CONGRATULATIONS ISABELLA DISNEY-BUSATTIL, NEW MASTER OF CEREMONIES- Mike Mothra

I'd always known Isabella would get out of here. All the better that she didn't even need to do any more killing, plus someone else also got to live. As far as Hunger Games went, this one was pretty good. Except the Jack thing. I didn't like thinking about that.

Vera Busattil, District Four mentor

I couldn't believe she was real. She was really here. Isabella, so tall I had to stand on my toes to hug her. So strong she lifted me off the ground so I could look her in the eyes. But my baby. My little baby.

Mars Ingalls, District Eleven mentor

It was a little sad Elias was a forgotten throwaway in his own Games. Or it would have been, if he hadn't been v terrible person. I hated to speak badly of the dead, but everyone was glad Isabella came back and not him.

District Eleven

Everyone had the feeling Elias was up to some nefarious stuff before he got Reaped. Most of us never knew what it was, though of course some of those who had been with him took over and continued. We saw less of Isabella with her new residence in the Capitol, but she would always be our darling.

Zebulon Charles, District Twelve male (17)

"YES!"

It was a silly, stupid thing to do. But when I heard the announcement, I whooped and pumped my fist in the air. Isabella was going home. Right now, as I vainly looked through the treetops in hopes of seeing the hovercraft, Isabella was riding back to the Capitol, probably sipping electrolyte water and swallowing antibiotics. Mike was probably dancing around like the weird happy bug he was, waving and cheering.

Mike.

Just like that, my mood did a 180. I sank slowly back to a sitting position, my arms falling to my sides. Since the moment it happened, I'd never really stopped thinking about what I'd done. I could tell myself it was just to stay alive. Really, it was true. The bitterest thing was that if anyone else had done it, I'd have told them it wasn't their fault. It was just myself I couldn't accept. I'd killed a kid and nothing, not all the logic in the world, would make that better for me.

He's alone now. Something went cold in me thinking about it. Mike was on his own now, and heavily injured- remember, stupid? He can't dance at all.He couldn't win on his own. He never could have. Mike was going to die. It would just be me and Beth, the one I tried so hard to implicate in my own crime.

Maybe I could go back. Wasn't it the least I could do? Go back and spend the rest of my life trying to protect Mike? I teared up thinking about it. Not about what I'd done, or how I could make things right, but that if I went back, Mike would let me. He'd welcome me back and he wouldn't even mention what I'd done. I'd be the only one thinking about it...

But I'm not going to. Damn me again, because I wasn't going to. I knew it even while I was fantasizing about it. If I went back and somehow did get Mike home, that meant I would die. I was so afraid to die. Afraid enough to kill a little boy. Afraid enough to leave another boy to follow him. I sat on the muddy ground, my head in my hands, and cried. Wasn't it just fitting that a few minutes ago it had started pouring rain? Trust the Gamemakers to be that on-the-nose.

"Hey. You okay?"

It was some minutes later when I heard the voice. I looked up, brandishing my knife. But Dahlia was far out of range. She was peeking halfway out from behind a tree twenty feet away. And while I didn't believe it, she looked concerned. I turned away in annoyance, but she persisted.

"Pretty cool about Isabella. I didn't know her much, but she seemed nice," she said, cautiously coming out. She didn't look like much, streaked with mud and grime as she was, but the last thing I needed was an ally.

"She was," I said curtly, standing up.

"I know we didn't get to be allies long, but..." Dahlia hesitated, her voice cracking. "Do you mind if I stay around? It's scary out there."

"It's a free country," I snarked.

"I think Laken and Beth are together," Dahlia said. "I suppose they'll probably kill everyone unless the rest of us band together. Is Mike still around?"

"He's around," I said evasively. Truth be told, I didn't have time or energy for Dahlia. I was a wreck over Jack, I was trying to figure out what to do about Mike, and I was facing the reality that I was alone in a place where the wildlife, the landscape, and all the humans nearby were trying to kill me. Dahlia was coming towards me cautiously. I should have told her to go away, but pathetic as it was, I was glad to see a human face. Some tiny part of me even wanted to confess- to just unburden myself- but that wasn't possible, for every possible reason.

"Sorry about the others," Dahlia said. "I lost all my allies too."

Probably killed some of them, I thought. I was learning firsthand that murderers could still think of themselves as good people, but that wasn't the only thing Dahlia did. At least I only killed someone when it was my life on the line. Dahlia hurt people just to have power.

"We'll die if we don't help each other," Dahlia persisted.

"If you say so," I said, and started walking away.

Dahlia Rowan, District Seven female (18)

Before I could get close enough to reach out to him, Zebulon stepped away. So I had to jump forward to stab him in the back.

"Agh!"

I barely saw Zebulon's elbow before it crashed into my nose. I fell on my back, a twig painfully stabbing me when I landed on it. I gasped, the world swimming around me, and tasted the blood from my nose.

"I stabbed you!" I blurted out incredulously. This wasn't fair! He was supposed to die.

"You dumbass!" Zebulon yelled as he wheeled around and kicked me in the stomach so hard I gagged. "Ever hear of a ribcage?"

I sat up and slammed my knife down towards Zebulon's foot. He dodged it and then stomped down on my hand. I hissed as the blade nicked into my finger. As I tried to pull free, he used his free leg to kick me in the face.

"Stop!" I wailed, throwing up my arm in front of my face. "You're gonna kill me!"

"You think?" Zebulon said. "I might even use a knife, since I know to aim for a soft spot. Or at least use both hands."

I screamed as Zebulon grabbed me by the hair to pull me upright, then started to sob. "Just let me go. You're not a murderer." Not that I believed it in the slightest. Not after what he'd done so far.

Zebulon flinched almost as strongly as when I'd stabbed him. "Joke's on both of us," he muttered. He stabbed downward at my throat. I batted him aside with both hands. His knife slid down my hand and wrist as I tried to block him. Blood ran slickly down my skin as I cried with the pain.

The world went sideways as Zebulon punched me in the side of my head. Mud and water droplets splatted upwards as I hit the ground. I looked up, mud running into my eyes, at the knife in his hand. This was all wrong. I'd done everything right. I'd outlived my allies. I'd survived the mutts. I'd gotten close enough to stab him. It wasn't right he was looming over me like an undead beast.

"This isn't fair." My voice was so small and thin I wasn't even sure Zebulon heard me. But it was true. All my life people had been hurting me. My father, uprooting my life for his selfish lust for power. My boyfriends, each one letting me open my heart to them and fall over myself trying to help them, only to abuse me or tell lies about me. My allies, constantly gaslighting me and trying to tell me I was someone I wasn't. This country, sending me to my death just so they could watch innocent children die.

Zebulon was right. My throat was soft. Soft enough the knife slid through it, though not soft enough that bits of skin didn't catch it and tear like rips in cut bread. My lifeblood poured out onto my chest, aching with its own pressure as it pushed at the wound. After the first instant, the pain was gone. All I felt after that was burning rage.

I only wanted a life. Everyone else got one. In all the world, there are so many people with happy, good lives. At least lives where the entire world wasn't against them. I could have had that. You took that from me.

With the last of my blood I glared up at Zebulon. I hope you rot in hell. I hope you burn.

7th place: Dahlia Rowan, District Seven female- Throat cut by Zebulon

Dahlia lasted longer than someone like her usually would have in my stories, since I was doing some experiments with writing mean characters. Those who get some laughs out of my comically upbeat slant will be excited to hear I plan to try again with future villainous submissions. Both the most fun and the most depressing part about writing Dahlia was her complete refusal to take any sort of responsibility for her actions and her total belief that she was the victim. To her dying moment she maintained everyone was out to get her. I often felt gross writing her but it definitely pushed me past my normal style, which is good. Sorry to Pi that this villain didn't win, but this isn't the last of long-lived villains.