BRADDOCK SIMPSON- Camille Igawa
I couldn't believe it had taken him this long to die. Had he been in a coma or something? I hoped he hadn't been awake. I hadn't meant for him to linger like this. I thought when you got hit by a truck you died.
Hades Rodriguez- District Seven mentor
I'd kind of made peace when Katrina and Deciduous died. Braddock… wasn't really Victor material. I felt a little guilty for not talking to him more. There was probably a reason he was like that.
District Seven
Timber, Katrina, Deciduous, Oaken, Jezzebel, Jasmine, Reiner, Cloe, Keylor, Jude and Echo were dearly missed.
TODDWARD HOWARD
GAIUS MCCLELLAN- Maxson Deloria
I'd barely had time to mourn one before I lost them both. It was bittersweet how much it hurt. I really did care about them more than I'd feared. I had so little time to reflect, though. The wound in my stomach wasn't critical, but it would be if I didn't stop the blood quickly.
Nubu Sanders- District Twelve mentor
We'd known it was coming when Gaius needed the wheelchair. It had been uplifting to see how valiantly he'd carried on. It hadn't stopped him, but it had been a burden no one could survive in the arena. I'd seen every one of my Tributes reflected in his struggles. I still saw every one of them.
District Twelve
There was one thing we had that no other District would understand. For us, the Games were a foregone conclusion. We went into it not hoping our children would win, but having a head start on mourning them. By the time they died, we'd already started preparing for the next.
ARIELLE ERMIN- Wangari Kariuki
Just me and Tuesday, then? I wouldn't have guessed it. I wouldn't have guessed much at all. I knew so little about every one of these people. She must have been strong to make it this far, but I didn't think I would recognize Arielle if I passed her on the street.
Shane Donegal- District Four mentor
I'd had a feeling from the start this wasn't our Games. I didn't know what it was, but I just had a feeling. Arielle got me second-guessing myself, but in the end I was right. If I was being honest, I hadn't given them as much as I should have. I'd been distracted. It didn't take a genius to see what Games would come next, and who I'd be seeing again.
District Four
So many Tributes survive in tiny slivers of themselves. Arielle's brother Dylan wondered at how much his daughter looked like Arielle. He'd named her Piper, after the seabirds she'd loved so much. Cyrene's little niece was just as prim and proper as her aunt. Despite everything his parents said, Kame Katao still wanted to volunteer just like his great-uncle Mahi.
Tuesday Erelle- Into Thin Air D2F
The screen was mockingly blank in front of me as I sat before the computer, bouncing my leg. Writer's block always sucked. One would think being in the arena would give me tons of material, but the thing was, I'd been in here a long time. I probably would have lost count of the days, but there was one commenter who kept a running log. We'd been in here thirty-two days- a month, pretty much. It was weird to think about. Thinking about a normal month of my life, it seemed like so much time. Or what about a baby? In a month a baby went from a squirmy little maggot to… maybe holding its head up? Flipping itself over? I wasn't really a baby expert. But it was a long time to be in here away from normal life and human interactions.
The worst cure for writer's block is procrastination, so naturally that was what I did. Some people liked to post what was going on in the world, so that was nice. It seemed Alexandria Holton had dropped a new album. I had no idea who that was, but good for her. A while back I'd found the moderated comments. That was a Pandora's box I couldn't resist. I was pleasantly surprised to find most of the comments about me were pretty mild. The most common opinion was that my haircut was unflattering, which was true. They'd cloned me with the same haircut I had in my original Games, when I'd recently cut it in an undercover investigation. Now it was in that awkward phase where it was just past my chin but above my shoulders. I'd only ever seen it in the wild on female Peacekeepers.
There's gotta be something I can do with this. Someone in here had instigated class warfare with my blog. Walcott, I presumed, was the one who used it to get vampire information. What else could I do?
Most ideas were too obvious. Everyone else knew that everyone in here had ulterior motives and was almost certainly lying. What if I commented instead of posting? I was the only one who could post blog entries, as far as I could tell. I assumed the others didn't see the publish button on their interface. Anyone could leave a comment, though, and comments allowed you to create your own username. I'd still have to be really subtle. Any big claims and everyone would immediately know it was fake. I'd have to change my writing style, too. Even without having seen Walcott's writing before, I knew it was her from its blunt single-mindedness. A few of the outliers had left comments and outed themselves by their spelling and grammar errors. School funding was dismal in the outer Districts.
All of this brought me back to the original question I'd been trying to avoid with all these details. What would I actually write? The plan was to pretend to be a Capitolite and say I knew someone involved in the Games. No one would believe me if I said something obvious, like "There's going to be a ton of mutts on the first two floors and everyone should gather in the basement". Everyone knew the Gamemakers wouldn't allow a comment giving away someone's location, even if I did know where they were. I needed something way out of left field- something too weird to make up. Or… Something so desirable that someone might let their wishful thinking win out, especially since we were all tired and stressed and not at our best.
I started typing up something about the water being poisoned and everyone needing to use bottled water, hoping it would force people closer together. I erased it as I remembered how very easy it would be to find fluids in a hospital. I also threw out partially-finished comments about the winner getting to resurrect someone. It was another hour before I finally landed on something.
Heyyyy Tributes! (Capitolites love slang, I thought) A little birdie told me, some cool cool news! I don't know for SURE, but I heard that you all better hurry up ;) (Emojis are cool, right?). The bigwigs are getting impatent and word is they might start making their own eliminations if you don't :o :o! Take care and may the odds be ever in your favor ha ha! XD – GuardianAngel
It seemed ridiculously transparent to me. No way would anyone believe it. Something was better than nothing, though. At least it probably wouldn't get traced back to me. Most people knew I was super into journalism and wouldn't make the errors I'd seeded in my message. I hadn't put too many, either, in case that was what gave me away. My last little touch was to delete the message an hour or so after I posted it. It ran the risk of no one seeing it, but it also gave the impression that the Gamemakers had changed their minds and removed it. So it must be true, right?
Walcott Patel- No Way Down D3F
It had been almost a week since I'd talked to someone. That probably wasn't good for me. I'd found that socialization was like a muscle for me. It was a lot easier if I didn't stretch it out, but if I didn't, it withered. I'd spend a few days reading a new series or working on art over summer break and before I knew it, I'd spent a week without leaving the house. Then it just seemed too hard, so I'd spend more time inside, and eventually my dad would insist I went on some outing with him just to get me talking to people again. Then I had to force myself out and try to get back to a level where I could at least look normal.
It didn't seem safe to go out into the garden- there was probably a Career lurking near the door to get anyone who tried. The next best thing was to roam the hospital, but that was dangerous too. I did have one necessary errand, though. I made my way down to the basement to check the morgue. Shinj had to have some sort of hidey-hole to wait out the daylight hours. Vampires weren't really limited to using a coffin for that, but they tended to prefer it. No dice, though. There was nothing in the body drawers but dead bodies. They really were dead, too. I tested them with sternal rubs.
Internet interaction wasn't real socialization- so my parents insisted- but it was something. I scrolled through the comments and left a few of my own, just chatting about this and that. Most of them were about mundane things, but then my eyes flew down to the word vampire.
Anyone out there know how to heal a vampire bite? It's only a little one. It doesn't seem infected, but it's not scabbing over very well. I think the vampire spit is messing with it.- Wouldn'tYouLikeToKnow
My whole body tensed. Someone had been bitten. Someone was infected. Probably a Career, I thought. They're the most likely to fight someone. But then, a vampire would attack anyone. They had no remorse and when they were hungry they weren't picky. It could be anyone.
It could be everyone.
I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it. I should have planned for it from the start. I especially should have put it together after Joseph got bit. Anyone in the arena could be a vampire. Anyone in the arena could be a damned hellspawn.
I couldn't trust anyone. I took out my knife and looked at the blade. I saw my face looking back and exhaled in relief. You never know- I might have been infected and not even known it. A drop of blood from Joseph, perhaps? Then I remembered I'd just walked around the hospital in broad daylight, passing multiple windows. Oops, my bad.
Everyone else was suspect, though. Unless I personally saw someone walk past a window, I couldn't be sure they weren't a vampire. I'd been focusing all my energies on Shinju, but I couldn't do that anymore. Unless I won, there was a chance the Victor would be a vampire. They'd be taken around the Districts in their victory tour, free to infect the entire nation. The only thing containing this plague was the hospital walls. I couldn't let that happen. From now on, I wasn't looking for just Shinju. I had to kill every one of them. It was the only way to be sure.
Camille Igawa- Let the Good Times Roll D9F
In the arena, we so often thought about taking care of our bodies. It was only to be expected in a survival situation. There just wasn't time to think about other things, like your mind and your soul. That wasn't sustainable, though. Your mind and soul are connected to your body. If one of them suffers, the others suffer with it. It was why I was heading toward the library. There were probably books that could help me learn something that might keep me safe. I didn't want those, though. Truth be told, I was hoping there might be some poetry books. If there weren't, I thought I might write something of my own. I'd passed so many body charts and graphs over the weeks. I'd stopped to admire several of them. Our bodies really were beautiful- beautiful and wondrous. One chart of a hand still stuck in my head. There was no skin, so you could see everything underneath. I had no idea there were so many muscles and ligaments and tissues. I'd looked at the ligaments connected to the fingers. They were like little pulleys- each finger a tiny machine. The simplest machines on Earth, duplicated in our bodies. So simple, but my hand could make a million movements. I thought I might write something about that.
The blood on the door caught my eye right away. It wasn't fresh. It was dull brown and flaky, like rust. I would have backed away, afraid of the Career no doubt having recently made a kill, but the door was ajar. A Career wouldn't do that. It must have been someone wounded. I'd heard two cannons a few hours ago. I'd wondered who it was. Maybe it had happened here. Probably the hovercraft had already taken the bodies, but maybe not. Maybe I could get a little head start on knowing who was left.
The light was off in the examination room I entered, but I could see it wasn't where the fight had taken place. There wasn't enough blood. It didn't seem like there were any bodies, either, but then I flipped on the light and saw the boy under the bed. Maxson was turned toward me, but his eyes were closed. There was blood all down his front, the color deepest on the bandage sliding off his stomach. He was deathly pale and his breathing was shallow. Around him were littered bandages and a tipped-over bottle of water.
A coldness came over me. I could guess what must have happened. He'd been in a fight with two other people, both of whom had died. He'd been wounded and had come here looking for medical supplies, bleeding heavily. He'd gotten himself bandaged, but he'd passed out before he could secure it all the way. He was in no condition to defend himself. Even if I just walked away, he wouldn't last much longer.
I knew what the Capitol was thinking. Here was a sitting duck, ready for me to shoot. Here was a boy, here for me to kill. That's how easy they thought it would be. They thought one Tribute would see another's weakness and do the obvious thing. Of course I wouldn't hesitate. I was the punk- the goth.
They really didn't know what either of those meant, did they? My pity for Maxson hardened into contempt for the Capitol. I wasn't goth because I loved death. I was goth because I honored life. Death is only one piece of this cycle. It wasn't lesser than any other and it wasn't greater. Death was the last question, the ultimate mystery. It carried so much beauty because life carried so much beauty. A skull was what remained of a human. It was the piece of us that crumbled into the earth and became a piece of someone else. Death did not separate us. It brought us all into one.
They didn't know what a punk was, either. I wasn't rebelling against rules or popularity. I fought despotism and nothing else. My fellow Tributes were not my enemy. They were my fellow victims, forced to fear me just as I was urged to fight them. Maxson was not my enemy. Maxson was a human. He was beautiful in life. His death would be beautiful as well, but it would not come from me. I wasn't going to rebel by winning the Games. I hoped that I did, but that would not be my rebellion. My rebellion came from never, ever letting them decide who I would be.
I knelt down, bending my head and upper back under the bed. I took the water left in the bottle and washed away the caked-on blood from Maxson's stomach so I could anchor the bandage. I pressed it down and smoothed it out over the wound. It curled up at the edges, saturated with blood, so I took some smaller bandages and taped it down. I took the blanket from the top of the bed and draped it over He might still die. Someone might also come and kill him. Neither of those were my responsibility. I didn't put Maxson's life ahead of my own, but I did honor it. If I died because of what I did, I died undefeated. I closed the door behind me and walked away a rebel.