Training Day Three.

A Cannon in the Wind;

The Fifth Hunger Games.

Alexandra Fearn, 14;

District Five Female.

I wake up to the sound of Drusas banging on my door, yelling for me to get up. I roll over on my side, putting my face away from the light coming from the window. Grumbling to myself, I try my hardest to ignore my Escort.

But that's easier said than done.

"Alexandra, you open this door right now! I know you're awake!" His banging gets harder, and mentally, I smirk. Dumbass. Do you seriously not have a key to my room? Why am I the only tribute that's ever thought of this?

But I know they do have a key; he's just too much of an idiot to go and find it. I know, in the end, I'm going to be forced out eventually, and I'm going to get in trouble—but it gives me a few more minutes of sleep, and makes Drusas angry, so I don't mind getting in trouble.

It's not like they can do much to me anyway. I think forcing me to fight to my probable death is punishment enough. Oh, but wait. They didn't force you. You volunteered—and quite forcibly, too. Smart move, Ali.

Something hurts. Something deep in my chest, an ache that's not quite painful but emotionally taxing instead. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the tears. I've done good so far, putting on this angry and rebellious act. And I am angry and rebellious, but that doesn't change the fact that my entire family and I are going to end up very dead very soon.

I'm tired. Exhausted, even. I've gone through these few past days pretty well by acting like this is a dream, by acting like this is some stupid joke rather than a fight to the death. As long as I can bring the Hunger Games to the back of my mind, I can go through the day being my rude and critical self.

But sometimes, times like this, I can't help but think of where I'm soon going and what I left behind. I go through my days arguing with Drusas, rejecting Michael's alliance attempts, avoiding the other tributes, and then coming back to this comfy bed to cry myself to sleep. In the end, I'm still just a fourteen-year-old.

I still don't want to die.

But I was angry. I was so, so angry at the Capitol for killing my father during the war. My brother and I started altering the electronics used in the factories of Five, and I in turn used those electronics to hack into confidential Capitol files. I sold those files to the remaining rebels in District Five—and that was how I went through life back home. It was a way of rebelling, a way of gaining revenge.

But on the day of the Reaping, the Peacekeepers found my brother and I trying to gain some more important information. We ran to the Square, hoping beyond hope that they didn't identify us—but they did identify us. They would execute me. They would execute my brother. They would execute my mother, even though she had nothing to do with our business. I had to volunteer. It was the only way of keeping my family and I safe. They couldn't harm me if I was a tribute, and they couldn't harm my family, either, because they need them for Interviews.

So for the moment, they're safe. We're all safe. But only for the moment. When the Games start, can I honestly win? Can I save everyone I love?

Noticing that Drusas has stopped knocking on the door, I quickly wipe my eyes free of tears. As soon as I finish, I hear the lock click—and standing in my doorway is Drusas, Michael, and a red-headed Avox with a ring of keys in her hands. Locking the gentle parts of my personality away, I embrace my abrasive side, smirking at the trio.

"Yes? Is there a problem here?"

It takes a moment for Drusas to respond. His face goes through a multitude of emotions, before they stop at irritation. "You really piss me off, girl."

"I could say the same thing."

With a flamboyant groan, my Escort stomps away, shouting at me to hurry and get dressed before he calls the Peacekeepers. The Avox also hurries away to whatever avoxes go and do. The only person standing in my doorway is Michael, his face set in an uncharacteristic frown. What's wrong with him?

"You just gonna stand there and stare at me?" I ask, sliding out of the bed. He doesn't answer; instead, it's almost as if he gets sadder. Did I do something to him? "Well, whatever. I'm going to get undressed—so unless you want to see a naked girl in front of you, I suggest that you get out. Actually, maybe you should get a good look at a naked girl before you die..."

I'm joking, obviously, but Michael doesn't seem to see anything funny. "Ali," he says, stern and totally un-Michael-like.

Something pinches the inside of my chest—something that makes me horribly sad. Don't break down. Not in front of this kid.

"Don't call me that." My tone is closed off, defensive. I stare at Michael, and he stares right back at me. What happened to the goofy little brat from before? What happened to my old fri— No. Stop, Ali. Don't think about that. Please just...don't think about him.

"Alexandra," he corrects, his stare turning just a bit softer. "Why... Why won't you ally with Ceres and I? It's the third day, and you still don't have anyone! You could—"

Oh. This again. I should've know. "I'm not forming an alliance with anyone," I tell him for the umpteenth time. He stutters for another response, but I cut him off once again. "Michael. I told you this before, and I'm not going to change my mind. I don't want to work with anyone. How can I seriously trust someone when, in the end, everyone is for themselves?"

Even back in District Five, I was never the most social person. I'm a solitary girl, and it was always a bit awkward when it came to talking with my peers. The girls back in Five were too shallow and interested in pointless things, while I was always the top of my class. Boys didn't talk to me, either, because I was just too critical of them. There was nothing that connected me to anyone back home, minus my older brother and mother.

Well, you had one friend. But I don't think about him. I can't think about him. Not here, not when his freaking doppelganger is standing right in front of me.

I have to keep up my walls. If Michael were to get too close, and then die...

I can't handle that pain anymore. I'm more fragile than people take me for. When they see me, all they recognize is the rude girl with a stick up her ass. But if they were to look deeper, just a bit deeper...

Michael looks on the verge of hugging me. He takes a step forward—but I bring my hand up, keeping the boy at bay. "Ali—"

"Don't call me that, Elijah!" I scream—and almost instantly, a fog of dread envelops the room. Elijah. I called him... Oh no. My District Partner looks stunned, before a confused glint appears in the corner of his eye.

"Eli—?"

"Get out of my room," I snap, feeling the familiar sting in my eyes. His mouth opens again, but I shake my head, harshly shoving him away. "Get out. Get out, get out, get out!"

With one last shove, he falls to the floor, and I slam the door. Trying to keep my composure, I run my hand through my black hair, but it doesn't work. I can't stop the flood of memories from infiltrating my brain. I can't stop thinking about my dead friend, the only person who ever really gave me a chance.

Elijah Pettis, the male tribute of District Five for the third Hunger Games. When he was Reaped, I didn't know what to do. I knew he was a goner, but he had a sense of optimism that actually made me momentarily believe he would be coming back.

And he did come back. I just wish it wasn't in a pine box.

Gutted in the stomach during the Bloodbath, it took everything in me not to go crazy. My only friend was dead. Nobody understands what something like that could do to a person, could do to me. Everyone thought that I was okay, that I was the same old girl with a bad attitude. Hell, some people even thought I didn't care about Elijah. But I did care. I wasn't okay.

I don't usually think about him. I spent most of my attention helping the rebels, mainly so I didn't have time to think about him. Even when I was standing onstage during the Reaping, I didn't let the name Elijah Pettis infect my brain.

But then I saw Michael—and he looks exactly like Elijah, sounds exactly like Elijah, acts exactly like Elijah. It torments me, having to see Michael everyday, knowing that he's going to end up just like my dead best friend.

And maybe I will, too.

Maybe I'm going to die. Alone.

Caio Artelle, 17;

District Four Male.

"So what are we going to do today?" Kaya asks, grinning that cheery grin of hers. Breno is standing right next to the redheaded girl, a content smile on his face as well. Ula, too, looks perfectly happy with things. So is it just me? Am I the only one feeling this way?

"Hmm..." My District Partner thinks that question over a bit, before bouncing it back at the District Eight girl. "What do you think we should do?"

"I have my suggestions, but I'd like to give you guys a chance to say something," she says in response, still smiling. Usually, I'd be a bit alarmed at how nice this girl is. Is she trying to lower our defenses, so that she can kill us in the Arena? Is she trying to manipulate us into protecting her, so that she can bring her way to victory without moving a muscle?

The more I stare at Kaya, the less I feel these paranoid thoughts of mine are true. Just because she's nice doesn't mean she's a killer in disguise. Besides, Ula already asked her why she was chained to her chariot, and Kaya answered honestly that she tried to kill her stylist.

It was more funny than unnerving, to be honest.

"Well, we could train a bit more. Today we have to show that old Gamemaker what we learned, so we might as well become more acquainted with what we have," Ula says, looking at both Kaya and Breno before stopping at me. "Or do you think we should do something else?"

I look around, just in case someone is trying to listen in on us. Paranoid, maybe, but I'd like to be safe rather than sorry.

"I think training with the weapons is a good idea," I agree, forcing the smile on my face. Or maybe ending this alliance will be a better idea. "The higher our scores, the more sponsors we'll get."

Ula nods at that, before turning to our quietest ally. "Breno?" She says. "What do you think?"

"I think one of us should focus on gaining knowledge," he answers almost immediately. A confused look crosses the girls' faces. "Think about it. If three of us focus on weaponry and get a high score, the sponsors will be noticing us anyway. The fourth member could focus on the survival stations, and help us look for edible food and stuff in the Arena. It's always nice to have at least one smart guy than a bunch of brutes."

"Or we'd be nothing more than those lowlifes from Two," Kaya growls, a scowl flashing across her face. But almost immediately after, she gives Breno a small smile. "I think that's a great idea. Besides, I'd rather find food myself than have to rely on those Capitol assholes."

"So it's agreed, then?" Ula asks, looking around. Kaya and Breno nod, but I hesitate. Breno's plan practically demands all of us to work together in the Arena. And I just don't know if I like that idea anymore. At first, when Ula mentioned allies, I went with it because it kinda seemed like a good idea at the time.

But now, I just don't know... What if they backstab us? Kaya and Breno don't seem like the type, but...I can never be too sure of other people's intentions. In the end, we're all here to win. And desperation, fear, can do a lot to a person's mind.

I know that all too well. During the Rebellion, my mother hid rebels inside our farm while my father fought on the frontlines. My sister and I stayed with my mother, and from her I learned how to be truly courageous. She aided the rebels, knowing full-well the risks associated. And I helped, too, because I wasn't going to just sit around like a coward.

My father was different, though. He fought, sure, but never did he directly influence a battle's outcome. Never was he truly a hero. And on one fight, the fight that determined whether the Capitol would regain control of District Four, he ran away. He abandoned his comrades and left them all to die.

He should have died. He should have died a hero, rather than live like a coward.

It was the fear that controlled his decision. The desperation to stay alive. If my own father could do something like that, how can I trust that these two strangers won't? How can I even trust that Ula won't?

I don't want to be in this alliance anymore.

I want to win—but if I'm going to die, I'll do it with honor. I'll never let someone see me beg for my life.

"I..." I'm about to tell them that I'm going to disband from the alliance, that I just can't force myself to stay. But what if they don't betray me? What if this group is the thing that keeps me alive? "I... I think Breno's idea is the best one. One of us should focus on survival skills while the other three focus on their weapons."

In the end, my emotions are too volatile to really make a choice. I have my reasons for leaving, but I also have my reasons for staying. This whole experience is giving me mixed feelings, and I just don't like it. But you always feel this way. Even with simple things like choosing what time to eat, you just can never make a choice.

And that's what's gonna get you killed.

A shiver suddenly runs down my spine. While my allies are busy discussing who's going to be the one to focus on survival, I look around again, trying to find the reason of my discomfort. And that's when I see him; Kaya's District Partner, Zander. He stares at me, two long blades in his hands, a look of absolute loathing deep in his eyes.

And then, almost in slow motion, he plunges one of the blades into a dummy's neck. I quickly look away, feeling more worried and apprehensive than ever before. A warning. That was a warning, wasn't it? A threat? Kaya mentioned how her District Partner was a bit rough around the edges, but he just seems more crazy than anything.

I should tell my allies—but I don't. I still don't know whether I should even be calling them allies. I still don't know whether I'm leaving or staying—and maybe I just don't want to know. The Games are almost here, and...and I'd like a small bit of peace before shit hits the fan.

As usual, I'm going to put it off. Maybe I'll leave the group later. Maybe I'll tell them about Zander later. It all depends on how I later feel, because what I'm feeling now can change in a heartbeat. That's how it is always is with me, and always will be.

"Okay, so we have everything covered!" Ula asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. I was so self-preoccupied, I didn't even realize they were still talking. "Kaya's going to go and mess with the swords, Caio's going to go train with those beloved spears of his, and I'm going to be all stereotypical and practice with the tridents. Breno's going to be our nerd and learn everything he can. Agreed?"

She gets a few chuckles out of that, but everyone agrees. We all split up—and just like Ula said, I head towards the spears. The two from Twelve and the boy from Ten are all standing near, talking and laughing—but I try to ignore them. I grab a spear from off the rack, testing its weight and all the other necessary things.

"Good to see you again," the Capitol trainer says, smiling at me. "With the Private Sessions starting soon, getting some last minute training in is a good idea. I'll be sure to sponsor the very best."

I chuckle, tossing the weapon from hand to hand. "Hopefully the very best will be me?"

"Hopefully."

I look away from the man; unlike my Escort, and every other bad thing I've heard about the Capitol people, the trainer here is actually very nice. And why would I be rude and nasty to someone who's not rude and nasty to me? He's not the one forcing me in an Arena. But he is affiliated with the very same people that'll be cheering for my death. Is it okay for me to be so friendly?

I shake that thought away, glancing at the alliance besides me once again, just in case they try and plan some attack on me or something. They just continue talking, though, so I look back at the target, my muscles tensing and my breaths coming out smooth. During the days that I've been able to train, I feel like I've strengthened my aim considerably. But couldn't it be just a bit better?

Using all my power, I throw the spear at the target. It soars through the air before stabbing itself in the target's wood, a loud thump reverberating through the training center. Not a bullseye, unfortunately, but it's close enough to the center. But is it really close enough? Shouldn't I try to be perfect?

"Very good!" The trainer claps for me, offering a giant grin. "That District Twelve boy couldn't get that close to the target, no matter how hard he tried. So good on you for beating him!"

I stare at the trainer, a surge of emotions flowing through me. Be thankful, or be rude. What should I do? What's the right thing to do?

"...Whatever." I turn around and walk away, my brows furrowed. Did I do the right thing just then? From the look Kaya's giving me, maybe I did? But...

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. I need to stop wondering, and just do. I need to stop hesitating, and just do. Even if it's not right, I just need to follow my instincts and go through with it. If I don't stop over-thinking things, I'll end up driving myself crazy.

Besides... In the Games, nothing is right.

If I'm going to win, I'm going to have to be wrong.

Toren Ingalls, 15;

District Nine Female.

"I just don't know what else I'm supposed to do, Cerena," the District Ten girl says, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulders. "Swinging around a weapon all day has lost it's charm. I hate to say it, but I'm almost ready for the Games to start!"

The Capitol trainer sighs, a chuckle escaping her old lips. "Well, have you paid the survival stations any attention?"

"Of course I have! I'm not stupid, you know." The girl sighs, the machete in her hands glinting dangerously in the light. "I've done just about everything. And ever since Ricky teamed up with the Twelves, he's been pretty distant. I don't know whether to feel happy that he's got himself an alliance or sad that he's not fawning over me anymore..."

I repress a laugh, stabbing my weapon into the dummy's neck. I've been training here with the machetes all day in the hopes that it'll make me a better killer, but I feel like I'm just as good as I was on day one. I mean, what do these people expect us to learn in two and a half days?

In the Arena, I'm probably going to forget most of what I learned and go by instinct anyway. I'm a very instinctual person—and if someone is coming towards me, and I have a weapon in my hands, I'm not going to think back on the proper stance.

I'm going to lash out. And kill. Don't forget about the becoming a murderer thing.

I let go of the machete, leaving the weapon hanging in the dummy's neck. The fact that I'll have to kill people to come back home is...not a good one. Forcing the thought to the back of my mind, I glance at the District Ten girl still chatting it up with the trainer. Is she not worried at all about what we're being forced into?

"What about you, dear? Don't you feel like gaining allies would be a good strategic move on your part?"

"Hmm... I don't know. Nobody's requested to work with me. Well, except that District Seven guy—but I have a boyfriend, and just because I'm going in the Hunger Games doesn't mean I'm allowed to cheat on him." She pauses, before gigging. "No matter how cute these boys are..."

"My, how I miss being young and vibrant like you..."

"You should. It's the best."

They both share a laugh, and even I can't help but crack a smile. It's refreshing, seeing such nonchalance when the reminder of death is literally all around us. It'd be nice, I admit, to go through the Games with a friend like that. But neither Olivia nor Holden is here with me—and even though it'd be so nice to have somebody to laugh and talk with, I don't want them to ever have to experience this.

I sigh, walking away from the station to the running track. Besides, I'm a pretty independent girl. It'll be hard...but if I have to, I'll just win the Games by myself. Even though you're just a random fifteen-year-old girl? Why don't you get real, Toren?

"Yes, dear? Is there anything you want?" The Capitol trainer in charge of this station is a tall, fit man. I stare at the obstacle course, wondering just why anyone would come here. It's not like there's going to be some deadly obstacle course in the Arena, right?

"I'd like to run through the course," I say to the man, disregarding my thoughts. Even if it won't help me much, what that District Ten girl was saying is true; slashing dummies to pieces has lost it's original charm.

Besides, I need to calm my frayed nerves. With the Games steadily approaching, the Training Center is shrouded in a thick fog of fear and apprehension. And being one of the only ones without an alliance, the odds of me dying have increased exponentially.

You could say the fear is driving me crazy.

"Alrighty then!" The Capitol man looks pretty ecstatic at my arrival now. He takes out a stopwatch, a giant smile on his face. "As you progress through the course, things will be getting much more difficult. Kind of like the Games. I'll be timing you—and when you finally finish, I'll let you compare your scores to the other tributes." His smile suddenly twitches. "Well, if there were other scores..."

I giggle, nodding at his instructions. "It's okay. I'm sure the tributes next year will love this obstacle course."

"I hope so," he grumbles. "You're a pretty nice girl. Most tributes would probably just poke fun at me."

I smile. "Thank you. You're a pretty nice Capitolite."

With the compliments out of the way, I stare at the course once again, feeling something twisting in my stomach. Fear? Nervousness? Why am I nervous about a silly obstacle course? I just have to go with the flow. Just like always...

Just like always. The thought makes me think of District Nine, of my mom, and it takes everything in me not to fall to the ground and sob. Back home, you could say that I always went with the flow. Just like now, I never had any say in what happened to me.

My mom had me at a very young age, probably the same age I am now. My father, she said, thought that she was cheating on him and refused to acknowledge the fact that I was his baby. So, like the responsible mother she is, she continued on with her teenage life and practically left me on the backburner. I don't want to say that I was neglected, but I probably would have been if not for my grandparents.

That's not the bad part, though. As I grew older, my mom and I moved from home to home. She acquired a new boyfriend at almost a weekly rate, and we'd end up staying at his house for a few days before the messy breakup occurred and we'd be kicked out on the streets. But not for long, because my mom would soon after get another boyfriend and the cycle would continue. My childhood was basically spent wishing my mother could just settle down with one guy so I wouldn't have to continue moving.

And with moving on an almost weekly basis, that meant I had to forget about a lot of friends, too. District Nine is bigger than most people think, and going to the very left side of the district from the very right side of the district is like a different world. The only friend I managed to keep in touch with is Olivia. My mom managed to date and break up with her dad, too.

All I wanted was a bit of stability in my life. But now that I'm going to be in the Hunger Games, that dream might as well combust into flames right now.

"Ready when you are," the man says, his hand over the stopwatch. I tense my muscles, getting ready to charge into a run. I don't know why, but I suddenly want to do very good. It'll take my mind off of District Nine for me to fully focus my attention on this.

Before I can charge, though, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around, confused and slightly worried. Who is this person tapping me? Tributes aren't supposed to hurt each other yet, right?

But my worries are all for naught when I recognize who it is. The District Ten girl with her messy blond curls. What does she want with me?

"Let's form an alliance!" She exclaims—and it takes me about ten seconds to fully comprehend her words. What? "That was a bit blunt, I know... But yeah, the trainer back there told me everyone who didn't yet have an alliance, and you looked like the coolest one, so..."

"Wait, wait, wait. You want to ally with me?" I can't help but take a step back, totally overwhelmed by her offer. Not only was it so sudden...but why does this eighteen-year-old beauty want to ally with someone like me? I'm not a self-deprecating person at all, but isn't it pretty suspicious? "Why?"

"I just told you why, silly. You seem cool, and we sorta have the same hairstyle." She chuckles, patting me on my head. "You're really short, though. You think the Capitol can give you height surgery or something?"

I knock her hand away, a nervous laugh coming out of my throat. How am I supposed to respond to this? This girl is crazy, to say the least, and what if she's hiding something? And I don't even know her name!

"Uh, we don't even know each other..."

The girl blinks, before a sheepish smile shows on her face. "You're right. My name's London Tienna, District Ten. I've been Reaped for the Hunger Games, but I'm planning on making the most of my time here. I'm eighteen-years-old, and I just have the cutest boyfriend back home. What about you? Any boys I need to know about?"

Right. She is crazy. But it's endearing, and really refreshing considering we're only two days away from gore and death. Maybe I will ally with London? She certainly doesn't seem like the type to stab me in my sleep or something.

"My name is Toren Ingall, from District Nine. I'm fifteen-years-old, and...I've also been Reaped for the Hunger Games? If that wasn't obvious enough." I laugh, and she has the good will to laugh back. "Uh, I don't have a boyfriend, but I have this friend named Holden and he's pretty nice."

And just like that, I'm already warming up to London. She's nice, and jolly, and everything a person normally isn't in this kind of situation. She may be a bit blunt and rough around the edges, but I'm glad that I can make at least one ally before the Games start.

I'm glad that I can make at least one friend.

My mom may have influenced my entire life, but this is one thing she can't mess up. Unlike all the other times, I'm going to be in charge of my future.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

Author's Notes: I wrote this chapter extremely fast, considering I wrote the first two POVs on the drive to and from Panama City Beach, and the last POV in just a few hours. I'm not too sure how I feel on his chapter (the characters were pretty difficult to fully grasp), but hopefully you all still enjoy it! ^_^

And yeah, I should also thank you all again for reviewing. Keep it up! The more you review, the happier I get, and the more I want to write the next chapter xD So yeah, keep those reviews coming!

All alliances, once again, will be posted on the blog. Check it out, eh?

What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?

It's the third day of training! You walk into your Private Session, ready to show the Gamemakers all that you've learned—but all of them are drunk and paying you absolutely no attention! You keep calling out to them, but they're ignoring you, and time is almost up. What do you do?

And also, which tribute do you think will get the highest score? Which tribute do you think will get the lowest?

Well, that's it for this chapter! The next chapter will include both the Private Sessions and the Training Scores! Are you excited? I'm excited! Don't forget to review and answer the personal questions! Also, giving me a little insight on my writing would be really nice!

Bai!