VALENCIA CADILLAC- Beth Crissino

I didn't kill Valencia. I stood by and watched her die. I killed Valencia, didn't I? But I didn't kill Kade. I could have run after her. I could have swum after her and caught her. But I didn't kill Kade. We weren't bad people, me and Laken. We didn't kill Kade.

Lancia Audren, District Six mentor

What do babies even need? I'd always been more the "cool aunt" type rather than the "mother" type. Valencia's roommate Giada said she and her boyfriend had discussed it and were willing to foster, and perhaps adopt if things worked out, but they were going to need some help. But how much money does a baby take? They need, what... bottles, clothes, diapers... How many diapers does a baby need per day? Five diapers, maybe? The only good thing about this was the baby wasn't going to its father.

District Six

Valencia said once that Nico thought of Giada as a second mother. She would have been broken and relieved all at once to know that before she died, Nico already thought of Giada as his only mother. Out of sight, out of mind, for a boy too young to know what he'd lost. Her father did the expected song and dance about "grandparent rights" and would have been successful if not for the intervention of someone even more powerful than a businessman: a Victor. As for Romeo, his grave proved he'd been right all along. No one ever truly loved him in his life, and no one remembered him in death.

Mike Mothra, District Eight male (16)

The Cornucopia was quiet. No Sky making jokes. No Zebulon with his weird Four accent. No Beth singing little songs to herself as they stirred the soup. No Isabella. Just no Isabella. Just me and my stiff leg in a quiet, empty Cornucopia. Kind of just... waiting for death. Waiting for whoever happened by. Almost certainly Laken, or else a mutt or some disaster. Or maybe Kade would wander by. We could have a party and sit up chatting all night. She would probably be cold and hungry. I certainly had enough supplies to spare.

The chiming of a parachute surprised me. I didn't even need anything. Eight should use its resources for Kade. But when I scooped up the box and twisted it open, my face lit up.

LAMP. We had flashlights in the Cornucopia, but not lamps. Not a real lamp with a little shade and a pear-shvped body and a strap to clip it to my belt and some fancy Capitol battery that would probably last for weeks. And underneath it, a pair of the nicest wings I'd ever seen. They wouldn't actually let me fly, since that would be pretty unfair, but the strap-on wings had delicate moss fuzz and a lovely cream tone. I didn't need a note to see Isabella's signature. Somewhere out there, she was still with me. I hoped she was smiling, too. And I sat, alone in a silent Cornucopia, holding my hands up to the lamp to see its light on my skin.

It would be a good day to die. Not that I wanted to, of course. I'd always imagined I would live a full life, maybe with a partner moth, until I died of old age. But if it had to be like this, it wasn't the worst way to go. Isabella was safe, and if I died next, I wouldn't know for certain that Beth or Zeb didn't win. So when I saw someone creeping up towards my camp, I wasn't afraid. I got up to clear out, since I didn't want Isabella to see me go out without trying, but if Laken caught me, that was life.

But it wasn't Laken creeping towards me. The figure wasn't creeping at all. It was stumbling. It was someone stumbling toward me, like they were drunk. Or injured...

As I ran to help, I recognized Zeb. I pulled back out of sheer surprise, then ran to meet him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, before I saw the red, weeping line across his back. Bits of flaking-off mud brought skin and white fluid with them.

"I don't feel so good," Zeb panted, his face ashed. I grabbed him around the waist and helped him to our camp. I set him down and rummaged through our supplies for a first aid kit. I came up with a bottle of antibiotic pills and he meekly took one.

"I'm sorry," Zeb said as I washed the mud off his wound.

"It's okay," I said.

"But everything I did," he said. He slumped forward with his head in his hands.

I took a minute before I responded. Truth be told, I didn't know how to feel. I wanted to tell Zeb everything would be all right and it was no big deal. But... he'd killed someone. Where do you go after that? Just tell him it's no big deal? What would Jack's family say about that? When I'd seen Zeb, I was happy. I was glad he was okay and worried about his infection. But did being friends with someone give me the right to pardon something that went so far beyond me?

"Things happen... in the Games," I started. I sat down next to Zeb. I might not have known what to say, but I could stay with him.

"Not to everyone," he said, looking mournfully at me.

I took a deep breath and started to respond, making it up as I went along. "Things happen in the Games," I repeated. "People do things they wouldn't have done. I don't think it's true what they say about people revealing their true selves at their worst moments. I think their worst moments are just that: moments. Not all of that person. And even if it is "you", people change. Obviously you're sad about what happened. That means it's not "you" anymore. If you could go back, you'd do things differently." I sighed again. "There are things you can't undo. There's no help for that. But in the Games... I guess I think it's not that this is your "true self". I guess I think instead of showing that, it shows what something like this can do to a person. None of this should have happened in the first place. I think we're small and scared and sometimes... things happen."

It didn't come together like I'd hoped it would. It sounded disjointed and rambling and not nearly grand enough for what we were discussing. But it must have been enough for Zeb, because we sat in silence, and we sat together.

Zebulon Charles, District Twelve male (17)

Before I came here, Mike must have been alone. It gave me a funny sort of pain to think of Mike alone. He was such a ray of light. What a waste for no one to be there to see it. So even though I still didn't feel deserving, I was glad at least he wasn't alone.

What Mike had said was still bouncing around in my head. It wasn't the easy response I'd pretended I might get, while knowing rationally that even permission to come back was too much to hope for. What had I been hoping for? "Oh, it's okay you killed a kid- you're a nice guy anyway"? A stab of guilt and pain ran through me just saying the words in my head. Even if a few people, the ones like Mike, might say there was something good in me, even he had to acknowledge that I could never undo what I'd done. I could change, but that would always be what I'd changed from.

"What happened?" Mike asked as he let the rain wash off my wound so he could put cream on it.

"Dahlia," I said.

"Oh, that was you?" Even Mike didn't have any accusation in his tone there. He didn't seem happyto talk about Dahlia dying, but I didn't sense any judgment.

"She stabbed me. We fought. I won," I said. No need to give the gory details.

"That's too bad. About her, I mean," Mike said. "I guess you don't know someone's story."

Pretty sure it was a horror story, but I suppose I shouldn't judge. Guilt pricked me again, and the same old thoughts played out again. I killed a kid. I killed someone. I'd come stumbling back to camp, thinking I'd probably die of infection and at least I could tell Mike I was sorry, since he was the only one left who would possibly listen to me, and he'd let me. I couldn't make sense of the world. Kids killing kids. Other kids loving them anyway.

The seat of my pants chilled suddenly. I put a hand back in confusion and my fingers brushed water. I scooted around and saw our camp was smaller than it had been a moment ago. And had that water been that deep?

"Oh, ick. They're getting the Cornucopia wet so we have to leave. Oh well, I'm surprised they let me stay this long," Mike said.

I jumped up, the edges of my wound pulling painfully. "Oh, no. Oh no."

"What?" Mike asked.

"Flash flood. We need to get higher now." The water was already inching up on my shoes. There was a noticeable current and I knew firsthand that inches of water could knock a man off his feet.

I grabbed the closest thing to me- the first aid kit- and ran for the Cornucopia. "Get on the Cornucopia!" I yelled to Mike. He grabbed his lamp and ran after me.How could I have not noticed?The water was over my shoes before I was halfway across the clearing around the Cornucopia. Mike was behind me, limping, and I doubled back to grab his arm and drag him with me.

We reached the Cornucopia as the water raised to our calves. I tried to jump up and slid down its smooth sides. I waded back and forth, looking for purchase, as the water swirled around the Cornucopia's edges in eddies and little whirlpools. A dead rodent floated by and I knew how very, very serious this was.

"It's too slippery," Mike said as he vainly tried to push himself up the Cornucopia walls.

"This way," I said. I waded toward the mouth of the Cornucopia, dangerously close to open water, and pointed to the lip of the opening. Mike grabbed on and pulled himself up in a chin-up motion, dangling over the top edge of the Cornucopia mouth. As he scrambled for purchase to pull himself up the rest of the way, I put my shoulder under his legs and shoved him upward. He slid onto the roof and scooted around to haul me after him.

I never saw the log coming in the filthy water. A section of a fallen tree swept my feet out from under me and I fell back into the knee-deep water. The log stuck in the ground, pinning me under, and I thought for sure I'd drown in two feet of water. But then it popped free and the current swept both of us out toward the deeper water around the platforms. The dark, rushing water disoriented me so much that by the time I stopped tumbling and got my head above the water, the Cornucopia was thirty feet away.

"Zeb! Zeb!" Mike was crouched on the edge of the Cornucopia, looking for where to jump in after me. Even without his injured leg, it would have been meaningless. In water like this, even a Four would drown. No, if Mike came in after me, it would only mean two bodies. So I didn't wave, and I didn't call out, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified. I ducked my head under and let the current carry me away. The water was dark and full of churning silt. No one could see me through it. It was disgusting- filthy, even. But after that last glimpse of Mike, safe on the Cornucopia, I felt that filthy water wash me clean.

5th place: Zebulon Charles- drowned

Zeb's form said he was a survivalist. When I needed someone for the murder mystery, I used that to turn him into someone willing to do anything to survive. Afterwards, though, Zeb learned that wasn't who he was after all. He was a survivor, but he wasn't a killer. Since him killing Jack wasn't in his form, I ended his story with him saving Mike in order to restore the damage I'd done to his character and hopefully prevent bias against him in possible Resurrection appearances. Zeb was something of a smaller personality among the Cult of Mothman, but he was the last one to be with Mike. Now only Beth is left, and time will tell if they interact with Mike again. But as for Zeb, he saw what desperation can do to someone, and he chose to go on afterwards. Thanks Willuna for someone with a Z in their name and for the unsung background of the Cult.