District One's Zane's POV

That bitch! That stupid fucking bitch!

She was supposed to be easy prey. She was easy prey that was supposed to be the one that couldn't fight back even if she wanted to. I expected her to fight back, and she did, but I had expected her to be as helpless as a little girl, not some kind of monster in a little girl's body.

Damn it! Everything had been going so perfectly! Calamity was yet again, hiding from me when I had started to sing, no doubt remembering the things that I had done to his family and friend. No doubt that he was too weak to even stand up to me and try to do anything to save anyone in this arena. He really was failing to live up to his real name and live up to his made up name.

Calamity. Calamity Mershade. It did fit him, and me. He knows how to make up names, I'll give him that much. But that's mostly all he's good for. He's shit for a career, shit as a protector, shit as someone that follows up on his threats, and he's shit for a human being in general.

His only good quality was that he was easy to suppress with violence, which he absolutely hated. It was funny that a career would hate violence as much as he did. He went to the academy and learned to fight, yes, but he never really took it as aggressively as the other kids did. He was a pussy that way.

Caia was supposed to be the same, except that she'd have no skills in the art of war and would be weak as hell. And she had been. The first time that I had tried to rape her she only managed to escape me because of Kendrick, and Calamity. But this time, this time something happened that allowed her to fight back with such power and such fierce brutality that it made her seem liked a completely different person then she was before.

It was like a demon had possessed her and wanted to unleash hell on this body. Or maybe it was an angel that helped Caia gain the strength to fight me off. Or maybe, just maybe, she was someone that had a fighter's spirit inside her all along and didn't use it until just now.

Whatever the fuck happened, I hated it. I was the one that was supposed to demolish her, not the other way around.

God fucking damn it! If God had anything to do with this, then fuck you! Fuck you very much God!

Losing a testicle was beyond painful, but cauterizing it on the still hot stove was even more painful than having it ripped off. It burned like hell and was still pulsing with pain at this very moment.

ARGH!

District One's Jenriko "Jen" Florence's POV

I. Am a failure. A complete and utter failure.

I'm not even going to deny it, because it's true. I know that it's true. Everyone that's watching me, wither it's from Heaven, Hell, or in between those two worlds, knows that I'm a failure. So there's no use saying that I'm not. And even if I try to tell myself I'm not, the evidence is right in front of me. And behind me. And around me, scattered in various places of the arena. And outside the arena.

And if for some reason the physical sights weren't enough, there were the mental states that grinded inside my mind. Voices telling me that I had let everyone down. That I had let everyone die.

I was a failure, no matter where I was. Because all my friends were dead. Back home and in this arena.

All this time, I had failed to protect them. Jeremiah. Dylan. Adrian. And finally, Tanner. All of them were dead, and I had done nothing to stop it. Jeremiah had been killed by Victory. I knew that now. There was no denying it. I didn't want to believe it, still didn't, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

Dylan. Killed by me because I wouldn't believe him. Tried to warn us, tried to save us, and because of my naive mind wanting to believe that Victory was on our side and would never betray us, ended up getting him killed. Victory may have delivered the killing blow to Dylan, but I was the one that sentenced him to death.

Adrian was dead because I hadn't woken up in time. If I hadn't attacked Dylan, had believed him when he was throwing out accusations about Victory, Adrian would still be alive. Because I wouldn't of gotten my throat slit open, and I wouldn't of been unconscious, and him and Tanner wouldn't of been forced to run away from the cornucopia. Then they wouldn't of had to face Daria and Zeal by themselves, they would of at least had me to help them. But instead, they only had each other, and the two of them weren't good enough, because Daria managed to nearly decapitate Adrian while Tanner was busy fighting Zeal.

And now Tanner was dead, because I was too oblivious to see that she had walked away from me, or had been kidnapped right under my nose. I was supposed to protect her, because she was my ally. My friend. And I had failed at that. And because of that, she was nothing more than a pile of hacked up meat and goo. Barley recognizable as a former human being.

They were all dead because of my ignorance. Because of my naivitivity. Because I was too stupid to see what was right in front of me.

I thought that everything was going to turn out all right. I thought that we could trust each other. I thought that we were allies. That we were friends. And I was friends with all of them, but obviously, one person didn't think that way.

Victory had thought of us as nothing but targets. Targets that needed to be bulls eyed. She didn't see any of us as her friends, just things that needed to be eliminated.

I should of seen it when she blew up Trim. When she suggested that we blow up Trim. Even when we all agreed on it, because she was the one that suggested it. She was the one that said 'Trim's annoying, let's kill him during the bloodbath so that we don't have to hear him talk anyone.' Because we all thought that Trim was annoying, we all agreed on it. But we should of seen that if she'd so casually say and do that to one of her allies, she'd do it to another one of her allies. That she'd do it to the rest of us.

How had I not seen it before?

How had I not seen the cold and calculating eyes of Victory Valentine that looked at us like we were the next in line after Trim? How had I not seen all the signs of all this?

Truth is, I had seen all the signs, and I just choose to ignore them, because I didn't want to believe them. Because I thought that we could trust her.

And how wrong was I?

I'm guessing that the deaths of Trim, Jamie, Malik, Jeremiah, Dylan, and Tanner, were all the works of Victory. Half of her kills were her allies, and I did nothing to prevent them. That had to mean something.

She was evil to the core, and I choose to ignore it.

So I could blame Victory was much as I wanted, but in reality, I was the one that killed them. I was the one that killed all my friends. I allowed all this to happen.

I hated myself and felt sick. I felt so sick that I vomited again, this time all over the clothes I was wearing, staining them with yellow bile that had an after taste of bitter acid. But I didn't care, I was too sick and in pain and disgusted with myself to care.

As those thoughts continued to pour into my mind, I felt my eyes sting with water. Memories of the past started to surface, ones that seemed innocent enough, but I wondered if they carried some kind of hidden consequence with them. Just like every choice I made ever since the reapings.

One thought kept on repeating over and over again. My encounter with Calamity that day four years ago.

I thought I had been doing a good deed. But instead, I was aiding a murderer and a rapist. The same murderer and rapist that was in this arena along with Victory.

What had he done? What had he done to other people that I don't know of? Did he kill them? Rape them? Burn them? All three?

Whatever he did, it was my fault as well. Because I had feed him, clothed him, and sheltered him in his time of need. And because of that, he continued to roam free, until he volunteered to take part in this game.

I felt myself fall to the floor and start to cry as I thought of how all the deaths of my friends was all my fault. And what's more? The deaths of others that were my fault.

Timber. Jeremiah. Dylan. Adrian. Daria. Tanner.

Even though I hadn't outright killed five of them, I still played a major role in their deaths. And those weren't even counting the unknowns that Victory and Calamity had done.

The one that I didn't help kill was my best friend, Terry. But even that hadn't made me feel any better, because no matter what, he was still dead, and I hadn't given him much thought, the thought that he deserved, until just recently.

He was my best friend, and I may of given him two or three thoughts from the time I arrived in the Capitol, to the time I woke up to find Adrian being killed.

What kind of friend was I?

I was a horrible friend.

Simple as that.

Big girls don't cry. Especially career girls. Nobody, and I mean nobody, should see a big career girl cry.

I guess I wasn't a big girl. Or a career.

*later*

I had wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and shut the world out. I just wanted to lay here and cry, like the pathetic human being I was.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw death. I saw the deaths of Terry and the unnamed sixteen year olds. I saw the death of Timber, Trim, Daria, Zeal, and Adrian in horrific detail. Horrific detail that seemed to make it even worse than it had been when I had witnessed the carnage.

And I didn't just have visions of those five, I had visions of others. I saw Willow, Jamie, Malik, Colton, Dylan, Jeremiah, and Tanner being murdered in graphic detail as well. And while I hadn't seen all of them get murdered, my mind could imagine what had happened to them. And that, was even worse than knowing what had happened. Seeing what had happened.

And I didn't want to open my eyes, because all I would see was what was left of Tanner.

I was stuck in limbo. Close my eyes and invision the nightmares, or open my eyes and see the nightmares. Either way, I was being reminded of my failures. Because it wasn't as simple as closing your eyes, going to sleep, and starting the next day fresh, clean of anything that you had done the previous day. Not just because it wasn't that simple to begin with, but because I couldn't go to sleep, period.

And besides, even if I somehow managed to get to sleep, I don't think I'd want to meet what was inside those dreams I'd have. And to add to that, I don't think I'd ever be able to start fresh ever again. Period.

I couldn't curl up in a ball and cry, and I couldn't keep my eyes closed, so I took the third option. I got to my feet and started walking.

Walking to where I did not know. The only thing that I knew was that I wanted to get away from what was left of Tanner's body and try to forget everything that I had been thinking.

But that proved to be harder than I had originally thought, because thoughts don't go away easily. They come down on you like a hammer, striking you so hard that you can't do anything to stop it. And while I did try to stop them from coming by looking around the arena walls, all they did was fuel the disturbed thoughts I was having.

I couldn't stand to do anything other than walk the dimmed corridors and think of death.

Maybe I should die as well.

Yes. Maybe I should die as well. After all, everything that has happened to those that got close to me in this arena was my fault.

I should join them in death. I should die and tell them that I'm sorry for everything that I've done to them. I'll tell Timber I'm sorry for making fun of him in death. I'll tell Dylan that he was right and that I was stupid. I'll tell Adrian that I'm sorry for not waking up in time. I'll tell Tanner that I'm sorry for not keeping an eye out for her.

I'll tell Terry that I should of been a better friend to him. After all, thought all the good looks that I apparently have and the cheeriness and the friendliness, I was arrogant and mean. And more than a little selfish.

I grabbed a hold of the bandages that wrapped around my neck and got ready to pull, freeing the blood from my throat. One sharp pull and I'd start to bleed to death. It'd be over in a time frame of about three minutes. Two if I'm lucky.

I wanted to die. I needed to die. But I couldn't get my hand to rip the bandage off. Because I didn't want to die.

I wanted to live, simple as that, and that alone was preventing me from killing myself.

But along with that desire to keep on breathing, the words of the academy, and of those back home. 'Careers don't ever give up.' 'Only losers kill themselves.' 'It's only a little blood, it's nothing to fuss over.' 'The only way you're dying in the arena is in the aftermath of a fight.' 'It's them or you.' 'Nobody remembers a loser.'

"Shut up!" I shouted, wanting those voices out of my head. "Shut up!"

'There are winners and losers. Who do you want to be?' 'Winning the Hunger Games is the greatest achievement someone can get.' 'You're better than the rest, show them that.' 'Jenriko, make us proud.'

I felt myself yelling again. I yelled at the voices to shut up and leave me alone. I shouted to try and drown out the voices of the past and to gather up the courage to pull my life support off.

I so wanted to do it, I so wanted to just get it over with and be done with it. I forced my hand to pull away from my neck, and I felt my bandage loosen a little.

'Just like that?' A voice in my head asked. A voice that seemed to drown out all the other voices and get them to silence themselves so that she may be heard.

What? I asked, wondering what it was trying to say.

'You're just going to kill yourself? Just like that? After everything that's happened?'

Well yeah. I told it, thinking that it was obvious. Everything that had happened was something that I didn't want to experience anymore. The guilt and the unforgiveness and realization was too much for me to handle.

'What would your parents think?' The voice asked.

My parents? I asked, having to think for a moment to actually remember them. It made me feel guilty for even having to remember my own parents.

'Yes. Your mother and father. What would they think if you committed suicide?'

Shame. I instantly told the voice. Sorrow. Regret. Other emotions.

'Like how you feel right now?'

I thought for a moment, before realizing that my parents would probably feel the same way I felt, if not worse. 'And how would your friends feel? How would your friends like Adrian and Dylan feel if they knew that you killed yourself after all they've done for you?"

All they've done for me? I asked. Confused about the meaning.

'Protecting you.' The voice told me. 'After all, wouldn't you of fallen to Victory Valentine if it hadn't been for them? Wouldn't you of fallen to Daria and Zeal if not for them?'

I thought for a moment, before concluding that, yes, I would of fallen to Victory if Dylan hadn't spoken up. If Tanner and Adrian hadn't taken me away from the cornucopian and wrapped the bandage around my neck. I would have died from Daria and Zeal if Adrian and Tanner hadn't fought them off. 'Want their sacrifice to be in vain?'

No. I don't.

'Then you know what to do. Survive. For their sake.'

I will. As I said that to the voice inside me, I took my hand off the bandage and pressed it against my neck again. I wasn't going to kill myself, not after everything that my friends had gone through for me.

Not feeling like killing myself anymore, I wiped the tears from my eyes and, while still feeling saddened over my realizations, continued to move down the hallway. But this time, I was moving down the hallways with a purpose. Almost like when I first came into the arena, but with so much more. More emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Thank you voice.

I then remembered a saying that I used to use, one that I had said to many people back home. One that I had said to my parents before I had been deported to the Capitol. Whispering to myself, I repeated that line.

"I am a soldier of District One. I know how to fight, I know how to die."

Suicide was not an option. And as a soldier, I had my work out in front of me. I was out in the field, with the enemy, and I had lost all of my comrades, my friends, and my enemies weren't going to get away with it. Not if I could help it.

District Three's Caia Wicken's POV

Stop!

I wanted this all to stop. All this violence and suffering, I wanted it to stop. I didn't want to see or feel any of it anymore. And yet, that's all I could see, feel, touch, hear, smell, taste, and sense as unspeakable acts of brutality were playing in front of me.

People were fleeing as blood, viscera, and brain matter were flying in every direction. People were running around while screaming about how much the fire around their bodies hurt. Some were trying to roll it out, but all it did was spread the inferno onto buildings and exposed earth.

People were having their bones ripped out of their bodies, their ribs being used as improvised spears. Skulls were being used as goblets, brains were being eaten as blood ran freely down the streets. Some of those that were being eaten or having their organs ripped out were still alive and screaming for mercy. None was showed.

Men, women, and children alike were being forced to commit nightmarish crimes that ranged from beatings to gang rape.

Peacekeepers in blood stained uniforms were performing mass executions as bodies were falling into a large trench that were filled with naked corpses. Most of their eyes were still open, and moving, like they were searching for a way out, even though they were dead.

Away from the death pits were the cries of people that were being hung from their neck, hand their hands nailed to boards, impaled on large spears, and outright killing themselves with whatever they could get their hands on.

And there I was, in the center of all of it, watching it in all of its horrific glory. And I was enjoying it.

But I hated it, and I was scared, because I was enjoying it.

I could feel my hands trembling with pleasure as my mouth smiled widely. I enjoyed the screams of the victims around me and seemed to thrive in the violence that was happening around me. It made me sick at both myself and my surrounding environment.

There was nothing good about it. It was wrong. I shouldn't be enjoying it. Please God, I'm not supposed to be enjoying what was happening.

I just wanted to live. It felt satisfying to fight Calamity back, but I didn't mean to love destroying someone. These people around me, they didn't deserve what was happening to them. They shouldn't be in this situation. I shouldn't be enjoying this. This wasn't right. It wasn't me. I'm not Calamity. I don't like hurting people, I don't like seeing people suffer.

I didn't want my district to burn to the ground, I wanted to help it. If all possible, I wanted nothing like this to happen. Was this a result of a rebellion? Was this what would of happened if a second rebellion happened?

A group of masked children with homemade masks around their faces carried automatic rifles, and used them to force a group of peacekeepers to line up against a wall before the adults were shot dead. Their bodies got littered with bullets before red flowers started to bloom from their wounds, staining their filthy uniforms.

I did not enjoy it. Damn it! I did not! Not! Not! Not! Enjoy seeing those peacekeepers get slaughtered!

Fights leads to punishment. Death leads to sorrow. Sorrow leads to anger. Anger leads to fighting. A vicious cycle. But what happens when a fight turns out to lead to a bigger fight, and that fight leads into something bigger?

A clash? A battle? A crusade? A war?

I didn't even want to think about it.

If what I was seeing was just a glimpses of what happened during the dark days, then I could fully see why the Capitol was so harsh to us. If this event were to occur, it could result in the deaths of untold numbers.

It would lead to anarchy, just like what the arena was like, but worse.

It was something that I never wanted to experience in my entire life, but as I felt myself raise my right arm into the air, the bright shine of sun rays reflecting off the bloody blade of a machete, I knew that I was experiencing it. And I wanted it, but loved it at the same time, even though I knew I should hate it, because I didn't like hurting people. I like helping people, improving their lives if I can, not destroying it.

I then shouted out in glee and horror as I watched District Three burn in chaos.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I shouted as I opened my eyes, and was relived that it wasn't real, that it was all just a dream. Though the after images of the burning district still lingered in my sights.

My relief turning into horror as I felt the sharp pain of being dragged by my hair. I screamed out in pain and surprise as I grabbed my dragger's arms and turned my head to face them.

My sight was fuzzy from just waking up, but I could still somewhat see. And the first thing I saw on my attacker was blond hair, and I nearly screamed again. Calamity was back to finish me off! While I had been asleep, he had gathered up his energy, patched himself up, and came back to kill me. To finish the job.

I fought as hard as I could, but started to feel the immense pain of wildfire burning my entire body, especially my legs.

I tried to move them, but all that did was make the fire more intense and painful. It was like broken glass was being rubbed against my bones. It was like bones were grinding against bones. It took everything I had to not scream, and even then, I was whimpering. Crying. Begging for mercy, hoping that this was another dream.

But somehow, I just knew that this was the real world, not dreamland.

"Please." I cried. "Don't kill me."

"Shut up!" A female voice yelled as I continued to be dragged. "Just shut up!"

The sound of a girl shouting at me surprised me. I had expected Calamity, but this was something new. Who was this? I couldn't see clearly, and the only thing I could see clearly was that this girl had blond hair.

As far as I could remember, there were only three girls that had blond hair this year. Those girls were Jenriko, Wern, and Caritta.

It couldn't be Wern, because from what I remember of her, she was really shy and reserved. I hardly remembered anything else about her. It couldn't be her, unless everything she had done up to this point was just an act.

Caritta was a possibility, but Jenriko was a career, so that automatically made her the most likely one that was attacking me. And if she was around, there was a huge possibility that she had her allies with her.

I may of fended off one attacker, but there was no way that I could ward off two or three or four careers at once. Whatever Calamity had done to me didn't help my situation either.

"Don't kill me." I said again, only to feel extreme pain erupt in my neck.

"I told you to shut up!" The girl shouted. "I don't want to hear any talking, pleading, or begging come out of your mouth!"

"What are-" I managed to choke out, only to get a flash of blue, yellow, and red appear in front of me as well as a flash of blinding hot pain on my face.

"What am I going to do?" The girl shouted as another flash of colours and pain exploded in front of, and on me. "What." Pain. "Am." Pain. "I." More pain. "Going." More pain. "To." Even more pain." Do?" A lot more pain. So much pain that I felt as if the frontal part of my skull was shattered as I felt liquid with the consistency of oil flood the inside of my mouth.

I tried to get out of their grasp, but I couldn't. I was in too much pain, and they were too strong. Either that or I was too weak.

I wanted to have the strength that I had had when I was fighting my other blond attacker, but I wasn't getting it. I needed it, but I guess miracles don't work a second time in a row. "Listen." The girl commanded.

I listened, and heard nothing. Just the painful throbs in my face, the gagging I was making on the oil like liquid in my mouth, and the thundering of my heartbeat. "Do you hear that?"

I didn't need to hear it, because as she said those words, my sights began to clear, and to my horror, I started to see my surroundings. Or really, just what was in front of me. And in front of me was the sight of aged bubbling liquid that was barley a shade lighter than black.

With a terrifying realization, I realized what my attacker was planning on doing. She was going to shove me into a deep fryer full of boiling hot oil!

I felt myself choke on my heart as I started to shake so badly that I thought I was going to allow myself to fall into the fry oil.

I looked at the bubbling container of death and started to scream, though it probably sounded more like a weak gargle than anything else. "Sounds like death!"

Just as my body was being shoved towards the oil, I stuck my hands out to the sides of the machine so fast that it felt as if my wrists had popped out, but I didn't care, I didn't want to die. Not now, not in the games. I wanted to die back home where I belonged.

I kept my arms at my sides, pushing back as hard as I could, watching as dark red blood was dripping into the boiling oil below me. Bits of hot oil splashed on my face, burning it, but I continued to hold on and push. I had to resist, because if I didn't, I'd die.

I pushed with all my might, but my opponent was doing the same, and as weak as I was, we seemed to be evenly matched. Wither it was because I had a good angle or because it was harder to push someone that was in my position than normal I did not know, all I knew was that I could only rely on my arms to save me. My legs were useless.

I gritted my teeth together, and tried to summon the power that I had had before. My opponent on the other hand was pushing as hard as she could as well, and she wasn't making any progress. That was good at least.

Kendrick. I had to wait for Kendrick to come back. He'd be able to take out whoever this was, I just had to hold on 'till then. As soon as Kendrick comes back, we'll be able to continue on. One of us will be the victor, one of us will go back to District Three to comfort our families. One of us will make everything back home better.

My family. If not for the district I wanted to go back home for my family. I didn't want to leave them, they were my life, my everything. Yes, Lanie and Mica were annoying at times and drove me absolutely crazy, but I still loved them. Dad was at work most of the time, so I hardly got to see him at home, but if one of us won, that would change, he wouldn't have to work so hard and life would be easier for all of us. Mom brought me into this world and taught me the basics of life. Without her, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I wanted to go back to them, or at the very least, have Kendrick look after them. Please Kendrick, come back!

"You don't have to do this." I grunted, my arms and face and body screaming for the misery to be put to an end.

"Yes I do." The girl grunted back.

"I have to go back." I told her. "I want to go back."

"So do I."

"My family."

"My family."

"Please." I begged, trying to say something that would change her mind about killing me. "I have people that I need to help."

"So do I." The girl said as something hard hit the back of my neck before the overwhelming sound of sizzling exploded in my ears as a burning sensation melted my face.

I couldn't help but scream in pain, allowing the blazing hot oil to flood into my mouth and melt the skin inside my mouth and throat. The boiling cooking oil quickly bleed through my eye bandage, and started to sizzle in my eye socket, causing unimaginable agony.

District One's Jenriko "Jen" Florence's POV

I had found this girl, Caia Wicken's, unconscious in the kitchen area of the arena, and thought that it was going to be an easy kill, but it turned out to be more difficult than I had thought. She woke up and put up a struggle, though not a very good one at first.

Her legs had been broken, bits of bone stuck out of her kneecaps, making them useless. She couldn't run away, let alone stand up. One of her eyes were missing, blood was everywhere on her, and she was all and all injured. It should of been easy. Instead, she woke up and put up a fight.

It wasn't that hard, but it was more annoying than anything else. She should of just let her head be shoved into the deep frying without a fight, all she did was delay her death.

She tried to pull my heartstrings by talking about how see needed to go back to her family, and how she needed to go back and help people. What made her think that I didn't have a family back home? What made her think that there were things that I needed to close as well? I had people that I needed to help and make due with. She wasn't special.

In the end, I pulled out my tranquilizer gun, the same tranquilizer gun that I had forgotten that I had even had, and smashed the butt of the weapon on the vertebrae located at the back of her neck. That one single attack sent a shockwave to her brain, weakening her already damaged body, causing her arms to buckle before I shoved the entire upper half of her body into a tub of boiling oil.

As soon as her body went under, her back and arms started to fly in every direction, splashing oil everywhere, causing me to jump back.

And now, her body was slowly starting to calm down, telling me that her brain was either melting or getting fried.

There was no blood rising up to the surface, telling me that her wounds were sealing shut by the oil.

As soon as she was doing jumping around like a hyperactive baby and went limp, I pulled out her body, threw her body to the floor, causing her bloated and sagging skin to flop slightly to the floor, staining the floor with grease.

I placed my gun on the floor and pulled out my knife and looked at her one remaining eye. Her eye now looked like a grotesque, deformed, red balloon that was being pushed out of its socket.

I stabbed the knife into her bloated up eye, and causing it to explode, sending out streams of yellow liquid. I twisted my knife and pulled it out. Caia didn't make a single move or sound. She was dead.

I wiped the blood on my shirt before I started to walk down the arena, searching for anyone else that was still alive.

I had a duty to do, and I was going to do it, or die trying.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, life came in the way. And while I have to say while it was good taking this much time off of writing, it was also bad.

Anyway, sorry that Caia didn't go down in an epic fight, because as much as I wanted that to happen as well, it just didn't happen. Again, sorry.

On that note. fabulouslaughter, I'm sorry for my rant. And sorry for killing your two favourite tributes.