limnic. When the girls died, there wasn't much left for Chet, but for Evan there was. Evan now has to deal with the death of all his allies, even if he indirectly killed Chet. But, I did appreciate his character, but I knew that once I got him he was going to die early on. He was one of the more normal tributes, though, so that's always good.

Rollo Damario: It might seem like I threw his death in there, but I needed one other person to die from the fog in the tunnels. The Gamemakers wanted to clear it out, so, they did. But, about Rollo; oddly enough, I liked him more as the story went on. Originally, he was going to die in the Bloodbath, then on Day Two, and now look at him. I liked his character more than others in this story, so don't think I killed him off because I didn't like him. I just didn't have much more to do for Rollo and nowhere to take his character.

Copper Donoghue: Copper is interesting. At first, I was lost with her character, struggling to find her place in the story. The interviews was always my best bet, and as I wrote her, I began to like her, as did other people who read this story. Once again, though, I just didn't know when else to kill her. It seemed appropriate to do it now.

And that's Day Three, everyone.

It feels like I'm speeding through these Games, but whatever. Only eleven more until the victor, yeah?

So, questions. What tribute stood out to you?

At this moment, who is your favorite tribute? (Pick one.)

And a personal one!

What would be one sponsor gift you would want to receive to help you in the arena?