The 78th Annual Hunger Games

The 78th Annual Hunger Games

[July 25th, 2015]: These Games are now back! Make sure to stay active.

Serial Killer - Lana del Rey

/xlf9e9PnJZM

Alliances
Careers: Heliodor Agath (1), Marlene Amador (1), Mica Slateport (2), Savanna Léon (2), Severus Seaclan (4), Callimont Crusoe (4) & Chantel Oakley (14)

Anti-careers: Easton Silverbead (5), Nichole Peyton (5), Clara Willows (7), Hawthorne Willows (7), Raven Reyes (10), Annabelle Harret (11), Lucius Venom (C) & Roxanne Wildor (C)

9,13 & 14 Alliance: Harvest Cropper (9), Julian Veritas (13) & Elvis Slice (14)

0, 8 & 10 Alliance: Alluria Nexus (0), Harmony Abbot (8) & Cliffe Holden (10)

3 & 8 Alliance: Signors Stalingrad (3), Favian Thread (8) & Dawn Pyres (9)

Elliott Siblings: Phillip Elliott (12) & Kimberly Elliott (12)

Loners: Dimitri Kerr (0), Lucia Duvall (3), Jackson Spidetail (6), Luna Tick (6), Max Muzzele (11) & Rose Wells (13)

The Sponsors
'''Note: When a Tribute kills someone, they will receive $50. Dead Tributes are cut off the chart. After each day ends, you will be allowed to choose three tributes. These tributes will receive $25 of sponsor money. You cannot sponsor the same tribute for two days in a row; and you cannot choose your own tributes.'''

The Sponsoring Gifts


Antidote: $100

Anti-Infection: $80

Awl: $30

Alcohol: $75

Axe: $300

Baton: $160

Battleaxe $400

Blanket: $80

Blowgun: $125

Bow: $250

Burn Cream: $125

Canteen (Empty): $75

Canteen (Filled): $200

Camouflage Kit: $ 200

Chakram: $375

Chlorine: $75

Cookies (x25): $60

Crossbow (w/ 12 bolts): $475

Crackers (x6): $15

Dagger: $150

Darts (x12): $85

Dried Meat: $75

Dried Fruit: $50

Flashlight: $160

Hammer: $325

Iodine: $100

Loaf of Bread (x5): $120

Knife: $50

Knife Glove: $100

Mace: $150

Mace (Chained): $175

Machete: $125

Matches: $75

Morning Star: $175

Gasoline $100

Hatchet: $150

Needles (3): $125

Net: $75

Net Trap: $125

Night-Vision Glasses: $150

Piece of Plastic: $15

Painkillers: $50

Poison: $100

Potion (heals any wound): $600

Quiver of Arrows (x22): $150

Rope: $25

Scythe: $250

Shield: $260

Shield (Spiked): $290

Shurikens (x5): $135

Sickle: $125

Sleeping Bag: $120

Syrup: $125

Slingshot: $35

Soup: $95

Spear (x5): $375

Spile: $100

Sword: $250

Throwing Axes (x3): $200

Throwing Knives (x12): $250

Trident: $325

Water: $300

Whip: $75

Wire: $75

Wooden Club: $100

District Zero: Dimitri Kerr
I wake up screaming and begging for Nitka to flee. I had the very same nightmare last night. And the night before it. It takes a while for me to calm down completely, and when I do, I'm still sweating and breathing heavily. I just woke up and I already feel that today will be one of those days that will mark my life, my crazy and conturbed life. Today I will attend a reaping for a Hunger Games for the first time. For some reason, it feels weird to stop and think that I have only fifteen years. A lot of things happened during my life, but when I come to think of it, everything seems to have happened yesterday. When I was only eight-years-old, my sister Nitka died. Nitka died as a child during a bear attack, which unfortunately isn't an uncommon cause of death when you live in the gelid and depressing scenario of District 0. I survived, but was left with a nasty laceration on my right cheek. After the bear attack, mom was all but done with life. She basically gave up on herself, leaving me to fend for myself since the incident. She stopped to care about anything at the moment she knew of Nitka's death. It would've been scary to lose everything that matters to you in a blink of eyes, if I didn't have faith. But I never gave up. I held my head high and went with the flow. Although it didn't help me at all. At school, I was left alone by everyone, save for the various occasions my teachers asked me if my mother was at the least still alive.

When I was eleven, I went to school and came back to find out mom was dead. She had hung herself in a doorway. Desesperate and hungry, I survived by doing illegal fishing and eating with the kindest neighbors who felt bad for me. I continued to go to school and expanded my knowledge as far as I could, in order to provide myself with a better future. Instead of feeling sorry for myself and vying to avenge my mother's suicide and my father's disappearance, I moved on and began to study to become a astrophysicist.

I remember spending multiple nights staring out of the kitchen window, looking at the stars. one day I started to map all of the stars of the Milky Way and developed an obsession for studying the various constellations. I found strength in the promise i made myself, the promise that I would provide myself with a great future. As I grew up, I studied for countless hours, and became one of the most intelligent and well-valued students at school. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day here studying, if it weren't for the Reaping later this morning.

I don't want to know who are going to be this year's tributes. The pair of children who is going to get a gruesome death from some bulky career. I don't approve this system, I do not approve this life. But there is no way to change that. You don't argue on top of something with the Capitol. You just put you head down and keep moving. Fear fills my chest as I consider the possibility of my name being drained out of the Reaping Ball. Of course that is possible; in fact, my chances of getting reaped are very high. I think back, and remember the amount of tesserae I signed up for. Enough to give me a diet of grain and bread for a year. I quickly shrug any thoughts about the Hunger Games off my head. I'm not getting reaped. For now I shall content myself on getting to the District square.

I stand up and head for the door. I don't waste any of my valuable time, setting off down the streets as soon as I step out of my house. I push my way through the streets that are gradually getting more crowded as I get closer to the Reaping area, being careful not to bump into someone. The square is buzzing with people and voices, and the snow crunches softly under my feet as I move. People over the age of eighteen are sorted onto the right side of the Square whilst everyone eligible to be reaped goes in the right, assuming their respective positions. After getting in line I get my blood taken, trying to avoid looking into the face of the Peacekeeper.

After he's finished, I get out of the line and assume my place in the 15-years-old section, glaring at the escort Bethunia Thorne. She is very quick while explaining how the Reaping will proceed, and wastes no time to say that it is now time to reap our tributes. Her hand goes into the girls' bowl and a name is plucked out. "Alluria Nexus." She reads the name in dramatic fashion, and turns her gaze to the crowd. I spin around, my elbow smashing into a nearby boy's face, and after muttering a quick apology I turn around looking for the selected girl.

I spot her moving in the fifteen year-olds line. She looks decidedly average, standing at typical height and carrying a frightened expression. Altough I draw all my atention to the girl's eyes. They're crimson-like, and I notice something inhuman radiating out of them. But apparently I'm the only one to notice, because everyone in the crowd just stares at the girl, humming to themselves. I'm too far back to see the stage clearly but I can tell she's shaking Bethunia's hand, before she goes to pull out the boy's name. "Dimitri Kerr!"

My breath catches in my throat and I stumble backwards. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Judging by the stares of everyone around me, I can tell that the shock I feel is evident on my face. No one in the crowd attempts to stop me as I violently push through them. I emerge from the fifteen-years-old section without much ceremony. I'm on the stage quickly, and shake Bethunia's hand before being placed next to Alluria. I look out into the crowd. They're all staring ahead with varying expressions. The Anthem plays. The Reapings go on as usual and I know that my fate is sealed. I will be going into the Hunger Games. . . and I will die.

District One: Marlene Amador
As I stand in the crowd assembled affront of the stage where two kids will soon be sent off to Games, I wonder if I am making the right choice. Should I be volunteering for the Hunger Games? Am I stupid for doing this? Maybe. But I don't see any other way of survival. While I have a vague chance of surviving the Games, I do not have the slighest hope in surviving the life on the streets. But I do not want to compete these Games because I am some bloodthirsty moron, just like all the scum surrounding me. I am volunteering for various reasons, but definetly not that one. I am volunteering for the Games to make my deceased father proud of what I did, of the warrior I have become in his honour.

And then I remember when my rapier dug into the soft flesh of his throat. I shake my head as I remember. I always thought it was odd that he valued the Games more than his own daughters. I should have known there was a reason for that. He wanted the glory. He didn't want it, he needed it. And that's why I did it. I couldn't take it anymore. I was weak, and I was confused, so I didn't realize what I just done untill the rapier was pulled out of his throat. I stop all those flashbacks and pay attention to what matters, the Reaping. Now I have to get my blood taken.

The Square that is so often empty is crowded with people as I walk down it. They're all gathered around something on the side of the path and I come to a stop, the others who also have come from the poorer regions of the District stop as well. A peacekeeper steps back from the group and waves a hand at us. "Get movin'! Nothing to see in here'"

Everyone walks away, while I can't help but sigh. I don't even need to see what happened. What just happened is what happens every day in this District. Homicide. It isn't uncommon to see people getting killed here. It is always caused for the same reasons. While most of the killing is caused by rebels, a huge part of it is caused by the morons form the Training Academy, trying to prove that they're better than each other. I hate this place. I hate the people who run it and I hate the other girls here. I think I hate people in general, not that it matters.

I absentmindly get my blood taken, and stand in the corner of my assigned section, waiting for the Reaping to proceed. "Greetings to the glorious District One! We have been provided with  this fine morning for yet another Reapings!" The usual fare of applause and cheers greet this and a wide smile breaks out the escort's face as he continues. "On this day two warriors shall enter themselves into one of the most glorious and greatest of all things...the Hunger Games!" Shout echo throughout the stone buildings that surround us and the crowd starts up a chant of "Hunger Games" which carries on for minutes before dying down. By the time it finished, it didn't even look like they were chanting words. "These two teenagers shall have the most prestigious honor of fighting for their District against the other contingents of Panem!"

I roll my eyes around. I couldn't care less about the "glory" of being a victor. All I need is to win, and live my life the fullest after it. "Let's select our female tribute, shall we?" I don't even permit him to reach a hand into the bowl before screaming my volunteerism and rushing to the stage. The escort grins like an idiot and shoves the microphone in my face, requesting my name. "I am Marlene Amador!" I yell into the microphone. The crowd claps and applauds me, causing me to briefly blush with pride before shoving it away. I don't need their acceptance. I've already told myself that. Those are the people who are trained to fight, trained to kill. I couldn't care less wheter they approve me or not.

"Let's find out who our male tribute will be!" The escort says. He digs a hand into the bowl but before he can pick a slip of paper many voices shout out "I volunteer!" and he turns to scan the crowd, grinning foolishly. He finally selects a pale, dark-haired boy from the front the crowd who appears to be wearing a long kimono. The boy stands at average height, and seems just like you typical District 1 tribute. As soon as he steps onto the stage, the boy has already pulled the microphone out of the escort's hands, as he turns his gaze to the crowd. "I am Heliodor Agath, well-valued member of the League of Assassins! Remember the name, because I will be your next victor!" The crowd goes wild of course. They never do anything differently. It's always a celebration for them, not caring at all that both of us could soon be dead. And why should they? Even if we both die in the bloodbath they still have thirty other tributes to root for and one of them is guaranteed to survive, afterall. The escort concludes the Reaping but not the celebration. That will continue long into the night. Mainly for the people of the Capitol, who will be partying as us tributes lie in our beds, thinking about all of the ways death can reach us during the Games.

District Two: Savanna Léon
The sun is shining, as always. The forest is calm – only the mockingjays sing and the insects make clicking noises. There are no sounds of people nearby. Good. Golden leaves drift from the trees, sunlight streaking through the canopies. It is early autumn here. Pale grass begins to shorten, disappearing in the cold weather. But still, the skies are blue and the clouds are puffy. I chuck knives at the trees, smiling as each one of them sinks into the hard wood. If only I could remain here all day! I could watch as the initial orange streaks to the sky, as the crickets come out to chirp. I could spend the rest of the day doing what I want here, without having to chit-chat or please anyone on my way. This place is mine. This is my kingdom--

"Savanna!" I turn around, and come face-to-face with my mother. Oh no. .. "How many times will I have to tell you to stay away from here!"

"I'm not sure, ma'am." I answer, rolling my eyes around. My mother's face contorts with rage as I challenge her, again. Her face burns red, but when she blinks it's gone. "Get moving. You have the Reaping to attend." The main square isn’t far from the dead forest. It’s about half a mile, and probably only about two hundred metres from our house. If you go to the borders of the District, it could take hours to reach the Justice Building. But I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to walk that far, really. My family is one of the healthiest one here, so we bought a car a few years ago. But I guess that today I'll have to walk.

When I reach home, my feet hurts like hell and I wish I could sleep untill tomorrow, but I have the Reapings to attend “Do you want to change?” Fiorenza, one of my sisters, wonders aloud as soon as I step inside. I’ve got grass stains on my shirt and bits of leaves cling to my jacket. In the summer sun, it’s starting to get very hot. I should have just stayed at home and rested – preparing myself for today and maybe dressing myself up. As I try to get some leaves out of my hair, Tempest, my other sister, comes down the staircase dressed in a sparkling red satin dress and I snort loudly. What does she have to dress up for? She's not going into the Games! She is 19, she can't! I'm suspecting she's trying to get some wealthy man to notice her so she can finally move on from being with two stupid younger sisters.

“No. I don’t have time for it, and neither do you.” I reply to Fiorenza and point to a nearby clock. It’s almost midday – almost time for the Reaping. My Reaping clothes aren’t the height of fashion, but they’re better than the half-ripped, patched shirts and trousers I wore last year. Once I get ready, I'm led out of our house and down the street, towards the main square where the majority of the has already gathered, for sure. Thankfully, it's not much longer before the Reapings commence and I get to the 15-years-old section. Soon enough things are handed off to the escort Anya Lightstorm, who makes a huge show out of the Reaping.

"Welcome, citizens of District 2! Are you excited?" The crowd goes crazy, chanting about honor or something, and I can't help but join in. I just love this day! "Lets find out who our male tribute will be!" She says, and digs a hand into the bowl. Before she can latch onto a piece of paper many voices shout out "I volunteer!", and Anya turns to scan the crowd. After a long wait, she finally selects a brown-haired boy sticking out from the front the crowd who heads to the stage without showing any signs of emotion, but he seems reluctant about his volunteerism for some reason. "Mica Slateport," He says. Anya stares at him waiting for something else, but the boy doesn't elaborate any further. She sighs and moves to the next bowl. "Savanna de Léon!" Wait, what!? This isn't supposed to happen. I still have three more years to train. I look around for the obvious volunteers, but none of them say anything. They know i'm the daughter of a wealthy family who wants me in the Games. If they take my place, they will pay. The surrounding girls take a step away from me, clearing the path and allowing me to move.

I nearly trip up the stairs, lost in my own thoughts, but surprisingly, Mica takes a step forward and catches me by my arm. I silently thank him before noticing he is stronger than he seemed from my position. He is muscular, and obviously well-fed, but those aren't his only noticeable features. From up close, I can see wrinkles under his eyes from stress and lack of sleep, and his slicked back, curly brown hair is a bit messy. He's decidedly tall, and a force to be reckoned with during the Games. I smile weakly and take a step forward, behind the girls' bowl.

"This year's tributes!" Anya announces and the crowd applauds us, greeting our courage. I turn my back on the audience as she begins to repeat our names and then we're led to the Justice Building, where my only visitors are my family. They tell me that the Games are on my blood, and i will conquer them, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My father goes blabbering about strategies, but I don't need to listen. I can win all this by myself. My next stop is the train station where the cameras film as the "District Two Team", and Anya calls us, board the train headed for the Capital. The thing is really fancy and looks just like how I imagined it would. I enter the amazing kitchen and immediately grab a plate of chocolates off of the table and stuff them into my mouth, while Mica calmly takes a seat around the table, his shifty-looking eyes taking everything in. "Thanks, by the way" I say throwing him a contemptuous glare. He's not exactly the monster boy that District 2 often has. He seems more like the silent, fatal kind of tribute. He doesn't reply, either due to the lack of interest or because he didn't hear what I said. I content myself by staring out the window, the train's sheer speed making everything pass by as a blur.

District Four: Severus Seaclan
I have been taking down dummies with tridents for the entire morning, and I feel that it's time to move on to another ability, even though I feel like I still haven't spent time enough practicing with my trident. I look around and see Lorne at the weightlifting corner of the training room, so I run as fast I can towards there, for apparently no reason. I guess I just like to show him that I'm stronger. "Hi, Lorne." I greet him while he is still lining up the weights for another round lifting weights, but I know that he is just trying to escape training, this way people don't see how much of a weakling he really is. Pathetic.

"Hey, Severus. What were you doing?" He questions me. "I was just tossing around some tridents at dummies and showing the weaklings like you that people like me will dominate in the arena," I say, lying a little bit. I couldn't care less about "dominating the arena" or whatever the hell I just said. "Now I want to see you lifting some weight, let me see if you are that good!" I finish saying and open a smile, while his fades away.

He sits at the bench and starts to lift the weight he prepared. For a seventeen years old, his performance is quite pitiful, but I don't comment anything about that, not until he's finished. "Well, that was pathetic," I want to elaborate further, but an allarm clock chimes. Reaping time. I turn around and dry the sweat falling down my forehead. I should probably get going. I don't waste time getting dressed in any fancy suit or stuff like that, I want to come off as who I really am. I'm dressed in plain clothing, but with my large physique and dark eyes, I radiate an interesting aura. I can tell I'm going to be a hit with the Capitol. I jog down the streets of District Four with a cold expression. Everyone is getting excited for the Reaping later this morning and this is reflected on their faces; most of them have mixtures of excitement and joy stamped on their faces. I couldn't have asked for better day either; it's a beautiful day, the sky is pure blue and there is a slight breeze blowing.

When I finally arrive at the square, the place is overcrowded, hot and full of people, mostly the morons from the Training Academy. We all get our blood taken and the boys across from me move into the fifteen-years-old line, while I examine the hole in my finger and take my place in the very front of the crowd, the 18-years-old section. "Hello District Four!" Our escort, Lilea Moor chants. She is dressed completely in a black piece of factory looking like a suit, hiding her face and most of her features. If I didn't know her, I'd say she is a man. "Let's get right to the point, shall we? Let's select our male tribute!" As she slowly walks through the stage and puts her hand inside the reaping bowl, I take a look at the stage, where the mayor sits in a confortable chair, along with all the people of some worth residing in the district.

"Kaye..." The escort can not even stop talking, and there is already a bunch of people screaming "I volunteer", myself included. Lilea looks around, and she is about to pick another boy, so I raise my finger even higher, shouting again. She quickly examinates the crowd again and luckily points at me. I sigh in relief, and I walk out the crowd, heading for the stage set up for the Reaping. When I arrive at the stage, someone hands me to the microphone, and asks my name publicly. "My name is Severus Seaclan and I am going to represent District 4 in the 78th Hunger Games." The whole district gives a round of applause to me and I smile proudly.

"Now, we must go along into the reapings, selecting the fortunate girl!" She speaks into the microphone, now heading for the girls' bowl, where she selects one of the first slips of paper. She clears her throat and reads out loud "Syren--"

"I volunteer!" A single voice shouts, before others join in. "Me! Over here!" The same girl shouts, and is picked by Lilea. She stumbles out of the crowd, and then I can get a good look at her. She has a glimmering blonde hair that radiates light as the sun shines down onto it. Her skin is remarkably pale and flawless, and she is wearing a white tanktop, with matching pants. The girl looks about average. But when she is next to me, my opinion about her changes. She has a crazed look and sounds like she is muttering something to herself. Her eyes are shut tightly, but she opens them during the hand shake. When she turns around to Lilea, the girl lets out an ear-piercing scream, right before she throws up.

District Five: Nichole Peyton
I am already dressed when the sun starts to appear in District Five. I have been up for hours now, I simply could not sleep. I am here, sitting over my humble mattress, while my parents lay quiet next to me, sleeping with no worries. They're too old to compete, and do not have to worry about being reaped off. But I have. I am fifteen years-old, and there are slips of paper with my name inside that bowl, four to be exact. I stand up and open the curtains, allowing the morning sun to shine into my room. My eyes wide slowly as I continue looking through the windows to the houses across from where I live. In the house in front of mine, I can see a little boy eating his breakfast as his mother is holding a small suit and boots. I imagine how his parents are feeling. That boy probably knows next to nothing about why he is going to the square, but his parents know why. We rebelled, we fought against the government and we lost. Now we must pay the price.

The Hunger Games. The annual celebration of gore and brutality, in which kids will be sent off to horrible deaths. The privileged ones, who have been training for it during their whole lives, should have nothing to worry about. They usually start killing the weaklings right off the bat and later win by dominating the competition with their skills and knowledge. They're invincible, or at least I think they are. I still have twenty minutes before the Reaping ceremony begins, so I decide to take a last look at my outfit.

My hair has been done nicely into a bun, and my skin looks clean and flawless. I admire my own reflexion in the glass window, marvelling at the beauty of my dress. It is old-fashioned, yet beautiful. My mother used to wear it when she was younger, and the fact that she allowed me to use it makes this day a little better. However, I feel dizzy as I consider the possibility of getting picked. I'm lost in my thoughts, wondering how would I react. Frightened by this, I am able to regain my composure only when a clock chimes.

Ten minutes for the Reaping. I pull my bangs off my face and head for the door. Today, the crowd is loud and intense. The muffled voices are surrounding me, and everywhere I look I see people, people and more people. The streets overcrowded, and it feels like I am about to stumble in someone or get trampled before I can get in line. Fortunately, my assigned section is not that far, and I get there without, say, getting crushed by humans. I get my fingers zapped and then I'm shuffling into line, watching the action unfold around me.

"Good tidings, citizens of District Five!" Aurelius Clawe speaks into the microphone. If his annoying persona and utter like for the Games weren't enough to change him into a symbol of hate within the District, his appearance is. Paper-pale and slim as a stick, he examinates us from behind his glasses, his face contorting with disgust as he sniffs the air. Idiot. "Welcome to the Reaping of the 78th Annual Hunger Games!"

He then goes on blabbering about the vast history of The Hunger Games, about the previous victors and last year's tributes. He doesn't miss any detail, and by the time he's finished an air of impatience hangs in the crowd. Taking notice of this, he decides to get things started.

"Let's select our male tribute!" He says and moves on to the male's bowl, making a big show out of the moment and picking up a strip of paper from the very bottom of the bowl. "Kierai Powers!"

"I volunteer!" A redhead shouts from the very front of the crowd. He strolls to the stage quickly, ignoring the niceties coming out from Aurelius' lips. "My name is Easton Silverbead," The boy says. His gaze is fixed on somewhere distant. as if he volunteered for completely no reason. I get the impression that this boy is a moron, eating what the Capitol feeds him. Easton smiles and waves to the crowd and I get a horrible feeling in my stomach as I realize this boy has no idea what fate awaits him.

"What a pleasant young lad!" Aurelius exclaims, tapping him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you will last a long time, maybe even halfway through!" Aurelius continues blabbering, but I pay no attention. A point of fear hits my body. It's time to announce the female tribute of the Games, and my name hasn't been called yet. I need to escape from these again. I will escape from these. "The female tribute..." I cross my fingers and close my eyes. Please, it can't be me. "Is..." The suspense is almost killing me, but I listen closely to the announced name. "Nichole Peyton!"

Something inside of me collapses, and then my world goes crashing down. I can feel my mouth gaping open in shock. I can't look at the man's face. In my peripheral vision, I notice everyone's gazes turning to me. Who can blame them? I am this year's sacrificial lamb. The surrounding girls take a step away, clearing a path for me. The first step towards the stage is difficult, my body is rigid and I feel faint. The second step is slow, but I emerge from the fifteen-years-old section. I can feel all the cameras turning their screens to me. A few absentmind steps later, I'm up on the stage, looking up towards the escort. "Such a pleasant teenager!" Aurelius chants, shaking my hand and placing me behind the girls' bowl. The thing's sheer size, put in addition to my small height, makes me disappear behind it, but I don't care. Disappearing is all I want right now. The dizzyness then sinks in, bringing black spots towards the corners of my vision. Then, I feel my body collapse to the side as I faint.

District Ten: Cliffe Holden
"Dawn Pyres!"

Two words. Two words that have changed this day. Two words, read from a piece of paper, coming out from Elianna Joyfree's mouth. My legs tremble and I feel like I am going to collapse to the ground, when someone pats me on the shoulder and pulls me up again. I wobble back and forth before I can stand stil on my spot. My vision suddenly flashes white. I'm no longer on the District's square. I'm on the edge of a cliff, armed to my teeth with a fencing sword. She is begging us to stop, but we don't listen. Me and that daft murderer do not stop duelling. The flashback ceases, and then I'm left thinking back of Alice's death, on how Dawn killed her. I realize that I'm being paranoid. Dawn is dead. She was never called by the escort. I can see a tanned girl walking up to the stage. I can't see her clearly, but I can say she is shaking hands with Elianna. It was just my imagination. Dawn was never picked. Dawn is dead. I killed her. Period.

"Well met, Mrs. Raven!" Elliana speaks into her mic, addressing the girl. "Y-yeah" The girl answers. She doesn't appear to be a fighter, but after all these years I'm used to get surprised. This girl might be some weakling, but she might as well be some cold-blooded murderer wanting blood. I'm still thinking of the strange feeling I get from this situation, when Ellianna digs her hand into the males' bowl. She makes a big show out of the thing, and reads out a name "Cliffe Holden!"

A relieved atmosphere falls over the idiots around me as they learn that it won't be them dying into the Games this year. I shut my eyes tightly, wondering what I am going to do from now on. But all I feel is anger. Of course. Of course it would be me. That's just one more thing to this goddamn awful this day. My feet move but I don't feel them. I don't feel anything at all. My legs hesitate, but soon carry me all the way onto the stage, where I'm placed next to the female tribute. I briefly note how weak I must look to all of those watching on TV, so I decide to try a different approach. I exchange niceties with the escort, but overall I don't say much.

I try to keep a relaxed atmosphere, but it is obvious that I'm not relaxed at all. Elianna has me shake hands with my already selected District partner, Raven Reyes. When we finish with our handshake the Reaping is officially wrapped up and we're escolted off the stage to say our goodbyes to our families and friends. As I expected, no one comes. I get out quickly and then I'm lead to the train. Raven is there, and I'm left wondering if someone even popped up to say goodbye to her. Judging by her saddened expression, I would say no, no one came.

We sit in an awkward silence when Elianna cames, and suggests us to watch the other Reapings. She politely congratulates the both of us and then turns on the other Reapings that have already taken place. I do not take much notes of the first few districts, as they looked exactly like what I had expected. Some of the kids stick out in my head, though, like a volunteer from Three and a girl from Four who throws up after she gets onto the stage. District Five looks decidedly average, and District Six has two weak-looking tributes. There is a pair of siblings from District Seven, and a blind kid from Eight. Then, the TV switches to District Nine, where a redhead volunteers. Then, it's time for the female tribute to get selected. The name is called out, and when a girl emerges from the crowd I find myself yelling at the TV in utter shock:

"DAWN!"

Raven stares at me in confusion as I stare silently at the screen. The escort introduces the girl again. Her name is Dawn Pyres. I find myself yelling all and every blasphemy a teenage boy has to offer, my hands clenched tightly into fists by my side. She was dead! I killed her myself, she is supposed to be rotting in a box! But she isn't. She is alive and well, and I am staring right at her stupid smug face. Oh, I will win this for you Alice. And I will make sure to take down that cold-blooded killer in the process,

District Eleven: Annabelle Harret
As soon as I get in line, the first thing I do is scan the crowd, searching for a familiar face, and as soon as I find him, I smile. Roy's near the edge of the sixteen-years-old section, chit-chatting with some young-looking boys around him. I take a better look at him, and start in surprise when he looks up and meets my gaze. He smiles gently when our eyes meet, and I return it quickly, but my vision lingers to the thick bandages covering his back. Oh, Roy. So brave, yet so naive. His nature led to the Peacekeepers whipping him raw, ignoring his grunts of pain and pleas for help. They just left him there, lying in the street awaiting death. I needed to help him, he had saved my life. I ran like an enormous lightning to get him help, and fortunately, he is looking better today. I'm glad to see that he is still okay. But I still feel disgusted, knowing what the Peacekeepers did to him just because he did something to survive. That isn't right. Not right at all. "Hello, my dear citizens!" Santana Velvet, a sympathetic woman in her late 30's speaks into the microphone, running her hands down the black satin dress she's wearing. Even though Santana is known to be kind enough for a escort, her appearance doesn't fit her bubbly and cheerful persona. She is paper pale, and her synthetic pink hair is nearly painful to the eyes. She usually wears dark clothing, almost as if she was some sort of gothic queen. In my opinion, however, that woman's most striking features are her eyes. Dark green and slightly droopy, they were changed into snake-like eyes. It creeps me out a bit, and I remember that when I was younger I was deeply scared of her. "Time to find out who our male tribute is!" She finishes up talking about the past tributes from District Eleven, and goes for the first bowl. Her gloved hand dives into it and plucks out a single slip of paper, containing the name of the male tribute. "Max Muzzele!" I don't know him. That's the first thing that comes to my head as a brown-haired boy steps onto the stage. He is nothing special, and looks nervous as Santana tries chatting with him. The boy remains silent. I get a glimpse of Roy sighing in relief, but then worry takes over his expression as Santana digs her hands into the next bowl. A short silence follows for the next few seconds, and then she pulls out a slip of paper from the bowl. She returns to the center of the stage, wobbling a little. An excited smile crosses her face and she says something to Max that the microphone doesn't catch. She turns to the paper, and reads out a name. "Ladies and Gentlemen, your female tribute is Annabelle Haret!" I'm just breathing easy that it wasn't Roy who was Reaped, and then my breath catches in the back of my throat. I'm stunned. Utterly shocked. This isn't possible! Did she just say my name? No, I'm supposed to go back home and have as happy life with Roy. Why did this have to happen to me? I did nothing to deserve this! The whole world is a blur around me as I warily step out into the aisle and walk up to the stage. Santana smiles and says something to me, but I don't listen to whatever she says because I can't make out what's real and what's not real. Everything feels fuzzy as I shake hands with Max, the boy who is going to die with me in the arena. I can feel tears running down my cheeks as Santana introduces me to the crowd. I don't get any reaction from them, and decide to stay on the very back of the stage, humming to myself as the Reapimg continues. My eyes drift over to Roy, whose face is a mask of pain. I'm suddenly overhelmed by the fact that, in a matter of days, I will be a lifeless corpse being sent back to the District, where my family will cry for me. I can see them, staring at me with blank expressions. My mother seems to be too shocked to react to anything, but I can make out the form of tears in my father's face. He knows that they will soon lose me. I feel dead, even though blood runs through my veins. Me and Roy stare back at each other, and we know that this will be the last time we'll see each other. With life.

District Fourteen: Elvis Slice
The old, dirty basement that is so often empty is not like that today. I can see her emaciated body, gathered around something on the corner. She didn't notice me. I come to a stop, marvelling at her innocence and her bright blue eyes when she notices me. She starts in surprise and attempts to crawl away, but she is too slow. "Back off!" She orders me, her trembling tiny hands grasping around a box covered in dust. She presses it tightly against her chest, as if she didn't want anyone to see it. It's not worth remembering. I don't know why she remembers  "I want to be alone!"

"What are you all gawking at?" I ask her "Can I see it--"

"I said leave me alone!" She speaks as she peeks under another box. "Please Elvis!"

Damn, it is so hard saying "no" to her. It ain't every day when one of those happens here. Aloe is usually calm and wise, making good decisions. She doesn't disdain or put down others, and it's a rare ocurrence to see her speak her mind against anyone in general, let alone challenging her older brother. Something sounds really off about that, but only then I remember. Today is the Reaping day. Not just the Reaping day, but today is the first year where Aloe will take part in a Reaping ceremony. I try to put myself in her position, however, whenever I try to think of the events that took place before my parents' deaths when I was thirteen, everything feels blurry and dream like. "Are you nervous because of the Reaping?" I mutter. "Because you don't have to be. This is your first year, the possibility of you getting reaped is so small that you shouldn't even consider it, Aloe. You will be fine, trust me,"

"Not really, no. I'm not nervous for myself though, Elvis. I'm nervous for you" That hits me like a punch, and I gawk at her. But I cannot blame her. I have lost track of how many times I have asked for tesserae. But I quickly shrug this thought off. We live in District Fourteen, where there is always some freak willing to volunteer. I shouldn't worry. Even if I get reaped, someone will take my place. Besides, I got other things to worry about. Reaping is today and we gotta get to the square before the Peacekeepers notice our absence. I get myself into my Reaping clothes, an orange shirt and a blue jumpsuit. My hair looks decent enough, so I don't waste my time and comb it. I am about to leave when I remember something. My hands grasp around the eyepatch, and I slide it down my head. It doesn't have trouble finding a new home in the place where my right eye used to be, and I smile, before I call Aloe. She appears in a dress that's far too big for her, and I laugh. I do my best to adjust it, and when I'm done I think I did a pretty good job, actually. "There you are!" I say as I place a jacket over her shoulders. She is always sneezing, so I bought it for her a few months ago.

We leave the house, and join the other citizens leaving the outlying part of the Districts. As we round a street corner we come into sight of the square, and me and Aloe go into different directions. I mutter her a quick goodbye before I get in line. The peacekeeper doesn't make eye contact with me as he registers me, and motions me to get in my assigned section. I try to find Aloe in the crowd, but despite my best efforts, I can't pick her out from the other girls and worry begins to eat at me. Did something happen?

But then I make out the form of a braided, sunset blonde hair and a pink dress in the 12-years-old section and sigh in relief. She is fine, I am just being a little paranoid about her safety. She happily waves at me, and turns her gaze to the stage, where the mayor is making his usual speech about The Hunger Games and its vast history. The Reaping doesn't begin right away, I think I arrived too early, and most people are still shuffling into their places, keeping their heads down and minding their own lives and problems. Ever since that rebellion the Peacekeepers don't need much to keep them under control. They're eager to get this over with, and fortunately, the Reaping officially begins.

It starts with the Mayor talking about the first, second, and third rebellions and how they're the reason the Hunger Games are back in full swing, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I'm getting fed up at his speech, but then he concludes it. "And now my beloved citizens, I give to you, Sirena Sprout, our beloved escort!" The mayor sweeps his hands to the side, gesturing towards a small woman dressed in a sparkling satin dress. She is very short, I think she doesn't stand at anything bigger than five feet and a few inches.

"Well hello District Fourteen!" She smiles gently as she speaks, but even though she is nice enough, she doesn't get any cheers out of the crowd, who is dead silent. "Today we will meet our tributes...of the 78th Annual Hunger Games!" She chooses her words carefuly, and speaks in a polite tone. "And well... let's meet the lucky young teenagers now! First the female," She dances through the stage with her high heels, and chooses a slip of paper out of the females' bowl. "And the lucky lady is..."

"I volunteer!"

A shrieking voice pierces the silence of the morning. I look around, trying to see who volunteered, I can't get a good look at anything. I can't help but wonder why someone would be volunteering. The Hunger Games are an atrocity, the worst thing of our nation. I don't understand who in their right mind would want to take part on them. But apparently this girl doesn't think the same. "Come on up sweetie!" Sirena urges, and the girl comes out. She has glimmering blonde hair with blue bangs. Her clothes are soiled and dark, but the girl is unquestionably beautiful. "Your name, my dear?"

The girl is seemingly nervous as she stands on the stage, and when Sirenia offers her the microphone she hesitates to take it, but eventually circles her fingers around it. "My name is Chantel Oakley," She tosses her hair as she crosses her arms, as if she is...bored? There's an awkward silence as I think over her atittude. Something doesn't seem to be right about that girl.

"And Chantel's District partner will be...Elvis Slice!" Crap. Just crap. This isn't going to be a nice day for me. I hold off hope that there will be another crazy asshole like Chantel willing to volunteer in my place, but there isn't. I feel my legs slowly carrying me onto the stage, where I'm introduced by Sirenia, who smiles friendly at me. Chantel just ignores me in general. For some reason I know that I couldn't care less about what this girl thinks. I stare doubtfully at her, taking note of her bright blonde hair. Something about it seems familiar-- Aloe! My sister! I scan the crowd searching for her, when her eyes meet mine. Tears stain her porcelain features, running down her cheeks and leaving her face. I failed her. I am going into the Hunger Games. She will be alone. And I will die.

Nichole Peyton (District 5)
I have been up for hours. I simply cannot afford to sleep. In a few hours, we will be in The Hunger Games. The name of the "festivity" makes me sick. It’s only a little longer before they begin and my life is at the mercy of the other tributes. I can’t die, though. I don't care about anything, but one goal. I need to come home for my family. I can't lose. Can't.

"Nichole! It's time!" I trail off as an annoying, high-pitched voice greets me. Aurelius is here. "You don't want to be late, do you?" Do I have a choice? No, I don't. I sigh and get up. There is still plenty of time before the Games, but Aurelius does not seem to care. He continues to knock on my door, and the doorknob shakes as he feebly attempts to open the locked door. I would rather be well-rested and prepared for the initial moments of the Games, but that's a luxury I cannot afford.

I absentmindly get up and get myself dressed in a plain, sleeveless white shirt and baggy black trousers. Gently pushing my bangs off my forehead, I open the door. Aurelius waits for me in there, maniacally pointing at the watch on his wrist and telling me I didn't have to take so much time to get myself dressed. I shrug him off and make my way to the dining room, where Easton (5) and our mentor Watt are already having breakfast. Easton is vigorously eating a buttered toast, and Watt is calmly taking a few sips of a black drink I don't recognize.

"Morning, Nichole." Watt greets me with a shake of his head and I wave at him.

"Thanks, Watt" I say and lay my eyes upon Easton. The naive boy does not meet my gaze and drops his toast back into his plate, before turning his attention to Watt.

"Got any final advice?" He says, and then begins to chomp down his toast again. I sit myself down across from him, and then we're both staring at Watt. He sighs and stretches his arms.

"Well, do not take unnecessary risks." He says, and we fall silent. "I would recommend you not to attend the boodbath, but I'll be honest. That is up to you. It's your life at risk, afterall. But remember that one, single careless movement can cause your demise. That's all." He says and then sips his drink once again.

Luna Tick (District 6)
I grin. I'm going to win. I'm going to be the victor of The Hunger Games. I can feel it in my guts.

But I have to admit that my time in the Capitol has been quite. . . boring, until now. I haven't got the chance to kill anyone, but if everything proceeds as I planned last night, I will be able to do that shortly. I giggle as I recall the faces of the other tributes. Which one of them shall die first? Pah! That does not matter. They will die all the same.

I glance at my boring District partner, Jackson (6), as we sit across from the dining table. I don't bother to eat. I will have a full Cornucopia full of food, weapons, supplies and survival gear once the Games begin. Oh, how much fun I will have in the arena!

I fidget in my seat, antecipating the future. Soon enough, my mentor glances at her watch and stands up. "Time to go," She says and Jackson squeals in fear. I hold back my laughter. Pathetic weakling. I will be more than happy in ending his worthless life.

Branwell, our escort, leads us into the elevator without bothering to say a single word. He presses the first button of the elevator and then the doors slide shut. We do not utter a single word as the elevator goes down. The silence is quite uncomfortable, but then the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. Jackson (6) and myself step out of it, and thrudge along an open-sky hangar. In the distance, the other tributes climb atop of a hovercraft and the stylists enter another one. I personally hate mine.

That bitch literally put a wheel in my head during the Tribute Parade. I wish I could kill her. Jackson pokes me on the shoulder and tells me to walk, but I quickly slap his hand away and pick up my pace. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can boss me around. Nobody.

Lucius Venom (Capitol)
I carefully place my feet on the lower steps of the stairs as I climb atop of the hovercraft. Most of the other tributes sit on their assigned seats, almost all of them carrying a frightened expression. The career tributes have already been sorted into their seats and are now waiting for the hovercraft to take off and lead us into the arena, but not me. I'm not excited for the trivial event known as The Hunger Games. I always thought I would do something big with my life, but I never really wanted to be a victor. Nor did I expect to be reaped, but it happened and I could do nothing to stop it. That doesn't matter, though. I shall keep my mind on what the future awaits.

Talking about the future, as soon as I take my seat, the hovercraft takes off with a small, unnoticeable clicking noise; one that I wouldn't have listened to if I was not expecting something. Just besides me, sits Raven (10); one of my former allies. I don't know much about her, except that she has a boyfriend back home, or something. Doesn't matter.

To my left, sits Julian (13). His hands are grasped around his arm, and the boy is obviously in pain due to the tracker that just got injected into his arm. Weakling. He leans forward and whispers something to Elvis (14), one of his allies if my memory serves me right, and the boy slowly nods. The tracker injection is just a mere sting, and I can barely feel it. Raven, though, shivers and moans in pain as she receives her own tracker. The hovercraft suddenly lands, shaking a little, but soon we're on the ground. Just like about every other tribute, I undo my restraints, and allow a pair of peacekeepers to escort me through a dark hall. We stop as we reach an intersection, and one of the peacekeepers orders me to enter a door assembled to my left. I do so without complaining.

My stylist waits for me inside, holding a transparent package. My arena outfit. I quickly get rid off my clothes – a polo black shirt and ripped jeans – and she hands me my outfit. As I unzip the knapsack, she starts saying something.

"You can expect a rather cool weather."

"Anything else?" I ask as I get myself dressed.

"No, not really. Those clothes are not very telling." She's right. A hooded lavender jacket, – the "official" color of the Capitol – with dark green cargo pants and over-sized combat boots. I also receive a bracelet with a screen on it. I ask my stylist what's that supposed to mean, but she just shrugs, telling me she has no idea. How helpful.

"Fourty-five seconds until launch."

A robotic female voice announces that it's time for me to get inside the glass tube. My stylists nods, and escorts me towards it. We stare at each other for a few more seconds, and then the doors suddenly close. The eerie "tick tick" of the platform slowly beginning to rise is heard, and I realize that this is it. It's time for it to start.

The platform continues to go up, until the clicking noise suddenly stops and the sunlight blinds me. My eyes slowly begin to adjust, and I take a look at my surroundings. I can see the golden Cornucopia in the distance, as well as thirty-one other platforms. I focus on my left, and see the lithe form of Dawn (9). Her hands are clenched tightly into fists by her side, and she is staring down the supplies assembled before us. To my right stands Luna (6), grinning foolishly. I make out the forms of coral-colored bricks in the distance and realize where we've been placed. The ruins. . . the colored bricks. . . the asphalt ground. . . This looks like something. Only it's completely ruined, and the smell of freshly-spilled blood and ash fill the air. I have no doubts. We have been placed in a post-apocalypstic version of the Capitol itself.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May the 78th Annual Hunger Games. . . begin!"

60. . . 59. . . 58. . . 57. . . 56. . . 55. . . 54. . . 53. . . 52. . . 51. . . 

Are​na
The arena is a post-apocalyptic version of Panem's Capitol. The ruins of once tall, colorful buildings loom in the horizon, and as usual, the Games start with all tributes placed in a semi-circle around the Cornucopia. The golden cornucopia lays in the direct center of the arena, with crates of weapons and supplies stacked around it. The concrete ground is irregular and slippery, and the tributes have to be careful, or else they may trip and fall over.

As usual, the horn is filled with weapons and survival gear, the most valuable items being placed deep within it, and the least-valuable items being splattered across the concrete, a few metres away from the tribute platforms. The weapons are all made out of hard steel, and they are unbreakable, so they will not be damaged if trampled over during the chaos of the bloodbath.

Knives, awls, slingshots and random, small backpacks are near the tribute platforms, with axes and spears placed a little closer to the mouth. Inside the Cornucopia, lay the water bottles, food packs, heavy backpacks and weapons of all shape and kind. Tomahawks and swords are placed in the back wall, and machetes, sickles, scythes and all other weapons are placed in the middle of it, right after the survival gear. Mutts and dangers lurk within the rest of the arena, and the desecrated buildings might collapse and crush unlucky tributes as the Games advance. Further into the desecrated city, near the border of the arena, decomposing muttations resembling Capitolites roam around. These muttations are utterly violent, and while they have the ability to speak, they lack intelligence and can get fooled by traps easily. On the border of the arena lies an ocean and a small beach, and huge blood-red crab-like muttations lurk in the sand.

On the avenues and desecrated buildings, bat-like muttations are present. A single bite from one of these creatures can make the surface of the skin harden and calcify. In the early stages of the infection it is still fairly thin and brittle, so the body's movement makes the hardened tissue split into a network of cracks. The pattern made by the hardened and splitting skin is similar to cracks made in thin ice, and in later and more severe stages look somewhat like patterns of scales. In later stages the hardened flesh becomes mottled grey and black as it dies, resulting in the flesh appearing to have the texture of cracked grey stone, or like grey reptile scales. Tributes infected by this muttation will die within a maximun of three days, as the infection spreads at an extremely fast rate through the body, attacking a tribute's internal organs, hardening them as it did the outer flesh. When it spreads to the brain, the deterioration can result in violent insanity, and eventually, death.

Raven Reyes (District 10)
This is really happening. I cannot believe I am actually here, in the arena. I can feel The Capitol craning just to get a glimpse of our faces. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes for a second. I need to do this. For Finn. Oh, Finn. . . I wish you were here. I wish I were in your arms. No, no. .. I shouldn't want to have him with me in the arena, where he would die within days. The mere thought of Finn here with me makes me nauseous. I try to focus on other things, like my strategy. At first, I was sure I would run back instead of forward. But seeing the supplies assembled before us tributes, I can't help but want to get a thing or two.

41. . . 40. . . 39. . . 38. . . 37. . . 

I can hear my own heartbeats as the countdown advances. I cannot think about Finn. It will distract me. I try to decide upon what I should grab once the gong sounds. A few feet away from me a small pack is rested up against a rock, but further in is where my eyes are concentrated. Where all the more costly supplies are held. My eyes scan across the swords, blankets, tents and the large packs containing all the things I need to ensure my survival, and I decide I'm going to make a run for it.

33. . . 32. . . 31. . . 30. . . 29. . . 28. . . 

Philip Elliot (District 12)
Where is Kim? I do not see her anywhere near me, and the countdown is reaching its final seconds. I scan the clearing looking for her, but to no avail. Where can she be – There! On the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a familiar wavy brown hair. It's Kim (12). She is about eight platforms away from me – quite a reasonable distance  – and is staring down the Cornucopia with cold eyes. She is going to make a run for it.

She probably wants me to leave this place as soon as possible, while she does all the job. She always thinks of me as her stupid younger brother who is not able to protect himself. But still, when I asked to align, she didn't decline the offer. And now we're here. We are not brave, we are not wise, but we still stand here. And we're together. That's what matters. As the countdown reaches it's final fifteen seconds, I review my strategy. Make a run for it. Put my hands on a weapon. Collect Kim. Get the hell out of here. Perfect.

12. . . 11. . . 10. . . 9. . . 

Mica Slateport (District 2)
The golden cornucopia is only fourty feet away. All around me, the least-valuable items litter the concrete floor. I close my eyes for a brief moment. I am a brilliant fighter. I have been told that countless times. But there's one thing that makes me different from the other careers. Something that has caused trouble in the past. I lack the conviction to kill. I have no qualms harming holograms, of course. But living, breathing, and moving things. . . They are an entirely different matter. I can't kill. Just can't.

I open my eyes, and glance at the countdown. Five seconds left until the bloodbath starts. Five seconds until the carnage begins. I don't know what to do. Just across from me stands Heliodor (1), with an arrogant smirk on his face. He is a natural. He will have no qualms on unleashing the beast inside of him. Oh, but I will. I bet I will.

As the countdown reaches its final seconds, I take a deep breath. It's now or never. My hands clench into fists and I assume a running position. 3. . . 2. . . 1. . . Boom!

I launch myself forward. Can't think. Can't do anything about it. I spin around aimlessly, until I lock eyes with a multitude of knives lying not far. As I run for them, I can't help but look around. With an astonishing speed, Savanna (2) slashes a curved knife forward, and blood splatters around as it connects with Dawn (9)'s thigh. She screams and drops to the ground, desperatly clutching her leg as Favian (8) runs to her aid, dagger in hand. A few feet away, Raven (10) runs for a sky-blue backpack and Chantel (14) tries to giving chase, unsucessfully.

Raven runs. Fleeing she is not, she grabs a sword lying nearby and throws herself deeper into the battlefield, trying to help Nichole (5), who is being chased down by Severus (4), one of my former allies. I reach the cornucopia and pick up one of the knives. However, a slight whoosh of air allerts me of someone else's presence. Without thinking, I drop to the ground, and an axe sails over my head.

Roxanne (C) grunts in annoyance as she misses her target. I get back on my feet, and a second axe comes flying. This time, it barely misses my chest. Adrenaline fills me and I swing one of my knives forward. My assailant screams as the flash of silver digs into her bicep. She thrashes her other arm around madly and turns around, before running off towards the desecrated buildings. Not far, a pair of tributes escape into an avenue carrying a bunch of backpacks. The girl has a sword in her hand. Phillip (12) and Kimberly (12) have escaped. Dropping my remaining knife, I make a run for a rack of spears. Cliffe (10) runs besides me, a maniac look on his face as he charges the wounded Dawn.

My thoughts are cut off by an ear-piercing scream of a boy. I spin around, just in time to see Heliodor (1) strike down Lucius (C) with a sickle. A red, bloody smile opens across the green-skinned boy's throat as he collapses to the ground, feebly stirring as life bleeds away from him. He chokes and gurgles, but Helidor doesn't seem affected by this. I watch, horrified, as he thrashes around on the floor, before finally going still. The first casualty of the Games has been revealed. Heliodor has a satisfied grin on his face as he gives the boy one last kick, before walking away, going after Harvest (9), who has a backpack drapped over his shoulders. The Games have just begun.

Harmony Abbot (District 8)
My hands slide over the crate and onto the set of needles just behind it. I roll one of the pointy objects in my fingers and glance over my shoulder. Already the first fatalities are happening. A few feet away, Lucius (C) lies in a pool of blood. Even though he is long since dead, blood squirts off a gaping wound on his throat rapidly, dyeing the concrete floor red. It's a disturbing sight, but I don't have time to feel bad about the boy. I pick up a backpack, and turn around, ready to leave this unholy place.

I don't have luck. A shadow descends upon me, a sword raised over their head. My hands instantly fly for the needles in my pocket, and I roll one in my index finger. Quickly, in one fluid motion, I stab the needle into my assailant. The tribute releases a shout of rage as the tool digs into their eye socket. Easton (5) screams in pure terror, clutching his left eye. Blood seeps through the spaces between his fingers as he screams obscenities at me. I have no time to feel bad. As quick as I viper, my right leg shoots forward and I kick him in the gut. He crumples over, and collapses to the ground below. I select another needle. I have no qualms about what I will do. Or do I?

I clutch the needle, having an important decision to take. Should I kill him? And turn into another piece in the Capitol's Games? No. I shouldn't. Even though the boy on the ground deserves death, I will spare him. Today.

"You got lucky," I say before rolling around on my boots. Alluria (0) isn't anywhere in my eyesight. However, I spot Cliffe (10) battling Marlene (1) near a crate. She has a knife, which she constantly slashes forward, and Cliffe has a double-tipped spear. She repeatedly dances around his spear thrusts, and throws a punch, which is usually on target. I run towards them.

Severus Seaclan (District 4)
I silently curse as Nichole (5) – The girl I was attacking earlier – and Raven (10) sprint off into the ruins, away from the danger. During the time I spent fighting her, a few tributes have managed to slip away with items. Enraged, I watch as Lucia (3) runs for a desecrated office building, wearing a vest full of knives. Suddenly, I hear a noise coming from my left. I turn around, and spot Alluria (0) bumbling towards me, a pack clenched in her arms. Without thinking, I throw my arm out and clothesline her. She lets out a surprised gasp and her hands fly for a knife in her back pocket, but before she can do anything, I grab her wrist, twisting it backwards.

I hear the delightful crack of it breaking, and Alluria shouts for Cliffe (10), one of her allies. I squeeze my hands around her throat and look around, but Cliffe is nowhere in sight.

"He can't help you now!" I hiss, and she cries out in fear. I waste no time. My hands grab her around the head, and I ignore the purple bruise that marks her throat. I deliver one punch to her face. Blood squirts from her nose, but I care not for that. She is not human. My hands instintively slam her head against the concrete. Her screams have grown muffled by the fifth time I repeated the movement, and soon I hear the cracking sound of the girl's skull breaking.

I take a look at the girl's damaged body. Her neck is bent at an odd angle, and her skull has been cracked open. I don't waste time checking if she is dead. If she didn't suffer a blunt-force trauma due to the impact of her head being slammed against the ground, the shards of her cranium have obviously punctured her brain at this point, killing her. It's amazing how fragile a body can be. Savanna (2) appears at my side, a bloodstained knife in hand.

"Did you--" I ask, but she stops me at mid-sentence.

"No. Got her in the thigh." She answers, without showing any sign of emotion. I quietly nudge Alluria's body with my feet.

"Anyone else down?" I ask. Savanna ponders about my question for a brief moment.

"The Anti-Career boy from the Capitol is dead. And I haven't seen Marlene (1) since this chaos begun,"

"Alright," I say, wiping my bloodstained hands on my jacket. "Let's get right to business, then!" We exchange a devious grin.

Dawn Pyres (District 9)
My entire body aches as I lie on the ground, clutching my leg. The wound is bleeding non-stop, and my hands are already soaked with blood. Dark, crimson blood. My blood. My head hurts from all the chaos unfolding before me. My nostrils are filled with the stench of  fresh blood. I wish this could end. I wish I could just crawl to a hole and live in peace. But that is something I cannot afford.

I'm snapped back to reality when a slight noise comes from near me. I look up, and my mouth opens in shock as I see Cliffe standing there, a blood-soaked spear in his hands. Behind him, Marlene (1) lies on the ground; a gaping hole mars her chest. Cliffe's mouth hangs wide open in a devilish smile, but his eyes. . . they stare down at me in pure hatred. I shiver as he kneels down next to me and starts to speak.

"Hello, Dawn," He says calmly, completely ignoring the fact that he just killed a person. He stops when he sees the wound in my leg. "Oh. Does this hurt?" He says, and pokes the cut splattered across my leg with his index finger.

I thrash around and whimper in pain, and Cliffe calmly laughs. "Aw. Are you in pain? I can get you some bandages, you know."

I can't take this anymore. With one swift movement, my healthy leg kicks him, right in the groin. He falls backwards, shouting in pure rage. "You evil little bastard!" He says, and squeezes his hands around my throat. My breathing is cut almost instantly, and I can't help but shiver. This is it. This is how I'll die. Strangled to death by someone who used to be my friend. No, no. Cliffe is not going to kill me. He is going to enjoy the moment. My death will not be quick. He searchs for something in his pocket, and whispers an ah-ha as he pulls a knife out. Injured and pinned down, I can't help but watch as he cuts my palms. I scream. I cry. Nothing helps. I think of Alice. People run past us, completely ignoring our presence. Where are Signors (3) and Favian (8)? Have they perished?

Suddenly, Cliffe stops the cutting, and I sigh in relief. But he isn't finished. He raises the knife above his head, and when I realize what he is about to do it is too late. He laughs and slams the knife down, right into my hand. My scream is gultural, but doesn't seem real. It looks like something from another world, echoing and distant. I close my eyes and wait for him to deliver the final blow, but it never comes. I open my eyes, just in time to see Cliffe crawling away, a dagger buried to the hilt in his right shoulder. What happened?

"Dawn!" My head spins around and I see Signors (3) carrying another set of daggers on his belt. "Oh God. . ." He stops at mid-sentence as he sees my condition. His eyes give out the horror he feels, but he tries his best not to let this affect him. He kneels down besides me and whispers something. Then, the sound of metal being pulled away from flesh is heard. I scream in pain, and Signors holds my good hand. When I open my eyes, I see it.

Signors has removed Cliffe's knife from my hand. The cut is deep. It almost reaches bone. I fight my urge to vomit my intestines out. Slowly, Signors helps me up, and I shriek in pain as my injured leg is stretched. Favian (8) has appeared besides us. They lift me, and Signors inserts himself around my left arm, telling Favian to do the same with my right side.

With their support, I hobble forward, into the dark, mysterious city.

Harvest Cropper (District 9)
I snatch a dark-brown backpack of the ground, and turn around, looking for my allies. I do not see them. However, I take a look at the chaos. Nearby, Annabelle (11) is loading an arrow into her bow. She aims it directly towards her left where, a few feet away, Callimont (4) and Clara (7) face off. Neither of them have a weapon, but Callimont constantly throws a punch at Clara, who effortlessly dodges. Annabelle simply looks confused, trying to get a clear shot at Callimont. But with her ally constantly spinning the blonde-haired around, she can't shoot an arrow without taking the risk of killing Clara instead. Just behind them, the boy from District Zero runs towards the shelter of the buildings, already a backpack drapped over his shoulders.

No one is nearby; the careers are too busy chasing someone around the bend of the Cornucopia, and the resto f the tributes have either fled or are digging through the pile of supplies. This is my chance. I turn around, ready to get away, but lucky as I am, I bump straight into a running figure I hadn’t seen, and we both go sprawling down to the concrete below. I bounce of my feet, ready to an attack, and besides me, Jackson (6) clambers to his feet, arms clenched in a phalanx position as he wields a sword. A shiny, deadly-looking thing.

How am I supposed to fight him? The only weapon I have is a wooden club, useless at this moment. The boy sees my weakness. He thrusts his sword towards me and I dodge. The blow barely misses my chest, but it gives me enough time to end up behind him, and without thinking, I start swinging my club, repeatedly bonking the boy. My movements are uncoordinated and crazed, but there is force enough in them to knock Jackson off his feet. Suddenly, Jason rolls around, and my club hits the concrete floor. Shocked, I turn around, but something shoves me to the ground. I’m on my elbows. I crawl away, to no avail.

Jackson raises the sword above his head, ready to land the final blow. Suddenly, I spot something – or someone – sneaking up behind him. I gasp in surprise and Jackson frowns suspiciously, but then it is already too late for him. The pointy edge of an arrowhead appears in his throat. Jackson falls to his knees, gagging and trying to pull the weapon out, but to no use. He drops face-first into the ground, dead as driftwood. I’m bewildered, unaware of what is happening, but then I see it. Julian (13) stands there, a few feet away, a bow pointed straight at Jackson's prone body. I stare, shocked that such a frail boy could even consider murdering someone.

He doesn’t seem to notice, though. He comes bumbling towards me and helps me up, and we both run off the battlefield. Only when we’re reaching the pedestals that brough us to the arena I remember about something crucial.

“Where is Elvis?” I ask. Julian’s icy clue eyes flash, and he stops on his tracks, turning around. The clearing has turned into pure chaos, and tributes fight near the golden horn. I don’t see our ally anywhere. Oh no, no. ..

“I don’t see him.” Is all Julian says. I’m about to run back, into the careers and their weapons, but I stop. There is no way I can help Elvis. Not even with Julian by my side. I bow my head, ashamed as of what I’ll do.

“We need to go.” I say, and Julian nods in agreement.

“We can search for him later.” Julian says, but I know that won’t happen. Elvis might as well be dead, and there is nothing we can do about that. All we can do from now on is survive. Surviving is what I've been doing for my entire life, anyway.

Callimont Crusoe (District 4)
I throw a punch at Clara (7)'s gut, and she moans in pain, clutching her stomach. It's not long before my second fist takes her in the chest, causing her to fall backwards. I rise up and slam her into the concrete, her back hitting it at full-force. A gasp escapes her lips as she struggles to break free from my grasp, unsucessfully. I plant myself atop of her, and slam my fists down her face. A purple bruise mars her left eye, and she has a crooked, bloody nose.

My hands wrap themselves around her throat, and I dart in for the kill. Something pegs itself into my forearm. I scream as I see an arrow embedded on it. Clara notices what's happening and hurls me off her, kicking me as she runs off with Hawthorne (7) and Annabelle (11), the one who shot me. I scramble to my feet. I can move my injured arm, but only slightly. Pain shoots through my body at each step I take towards my allies, who have cornered the boy from District 14. Savanna (2) takes a step forward, a wicked grin on her face. The boy starts swinging a flail at her, but he is completely unskilled and does not know what he is doing. Savanna selects a knife off her jacket and smirks. A slash to his chest, another to his head. He drops like a bag of stones, defeated and done for. Chantel (14) waves when she spots me, and a frown forms itself on her face as she faces the wound in my arm.

She rummages through a satchel drapped over her shoulders, and hands me a tube containing some anti-infection.

"Here, smear this upon your arm." She says, and I mumble a 'thank you'. The ointment smells, but as the substance touches my wound, I instantly feel relieved. I stuff the tube into the backpack I had previously acquired, and rummage through the crates, through the supplies nobody wanted. I softly giggle as I spot a pack of throwing knives lying not far, and I slowly walk towards it. There are twelve knives in total. More than enough weapons. I also begin to fill my backpack with random items; some apples, a coil of rope, a metallic wire and a pair of nightvision goggles. I return to my allies, and it looks life Heliodor (1) and Severus (4) are arguing over something. Noticing my confusion, Chantel leans forward and explains what's happening. Apparently, Heliodor does not approve Severus' leadership and wants to rule us instead. When he voiced his thoughts, Severus just laughed at him and told him to go away. That didn't happen.

I watch as they continue to argue, but then I notice something, or someone, behind them. The person eyes us from the shadows, unseen until now. The tribute slowly draws closer. I'm assuming it's Marlene (1), since I haven't seen her until now, when I catch something in my peripheral vision. Marlene lying on the ground, dead, about fifteen feet away from us. But if it's not her on the Cornucopia, then who did I see?

It's not a career, all the ones who survived the bloodbath are here, save for Marlene, who has perished. Mica (2) isn't here either, but the tirbute is obviously a girl. And most importantly, the tribute isn't a career. My mouth has just started to form a warning when I stop on my tracks. I recognize the tribute now. Luna (6). A ferocious glint is rested upon her eyes as she smirks at us. Then it all comes crashing down. Luna jumps out of her hiding place and slams into the nearest tribute, Heliodor. The two of them crumple to the grass and begin to brawl. Severus stares at them, his mouth hanging open in shock. All of us mimic his actions. I watch as Luna sits atop of the screaming Heliodor, and in one swift movement, her teeth dig into Heliodor's throat. Blood bubbles out of the wound, and Luna continues to chomp on him, a crazed look on her eyes. Someone appears into the mouth of the Cornucopia. Mica. Our missing ally. His eyes give away the horror he feels as he spots Luna, but it doesn't last long. He darts in, and Luna only has time to look up before the metallic tip of Mica's spear buries itself into her chest, taking her to the ground. I can see the disgust in his eyes as he watches Luna.

But it's not because he nurtures hatred for the girl. He truly did not want to kill her. Mica rips the spear back out, and Severus pats him in the back, ignoring the fact that Heliodor has perished. I watch as he piles up the bodies, ignoring the carnage assembled before him. As I sit down, the cannons begin to sound, signaling the end of the bloodbath.

Chantel Oakley (District 14)
'''Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!'''

The cannons stop. Seven dead. Besides us, nineteen tributes roam through the arena.

All of them have left the Cornucopia, and the only ones who are still here are us, the career alliance. Mica (2) left us just a few moments ago to retrieve the items still scattered around the outskirts; the unwanted supplies that nobody took. I watch as he collects blankets, loafs of bread, and metallic objects I don't even recognize. I don't understand why he's doing that anyway, as if not even the weakest tribute wanted those items, there's no reason for us to retrieve them. His eyes still give away the disgust he feels when he walks through the bloodied concrete. The bodies of the dead tributes no longer litter the field; the hovercraft claimed them as soon as we left to chase down an alliance of two that hid near the back of the Cornucopia. I guess he just feels bad about killing Luna (6). Not my problem.

I lay my head against a backpack, and watch as Severus (4) sets up a camp for us near the mouth of the Cornucopia. Everybody sits down, and I face the sky, wondering whether or not it is real. Great. This is my first day in the arena and I already feel nostalgic. I reutrn my attention towards my allies, but they do not utter a single word. Odd. I guess the losses of both Marlene (1) and Heliodor (1) are still too recent.

“How many tributes down?” Savanna (2) is the first to break the silence. Callimont (4), who was rummaging through some crates inside the Cornucopia, doesn't take too long to answer. "Seven," She says grimly, "Heliodor and Marlene are among them."

"Pah!" Severus hisses as he rises from his seat. "Those two weren't good at anything, anyway." I cannot say I completely disagree with him. Heliodor was too much of a snob to possibly win this thing. I won't miss him. But Marlene is an entirely different matter. From the time we spent together during training, she became my closest ally. Not just an ally; a friend as well. She wasn't a good fighter, and I have much stronger, more capable allies. But I'll miss her. Severus should show more respect towards those who have fallen.

"I’m not too sure about that. There are plenty of strong tributes out here, and having some extra allies could be a big difference right now." Mica says, and I nod my head as the others agree with him. Severus narrows his eyes towards Mica, anger burning in his blue pupils. But then he blinks, and all that is gone.

"I guess so," He says, and I sigh in relief. "But as you said, there are plenty of strong tributes who left the bloodbath unscathed. We should hunt 'em down." Severus adds. I cross eyes with Callimont, but she doesn't meet my gaze. She's gazing at the horizon, lost in her thoughts. She's weird. Savanna leans forward and whispers something into Severus' ear, and he nods approvingly.

"And we should do that right now!" What? It has barely been an hour since the bloodbath finished and he wants us to fight again. I voice my thoughts, hoping to lick some sense into him, but it doesn't work. He says that we should use that to our advantage. The tributes cannot be very far from us right now. I sigh and pick up my stuff, ready to go hunting, but Savanna wags a knowing finger.

"Ah, ah ah! Not so fast. Someone needs to stay back. You don't expect us to leave this place like this, right? Without anyone to guard all the supplies?" She hisses, a smirk playing on the edges of her lips. I nod, but all I want to do is punch her stupid smug face. I will do that. Mica is told to stay here with me, and he doesn't complaint. He just bends down and collects a piece of plastic from the ground; probably an empy vial of water or something like that. As Savanna collects her knives, she steps on my shoes.

"Oops. My bad!" She says and storms out laughing. Oh, I will definetly feel pleasure cutting her throat!

Just you wait and see.

Annabelle Harret (District 11)
We thrudge along the menacing city carefully, aware of the possibility of being jumped from behind by a muttation or another tribute. At first, I thought it was unlikely that we would find ourselves in this situation during the first day. But after losing Lucius (C) during the bloodbath, and having no idea of what happened to Easton (5) and Roxanne (C), we decided that we should take extra care from now on.

We've been walking for about an hour now, and judging by the position of the sun, midday will be arriving soon. By my side, stands Clara (7), dragging herself along us, looking exhausted. She did not exchange a single word with Hawthorne (7) until now, and I get a feeling that their relationship is quite complicated. Raven (10) is by far the strongest member of the group at the moment, and she guides us through the deserted avenue. Since we didn't meet up with Roxanne (C) we're therefore "leaderless" at the moment, but Raven has been doing a fairly good job on keeping us together, so far.

"Can we take a break?" Nichole (5) asks for the third time in two minutes. I don't blame her for being tired, but she should understand that we need to find a good place to spend the night. Raven tells her we'll stop soon, and Nichole's green eyes flash with happiness. Hawthorne (7) is still quiet, but I guess he's just not a very social person when he's with girls. He called me "Bryony" today, earning a suspicious look from Clara. Once again, the two do not seem to get along very well.

Suddenly, Raven stops, causing me to bump straight into her back. I mutter a quick apologize, feeling embarassed. We stand in front of a large building, with otherwise golden walls. Even though the painting completely deteriorated, the building seems to be doing fine, in terms of architecture. I mean, it doesn't look like it will collapse and crush us.

"I think we should camp out here." Raven says, turning her grave brown eyes towards us. Hawthorne just shrugs, but Nichole and Clara both say it is a great idea. "What about you, Annabelle?" Raven asks me. I say it looks fine, and she smiles reassuringly at me.

We push the massive doors of the hall, and find ourselves in an astonishing room. I was expecting to see desecrated tables and shattered windows, but besides the layer of dust covering every piece of furniture, this place is in a perfect condition. Nichole squeals in surprise, and a smile plays on the edge of Hawthorne's lips, even though he tries his best to hide it. We rummage though the luxurious room, and decide to explore the rest of the floors later.

“What does everyone have?” Raven asks as she unzips the backpack she retrieved from the bloodbath. I did not manage to get any pack, but I was able to acquire the bow I hold so tightly, and a quiver filled with twelve arrows. I also snatched a knife, but I don't have any use for it. It does not seem to be weighted for throwing, which is disappointing.

"I got a blowgun and some darts," Nichole says as she empties her satchel. "and some dried fruit as well." Raven congratulates her for her items, and then the rest of us do the same. Hawthorne got a pair of deadly-looking axes, but no food or water. Clara got a canteen of water, that we'll be sharing. Out of everyone in our alliance, Raven has by far the best items. She was able to snatch two canteens of water, a vial of iodine, an extra jacket, a bunch of dried meat and a sword. As she finishes reciting her inventory, we all notice Nichole is trembling from her head to toe. The arena is starting to cool up and it's not even night yet. With a reassuring smile, Raven hands Nichole her extra jacket, and the red-haired girl mutters a low 'thank you'.

We sit ourselves down, and I hand Raven my knife, knowing I have no use for it. She thanks me, and asks me if I can teach her how to use a bow later on. In exchange, she tells me she will teach me how to make traps out of a wire. I accept our deal, and Raven smiles. Even with the loss of Lucius, and the possibility of never coming across Roxanne and Easton ever again, our alliance is a formidable team. And we might be on our way to win these Games once and for all.

Easton Silverbead (District 5)
Everything is deathly quiet. There are no birds chirping, and it appears as if not a single soul inhabits this maze of avenues. That is false. A mere illusion. There is a bunch of kids gunning for my head right now, hunting through the arena. But what makes my situation even worse is the lood that soaks my hands. Both of my palms are fixated to my bleeding eye. A thin, perfect cut rests on the middle of it. A gift from Harmony (8), as you may see. I can't be sure of the severity of the wound, but it doesn't look pretty. I moan in pain after each step I take. This wound will definetly affect me until the end of the Games, something I did not expect at all. I rose into the arena knowing I would be okay. My ally Roxanne (C) was right next to me, but during the chaos she completely disappeared from my eyesight. And then everything went to hell.

Flashes of Lucius (C) dead on the floor and Harmony stabbing at me with a needle fly quickly through my mind. I remember how I attacked her first, completely disregarding my mentor's advice. I vividly remember the pain I felt as the tool dug into my eye socket, as I fell down screaming, eyes closed as I waited for the final blow to come, but it never did. I heard Harmony muttering something to herself and then footsteps, getting away from me. The rest of the bloodbath is a blur. I had previously acquired both a sword and a spile, so I got away with those items. But I did not see any of my allies, which worries me. With the careers gunning for us, and the other tributes marking us as threats, what's left of our alliance must be in a tough situation. I scramble to my feet, aware that I need to get a move on before the other tributes can reach me.

My entire body is rigid as I move my legs forward, heading for the enormous shape of a skycraper in  the horizon. If I manage to move fast enough, I might be able to reach it before the sun sets, and then I'll be good to spend the night without being disturbed by someone like Harmony. It is a long journey, but I'm sure I can manage it.

I walk restlessly for what appears to be hours, until I decide to take a break. I'm not in the perfect physical condition when it comes down to things like this. The injury in my eye will slow me down even more than I thought it would. I sigh, and move in order to lean my head against a dumpster, before I stop on my tracks. This bitter, annoying weather is making me let my guard down. I cannot allow that to happen. I stand up, having found a new determination inside of me. I ignore the pain in my eye and get a move on. The shape of the building slowly gets closer, and I allow a smile to slink across my face. So far so good. As I move, thick water droplets begin to cascade from the blue that streaks above. Rain. That's good for me. It should provide me a good water source, not to mention it will cover up my tracks and create a few ponds.

I bend down over a recently formed puddle, and dip my hands into the water, eventually bringing them towards my mouth. The water feels cool as it slides down my parched throat. This place would be a fairly good camping spot, but I can't help but feel like I should go further into the city, away from the Cornucopia. Oh, nonsense. I've been running all day long. I believe I'm in a fairly decent position in here. I sit down, running my fingers through the puddle, decidedly bored. That's good, though. If I'm lonely enough to feel bored, that means no one is near--

My train of thought is suddenly interrupted by a noise coming from behind me. Someone stalks into my camp. I instintively throw my hands over my face for protection, when a foot connects with my ribs. I fall face-first into the concrete. Blood drips from my nose.

This is how it ends. Face dipped into the dirty mud, completely oblivious to the identity of my assailant. The mere thought of dying brings chills down my spine, and I throw my elbow out. It connects with my attacker's chest, but it doesn't cause much damage before hands grab me around my throat, raising me up and slamming me into a wall. My head smacks hard against the bricks, and my entire body aches. I only have time to look up before a polearm digs into my chest. I try to scream, but all that leaves my mouth is a sickening, wet gurgling sound as I choke on my own blood. Nailed to a wall by the trident and completely helpless in death, I allow the approaching darkness to claim me with its long, cold claws.

Rose Wells (District 13)
I bend over a fallen log, panting heavily. Night is yet to come, but sweat already runs down my forehead and my legs feel numb. I have been running ever since the gong rang out. First towards the Cornucopia's mouth, where I grasped my scrawny hands around the bow I hold so tightly, and then towards one of the main avenues. Ever since then, I have been running. I never did even consider stopping to catch my breath until this point. I cannot afford to allow the Careers to catch up. If that happens, that means I die. Death. A peculiar thing. I recall that not many years ago, I wanted it. Considered myself an useless piece of trash that did not deserve to be in this world.

It took me a long time to realize I was wrong. But then it was already too late. In order to learn of the importance of life, I had to watch a man butcher my two best friends, Fiorella and Madeleine. I watched as he cut into them, turning them into a bloody mess. When he started moving towards me, I striked, the knife I had grabbed earlier going straight for his heart. I turned and ran. Never look back, and never told anyone about what happened. I want to forget it.

But there is one thing I will never forget. I watched the death of my best friends from up close, and then I ended their assailant. And there is nothing in this world that will make me forget that. That when I dug my knife into that man's heart, it was too late. Too late to save my friends. No! I don't want to remember! Unshed tears glisten in my eyes as I stand up. I need to keep myself moving. I need to prevent those horrid memories from reaching me. I run, following the path I was going for earlier. It feels odd to have no cover. Makes me feel like I will be striked down from behind at any moment. I run without any direction in mind. All I'll do is run until it gets dark, and then I will think of what I can do.

The skycrapers can offer a pretty good shelter, but I will not risk coming across another tribute. I do not plan to cross paths with Roxanne (C), in particular. She is a Wildor. As far as I can remember, they have been mortal enemies with the Wells since forever. If I ever encounter her in this arena, odds are that I will not survive our match.

She may be a filthy cheater, but she is stronger than me. Unquenchable rage burns inside me as I realize that the possibility of getting murdered by a Wildor, among all the other tributes, is very high. Almost likely. I did not put much thought onto it before, but now I realize that Roxanne and her allies will be all gunning for me, following her command. Maybe I should have secured myself some allies as well. They would be able to protect me, and sometimes allies can be pretty useful. I curse my own ineptitude. I should have made some allies during the training period. It would have increased my odds considerably, and would offer me protection against Roxanne as well. I grunt in annoyance, realizing I can't do anything about that right now. Coming to a halt, I decide that going forward is futile. Being careful not to allert anyone – or anything – of my presence, I push a building's doors open, entering it and closing the doors behind me.

Kimberly Eliott (District 12)
I advance through the endless maze of avenues with caution, Philip (12) hot on my heels. I hold my sword up, as if someone can jump from one of the numerous allies brandishing a weapon. No such thing happens. I doubt anyone would attack us this early, but it is always good to be ready. We were about the first tributes to leave the Cornucopia, and that should give us some kind of advantage. Philip constantly sighs and asks for a rest, to which I shush him. We may not be confronted by anyone, but we still have to worry about telegraphing our position to the other tributes. I am pretty tired myself, but that does not mean we can just sit down and wait it out.

We still need to go further into the city, away from the careers and their weapons. We barely managed to escape them during the bloodbath, and dying to them right now would be just foolishness. I glance over my shoulder, where Philip still follows. In front of us, rests an intersection. Three streets to the right, two to the left. All of them are dark, the tall, majestic buildings completely blocking the sunlight.

"Stay near me" I mutter under my breath, and Philip snorts.

"You sound like an overzealous babysitter. . ." He says, rolling his eyes around. If he's so worried, then he might as well go first. I tell him this, and he sighs, removing his own sword from his belt.

"Don't give me some crap speech on how I have to be "the man of the house" or something. Still, I'll go first. You make sure no one is following."

He does not complaint any further. Good for him. I do what I'm told, looking around searching for anything that seems out of usual. Philip makes lefts and rights in random streets, looking for nothing in particular. I guess he just wants to make sure no one is following us. We continue to move for more half an hour, when Philip stops again, clutching his left foot.

"My feet feel like a stone! Can't we take a break, Kim?" He asks, brown eyes giving away how tired he is. I consider opening my mouth and agreeing with him, as I can't continue for too long myself, when I stop on my tracks. I can't let him convince me of something so trivial like that.

"We'll continue for about half an hour. C'mon, Phil." I say, and disappointment floods through his face.

"You said that two hours ago," He mutters, and I pretend I didn't listen to him, picking up my stuff and heading to the street that lies ahead. It looks just like all the streets we've been through until now, only it has a small grocery store and a few papers lie on the ground, gently being blown away by the soft wind. I turn my attention to the grocery store, where a sing on its door says "Open". I nudge Philip on the elbow, and signal towards the small store. He squeals happily, running towards it. I have half a mind to tell him to stop so we can scout the perimeter, but he would pay no mind to my words Sighing, I follow after him as he pushes the doors open.

Inside, empy shelves inhabit the abandoned store, ripped posters attached to the walls. I do find some things, though, like a candy bag and a leather black jacket covered with dust. I lean back against the wall, pouring one of the candy into my mouth. This day has been tiring. I guess we deserve some rest, after all.

Harmony Abbot (District 8)
The hideous, splashing sound of the pond resting before my eyes is truly calming. Even Cliffe (10) abandoned his harsh, enclosed shell and is now polishing his weapons on the crystaline water, a vacant expression glowing in his eyes as he marvels at the pure water. Above us, the sky stretches until the edge of my view, and a cold breeze that blows past allerts us that night will be coming shortly. Soon, we will learn the identities of the Fallen tributes. I don't look forwards for it. Our ally, Alluria (0), has fallen today. I'm not sure of how it happened, but Cliffe claims to have spotted her mangled body on the outskirts of the Cornucopia. She was a kindly girl, someone that would never resort to threats or violence, even if the circumstances asked for it. I'll miss her, if just for that.

Trying to focus on the present, I examine the pond. The clear water allows us to see the muddy bottom, and the edible roots that rest there. A few fish swim around lazily, completely oblivious to our presence. We're not making any noise, so they haven't noticed our presence yet. We set up our camp hours ago, and ever since then, nobody has attacked us. The rest of the tributes probably have a few time of advantage over us, considering we were about the last tributes to leave the Cornucopia. Still, this place is a treat, a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of this threatening city. Thick bushes and short trees conceal this place from the rest of the arena.

"What now?" I suddenly ask, breaking the silence hanging upon us. Cliffe looks up from where he was cleaning his spear, a lazy smile playing on the edge of his lips. He does not seem worried at all, like he thinks we're on vacation here. I never liked the guy. First he completely disappears during the bloodbath, returning with a bloodied spear. And now he completely ignores my presence, only speaking when spoken to. He's annoying, to say the least.

"We wait." He says and returns to cleaning up his stuff. I stand there, bewildered. Wait for what? For people to attack us, kill us, even? His answer is senseless, vague, at the best. This is another thing I dislike about him. He is extremely vague and concealed to himself, rarely speaking. Alluria was the bridge between the two of us, and now that she's dead, I'm not very sure of what will happen with our alliance. However, I'm sure that it is not very likely that it will be something good. The thought brings shivers down my spine, so I don't say anything else. The sun starts to set in the horizon. This day is coming to an end. As I stare into the pond, the howling of animals and the clicking noise of insects grows stronger. Night has fallen upon the arena.

Signors Stalingrad (District 3)
I watch as the moon slowly emerges into the sky, signaling that night has fallen. Good for us. As soon as the sun set in the horizon, the constant, ticking rain stopped. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I'm certain that at least I won't be annoyed anymore. I glance towards my allies, Favian (8) and Dawn (9). Favian is nearby, trying to cook the rabbit we killed earlier. However, he doesn't seem to be succeeding, as his fire is prettu much more smoke than flames. Eventually, he gives up on trying to start the fire and kicks the chunks of paper and wood away, along with the matches he used to try and light it. I laugh lightly, and Favian looks up, seeming annoyed. That surprises me. He always appears to be calm and polite. I guess that being in the arena has changed him a bit.

"It's harder than it looks. . ." He mutters, but I can barely hear it, as Dawn has woken up from where she was taking a nap. As soon as her eyelids fall open, she starts moaning and clutching her wound. I wish we had some painkillers, but her sponsors do not seem to be very generous, or smart enough to notice her situation.

"Go check on her." I tell Favian, and the boy nods curtly towards me, moving towards Dawn and leaning down besides her. I watch the two of them for a brief moment, but then decide I should try to do something more productive. I stand up, and stare out the window of the house we're in. I touch the glass, and notice that the arena has begun to cool up considerably. I tell Favian this, but he just shakes me off, trying to convince Dawn into drinking some of our water. I pick up the coil of wire I retrieved during the bloodbath, and tie it around the doorknob, eventually attaching it to the hook hanging from the walls. I give the door a test push, and it does not open. Good. The wire is stronger than we thought. I turn my attention back into the other parts of the house. There's a kitchen, but the sink has no running water and we did not find any food in the cupboards. The part of the house we're in, the living room, is by far the best, as there are two large, ripped couches and a small coffee table, where we keep our supplies. The other rooms are mostly empty, with the exception of some dust-covered, useless furniture and a few ripped rugs on the floor.

"Signors," I turn around, and see Favian staring at me, hope-filled eyes. "Could you stay with Dawn for a couple of minutes? I'll try to start that fire again." He never started it in the first place, but I don't say anything as I move towards down. He mouths a low, quick "thank you" before sliding off to the corner of the room, where he rummages through some drawers until he finds a bunch of old newspapers. He proceeds to rip them apart, and then lights a match. As much as it would be funny to watch him fail again, I promised I'd look after Dawn, so I cautiously move towards her.

Dawn Pyres (District 9)
"Hey there. Do you need anything?" Signors whispers as he leans besides me, following Favian's orders. I look up to him, and he still has the same serious, stuck-up expression on his face. He never seems to laugh, or to smile, he just stares blankly, and will remain quiet at all times, unless he absolutely has to talk. I get the feeling that he is like this with all people, even his friends. He reminds me of myself, after all the conturbed events that took place in my life.

"No. Thank you." I say, answering his question. But as soon as I move, pain shoots through my thigh, where Savanna (2) dug her knife. My face contorts with a mix of fear and anger as I think of her. But the pain in my thigh is nothing compared to the burning sensation in my palms. Thin, perfect cuts are splattered all around them, and a precise, bloody hole is marched upon my left hand. Thumbs up for Cliffe (10). Thinking of him causes a different reaction. Unlike Savanna, Cliffe had always been plannning what he did to me. Savanna just randomly chose the nearest tribute, me, in that case. I notice Signors' face contort with discomfort as he stares at me. He is probably wondering what's up with Cliffe, and why he did that to me. Luckily for me, he has manners, and isn't as straight forward as Favian was when he questioned me about Cliffe.

"So, about the bloodbath, um. . ." He stops at mid-sentence and it appears as if he is rummaging though his head trying to find the words to ask me why a psychopath decided to cut me up during the bloodbath. I try to laugh, but all that escapes my lips is a sharp hiss of air. Even laughing causes pain. I don't know what will happen to me as the Games advance.

"Actually, nevermind." Signors says as he notices the silence hanging upon us has been there for too long. I'm thankful for that. I don't know if I would be able to bring everything that includes me and Cliffe just like that, out of the blue. It looks like he is about to say something else, but he shakes his head, giving up on it and walking away without saying a word.

I just sigh. I feel sad. Sad for myself, sad for Signors' discomfort and sad for everything, in general.

Lucia Duvall (District 3)
I push the doors of an abandoned building open, grunting in annoyance. I've been walking ever since noon, trying to find an outlying, decent place to spend the night in. But my journey to this place wasn't worthless, though. I probably have hours and hours of advantage over the nearest tribute. That should be enough to keep me safe until tomorrow. I roll one of my knives into my finger, and begin walking around, just to make sure if somebody else is inside this building.

"Anybody home?" I giggle in a sing-song voice. No answer comes, and after I rummage through all the rooms, I finally convince myself that there isn't anyone out here. Good for me. I reach for my pocket, and pull out a coil of rope I got during the bloodbath. After I few time, I manage to make a pretty decent tripping trap in front of the door. Having an electric wire would be great, but that's a luxury I cannot afford. However, as the clock ticks, I begin to get unsatisfied with my trap. It seems to simple. I untie the rope and try to think of what I can do.

The wailing noise of the initial chords of the Anthem cut me off before I can come up with anything. My head instantly swivels upwards, and I begin examining the stars through the huge hole in the roof, eager to learn the identities of the eight dead tributes. I'm staring into the night sky when the first face shows up, that of Alluria (0). I do not remember the first thing about that girl, but that's one less oponnent for me to face, and that counts for something. I'm staring into her eyes when her face is replaced by the next one. Unkempt hair, muscular build and piercing eyes.

Helidor (1), a career, has fallen. That's good for me. My excitement reaches a whole new degree when the next face is shown. Heliodor's District partner, Marlene (1). A chesire grin erupts into my face as I stare down at the dead girl's portrait. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I can barely catch a glimpse of the next portrait, the District Five boy's, before he is replaced by Jackson (6).

I'm not surprised. He was a loner, and from the brief time I spent watching him during training, he was, at the best, a stupid, eccentric fool. I doubt somebody will miss him. Afterwards, both Luna (6) and Elvis (14) come in rapid fire. Luna was a huge threat, someone I thought I'd have to keep an eye on for the majority of the Games. Her death makes my job much easier.

I count on my fingers. There's only one more tribute. I'm hoping for another threat, but I'm greeted by the confused-looking face of the Capitol boy. His death is so insignificant that I don't even put any thought into it. He is gone for good. The Capitol's insignia returns one last time, and the Anthem wraps itself up, leaving me in this damned darkness again. I sigh, leaning my head back against the room's walls. May a better fortune await for me tomorrow.