Day Eight, Afternoon

Pullox Shimmers, District One, 18

The afternoon sunlight shot through the room like an iridescent spectrum, all thanks to the stain glass windows that surrounded me. The room I was in was rectangular in shape. It was beautiful - a long corridor with royal red carpets led to a set of marble stairs, which had a carpet falling down it like a regal waterfall. I glanced at the towering columns, the intricate tapestries and the beautiful curtains before turning back to the pinnacle of the room. On top of the ascending steps was a large, beautiful throne. It too was red, supported by gold.

Maybe it was narcissism, maybe it was instinct, but I knew that the throne and I belonged together. The beauty of the room faded into a blur of red, white and gold. My gaze was fixated on the one thing that called me: power. I moved down the room towards it, taking note of the beautiful chandeliers above.

And then something else made me pause.

Many obstructed the tapestries on the wall; they were surrounded by solid oak frames that were crafted so expertisely and wave-like. I turned around the whole room, noting that all twenty-four tributes were imprisoned in extremely large, imposing paintings. The girls were all assembled on one side, in District order. The boys were opposite them, similarly in District order. My own portrait was closest to me, and naturally I just had to admire it. I was sitting on a throne that was beautiful, albeit not quite as impressive as the one before me. My blonde hair was immaculate, my blue eyes much more hypnotic than reality. My ivory skin was well painted, with prominent features. It felt too beautiful to be me, but I knew deep inside that the boy captured within the painting was me - he was more me than I could ever hope to be.

I turned around and noted Lexie, in a dress that was colour coded similarly to my own. Her dark hair was styled so beautifully, cascading down. She was stood in a beautiful library, surrounded by bookshelves. She demurely held a rose to her small nose, taking in its scent. I turned to notice Jericho next to me; he too looked so much more handsome and regal than in real life, standing tall beside a horse with a strong sword buried into the ground.

Everything changed when I turned to Lorelei's portrait.

She was dead. And it showed in the photo; Lorelei was lying on a dirty carpet, her hair wild around her and her eyes widened with madness and terror. It was a picture so much different from the ones of her old allies. The large wooden leg of a chair had been forced into her throat, pinning her to the ground. Large brushstrokes of red showed the blood that wept out of her neck and created a puddle surrounding her body. It was an unpleasant sight.

Wanting to confirm my suspicions - that the paintings of the dead perfectly imitated their death - I rushed towards Brandy's painting. It showed a frail, tiny girl lying uselessly at the bottom of the stairs in an empty ballroom. Everything about her was oddly immaculate, bar the multiple stab wounds that were visible around her body. Giovanni showed a boy slumped against a wall, a blast wound taking out a clear chunk of his head while red paint dotted the wonderfully painted wall above him. His eyes seemed almost real; they were glassy, staring emptily and accusingly at me.

More than half of us were dead, many showing scenes I had witnessed: Tear's painting was almost like one you'd see at a funeral, she lay peacefully on a bed with her eyes closed, the wound on her head barely noticeable. Luke's was much more gory - his body lay slumped in half, the upper half of his head neatly placed atop his body. All these dead tributes contrasted the live ones so well, who were portraits of victory and perfection, all standing in regal places and glancing at me so proudly.

I glanced from the portrait of the Eight boy, whose face was obscured by a book as he victoriously stretched across a chaise longue, to the portrait of his ally. It seemed like a landscape portrait of a beautiful tree in the centre of the maze at first, until I realised that a gutted corpse which I think was the Seven boy was suspended from said tree.

I brushed my finger across the delicate canvas, feeling that the paint was real. "This one is my favourite," I said to myself, before turning back to the throne.

I knew what this room represented. Anyone could sit on the throne as they pleased, but only one person's place was truly destined to sit there - that would be whoever won the Games. Those who were alive were still in with a chance, their portraits were mere metres away from the throne, all of their eyes (bar Darius', which were obscured) seemed to point in that direction longingly. But only one portrait would be unmarred by the end of the next week.

Despite the Gamemakers' utmost attempt at symbolism, I still wanted to stroke my ego a little. I made my way to the throne, ascending the steps. Before I reached the throne, I made sure my gun and daggers were tight in my palm. Then, for comfort, I threw the backpack off and launched it to my feet. Tingles of pleasure and excitement consumed me as I relaxed into the throne. Due to the fact it was carved from gold and only masked with silk and cushioned cotton, it wasn't comfortable. I struggled to relax, leaning back a little and forcing a smile for the cameras.

I was admiring two identical statue of women holding a flaming torch when Leein Malpin's voice boomed, making me jump and reach for my gun:

"Pullox Shimmers..."

I held my gun tight in my hand. It wasn't a tribute, but I was still suspicious.

"You dare to sit on the throne of Versailles. You dare to tell us you are the King of the arena before the game has even finished."

I waited around for some kind of mutt he had to offer. I couldn't see anything, and the room had only one entrance/exit. Would it come from there? Smash through the windows? Swoop down from the ceiling? Leap from the shadows? I even cast glances behind me, though behind the throne there was only white and gold wallpaper. Paranoid, I glanced around everywhere.

"Yes, I dare," I said, assured for my safety. I definitely had enough supplies and chemicals to set some traps around the area - I would have to remind myself to do that if I were still here.

Suddenly something did jump out. And it wasn't a mutt. Thousands of projected screens rushed out before me. I realised these screens were depicting certain rooms in the mansion. Some were familiar, some I had never seen. Of these tiny boxes of screens some were highlighted with a red hue. I almost jumped with shock as I noticed that these were the rooms in which live tributes were habited. Honora was storming down a hallway, Mirane, Darius and Willow in some courtyard, Sebastian and Trojan in a ballroom, Jericho in a random bedroom and Lexie was looking down at an unconscious Lia in what seemed to be an infirmary. The only tribute left was the Ten girl; I didn't know what room she was in, but it was so dark that I could barely make out her figure.

"Now this is useful," I sniggered. "Assemble this into a map!"

"This isn't a map, Pullox," Leein told me. I wondered if other tributes could hear. Leein's voice bounced around the room, but it wasn't coming from the corridor outside. Looks like only I could hear. "This is a control panel, similar to the panels that the Gamemakers have," I clicked on the corridor which Honora was storming down. Suddenly many of the objects became highlighted, labels would slip out of them. Sometimes it would tell me if they had a storyline purpose, if they could be used as a trap etc. There were other options in the corner: microphone, climate and other things. "Since you have declared yourself king of the arena you have moderate control of the arena. This isn't the control that other Gamemakers have, as that much power could instantly grant you victory, but it is a big chunk of power indeed."

I flicked my thumb across the screen. Suddenly a force swept Honora across the room, and she smashed into a wall. She looked around confusedly as I sniggered.

"Yes, this is sufficient power," I grinned. Lia looked like she was in a critical condition. I immediately lowered the temperature of the infirmary she was in until it was extremely low, almost like it would be a freezer. Maybe that would kill her.

"Use it wisely, Pullox," Leein stated bemusedly. "If the Capitolian audience believes you abuse that power, they can vote for a revolution. We wouldn't want the audience to shout 'off with his head', now, wouldn't we?"

I didn't care. I flickered through the rooms, wondering what I could do. I immediately went in on microphone to Carlie's room, hissing into it:

"I can see you pretty girl," I put on my scariest voice. I could see her finger flinch a little and I laughed out loud, though that embarrassed me. That wasn't caught on microphone was it? Damn. I immediately switched the microphone off. That was, oddly enough, my favourite feature. I would be careful to not abuse it.

"We trust you'll learn how to control the arena all on your own, Pullox," Leein said. Then his microphone cut off.

"Oh, you will," I smirked. "You will."

What to do now? If I had the power, I could send lightning down on them and smite them there and then. That's what the Gamemakers would do. But even if I had that power I wouldn't do that. It was much too dull. First I would toy with all of them, and I think I had a plan in store for all of them. I scratched my chin, finally relaxing into the throne and glancing at amazement as the multitude of holographic screens were displayed before me. As Honora began walking I tapped her screen and sent her flying back onto the floor again. It was good for a laugh, and to tease her, but there were few traps surrounding her. I had made life difficult for Lia, but there was little I could do without endangering a shivering Lexie in the process. I didn't want Lexie to die just yet.

What next? I squinted at Carlie's screen; maybe there was something I could use to torture or kill her, but I couldn't even see through the screen and - unlike many other rooms - there wasn't a lighting setting. Ooh. I could control the sky, though. I immediately set the arena's weather to something dramatic; a solar eclipse. Yes. Wonderful.

So who else was there?

I turned back. Darius, Mirane and Willow were all disposable. But, as much as I hated to admit it, I didn't want to kill the Eleven girl who reminded me of my sister. She was chubbier. And uglier. But for some reason she just leaked that kind of innocence. Once again, I couldn't find a trap that endangered the older loverats without endangering the little girl. There were flesh eating fish in the well, and I could flood the courtyard enough to hurt them, but when I glanced at Sebastian and Trojan's screen I laughed to myself. Looked like I didn't even need to do anything to make the Eights and the little Eleven girl an entertaining alliance.

So there was only one last person. Jericho. He was slumped against a doorframe, staring into the blankness. Aw. Looked like the Career drama had affected him. I moved my finger to four suits of armour across the corridor, a telling purple tint covering them. Jericho was just so boring. And he was nice. And I don't think he even had much spirit in him that I could break after witnessing the death of his friend. That made him the most disposable tribute in the arena. And considering he hadn't been very nice to me, dispose of him I would.

I grinned and tapped the suits of armour, leaning back and reaching into my backpack for something sweet. It was time for me to enjoy the show.

Jericho Aylin, District Two, 18

The butcher's shop's door rang out as my dad made his way into the shop. It was working hours right now, so bar a few rich and snobby residents the butcher's shop was dead. It would come to life around dinner time, as it did every day. My dad was my mirror image. If I was an inch taller and greying, with a richly aged face, I would probably be his clone. He ruffled my hair, not paying attention as he was invested in his newspaper. Eventually he threw it aside at the counter, leaning against the wall.

"Have you been training?" He asked me.

"Ten hours a day," I smiled. I was exhausted today. "And now my four hours of work, two hours of study and then sleep."

My father frowned at me.

"Look at the paper," he commanded, his gravelly voice stern.

I did as he asked. "Oh, the Mayor's daughter is being an attention whore again," I glanced at the picture of her stumbling around District Two's nightlife district. Maybe it was a little judgmental of me, but I did not like that girl. She had everything and did nothing, which was the opposite for so many others in Panem. People like me who'd need to enter a fight to the death to reach her levels of wealth and recognition. Well, Hunger Games victors received more wealth and recognition, but that was besides the point.

"No, not the local section, girls like her aren't relevant," my father jabbed at a large chunk of paragraph which didn't warrant a picture. It looked like it was purposely made so that only the scrupulous would notice it. Something about the Head Gamemaker promising to make these Games the most difficult and psychologically tormenting Games ever. I brushed past it for a few seconds before I realised the implication of that. The most psychologically tormenting Games ever...

Yikes.

"You need eight hours sleep," my father said once he saw my face drop. "And you need another two hours training. So I'm letting you off work."

"Dad, really?" I glanced up at him. "Can the business cope?"

"It'll strain my back, but I'll be willing to do the next few hours," my dad smiled, slipping the butcher's apron over my head and smiling. "Screw this place anyway once you win the Games. When you win we'll never have to work an hour again. Think of all the wealth you want, and times that by ten - plus a grand house." My eyes lit up a little just thinking of it. "That's the money you'll get when you win the Games. And then there'll be the honour, too," my dad ruffled my hair. "You will make me the proudest father in the whole world."

"I will win," I told him. "I'll win and get your pride. I'll win for our family."

"Good," my dad glanced outside the shop window at the near empty streets. "Because these are dark times ahead. We've always been quite comfortable, but the Capitol declared war on District Thirteen," he sighed. "I didn't even know District Thirteen existed! And now it's this thread that's lingering on the horizon. There's never been a war before, not in hundreds of years," his face grew worried. "And I hate to think of all the struggle it's going to give us. But you'll win those Games," he turned to me, forcing his cheery business facade on again. "They'll underestimate you, boy. They'll write you off as a dumb Two boy or something. But you'll win... I know you will."

"Jericho..."

I think I slipped asleep, but something jolted me awake. At first I thought I'd find Pullox looking down at me, shaking me awake. But there was no-one there. I hadn't moved from this initial position since Lorelei had died. Maybe because I was bruised and I'd been recovering from a stab wound that had been buried right in my side. I tried to stand up, wincing as the pain throbbed through me. I couldn't afford to be so stationary. Not now. There were people that needed me to win. For the first time in hours I felt something. I gripped onto the doorframe, ripping the cuff of my sleeve.

My wound wasn't bleeding badly. But it had bled enough to make me weak and dizzy. Maybe by this point it didn't need bandaging, but I was pretty sure that it had gone deep. To be safe, I wrapped it up tightly. I had literally nothing. No weapons. Nothing. I was sure I was one of the most disadvantaged tributes in the arena.

"Jericho..." A voice hissed. I think it was from the speakers. "It's me, Alex."

It felt as if my innards had turned into concrete and began plummeting into an abyss. The name Alex seemed awfully familiar. That was what Lorelei, with my help, had planned to name her baby. I gripped onto the doorframe so tightly that my knuckles became prominent. One second Alex and Lorelei were both alive, and now they were dead. And they'd been killed by the same girl. A spiteful, evil girl who needed to be buried into the ground.

I was still processing that Lorelei's death had even happened. Hours after, I had smelt the first odours of sadness, but it was still faint. I still couldn't comprehend that a girl who I knew so well, who had walked and talked, was now dead. She was my best friend in the arena... And now she was nothing. I expected to cry, but no tears came. I felt numb to the point of indifferent last night. Now I just felt numb, but to be numb there had to be a pain that was anaesthetised. And I was aware of that pain.

"Who's there?" I stumbled into the corridor a little weakly, as if I were learning to walk.

"Alex is here, Jericho..."

I turned around the corridor.

"Who killed me?" The voice became much more child like.

"Get away from me," I growled. "Whoever this is, I'm not going to take kindly to your sick joke," but who could be playing the sick joke? In theory, only Lorelei and I knew what she intended to call her baby, unless Honora and Pullox snooped more than I thought. Or it was the Gamemakers. Either way, it was a sick joke, and I wasn't going to take kindly to it. "Show yourself!"

There was a beat, and then a laugh.

"My pleasure, Jericho."

Nothing was in front of me, so I decided to turn around. Just as I did I saw the glint of silver and reacted immediately by ducking. A sword swung over my head and I got a glimpse of a suit of armour. An animate suit of armour. As I rose upwards I gripped it, smashing it against the wall and watched its metallic pieces bursting into nothingness. There was certainly nobody underneath. I heard the clunk of strong footsteps and knew immediately that more were coming.

My side was practically begging me not to move. I think I felt a light flow of blood stream down my leg. But I needed to prove to my father that I wasn't to be messed with. I needed to survive. I scooped down and gripped the sword which the mutt - robot - whatever - had left. Just as the other suit of armour came charging towards me I blocked as it struck, hearing the sound of metal on metal. I slipped my sword upwards, jabbing at its face, though it stumbled back slightly. Another two mutts were right behind it, and the adrenaline immediately kicked in.

Remembering all those years and hours of training and preparation, I parried another strike. I stepped back as a sword was jabbed just in front of my face. And then, reacting to it, I swept it aside with my sword and moved forwards. I struck at one piece of armour, barely denting its chest, and blocked another swung of a sword. Fluidly I beheaded one of the mutt-like-knights and in another move I ducked, sweeping my leg across the floor and finishing the other mutts off as if they were nothing. They all clattered into pieces of scrap metal upon hitting the floor, the individual pieces of armour spreading around me.

I really needed to get better. I wiped my brow, which was filled with sweat. And then the pain kicked in and my side really fucking hurt. I slumped against the wall, gripping the sword tightly in my head. At least I was no longer weaponless, though I needed some kind of plan. In the Careers the plan could afford to be as simple as 'stay in a group, kill people, enjoy food three times a day.' These Games, as Tobias had promised, were not going to be so easy.

Delilah Fauve, District Eleven, 16

I thought I was dead. I was surrounded by marble white columns, the sound of a tranquil music filled the air. The floor I walked on was steamy mist. I was wearing a white gown, and my hair was no longer choppy and short. It fell, dark and curled, to my thighs. There was nobody there, but I felt peaceful. I was totally uninjured and could walk perfectly. It was like everything I ever wanted, especially when I could see my family across from me. My mother and father were linked together, looking happy with each other's company for the first time in years. In front of them was my brother who looked tall, strong and carefree; to me, he looked like an angel.

Just as I stepped towards them, just as I thought I'd reunite with them, the floor dissolved underneath me. I thought I was screaming but as I woke up I was surrounded by total silence, minus the echo of my gasp.

I felt much better than I did before I died... Or fell asleep... Or whatever the hell happened. When I glanced down at my formal albeit tattered pants, I realised that I hadn't died because I was still in the Games. Which meant that my death was just a dream. Maybe it was stupid, but the thought of dying had initially made me very happy.

But I did feel ten times better. My leg barely hurt. My sight was no longer blurred and faded; once I rubbed the sleep from my eyes I could see the room I was in perfectly. It was some kind of infirmary, with hospital beds. I had been thrown messily onto one of them. There was little else surrounding me bar the occasional piece of plain white furniture or cupboards which I assumed were filled with medicine.

Once I was totally awake, I realised that I was really cold. My breath danced as condensed air before me. I wasn't even covered by sheets and was shaking. I leaned up slightly and hugged across my chest. When I looked around I realised that Lexie wasn't even there, though the dwindling remains of our supplies were shoved on a pure white counter. I forced myself to stand, but immediately found myself collapsing.

I almost forgot that walking was something I couldn't do, though surely it was a good sign that I was actually fully conscious and my leg didn't feel like death?

The fall didn't hurt too much, especially as I landed on my hands, though it did make a loud noise. The infirmary's beds had wheels, it seemed. And I may have accidentally knocked them all together. They crashed into the wall, basically telling the whole arena where I was. I crawled towards our supplies, hoping to grab a knife just in case somebody came. When the door opened it was Lexie, holding a knife of her own.

"Thank god you're okay," she looked at me, and then at the chaos I had triggered. "Well, okay-ish. How do you feel?"

"A lot better," I said honestly, gripping a counter and forcing myself to my feet. "Though it's super cold here."

"Yeah," Lexie mumbled, looking at her feet. "I went to a bedroom down the hallway to wrap up warm."

I couldn't hold my words in. "Nice. So just leave me in here to freeze to death. I don't know how the hell I recovered when you'd just leave me in a room that's so cold," I removed a water bottle from our supplies and took a few sips. I was furious.

"I wasn't strong enough," Lexie said to me, putting on her victim face. "I'm sorry..." She paused, thinking of what to say. "Nate... I..."

"It doesn't even matter."

"Shut the fuck up," Lexie's tone seemed completely different. It went dark. It were as if she were a different person. I turned towards her, trying to hide my shocked expression. There was something about her, as if she were surrounded by electricity. She glared towards me, barely pulling an expression. "I allow you to hide secrets behind my back, I put my life on the line to keep you safe." I could only glance up at her, intimidated. I was supposed to be the strong one here. But I was injured, and she had a book of spells memorised. She snatched my rucksack from my arms. "And now you want me to cater to your every need?"

I would still stand my ground. And Lexie, whilst angry, would never kill me. Unless... She knew my secret...

"I'm sorry, I could have died, I just got angry, okay?" I kept my tone firm, though there was a consolidating edge to it.

Lexie wanted to retort. Her body stiffened. Upon relaxing she just forced herself onto the counter, relaxing slightly. Or relaxing as much as you could in a freezing cold room, anyway.

"It's fine," she shivered, glancing at me. "We'll get out of here. I was just upset... I... Last night when I checked who died it was Lorelei," she glanced at her feet, which she was swinging to and fro. I looked at her for a second, suddenly feeling really bad for her. I didn't know who Lorelei was; Lexie barely mentioned her. All I knew was that it was the District Two girl. "She had always been super nice to me, even though I was younger and weaker than her. She was strong, independent and kind. And..." Lexie paused. "She was pregnant, too. And now she's dead."

"I'm so sorry," I told her gently. So now wasn't the time to tell her that I wasn't Nate. Lexie was suffering enough. But this was the Hunger Games. I didn't know how Lexie would react even in the best of circumstances. Was there ever going to be a right time? Maybe... But now wasn't it.

"Enough about me, anyway," Lexie grabbed our backpack and slung it onto her shoulder. She smiled and slid off the counter, putting her arm around my shoulder. With her arm around my shoulder, and with her general assistance, I was led out of the infirmary. Walking was actually much easier than it was. In fact, it was easier than when I had first sustained the injury. If Lexie could just keep me walking like this for the next day or two maybe I'd be okay to use my legs again. That would be great. "How is your leg?"

"I feel better than ever," I said honestly. "Well, before a scorpion took a big chunk out of my ankle. I thought I was going to die yesterday, but you saved me... Again," god. I kept forgetting how much I owed Lexie - for everything. "And now I am walking. Soon I'll be running and climbing again. But that actually doesn't matter. How are you?" We exited into the corridor. Lexie was about to speak, but I interrupted her: "And please, be honest."

"I just feel kind of isolated. And that isn't your fault," Lexie told me as we gained pace, learning how to move quicker and quicker before we were turning around the corner at regular walking pace. "I just..." She glanced down at me for a second and stopped, sighing. "Ross was the only other Career that's nice to me, and he's dead. Lorelei was the only Career that's nice to me, now she's dead. It feels like everybody who was nice to me has died," maybe now wasn't the time to tell her how nice I had been. And, technically, I hadn't been very nice. "I don't know. I knew I would experience death. I just didn't know I'd experience loss. I didn't know that loss would hurt," she looked at the floor and sighed.

"Don't worry," I moved my hand to cup it to her cheek. "It'll be fine."

She swatted my hand away, looking down at me almost longingly.

"What do you know about fine?" She sighed. Without even trying to help me, she moved down the corridor and walked away. I looked after her, puzzled for a second. Soon I realised that she must be in a rotten mood, and she must presume that I was able to walk after her by myself. Well, she was right. Gritting my teeth and holding onto the wall for stability, I stormed forward at a quick pace.

Honora Cashmere Flloyd, District Four, 18

As I turned a corner I saw it coming from the corner of my eye. I threw myself forward as a painting of three blades seemed to actually project three blade. They shot out of the undamaged canvas, and I rolled underneath them as they went spinning from the wall. I stayed on my knees for a few seconds, looking around the dimly lit corridor before I decided it was safe to stand up again. I rose, glancing around briefly.

I may have had a shitload of supplies, but it was definitely best to be resourceful, especially because the Gamemakers had it in for me today. Obviously the Gamemakers had the job of making sure kids died, but I thought it was, at maximum, two or three traps a day? Seemed like everything in the arena wanted to kill me. It was uncharacteristically zesty. I took the three knives and found a place for them in one of the many backpacks. I had two nice axes, my knife belt was filled with knives, I had the shotgun and I was lumbering Jericho's sword around too. Maybe I should dispose of some of the weapons.

I wanted to tell the Gamemakers that it was a nice try, but tempting fate was not what I wanted to do, even if I could definitely survive it. I was pretty pissed off at the Capitol for laughing at me getting tortured, but I was still going to play their game.

Don't get me wrong, I get it: death is fun. Watching kids hurt each other is fun. I mean, reality TV with bickering, drama and competition has provided people with entertainment for centuries. So what makes the stakes even bigger? Giving weapons to kill each other with, of course. And making the price/prize their lives. In my opinion, this kind of brutal shit is definitely fun, and was only a consequence the moment we decided to laugh at people for being bad singers or for getting a disastrous nose job.

So yeah, enjoying the violence, I got that. I did enjoy it. But what I didn't like was the sudden feeling of being dehumanised. Whenever a District kid died, I can imagine the Capitol had a blasé "oh that kid died, I don't care but I'll pretend to" attitude. If I died people would be the hypocrites of the year and would cheer. Even people who would usually look down on this shit would be the hypocrites of the year and cheer. Because I was a Career. Because I had killed before. Because I was strong. Because I took no shit.

And that fucked me off. Yeah, life is so much easier when we pretend that there are the good and the bad. If there is an antagonist like a Career or the Capitol or a criminal or an immigrant or a District citizen, we like to point the finger and blame them instead of ourselves. It was just easy that way. I was fed up of that attitude.

Yeah, I was a Career. And you bet your ass that I was going to kill children. Maybe I'd even laugh if I did it. But if the audience were going to watch me suffer and laugh and derive outright pleasure from my suffering, guess what? They just stooped low. They just abandoned their precious 'morals' for convenience, for a quick sense of superiority. They're the problem. I dare them to tell me that I was the evil one.

I turned a corner and entered a courtyard, which suddenly became extremely interesting. I'd passed a few courtyard and had inspected them for tributes, but this one was more interesting than the others. It had the same stone benches, tinted windows and pretty flowers and fauna, but none of the other courtyards had a corpse of sorts lying face down in the pavement. I kept my wits about me and approached the monster, holding my rifle in one hand and Jericho's (or mine now, I guess) hulking sword in the other.

I crouched down, noting the corpse looked almost human with its pale back. Was it pale because it had been dead a while? It couldn't be a tribute; it was way too tall to be anyone bar Jericho, who was alive and not-so-well. I turned the thing over and immediately realised it was not human. It had an ovular albeit completely blank face. It was lying in a black pool of blood.

I also noticed the arrow jutting out of its head. Inquisitively, I tore the thing out and watched black blood squirt out of the monster's skull. I investigated the arrow tip for a little while, inquisitive.

"Whoever is here is a good shot," I mumbled to myself, before noting it had another arrow in its shoulder. Maybe not a perfect shot, but a good one.

I immediately kept my wits about me, just in case good shot was waiting to ambush me. I wondered where he or she was, because that was definitely a tribute I wanted rid of. Ranged tributes were nothing, and I was probably as good a ranged fighter was any of them, but they were the closest thing to a threat in the Games - the fact that they could kill you from afar, no matter how good a fighter you were, wasn't wholly pleasant.

Suddenly I realised that even though the birds were chirping happily, the weather wasn't sunny. In fact, it was completely overcast. Maybe it was to do with the fact that in the sky a large moon was obstructing the burning sun, so that it looked like a fiery orb that cast darkness and cold on everything beneath. I watched it in amazement for a little while, wondering if the Gamemakers had done that.

Maybe it symbolised something.

I stood up, glancing briefly at it for a few seconds. It was eerily beautiful, but there was something morbid about it. I knew that in the arena everything was completely artificial, even the sun and the moon, which meant that everything I saw was a conscious decision. So what made the Gamemakers make that decision?

I stepped forward a little bit before stepping back. I realised that I had stood on a sturdy albeit wooden hatchet.

I didn't know what that led to, but I prepared my shotgun because I knew who was down there. Looked like the good shot that had killed the mutt earlier would soon discover what a good shot really was.

Carlie Compton, District Ten, 17

My small hideout was lit only by the cooking fire I had created. The moist stone ceiling above me was highlighted, as were the stone floors beneath. On either side of me my useful barrels of gunpowder were lined against the walls, stored in shelves. On first glance, this place probably looked like a brewery or something. But breweries promised a good time. Gunpowder only promised a bad time for anybody who dared cross me, and I had barrels and barrels of the stuff. Somebody or something may have tried to taunt me earlier, laughing and whispering things into the room, but I was certain I was safe.

But for now gunpowder wasn't my weapon. My weapon was the fire that cooked the current stew I was making, and the powder that I sprinkled into the stew. The powder that would react with stomach acid and kill anybody who swallowed it via an internal explosion. Similar to the barrels, it would look like a nice affair. I was humming an upbeat song as I stirred the explosive powder (which looked an awful lot like grated cheese) into the stew so that it was no longer visible.

I would go out there and try to find Seb and Trojan. I'd wrap the stew up in the silver sponsor gift wrapping (which I had a preserved) and would place it close to them. Hopefully when they found it they'd eat it and find that they'd die not long afterwards. I was so desperate to make them suffer after everything they'd done to me – the thought of them dying was very amusing.

I grabbed a ferret that I killed earlier, wondering if I should add it to the stew. I almost skinned it was the tip of my arrow when I realised that was a bad idea. Sebastian was a vegetarian. Granted, he gave up on his morals when his survival was at stake, but he'd be much more willing to eat the soup if it had no meat. I know I was hungry. Most tributes were running out of supplies, so Seb and Trojan probably couldn't be much different.

I squinted as more light flooded into the room, revealing my hovel in all its glory. When I saw the figure peering down at me I clumsily reached for my crossbow, panic hitting me. I had been delayed in gripping the crossbow, so naturally the intruder had easily managed to duck underneath the crossbow bolt which I sent speeding towards them.

The figure rose, easily visible once the light from the fire was cast across her face. It was the terrifying Four girl, with her dirty blonde hair, statuesque figure and manic eyes. Her face was now incredibly bruised and swollen. The thing I noticed most of all was her gun, which was pointed towards me.

I almost fired off another shot, but she spoke:

"Come on, Carlie," her voice was reproachful, almost kind. Her facial expression, however, was kind of menacing. "You don't want to try and shoot me." I gripped tighter onto the crossbow. "Because I have a gun. You're a smart girl. We both know what happens when someone tries to hurt somebody else holding a gun." I didn't even say anything. As Honora descended down the creaky, wooden stairway, gun pointed directly at me, she continued. "Prove to me that you're a smart girl and drop the crossbow."

I had no option, and so I did it. I was oddly calm, though I could feel my adrenal glands prepare to go into overdrive. Honora grinned at me crossbow as it rattled on the floor.

"And do you know what geniuses would do?" She said quietly. "They'd kick that crossbow away, so that they couldn't get it."

Once again, I listened to her. It was stupid to render myself defenceless but Honora was right – it was even more stupid to disobey someone with a gun. If I made her angry there was no chance of worming myself out of the situation. If I did get on her good side maybe fortune would smile down on me. I was just so stupid for not reacting sooner as the hatch door opened. I glanced up at Honora, forcing a smile and watching carefully as she made her way closer. I was expecting her to be more brutal and decisive, to actually try to kill me. Naturally, I was surprised when she just sat down opposite me.

I saw her face more clearly in the light. It really had taken a beating. She glanced at me once and took a swig of water.

"Feels like forever since I've spoken to someone," she said. "It's only been a day."

"It's been a good few days for me," I told her, trying not to look scared. I guess she wouldn't mind if I stirred the stew a little more. "I'm guessing things went wrong with your alliance?" She didn't say anything, but her response told me everything I needed to know. Suddenly I became curious. Was she exhiled from the Careers, or were the strong group no more? That was a shocker. I knew somebody had died yesterday but didn't get to see who it was. If the Careers split up and if one of them died that really did put me – and every other non-Career – to an advantage. The elite group of competitors usually lasted until the final eight – sometimes the final four. Despite all being strong, their unity made them stronger. "What happened?"

Honora's expression turned dark. I realised that striking casual conversation with a Career who wanted to kill you was not wise. Or maybe it was actually kind of working. Hell if I knew.

"Shit happens," Honora took a swig of water as I tried not to gawp at her injured hand. "Shit always happens."

"Tell me about it," I told her, sadly.

A pause. "You were the girl in the Bloodbath," Honora told me. "The girl who closed the door on her ally." She chuckled darkly. "I had to admire that." I frowned at her. I guess it was refreshing that she didn't judge me for it – but even I knew that it wasn't something to be admired. We had to do bad things to survive, I knew that, but to celebrate or worship such bad acts seemed chilling. "What happened to your ally? I know you had one. The average height guy with dark-ish hair," Honora gestured around the top of her head. "Is he dead? I honestly lost track. Or did he find another, prettier face?"

"I think you'll find I'm the prettiest face in the arena," I replied curtly.

Honora sniggered. "If you believe that."

My scowl must have been comical. I was about to tell Honora that I knew why her allies abandoned her - because of her rotten attitude. But I remembered who I was dealing with.

"I was with Seb, the Six boy," I told her. I shouldn't have felt so comfortable around her. She was a trained killer, for Panem's sake. And yet there was something non-judgmental about her. I'd been alone for what felt like a week. I needed someone to vent to. "Despite losing Aurochs, things could have been okay. I knew I would eventually kill him, but they were still okay," I looked at the ongoing fire, not looking for Honora's expression. "But then the Three boy came along." I buried my head in my hands and sighed, realising how much I had screwed up. I had picked myself up, but it was humiliating to know how I'd fallen in the first place. "He ruined everything. He wanted to ruin everything. And now I'm alone."

"The Three boy? I just assumed he was a bloodbath."

"No," I shook my head, my hands still pressed against my eyes. "Certainly not. You'd be best looking out for him."

"Thank you," I glanced up at Honora who was giving me a very sad look. It was sympathetic. And yet it was the scariest expression I had seen her give. It immediately put me on red alert, especially when I realised her palm was wrapped around a handle that was protruding out of her belt. "I'll make sure to kill him for you," she told me softly. "You know that's what I'm supposed to do, right? Kill?" I wanted to stand, to do something, but I was just captured by fear and it was refusing to let me go. I struggled to even talk. "You know I'm supposed to kill you, right?"

"Yes," I squeaked. Honora wasn't like non-Career tributes; she couldn't be manipulated into allying. She also couldn't be controlled with any feminine charms.

"Thank you," Honora slipped the knife out. I couldn't help but widen my eyes with fear. I'd never been scared in these Games because I'd managed to put a lot of things under control, even the mutt that had attacked me just yesterday. What could I even do? It looked so sharp. The thought of it cutting into me was terrifying. She moved the knife closer to me. "I'll make it quick, I promise."

I nodded. I couldn't run away. I definitely couldn't fight her. I needed to be resourceful.

I briefly glanced down at the boiling stew. Yes.

"Why don't we just take a minute," I stressed. "I won't run away. I promise," that was kind of true. "I don't want to die, I'm scared. Why don't you just eat some of that stew a-and give me a minute. J-Just to think things over, okay?" That sounded incredibly contrived. But it was all I had.

Honora smiled, leaning down to smell the soup.

"Good idea," using the ladle, she dipped it into the stew. I watched hopefully as she raised the ladle closer to her lips, about to taste the substance that would end her for good. She was taking an excrutiatingly long time. Just as my hope rose, her expression changed. "Really?"

I stood up instinctively as she threw the ladle to the floor, kicking the pot and kicking the pot of stew. I watched hopelessly as the stew spilt all around me, flowing around my feet. Strangely enough, I was more sad that my key to revenge had gone, despite the fact a big Career was standing up in front of me and giving me one of the most enraged looks I had ever seen.

"Do you think I'm that stupid?" Honora looked amused for one second, and then she was red faced and furious again. I saw a vein bulging around her neck. Once again, I was too petrified to move. "What, you thought I'm that gullible because I'm a Career? If anybody is going to casually offer their food, no strings attached, that shit is obviously spiked. And it was spiked, wasn't it?"

"No!" I squealed.

"Maybe I'll make you drink it!"

Run.

I barely had time to move an inch before a strong hand seized my arm. I uselessly tried to force myself out of Honora's grip as she held me, but she was way too strong. For two seconds I thrashed around and grunted desperately before Honora waved her arm, flinging me aside. My body span through the air for a second before I crashed into a wooden shelf. A brief flash of pain pulsed around me as I hit the cold ground, barrels of gun powder and wood falling after me.

I scrambled away desperately, looking up at an enraged Honora. She gripped onto her gun and made sure to point it directly towards me. I glanced around the damp, dark cellar desperately looking for an escape. There was a dark corridor behind me, but I hadn't ventured through it. Damp, dark corridors often spelled death.

"You're going to regret making me angry," Honora hissed. "I'm going to make it hurt."

Whatever. Damp, dark corridors were better than this.

Honora reached for another weapon just as I kicked the shelf full of gunpowder barrels. The kick was strong enough, and the splintered shelf toppled down. Honora leapt out of the way and avoided it easily as barrels spilled around me and a loud crashing sound filled the room. The decor was enough, and I stood up and hurried down the dark corridor. I think I could hear the sound of a gunshot, but no pain followed. Soon Honora was out of sight and my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I was descending now, and it felt like I was descending down stone steps.

Just as I approached blood splattered plastic curtains and pulled them aside I tried not to vomit when I saw what was in the dark room; it was some kind of abattoir. Cool mist trailed around me everywhere, concealing the blood that coated the floor and walls. That wasn't even the worst... The pigs that were hanging from the ceiling, completely gutted and still dripping with blood, were the scariest. I'd seen abattoirs before. I lived in District Ten, for Panem's sake. And yet there was something particularly chilling about this room. Or maybe it was the fact a deadly Career was on the prowl.

Trying not to slip in the blood, I stooped down, hoping the mist would partially conceal me. Then I made my way and hid behind one of the swinging, dead pigs.

A voice got to me and made me jump out of my skin:

"Are you in danger, little Carlie?" I tried not to shake, looking around desperately. That voice definitely belonged to the District One boy, and yet I couldn't see him anywhere. "Do you want me to help you?"

I curled up into a ball against the blood soaked metallic walls. "Please help me," I sobbed, to him or to anyone. "Please."

Suddenly I heard footsteps rush into the room with a speed that sent the steam sailing around her. Honora was turned away from me, looking around desperately for her victim. I couldn't just sit here and cry - plenty of kids had done that in the Hunger Games and they were all dead. I wiped the tears and stood up desperately, picking up what looked like a meat hook. I couldn't escape. I needed to get her while she was distracted.

I launched the hook towards her, trying to throw it. It abseiled through the air and the speedy Honora caught onto the sight, rolling across the floor and avoiding it with ease. When she turned around and faced me I realised it was all over.

"You really are a resilient little cunt, aren't you?" I had no more tricks up my sleeve. I stepped back desperately. "I am going to love making you scream-"

Suddenly Honora was the one screaming. I think it was something or someone, but it was as if she had been launched back by a poltergeist. She was forced through the air and fell through the floor, crashing to the ground. Before she could even stand up the swinging pigs were torn from the ceiling and were being hurled towards her. She desperately tried to roll away from the corpses, totally distracted.

Knowing it was my miracle chance to escape I forced myself to turn and run again. I made a sharp turn and made my way back into the gunpowder cellar, glancing around desperately. I should've kept on running, but I was out of breath before I reached the exit. Maybe it was the fact I felt exhausted, maybe it was the mournful look I cast the strewn over piece of spiked stew or maybe it would the fact that my crossbow was right in front of me. My main weapon, my main mode of escape.

Honora scrambled back into the dark corridor, but I couldn't see her. There was another gunshot as I gripped my crossbow, realising that the fire I had started was still going - albeit dying. I lit up a single crossbow bolt, watching it burn wildly. There was no time at all. Honora was charging towards me.

I loaded and released the bolt faster than I thought humanly possible at one of the gunpowder barrels on the floor just as Honora gripped a knife.

Before she could stab me an explosion tore the space between us. The flames didn't catch her but the force sent her rocketing backwards. I felt my bones shake from inside me and blood spill from my ears as I was forced backwards. The ground was still trembling as a chain reaction began, more and more explosions rocketing around me like stars that rose and died in mere milliseconds. Smoke and flame crashed around me, and somehow I was alive. Still holding onto my crossbow, I sharply turned around and rushed out of the cellar.

Just as I forced myself outdoors there was a final, humongous explosion. The ground that made up the courtyard collapsed completely behind me and I was forced forwards, blood spilling wildly out of many cuts around my face. I lay on the floor for a few seconds as my ears continuously rang out for all to hear. At least I could still hear; I could hear pieces of rubble slowly rot and fall, the sound of singed material hissing, the sound of silence after a cacophony of wild, unprecedented noise. I must have laid there for about an hour, clutching onto my crossbow, before I stood up.

Before turning to look at the catastrophic scene, I felt around my own face. I had burns all over, even though I thought no flames had caught me. I was covered in soot and blood. And yet I was still alive, triumphant. Once upon a time I relied on a pretty face and a pretty dress. And now it felt like those days were behind me. With a little bit of luck, a little resourcefulness and a decent aim I could win this thing. I could defeat the strongest in the arena.

There was a large, caping crater in front of me. Nothing lay in there bar blood and soot everywhere.

Ding, dong... The witch was dead.

Mirane Saffell, District Eight, 17

The ground seemed to shake briefly as loud noise filled the air. Darius and I gripped onto the kitchen table and looked around wildly. We expected an earthquake or something catastrophic, but then it eventually faded. We'd both been preparing for the next attack; Darius had been coating all of our weapons in the substance we'd gotten from Willow, whereas I had been creating a smokescreen substance which would be particularly useful.

Just after the explosion, there was an aftershock: the sound of loud footsteps as Willow forced herself through the saloon doors, looking shocked and confused.

"E-Explosion!" She spluttered, somewhat pale.

Darius and I hurried after her desperately as she made her way into the courtyard. We stood before her, gawping uselessly at the air. What looked like a mushroom cloud of smoke was rising almost right in front of us. Wherever that explosion was, it wasn't very far away. The ash rolled around the air slowly, still thick and sooty minutes after the explosion.

"That was close by," I said to myself. "Real close by."

Darius and I made our way back into the kitchen, leaving Willow behind. Since Darius and I had to focus on defeating the Three and Six boys, we'd left Willow to finish whatever chores we'd abandoned, such as organising supplies and digging out veggies. The soup which we had been cooking had left a pleasant scent wafting through the kitchen. Darius and I immediately sat back down on the kitchen table.

"That could've affected us," Darius said. "People were close to us."

"Six and Three boys?" I said. "Have you been able to find them? Did anyone die?"

"It was impossible to hear the cannon fire," Darius bit his bottom lip slightly. I saw him stay still and concentrate as he scoured the area for anything. "Wow. I can see where it hit," he told me, not moving. I picked up some charcoal powder and sprinkled it conservatively into one of the many vials we'd created. "There's just a big crater. Whoever was there, I don't think that they're there anymore," he told me briefly, polishing the poison around his dagger. "I'm trying to search around but there's no-one there. They've left by now."

"It's none of our concern, by now. Lets just hope it caught the bastards," I said, removing another vial. "By the way, are you sure these vials will work?"

Darius nodded, turning to face my general direction. "Hadley taught me how to make them. He was smart like that."

I smiled. "He's always been happy to help us, even from beyond the grave."

"So," a voice cut through the air bitterly. Willow looked exhausted. "I finished all the work, are we not going to talk about the big, fuckoff explosion that just happened to explode like only a hundred or so metres away, if that?" I glanced towards Darius, who didn't say anything. He was much better at dealing with Willow than me. Willow made her way towards the kitchen table, snatching her hatchet from it. "Why the hell have I just been left out there to rot? What if someone attacked?" She glared at me, ignoring Darius, who was perfectly happy to be ignored. "And why the fuck is my hatchet on the kitchen table?" She saw the vial of poison in Darius' hand. "Or my vial? What the hell happened to mystuff being mine?"

"Look, Willow, we were just planning-"

"Shut up," Willow looked fed up. I guess I kind of got why. "I was asking her. She's the one with the bad attitude."

"Watch how you talk to him," I growled, capping one of the vials and trying to keep calm. I could have people trash talk me, but not Darius. Darius wasn't built for conflict, either. "And I don't remember such an agreement. I don't remember you telling me that your sponsor gift could save our lives," Willow looked like she tried to splutter something but I didn't care. "We were making a plan to defeat the superhuman alien freaks, in case you didn't know."

"While I laboured and toiled?" Willow snapped. Wow, where did she learn those words?

"Yes," I replied honestly. "We're all labouring and toiling here."

"Oh yeah, you're cooking soup and making potions, you must be sweating," Willow snapped. I tried to bite back a retort. I was always insecure about laziness - despite always being ambitious and filled with motivation, and despite always admiring hard work, I was the daughter of the Deputy Mayor. I had always lived a comfortable life, and for whatever reason, I suddenly felt touchy about it. "Have you worked a day in your life?"

"Willow, come on..."

"Oh? You want to get personal?" I sneered, standing up. "I don't have the greatest record, because I'm smart. All I needed was a gun to survive," for whatever reason, Darius seemed unsatisfied with my answer. "And maybe I haven't toiled. Because I'm just too smart for that," Willow glanced up at me hesitantly, shutting up for the first time since she'd arrived. "And I think you're smart too. You like to think you're an innocent little victim, but you're just sly. And you don't even know it. I mean, a girl doesn't just stumble into an alliance and tell us that two of her allies died and she had nothing to do with tha-"

Thunk.

For a second, my heart stopped. I glanced at the hatchet that had buried itself into the kitchen table. Darius shouted out a curse word that I don't think I knew, standing up and suddenly shaking. I tried reaching for my gun but I realised that Willow was crying. Her face was blotchy and she was trying to cease the tears that streamed from her eyes.

And yet I still wasn't satisfied.

"Go on then," I snarled. "What's your problem with me, little girl? You've disliked me ever since you set eyes on me."

Willow didn't say anything. She stormed out of the room, giving what sounded like a choked scream. I didn't know if I felt cool for shouting at her like that or if I had just done something that I'd regret. Still feeling like I'd had some kind of brush with death, I forced myself to sit down and think things through. Darius hadn't even passed comment by this point.

"Do you think I should do something?" I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"You make a mess, you clean it," Darius begin rubbing the poison around the many bullets I'd laid down in front of him. "You told me that, by the way."

I glared at him.

"I just hope she hasn't gone too far."

"Well, I'll keep an eye on you guys."

"Thanks," I said to him once. I wondered what he was thinking. He liked Willow, but I think he liked me more. He did, right? I guess I wasn't the most lovely person. I guess I hadn't even shown him much affection, despite everything we'd been through. And yet he just seemed to be taking things for how they went. He was definitely thinking something, but despite his silence I don't think he hated me either. Bah. The whole emotions deal really sucked. I wished I had never subscribed to it, even though I'd probably be dead.

Wanting to show something, I squeezed his hand affectionately. Then I stood up. My gun's ammo hadn't been superhero-proofed, so I guess I only had a hatchet. I tore it out of the table somewhat clumsily. I wanted to say more to Darius, to tell him that I cared or something, but no. I didn't know what to say. I just did what I did best: kept a stern face and did what the hell I had to do.

So I'm back from holiday. To this unedited chapter o_o it was pretty long, but yeah, I like it xD

And my Walking Dead story is up :) it's called 'In Memoriam.' Submit if you haven't, please! You definitely don't have to be a fan of the comics/video game/TV show to read it, because it's from a completely different perspective, even if there will be references and tiny, tiny overlaps.

~Toxic