content warning for memories of physical abuse in Harold's POV

Vignette Cawthorne, 18

District 1 Female

Steam filled the room, slightly dampening the sound of the shower. I breathed in the humid air, savoring the gentle warmth before plunging into the spray. The water was scalding — almost hot enough to make me cry out — but I bit my lip and endured it. I had to wash the crimson from my skin. Tomorrow, I would be bathed in the true hue. I no longer needed the paint.

I didn't want it.

I scrubbed my face and throat with a towel, slathered soap up my arms and down my torso, and slicked sweet shampoo through my hair. I peeled the red polish off my fingernails and let the water rush over me until my skin was raw and tingling. Only when I couldn't tolerate the heat any longer did I step out onto the soft bath mat.

I dried off with a fluffy towel, not with the strange air current device Capitol bathrooms had. I wanted as much normalcy as I could get because tomorrow the Games would begin and everything would be different.

I slipped on a tank top and silk pajama bottoms and sank onto my bed. The room had a projector that lit up the ceiling with constellations, so I lay on my back watching the artificial stars and wondering what tomorrow would bring.

I wondered what the arena would be, and what would happen in the bloodbath. What would it be like to take a life? I knew I could; there was no other choice. But I couldn't entirely wrap my head around the concept. Would the tributes I killed follow me the way my mother did?

It would be more than fair, but I hoped they didn't. I needed to be focused and grounded, and even my mother's presence could distract me. I could not allow myself to rest.

My allies would protect me as I would them but alliances only last for so long, especially amongst capable Careers. I found myself momentarily saddened by the possibility of turning on Anahira or Robin Violet. Both girls were lovely people as well as talented artists. But that was the nature of the Games. I knew what I had to do, and I would do it.

Harold Wilde, 18

District 4 Male

My father's gray eyes glinted in the darkness as he stalked toward me. I pressed my back against the wall and fisted the sheets on my bed, trying to keep my terror at bay. But my breath was coming in short, gasping pants and my heart felt like it would burst from my chest. My father slid his belt from around his waist with one hand and reached for me with the other…

Then someone screamed, but it wasn't me. Thick black hair whipped across my face as Helen threw herself in between my father and I. The belt lashed across her face and then I was screaming too but I couldn't move. I had to watch as my father struck Helen over and over.

She fell to the ground, writhing in agony, and then suddenly she was Dahlia instead. My father continued to strike her, each blow changing the figure from light-skinned and blonde to black-haired and bronzed.

And when she stopped moving, he looked back at me. But he didn't hit me. He accused me.

"You promised to protect her," he snarled. "But you hid instead. She's all alone now. You will never see her again."

I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat and trembling all over. My vision blurred with tears as I jolted upright and scrambled out of bed. I slid onto the floor and sat perfectly still, waiting for the rocking sea to soothe me. But I wasn't on the boat. I was in the Capitol, in a room on the fourth floor, hundreds of miles away from home. I began to rock back and forth instead, desperate for the comforting rhythm. It helped a bit, but the memories of my dream lingered.

I was almost too ashamed and angry to admit it, but my father — my subconscious — was right. All the years I spent hiding from my father were years I could have spent with Helen. Now I was going to die without ever seeing her again.

Kyle Rush, 18

District 8 Male

For the first time ever, I was awake early. Nana usually had to coax me out of bed in the mornings but today I was up with the sun. I'd already showered and was going through my regular warmup stretches. I couldn't do my entire workout warmup but staying loose was important so I was fitting in as much as I could.

Someone knocked on my door just as I dropped into a deep lunge.

"What's up?" I called out, leaning into the stretch as much as I could.

"It's breakfast time," Zander told me cheerfully. "Cleo ordered special sausages."

"Coming!" I replied. He retreated down the hall and I followed him a moment later.

The sausages were delicious but it was difficult to eat anything. I was hungry but my stomach also felt twisted up and strange. At Cecelia's urging, I ate one sausage and some toast, but it sat heavy in my gut for the rest of the meal. And Jersey looked even more ill than me.

I'm nervous. The thought came to me as the elevator deposited us at the hovercraft bay. Zander clapped a firm hand on my shoulder and smiled.

"You'll do great," he assured me. "Go get 'em." I flashed him the most confident grin I could muster in response.

The air was tense onboard the hovercraft. Christopher, the handsome Career boy from 1, was chatting with the girls from 2 and 12 who were politely indulging him but everyone else was silent. I drummed my fingers on my thighs and tried to take deep breaths.

Eventually the cabin darkened and I felt a slight drop in my stomach. We were starting our descent. We sank and sank for what felt like hours, but finally the odd feeling subsided and the hum of the engines stopped. Two men in scrubs came to unfasten our seatbelts and give us some kind of injection. I wasn't usually squeamish about needles, but the syringe was bigger than anything I'd ever seen. I flinched as cold steel slid under my skin and deep, aching pain radiated through my arm.

Then I was turned over to a Peacekeeper and escorted through a seemingly endless maze of bare concrete halls.

Just when I was starting to worry that we were lost and would be down here forever, we stopped. The Peacekeeper flipped open a hidden panel and punched some numbers into a keypad. A door slid open and I was nudged inside without a word.

I relaxed slightly when I saw my stylist. Cassian smiled warmly and beckoned me over, spreading his arms wide as I approached.

"Kyle!" he cried. "There's my Victor!"

"Not quite," I reminded him. But Cassian shook his head.

"Not yet. Once you're suited up you'll be unstoppable."

It did feel like I was suiting up for some grand adventure. My arena outfit was a comfortable synthetic black shirt and undergarments under a black water-resistant jumpsuit, and sturdy boots with grippy black soles. When I was dressed, Cassian stood back and looked me up and down.

"Expect a wet arena," he said. "Very likely cold too."

"Got it," I said as a robotic female voice announced that we had two minutes left. Cassian ushered me onto a black platform in the corner of the room. "Any last minute advice?"

"Be brave."

I swallowed, hard. Let the Games begin.

OH. MY. GOSH. We made it! We made it to the bloodbath! I shouldn't be excited to reach the part of the story where characters have to die, but I am. I'm sure you are too though. This chapter took a little while because of my OCD and because I made a last-minute arena change. If you want a hint, go check out the blog. All of my blogs are weebly blogs, and all of my blog urls are "titleyear". So this one is passage72, and I'm writing it piecemeal because ffn doesn't like links.

As always, please leave a review if you can and thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter and the upcoming Games!

QUESTIONS

1) Who are you saving from the bloodbath? (besides your own tribute)

2) Who will die first? (POV and/or non-POV)

ALLIANCES

The Careers: Vignette, Christopher, Anahira, Blue, Missy, Robin Violet

The Mathematicians: Louise, CT, Robert

Courage & Kindness: Harold, Dahlia

Team Bro: Ivan, Diesel, Logan

Boss Ass Babes: Adera, Kyle, Edam, Clementine

Tea Party: Tea, Paul, Dustin

Loners: Jersey, Annoa, Vikram

Have a nice day, be kind to each other, and never stop reading!

- Fiona