Hunger Games 1. My Last Song

**Chapter One**

**Okay, this is basically the last few moments (or in some cases, hours) of the tributes' lives, starting with District 1 and moving onwards to District 11. The girl/boy order will change sometimes because it's hard making up all the creativity stuff, plus I've got like four other fanfictions going.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games. Everything that you recognize belongs to Suzanne Collins. **

**P.S. Listen, I know I changed the time that Marvel died a little bit, but it makes for a good ending.**

My Last Song: Marvel's Tale

Cato gave me a very important task. I normally don't do what he tells me to, but this time, I take it seriously.

I need to kill the Girl on Fire, and the little tree-hopper, too, if I can find her. The little one from 11.

She reminds me a lot of the little tree-hopper from back in my district, the one that called me "Mars" and made little diamond necklaces for us. My sister. I've got two back home, but one's twenty. Her name is Opal, the older one; she's our most recent victor, winning at the age of seventeen. My little one, Glitter, is twelve, already training for her time to volunteer.

At first, I was really happy for her. I couldn't wait until she volunteered. But now that I've got a taste of what it's like... I don't think I'll ever let her in that Academy ever again. If I can get back home.

Which brings me to today. I grab my spear, the one thing besides my meager pack that I had with me when a tribute blew up our pyramid of supplies. Cato thinks it's Fire Girl. That's why I have to kill her, plus, he's got a grudge against her because she outscored him in training. Clove doesn't like her because she's got this insufferable "defender of the helpless" act, which isn't an act, which only makes Clove want her dead even more. I want Fire Girl dead, too, because she killed my best friend.

Not Glimmer. Marina, the girl from District 4, who perished alongside Glimmer when Katniss (is that District 12's name?) dropped a nest of tracker jackers on us. Lover Boy survived, and I think that he might not be crushing on her as hard anymore. Dropping killer insects on one's admirer does have a negative effect on said admirer.

In the woods, I calm myself, then set off to where I know that my little net trap is waiting for some pretty tribute to stumble into. Maybe Fire Girl will fall for it, or Lover Boy. If he ever recovers from the wound Cato gave him after the tracker jacker incident.

Hours later, I arrive in the clearing to see the tree-hopper in the net, curled up like a baby animal. She must've spent part of the night, because she's exhausted, poor thing. I can tell she's on the verge of sleep, but she jolts right awake when she sees me. She starts screaming when she sees my spear.

"Katniss! Katniss!" she shrieks. So, I was right. That's the name of Mrs. Lover Boy.

"I'm sorry, little bird," I say softly. She hears me and quiets down for a minute.

"You've got family, I'm sure," she says, "but I've got five sisters back home, and not enough to feed them."

The sight of this tiny twelve-year-old, the same age as my little Glitter, this one with her big chocolate eyes and her satin skin, almost brings me to tears. Her huge, innocent-looking lips are parted ever so slightly, pleading for help. This does bring tears to my eyes.

But Cato said so. Cato said so, so I have to do it, or he'll find out, and then he'll kill me. Opal and Glitter need their Mars to come back to them. So does my girlfriend, Citrine – we've been together for two years. She needs me, and I need her. _My beautiful Citrine. I will come back to you. _

Fire Girl is just crashing through the trees, shouting, "Rue! Rue!" when I throw the spear straight into the little one's stomach.

For a moment, it's not Rue I see, it's Glitter, staring at me with her rosy-cheeked, pale face. Then the arrow plunges into my throat and Rue replaces my sister.

I struggle to hear what's going on, but I think I hear Katniss shouting, "Are there more? Are there more?" Then whispers, which are much harder to hear, but after a few beats I get the hang of it.

"Sing," I hear Rue murmur.

Katniss hesitates, then starts to sing, a lovely mountain air I recognize from back in District 1. My lips move along silently to her words, dulling the pain for a moment.

_ Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_ A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_ Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_ And when again they open, the sun will rise._

The arrow is on the ground. Did I yank it out? I can't breathe. Too much blood in my throat, but I want to hear the rest of the song. I will myself to hold on, just a little longer. Just for my last song.

_ Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_ Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_ Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._

_ Here is the place where I love you._

The world is going dark, but I struggle to keep the image of the dying girl and her would-be savior alive. Guilt streaks through me, but I want to see what I've done. I need to punish myself. There's no harm in it, now. Now that I'm dying.

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_ A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_ Forget all your woes, and let your troubles lay_

_ And when again it's morning, they'll wash away._

The dark closes in on Rue and Katniss. The tiny mockingjay and the bigger one. Both sweet girls. Both singers. I heard Rue singing in the Training Center one time, and it was beautiful. So is this.

The blackness is waiting for me to protest, yet slipping its greedy little fingers into my last image, taking the sound with it, too. A moment ago, I would've fought for the picture, would've fought for the music. Now, I can make my own.

The last chorus goes through my head as I hear the dull roar of a cannon.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_ Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_ Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._

_ Here is the place where I love you._


	2. Every Glimmer Must Fade

**Well, it's time for Chapter 2, Glimmer's death. **

**Pairings: Teeny bit of one-sided Glato**

**I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything that you recognize.**

Every Glimmer Must Fade: The Story of Glimmer

Cato proclaimed himself the leader of our group the moment we drew up the alliance, way back in the Training Center. None of us disputed him openly, although I could see that my district partner, Marvel or whatever, was itching to ask what made Cato the leader.

This tension lasted all through training, especially when Cato outscored Marvel by one point. It may not seem like much, but there are only twelve points to get, so it' s a lot.

Two days into the Games, and the tension hasn't evaporated yet. They squabbled over who deserved leadership the most, but they didn't notice one thing. Most of the alliance – Clove, Fish Girl from 4, and Marvel – listened to me when I told them to do something. Clove, of course, is never happy about listening to me, but she still does it. I wonder why. Probably to annoy Cato.

Our so-called leader calls us to the center of our camp, by the lake. The shining, cold, refreshing lake, which Cato has forbidden us to swim in.

It's not that we'd swim in it, anyway; none of us can swim. Well, Fish Girl can, but that's because she practically grew up in the water. But she's docile enough for now and listens to people, so she doesn't swim, although around noon today, when it was so bloody hot, you could see her gaze drifting to the lake and you could see the longing in her sea-green eyes.

"Now, I think you know why we're here," Cato says, glaring sternly at Clove, who is inspecting her fingernails, just like I used to back in 1. She smirks at Cato and continues looking at her nails.

"Our job is to go hunting, isn't it?" I ask. The first time I've spoken since the interviews the day before the Games started.

"Hunting, yes, for tributes – "

"Especially for the Girl on Fire," Marvel interrupts. That's pretty much all Cato's talked about since our training scores were announced. _District Twelve this, Fire Girl that, let's kill that simpleminded girl from Twelve. _That, and the fox-faced one from 5, but I'm not going to get into that. He talks about the girl from 5 in his sleep. Sometimes I consider gagging him so that I can't hear it, but I always decide against it. You don't want to make Cato mad.

"So, when are we leaving?" asks Fish Girl. She's got a name that sounds pretty, I know that much, but Fish Girl is easier to remember.

"Now," Cato replies, grabbing his sword. So Lover Boy reaches for his dagger, Marvel takes up his spear, I retrieve the silver bow and sheath of arrows that I'm no good with. I wonder why I even took it. Maybe if I don't make it out of here, District 12 can use my arrows and give Cato a piece of her mind. I could tell the way she looked at the bow in the Cornucopia that she wanted them. She's probably amazing, too, which is more than I can say about my own archery skills.

Fish Girl and Clove are the last to comply, the former grabbing a spiked mace (Marvel won't let her use the spear) and Clove arranging her knives fondly inside her jacket. What is that girl's deal with knives? She treats them like they're her kids. It's just plain creepy. So is the rest of her. I mean, she's only fourteen, and she's a menace. But whatever. If it suits her, it's fine with me.

Hours later, we stumble across the remnants of a wildfire. We take great care to avoid the flames, but after maybe ten minutes, we have to run from falling trees and take frequent breaks because of all the lingering smoke. Fish Girl runs ahead to scout, because she's the smallest and lightest and sneakiest out of all of us. Maybe five minutes later, she runs back to us, a huge smile on her face. It looks really good on her, I must admit.

"She's burned. Badly. Right now she's soaking her leg in a pool. We can get her easily," she crows, an arrogant smirk worthy of Cato crowning the lower half of her face.

"Good. We'll kill her now, and then we'll go back to camp," Cato says, catching the sun on his blade. The shaft of light that cuts through the smoky air makes my eyes dance in remembrance of all the pretty things back home. No pretty things here. Except for me. There would've been my ring, but the stupid Gamemakers found the poisoned spike in it. Now the only thing I've got to remember District 1 by is Marvel and the wide leather bracelet he wears on his wrist for a token. It's awfully plain, but I think his sister made it for him or something. _Softie._

District 12 must hear us coming or something, because she runs right up a tree as we emerge into her clearing. I smirk at the fact that her hands are burned. She must be in pain, but she's twenty feet up and still climbing. I whip out my bow, load one of the pretty arrows, and shoot it at her. It lands a foot above her and she takes it out, waving it at us. Teasing us.

It's more than Cato can stand, and he makes to climb the tree. I try to press the bow and arrows into his arms.

"Here, take this," I say, actually smiling a genuine smile. If we kill her, Cato will be happy, and he might be easier to sleep near tonight.

He pushes it away, drawing his weapon of choice: a big, honking blade that curves a little bit. "No," he growls. "I'll do better with my sword." He looks really sexy with the smoke settling on his arms and his blond hair all messed up. If this weren't the arena, and he wasn't… well, the explosive thing that is Cato, I might try for a kiss or two.

District 12 is maybe eighty feet up now. "Get her, Cato!" I shout as he starts to climb, his muscled arms working, his jacket on the dead leaves. Instead of the tee shirts we've all gotten, Cato's managed to find himself a sleeveless shirt, and it works for him. He's probably got female sponsors lined up around the block. Even I want to sponsor him, looking at those muscles.

"Come on!" I encourage. "You can do it! Kill her!" Laughter bubbles up inside of me, forcing its way to my pretty little mouth and out into the air. Clove joins in, but her laughter is sadistic and cruel, as opposed to my delicate laugh. I've never heard Fish Girl giggle or anything before, so I don't know what she sounds like, and I guess I don't care.

Cato reaches for a stubby little branch. I can see that it won't hold his weight. "No, Cato, not that one, it'll break," I shout up to him, but it's too late. The branch snaps and he crashes to the ground.

I'm at his side in a second. I guess I'm the Career that has emotions, something that we don't see often.

"Are you alright?" I ask, helping him up. He pushes me away and struggles to his feet, swearing like a fiend. Some of the words he uses make me blush; I turn so that the cameras won't see it. Then he grabs my bow and shoots at her – it misses again, and I run to retrieve it, to put it back in my silver quiver.

"Come on, guys, let's just wait her out," says Lover Boy suddenly. We all turn to look at him. Clove is fingering one of her throwing knives, and Fish Girl is placid and passive. As usual.

So we make a fire near the base of her tree as night darkens. The fallen are showed: just the girl from 8 that we killed, early this morning, I guess. Fire Girl stays up in her tree. Fish Girl stares blankly into the fire.

After a few hours, I think that District 12 is asleep. All of us Careers are ready to sleep, but Cato puts Fish Girl and me on watch. For the whole night. I want to object, but I know that he'd kill me, and I mean that literally. Gut me with his sword for the whole country to see. Just like he killed Triton, the boy from Fish Girl's district.

When the others fall asleep, Fish Girl and I start to talk.

"What are you going to do, if you win?" I ask her.

"Try to forget," she says. "You?"

"Probably the same. Although part of me wants to remember. I want to remember that I'm not just some pretty face. I can kill," I tell Fish Girl in a kind of detached voice. The audience is eating this up, my _I just want to go home, I need to prove myself _act. I'm almost convincing myself.

"Although I most likely won't win, what with Cato here."

"Right," I say. "We need to get rid of him."

"We could do it now; he's asleep, he doesn't suspect a thing," Fish Girl whispers.

"Listen, Fish Girl –" I start to say, but she cuts me off.

"Marina."

"What?" I ask.

"My name is Marina. Not _Fish Girl_. You aren't Glitz, either. That's what the girl from Five calls you, and what I think of you as. Your name is Glimmer. So let's call each other by our real names."

Fish Girl – no, _Marina_ – starts to braid her bronze hair into fishbone braids, kind of like the ones I wore for training. I begin again, making my voice crack a little. Very endearing. "Listen, I know that it's the Games and all, and that we shouldn't get too cozy with each other, but I don't want to kill Cato like that. It's cruel and horrible and I don't want to betray him."

"We're cruel and horrible, Glimmer. It's who we are. Careers," says Marina, binding up the end of her fishbone braid.

"I'm not. Sure, I kill people, and I like it a little, but… I'm not like Cato. I hesitate. It's not like it's effortless for me, and I don't like betraying people," I answer. It's lame, but I need to get Marina to trust me. If she doesn't trust me, it'll be harder to get her to a point where I can stab her in the back. I'm going to win. If I need to pretend to be a weakling, so be it. Anything for the crown, anything for my life.

"Me neither. Can you take the rest of the night? Or you could just wake me up before the others so that Cato doesn't yell at me," Marina appeals to me. She's pitiful, but I let her go to her sleeping bag, removing the mace from the vicinity when I'm sure that she's asleep. Can't have her thinking about making it through the week. No, no, that wouldn't do at all.

Dark begins to close in on me. I'm bone tired but I won't wake up Marina; she'd turn out to be a liar like me, most likely, and slit my throat in my sleep. So I prop myself up against a tree, trying hard to stay awake.

I blink and the world explodes into screams. It's light out, so I fell asleep after all, but that's not relevant. What's relevant is Clove shrieking in horror, what's relevant is a bunch of tiny things all over me, what's relevant is pain. P-A-I-N pain. Stinging like fire.

I try to run with the others, but the stings of the tiny things make me fall. I can't get up. Eventually, I resort to trying to beat them off with my silver bow, anything to make them stop stinging me. In my hysteria, I will try anything. The pain is too much.

Stinger lumps explode all over my body, a cascade of diamonds pouring from each lump. Is this real? It feels nightmarishly so. There's no question that the world is a nightmare, a place of pain and suffering and these insects. My allies have forgotten me. What I can see of the forest is totally empty of people, even Katniss.

I picture myself the night of the interviews, stunning in my transparent gold gown and luscious blonde curls, and try to compare it to what I can see of my body now. My limbs are two or three times their normal size. For some reason, the top of my head is puffier, and then I realize why: my scalp is covered with stings, raised up high with the exploding, diamond-filled lumps when I put what used to be my slender fingers to the top of my head. Now they resemble bruised sausages.

Everything starts to bend in alarming ways. Katniss jumps from her tree in slow motion. I think my breathing is getting shallow, but it's hard to tell because of the ringing in my ears, the voices of all the people I've killed.

There's a snatch of interviews from the girl from 3. She was weak. "_I think that the Capitol is a wonderful place. I'm very grateful for the opportunity to see the luxuries before the Games start, I just wish my life wasn't on the line for me to do so." She gives a tiny, rueful smile. The audience makes sympathetic sounds at that. _The begging of the weak male tribute from District 7. "_Please! Please no, I'll do anything, don't kill me!" _The boy from 8's screams as my knife travels in loopy circuits up and down his torso and arms.

There's a cannon in the distance. Who's it for? Marvel? Cato? Marina? I'm almost past caring because of the agony. I hear screeches from my older brother as somebody tears him limb from limb. No. My brother is at home, safe and sound, not here. Never here. Marvel is, not him.

A few minutes later, I'm wishing I was dead. Then a dull thud echoes through the arena, like a cannon. Katniss bends over me, fighting for my bow, still clasped in my death grip. Who was the cannon for? The world blacks out.

In District 1, I wasn't just Glimmer, the girl with the stupid name. In District 1, I was _their _Glimmer, and my name was beautiful. They said I was a glimmer of hope for the district's future.

What they never remembered is that every glimmer must fade.


	3. They Told Me I Was Supposed to Win

**Alright, time for Cato. *Sniff he was my second favorite... *breaks down crying ***

**Pairings: Heaps and heaps of Clato, teensy hints at Catoface (Foxface x Cato)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or anything that you recognize. If I did, Clove and Cato would've won. Maybe Foxface. Sigh.**

They Told Me I was Supposed to Win: Cato's Story

It's just us three.

Me and Lover Boy and Everdeen. I've suffered through Clove's death, and Finch's, but I got the boy who killed Clove. I bet Lover Boy killed Finch. I think I'll kill him.

_ After Everdeen._

Always Everdeen first. That's what I promised Clove, that I'd eliminate the larger threat first. It was Everdeen, we thought. Not the giant, Thresh.

How wrong we were.

_ Kill Everdeen._

She caused Clove's death. I don't know how, exactly, but she did it. She's the biggest threat. She must've had an alliance with Thresh; he must've been waiting.

_ Of course you were waiting. She's one step ahead._

_ They told me I was supposed to win._

That's what I wanted, too. I wanted to win. Then I wanted to win with Clove, when they announced the rule change. We were going to go home together.

They all said I was supposed to win.

I wish I had the pack from the feast. Clove was supposed to get it. I was supposed to guard her.

I was supposed to keep her safe.

_ Too late, _I think bitterly. I need to keep my thoughts away from _her. _I'm not even going to think her name.

_ Clove, Clove, Clove, _my traitor mind sings.

Well, anyways, I wish I had the pack. At the time of the feast, we desperately needed food. There wasn't even enough for one person. We were starving, all because of Everdeen.

I was supposed to keep her safe. It was her idea to go by herself, and I let her. Now that she's dead, it's easy to see what I should've done. I should've come with her, instead of looking around for someone who was already murdering my…. I don't really know a word for what Clove was to me.

Friend.

Lover.

Ally.

Enemy.

Trainer.

Student.

Dead Heart.

_ Tell me everything that happened, tell me everything you saw,/_

_ They had lights inside their eyes, they had lights inside their eyes…_

I run through the forest. I run from Clove, my dead heart, I run from unseen enemies, I run from all of my old allies. Marvel. Glimmer. Marina. Triton. Finch. And then _her, _the one with the sarcastic smile and the tapered fingers and the beautiful, beautiful eyes.

_Oh, Clove. You said you'd be there for me. _

Now she is gone.

She is gone.

I am alone.

I'm at a small clearing when I hear a low growl, not unlike that of a dog. Dogs used to be my favorite animals. Then the spot was taken my lizards, and then bears, because Clove hated lizards. She thought that all they were good for was target practice.

"And lizard stew!" I used to tease her, tickling her stomach until she slapped me.

That's when the first mutt bursts out of the trees. It's vaguely dog-like, but no, it's all wrong. The fur is sort of ashy, which is all right for a dog, and the eyes are hazel. What's wrong is that it's too large, and its eyes… they're human eyes.

All mutts are designed to hurt you. Some physically, some psychologically, some both. This muttation is the boy from District 9, as I can tell from the _9_ on his grain collar. Clove's first kill in the arena, as well as the first death overall.

The next to pop up has blonde fur and the weird human eyes, this time in blue. Exactly beside it emerges a large black dog. Its eyes are obscured by the hair, but it's obvious who these two are. They're the pair from 6, also Clove's kills. Their collars have trains on them. Why are the Gamemakers doing this to me? Clove's kills… maybe it'll be a Clove mutt next up. I'd let it kill me, that's for sure. I can't kill her. Not twice.

I'm wrong. A red-furred mutt with amber eyes.

It's Finch.

Before they can advance, I take off, before I remember that I'm wearing body armor. A fat lot of good it'll do me against the psychological torture.

Everdeen and Lover Boy are just kind of standing there by the Cornucopia. I barrel through them, feeling the rush of air as more pop up, until I'm sure that all twenty-one dead tributes have a reincarnation bent on killing us.

I climb up onto the golden horn, and I can hear the pair from 12 do the same. What I can also hear is the scrabble of the mutts' claws on the seamless metal. I only hope they can't jump.

Once I'm up, I scan the ground for Clove's muttation. I can see Glimmer's, though – a beautiful bitch dog with curly blonde fur, a collar with the number _1_ inlaid with jewels, and intelligent green eyes. They narrow in hatred at the very sight of me.

There. A slight one, almost as small as the one that's supposed to represent Rue from 11, with dark fur and muddy green eyes, which display no recognition.

She doesn't remember me.

_ It's not her, Cato, _I shout at myself. Not her.

She can't remember me, because she's dead.

Then I realize something. Lover Boy's got this huge wound in his calf, which is making the horn slick with blood. It'd be so easy just to push them off, to let Clove have her last kills...

_"When I'm a tribute, I'm going to kill more kids than anybody else," the little girl crows, her dark hair in pigtails. I roll my eyes. I'd definitely kill the most. If I could, I'd kill all twenty-three of them. Nobody would stand a chance against me..._

_ We lay down on the hill, under the willow tree, gazing at the sunset over the old flooded quarry. It's where we go all the time. Our secret spot._

_ "What would you do if the unthinkable happened?" A fourteen-year-old Clove asks, her hands folded over her stomach. _

_ "If what happened?"_

_ "If we both went in the same year. If one of us was reaped and nobody volunteered. Would you __kill me, Cato?" Clove looks at me with complete and utter sincerity. She doesn't seem bitter. Only thoughtful._

_ "I don't know, Clove, I've never really thought about it."_

_ "I don't think I could kill you." She sits up and moves closer to me. I can see every single fleck of gold in her muddy green eyes..._

_ I stand on the stage, staring into the eyes of my best friend as I shake her hand. My mind flies back to that sunset. _

"Would you kill me, Cato?"

_"I really hope you've thought that over," Clove whispers, thinking along the same lines as me. I can tell by the way she smiles..._

Clove will finally her wish. She'll have the most kills out of all of us, five.

"Can they climb it?" I gasp, my body rendered immobile with grief. Everdeen and Lover Boy probably think it's cramps. They don't know that she caused the death of my best friend.

Katniss suddenly shrieks and fires an arrow into the Glimmer-mutt's throat. She must get it now, get who these mutts are. Or were.

"It's her!" she squeals.

"Who?" asks an oblivious Lover Boy. He's stupid. Can't he see Clove, sitting down there, begging for me to come down, to play with her, to tell her I love her. Why can't I get down? Clove is waiting for me.

But I've got more important things to do.

_Kill Everdeen._

_ They told me I was supposed to win._

"Kill it, Peeta! Kill it!" rings out through the arena, so clearly through the screams of a boy, so clearly through the barks of my best friend and my old allies, my victims.

_If you can't kill Everdeen straightaway, get her boyfriend, _Clove whispers in my mind. _You can do this, Cato. You can win._

I remember her last words to me, when she could barely get them out after the ox from 11... after what he did.

_You can win, Cato. _And then I smiled. She smiled, too, but it looked all wrong. It was infused with pain. The lips were turned down in a grimace. Clove never grimaced unless our old friend Mason told a bad joke. _Oh, that smile... _And then, as her eyes closed shut and I screamed, she whispered three words I'd never thought I'd hear.

_I love you._

I'd screamed for her to come back to me. She would be alright. I loved her. We would go back to District 2, we would win this, it'd be okay.

_Get to her boyfriend..._

I jerk Lover Boy away from Katniss' side, putting him in a headlock that I remember Clove used on me one time. It'll cut off his air and he'll asphyxiate. Lover Boy claws kind of weakly at me. Pathetic. If he's so strong, why can't he get me away? I laugh insanely as I picture going home.

Home.

District 2? Is that my home?

I can barely remember anything but Clove's face in great detail, grimacing with pain, begging me to win for her. Then something about honor...

What is honor to a dead man?

"Shoot me and he goes down with me," I laugh. Her arrow's pointed at my head. I should be worried, but all I care about is taking away the one she loves. She took Clove. It's time for me to return the favor.

Lover Boy makes an _X_ on the back of my hand. What's that for?

Then I get it.

The body armor doesn't cover my hands. She'll shoot me, and I'll go down.

She lets the arrow fly, and I stumble backwards, letting him go, my grip's gone, I can't stand, falling, falling...

The ground meets me with surprising force, but that's nothing compared to the mutts. Ripping... tearing...

I leap up, grabbing a knife from inside my jacket. That's something Clove taught me: Always have a trick or two up your sleeve.

The first mutt gone is the boy from District 9. For a while, we tussle, and I give him some good wounds, but eventually I slit his throat and he goes down, screaming like a fiend, still clawing at me.

I don't kill any more for what feels like three hours but is probably only one. It's Marvel's mutt, and he's just as skilled in dog form as he was in human.

I need to make it back to the Cornucopia. It's the only thing that can save my life, and it's not working. In the end, I'm simply overpowered.

_They told me I was supposed to win._

_ This isn't winning._

The mutts drag me inside the golden horn, tearing at my extremities, the parts that my armor doesn't cover. My hands go first, then my feet, and then they try to tear my armor.

Two hours of screaming, moaning, and then begging later, they've made a hole and proceed to rip the armor off of me.

It's Clove. The mutt that makes the first bite into my abdomen is none other than my lovely Clove, my little knife-girl.

_She's not Clove. Clove is dead. This is a mutt. _

I can almost her her snarling at me.

_"You said you'd always come for me. Why did you let me down?"_

Bite. I beg her to stop, but she rips away a piece of my arm.

_They all told me I'd win._

The other mutts dig in, and I can mostly figure out who they are. There's the boy from 4, my kill, and his district partner. Glimmer called her _Fish Girl_. The girl from 6. The lame boy from 10. Rue.

I don't know how long it goes on. I can hear Lover Boy whispering to Everdeen, something about the sun, and I look through what's left of my eyes to see that the sun is, in fact, rising. This has gone on for hours. Hours of agony and they've done nothing.

I can see why. I'm a horrible person, at least in their minds. I killed without a second thought and showed no mercy. They won't either. They're going to let me suffer until I bleed out.

Somehow, I manage to wriggle my way up to the mouth of the Cornucopia. It's amazing how I do it with ripped stumps for legs and no arms. I'm a raw hunk of meat now. Stinking. Food for flies and worms alike.

_Please kill me._

"Please," I whimper. Hopefully Katniss can hear me.

The arrow flies into my skull and the world goes black, finally.

They told me I was supposed to win.

All along, I knew I was supposed to die.

**Sorry if it was a little gory, I think I might make my future chapters a little more kid-friendly, just in case there are some kids my age on Fanfiction. Well, see you in a few days! Don't forget to review!**


	4. Blow Me One Last Kiss

**Thank you so much to all of my reviewers. To name a few: richards25, The PTB's Red Fox, and Monica Forte. Thank you for everybody who's read, reviewed, or favorited. It's time for Clove. *Sniff * Clove was my #1 favorite tribute. You'll be hearing about my #3, because Cato was my second favorite. :)**

**If you have any suggestions for chapter names or anything, just review and tell me, I'll take it into consideration.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games or anything that you recognize, Suzanne Collins does. **

** "**Blow Me One Last Kiss": The Death of Clove

We huddle together in the tent, Cato and I. It's already starting to get cold, and our tents don't do much against that, sadly. I think the Gamemakers did that on purpose.

Suddenly, there's a blare of trumpets and a familiar voice echoing throughout the arena. Claudius Templesmith, inviting us to a feast. Cato immediately snaps up, his back sword-straight, and whispers, "This is it." No doubt the remaining tributes will flock to wherever it is, trying to get a sleeve of crackers or something.

"Now hold on," Claudius continues. I look at Cato, puzzled. More?

"Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this may be your last chance," he says. Then there's a little burst of static and the message is over.

"Food!" I almost shout. "We need food."

"I don't know if we should go after all," Cato says, looking worried. "I mean, every one of us needs something really badly. This will tempt the others – Lover Boy, the ox..." He trails off. I know who he was going to say.

_Finch. _

Since we got in the Capitol, he'd been paying a little more attention to the girl from 5. We were still best friends, of course. He just looked at her.

It bothered me.

"Anyways, they're motivated by desperation, and I don't want you to..."

"What?" I snort. "Get hurt? They're scared stiff of us, even if Glimmer and Marvel and whoever else are dead! We're the big two here. We're the ones to run away from."

"Fire Girl," is all that Cato says in reply.

Fire Girl. The one who lit up the opening ceremonies, who burned away our sponsors. The one who got an eleven, wiping out all of our careful efforts into ashes. The one who everybody loved in the interviews, the silly sparkling idiot. The one who captivated the attention of her district partner and the obsession of mine.

Fire Girl. The one who just may kill us all.

I push these traitor thoughts from my mind. Cato and I will win together. We'll go home. Not the joke of Panem, those kids from District 12.

"Tell you what, Cato," I say, my clever mind working a thousand miles an hour. "I'll go to the feast." He starts to object but I cut him off. "Listen! I will go, to kill Everdeen. Don't worry, I'll give the audience a good show. You can stand guard in the woods for Five and Eleven. If there's any danger, I'll call for you. Promise."

"What if I don't come for you in time?" he argues. "I couldn't live with myself if you died. You're my best friend, Clove."

"Hey, I'm from District Two," I laugh, "and we all know I've been training for this my entire life. I think I can handle a flame."

We argue back and forth for a few more minutes, and then he relents. I kiss his cheek softly. "That's my boy."

At midnight, Cato and I set off. The trek to the Cornucopia brings back memories of all our kills, and neither of us can keep the smile off our faces as the golden horn comes into sight.

"I killed the girl from Six over there, by the tip," I say, pointing to the spot.

"I killed the mine boy some meters to the right, remember that?"

"Her district partner by the pedestals." I put my arm around Cato's waist, on the verge of giggles as we remember our greatest moments.

"I pretty much gutted Triton inside," he counters.

"The boy from Nine on the field, and almost Fire Girl. That's it."

"My last kill was the girl from Ten."

Three each. We really are the perfect team, never outdoing each other, yet always competing. That's what makes us best friends. We strive for success together.

Cato and I set up camp by the forest's edge. He insists on it. So we can keep the Cornucopia in sight, he reasons, and I'm tired of arguing with him so I agree. We predict the girl from 5 won't show.

"I know her, and she's too weak," Cato says. "She prefers to hide and pick over things after the hullabaloo. Awful coward."

The ox from 11 probably will come, and we've no clue about Everdeen. We know that Lover Boy won't be making an appearance, like the girl from 5. Cato knows where he cut him.

When the bloodstained rays of the sun start to peek through the fluffy clouds, Cato hugs me, wishes me good luck, and takes one of Marvel's old spears for protection. He heads deeper into the forest, scouting for prey. I arrange the knives inside of my jacket and get ready as the sun takes its place above the field of grains that nobody dares enter.

It's dawn. Why aren't the gifts here yet? Claudius Templesmith specified dawn.

Just as I'm thinking this, a hole opens up in front of the Cornucopia and a table comes up like we did from our Launch Rooms. It is a resting place for four packs: two large black ones marked _2 _and _11_, a medium-sized green one with a _5_ stamped on it, and a miniscule orange bag with the number 12 printed clearly on the fabric. Backpack, my foot. District 12's gift is more like some weird bracelet.

I make to sprint forward, to claim our backpack, but I freeze in place as the redhead from 5 darts out of the Cornucopia, seizes the green bag, and flies off into the trees.

I'm so shocked, all I do is watch. She played it really clever. Of course, she knew that none of us would chase her with our own backpacks so vulnerable on the table. I could easily dispatch of her, but I'm paralyzed with rage as I watch the little fox sprint out of range of my knives.

One of the others will be next, 11 or Everdeen. Or me. It's my choice. I could grab my backpack and then kill them all, taking all of the backpacks for Cato. I don't know what's in District 12's, but it might be useful, even though it's so tiny.

Everdeen knows it's now or never and runs for the table. I whip a knife out of my jacket and throw it at her. She deflects it with her bow.

_With her bow! She blocked my weapon with a filthy curved piece of metal! And it was Glimmer's, to begin with!_

There's a pain in my upper left arm and I swear. The idiot shot me!

I pull the arrow out of my arm and take in the severity of the wound; luckily, it's not deep, and I throw with my right arm.

That's exactly what I do, and it slices across her forehead. Her face is drenched in blood almost immediately, her visibility is almost nil, her arrow's missed me by a long shot, I'm bowling her over.

We struggle for a few moments, and I emerge victorious, pinning her to the ground with my knees.

"Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve?" I taunt as she tries to get free. "Still hanging on?"

To my surprise she answers. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato." She screams, "_Peeta!_" at the top of her lungs.

What? It's not true. I jam my fist into her windpipe, shutting her up. I have to check if it's true. No Lover Boy appears.

"Liar." I grin insanely as I'm reassured Cato is safe. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going." I pause, surveying the orange pack around her wrist. Medicine. It's medicine for her district partner. She cares if he dies, that's the only reason she'd come.

"What's in the pretty little backpack?" I tease. "That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

I open my jacket, making a show of choosing my knife, but I've already got one in mind: a cruel, curved blade that almost looks dainty. As Cato said a few days ago, it's me as a knife.

"I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show. "

She struggles, clearly afraid. I've got something on her now. She's afraid of dying. Didn't she say something in her interview about her sister?

Oh. She wants her poor little sister to be safe, to not have to go through her death. _Too bad, Lover Girl._

Plus, she's still a little hammed up over her ally's death. The tree-hopper, as Marvel called her. Rue, I believe.

"Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally... what was her name? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and I think we'll let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" I ask. She looks scared enough. Time to get the fun going. "Now... where to start?"

I use the sleeve of my jacket to wipe the blood roughly off of her face. It transforms into a block of wood, like the ones I used to carve back in 2. What am I going to carve in this block?

Everdeen tries to bite me. I grab her hair and force her back down. We can't have her putting up a fuss, now, can we? It'd mess up the carving.

"I think..." I purr. "I think we'll start with your mouth." I trace the outline of her chapped lips teasingly, using the very tip of my knife. She presses her teeth stubbornly together.

Idiot.

_Her eyes are open. She's mad._

_ She's not scared of us._

I remember my thought from last night, when Cato and I were arguing about going to the feast or not. _Fire Girl. The one who just may kill us all._

That just pisses me off. "Yes," I say. "I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?"

She spits a mixture of blood and saliva into my face. I'm so angry, I almost forget about torturing her. I want her dead.

"All right then," I almost shout with rage. "Let's get started."

My knife opens a teeny, tiny cut on her lip when the arms close around me.

I scream. The arms are too strong to be Cato's, the hands are a satiny brown, not Cato's pale skin. It must be the ox from 11.

He came.

Thresh – I think that's his name – flips me onto the ground so hard I can't even stand, but I scramble backward on all fours, trying to get away. I don't want to die.

"What'd you do to that little girl?" he shouts. "You kill her?"

"No! No, it wasn't me!" I scream. _It was Marvel, _I want to shout, but my lips won't work. _What's wrong with me?! Why can't I talk?!_

I think this is what the weak call _Fear_.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? You cut her up like you were gonna cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I - " That's when I see the rock in his hand. It's easily the size of a bread loaf.

_"If there's any danger, I'll call for you. Promise." _

"Cato!" I screech at the top of my lungs. "Cato!"

"Clove!"

He's too far away. He can't come in time.

I'm going to die.

_Pain, the worst pain imaginable._

I fall to the ground, my head ringing. My hand feebly moves to my skull and find a huge dent where my temple should be. Am I dead?

Not yet. I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of my chest as I try to breathe. I need to live. I need to win.

"Clove!" Cato yells, his voice full of pain. He must be here.

My savior is here.

From the rustle of the grass, I can tell that he's kneeling beside me. His hand takes mine.

"Stay with me, Clove," he whispers. His voice is thick with anguish. It hurts me to hear him hurt. "Everything will be alright. I'm going to fix you up, and then we'll win."

"I'm sorry, Cato," I mutter. "I didn't kill her."

"No, no, it's not your fault!" he says quickly, aghast. "It's his. I promise, there's no reason for you to be sorry. Me, on the other hand..."

"I made you let me go. It really is my fault." My voice is numb, dead, but my breathing is fast and shallow as I try to make my heartbeat strong.

I need to live. We're going to win, Cato and I.

"I'm sorry I was too late," he says. "You're the world to me, Clove, don't leave, please, stay with me, don't die."

"Listen to me. Listen very closely," I murmur very quickly. I know I'm dying. I don't have time. It scares me so much. "You can win, Cato, win for me. Do whatever you need to do. Eliminate the biggest threat first, right?" I grimace weakly. He smiles. "Oh, that smile." It's my favorite thing about him. The way he transforms from someone intimidating into someone you just want to hug. It's so bright and sunny, you could never imagine him killing a person.

My eyes shut, and Cato screams. "Clove!"

"I love you," I whisper. Then I hear him very quietly:

"I love you too."

He kisses me on the lips very gently, and I hear the boom of the cannon. My cannon, I guess.

I remember what I said to Everdeen.

_Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?_

I should've blown one to mine.

**Two in one day! Awesome! Okay, I actually cried when I was writing this, so I hope that it's a little good. Please review, the District 3 boy, official movie name Noah, should be coming up in a few days. Sorry but I do have school, I can't spend the day writing like on weekends.**


	5. The Path to Love

** Okay, it's time for the District 3 boy. Ian Nelson (eeee he's so cute!) anyway he confirmed his character's movie name is Noah. In my imagination, Noah is thirteen and is in love with Foxface. Crackship but it would SOOOO work wouldn't it?! **

**Little Fearless (Guest): I know, but I couldn't get to any of my files for like two weeks. I was sad, too. Sure I'll do a sequel badaboom!**

** Disclaimer: Duh. I think you know what I would've said here, but you clever little onions can piece together that I do NOT own the Hunger Games, can't you? (No that was not sarcasm, if you're reading me you must be a clever little onion.)**

The Path To Love: Noah's Tale

The big three leave me alone. They say they'll be hunting. They say they'll be back soon.

As soon as I think they're out of earshot I whistle, my special signal to Finch that it's safe for her to come out.

A moment later, her pale, pinched face peeks out from behind a towering maple.

"You whistled?" she asks. Even after knowing her for several weeks, her voice still sends shivers through me. It reminds me of rain in the summer. Too bad she barely ever uses it.

"All clear. Do you remember the pathway?"

"No." Finch steps out into the clearing and I gasp.

She's so much thinner than when we last met, just after I set up the mines last week. Her face is more haggard, and the bones are more prominent. Finch's clothes are more baggy than I remember them being. She's got a knife in her belt like she always does.

She's still breathtaking.

Finch steps to the outer rim of the mine range, pressing fearfully close to me. I hop the path and back, then take her by the hand and lead her through.

"Hop over this barrel here," I say. "Be careful, it's a bit precarious, only one can stand at a time, let me go first."

Once we're clear, I pick an apple from a burlap bag and present it to Finch. "For you, my lady," I say. She blushes and smiles the faintest bit.

"Okay, Noah, let me try by myself."

I'm terrified, but if she's to steal from the big three anytime, she's got to know this. Plus, she's two years older than me, anyway, from what I heard Caesar Flickerman say of her. Fifteen years old, and she looks thirteen, same age I am. I step back and she readies herself.

Her way back is hurried, kind of panicked, like a dance with many complicated steps, moving gracefully even in her fear. She doesn't get close to a single mine.

"You've got it!" I cheer, hopping my way back after her. "Now I'll get some stuff for you."

She silently waves my offer away with her hand.

"You're like a skeleton, Finch. Seriously." I put my finger to her lips and jump the path. Grab a small chunk of cheese, a slightly better knife, and a small, sort of raggedy blanket. The big three will never notice they're gone.

Finch seems daunted by my generosity. I'm sure that the first time I caught her trying to steal, she'd thought I would kill her. She's probably still wary.

She's got no reason to be, you know. I've loved her ever since the opening ceremonies. It grew during training, when I saw how smart she was, and how clever, and how funny.

I don't think she ever noticed me aside from one hurried conversation before the chariots launched.

Without even a "thank you," Finch bounds off into the trees. It's moments before I can't even see her.

"Wait!" I call after her, not caring if any tributes hear me.

Her head peeps out through the trees, checking if I am talking to her; I whistle the five notes of our signal. She sprints back to me, the blanket left in the woods.

Before she even has time to ask why I called her, I kiss her swiftly on the lips and it's my turn to disappear. In reality, I'm hiding in the scrub just outside the meadow where she stands, bemused. Then I see her hand reach up and touch her lips, as if she can't believe what happened, and smile, elated.

_Elated._

"Noah!" she whispers into the bushes about a yard to my left.

"Over here," I say shyly, emerging.

"I... I never knew you felt like... _that_." She hugs me quickly, and I feel every bone in her ribcage like a knife.

"How could I not?" I mutter into her shoulder. She's only a few inches taller than me. For a fifteen-year-old, you'd expect her to be far taller than 4'10". I'm sort of glad she only scrapes 5'1".

"I mean," I continue, "you're sharp as a tack, far cleverer than anybody I knew back in 3, and to top it off you're beautiful."

She flushes crimson. "You're smarter than me. And, because I'm only going to be able to say this once to you..."

"_OI!_ YOU BETTER BE GUARDING, MINEBOY, 'CAUSE WE'RE COMIN' BACK!" echoes through the trees. It sounds close. I look at Finch with horror.

"Gotta go, Mineboy," she says, giving me one of those sly smiles. "Guess you'll just have to wait 'til it's safe."

Finch sprints off into the trees, her hair a bloody banner behind her, just as the big three – the brutes from 2 and the boy from 1 – come swaggering in. The District 1 boy's spear is bloody, and he carries a huge fox over his shoulder. I shiver.

"I thought you've got enough food to last forever without hunting," I call.

"Nah, Mineboy, this is just for sport," answers the District 1 boy, smirking and waving the fox in front of me. "Why? This remind you of your girlfriend?"

"Who?" My heart jumps into my throat. _How do you know about Finch? _I mentally scream.

"The sharp little fox from back home. You know, your district partner. She screamed like a fox."

I almost laugh, then I realize I'm supposed to be sad over her death. At least, that's what I told the three when they inducted me into their alliance.

I am sad because she died, just not in that way. I mean, I didn't have any special feelings toward her. We were strangers. I was almost relieved by her death.

"Hey, you see that?" asks the only girl remaining in the alliance, pointing up into the sky. A pillar of black smoke rises up from the trees.

"Looks like somebody's cold," her district partner says with mock sweetness. "Let's warm them up a little bit."

"Wait. What about Mineboy?" The tribute from 1 asks. "Can we trust him?"

"He doesn't do anything," the girl argues. "Let him stay. There's no harm. And if he did steal from us, we'd know, and he'd be sorry."

"He's coming," the boy from 2 says.

"WHAT?!" yells the other boy.

"We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch these supplies." The first boy grabs his sword and throws a knife in the ground in front of the girl.

"What about Lover Boy?" asks the boy from District 1.

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us," the boy from 2 argues. "Come on."

He thrusts a spear into my hand and I jog after him, towards the fire, towards some kid's death.

"When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes," he says, and I think he's talking about the girl from 12, who's named after a plant. A lot of girls are. Rue from 11... the girl from 12... maybe the girl from 2, like an clove of garlic, but she says it means "to cleave." Finch is named for a bird, and Willow from 7 for a tree.

So we set off in the direction of the pillar of smoke. The big three chat amongst themselves, paying no attention to me, which is totally fine in my book. Much better then them ganging up on me or something.

After a while, I don't know how long, we stumble upon the source: a huge bonfire with no tribute around.

An idea begins to dawn on me.

_They're going for the supplies._

_ What if it's Finch?_

"I swear I saw a tribute!" I exclaim, pointing to the bushes near the fire. "There, an elbow!"

"Well, go flush them out!" the boy from 2 yells. So I pretend to look, then shrug my shoulders.

"They must've gotten away. Let's look around," I say, bending over and inspecting a wild strawberry bush. How long should I keep this up? What if it isn't Finch, and they don't know the path and get themselves blown up?

It's not my problem if they're stupid. It won't hurt the supplies anyway – I mined them far too carefully, so that one wouldn't set off the others. Not with a careless footstep.

_Boom!_

"Was that a cannon?" I ask, before I hear another large crashing sound, almost as if the ground...

Almost as if the ground was exploding.

"The supplies!" the girl from 2 shouts, running back. As we get closer to the Cornucopia, the more the ground rumbles under our feet, and as there's another stray explosion we're thrown to the leaves. This happens for a few more times until the girl is sure that we're alright.

When the Cornucopia comes into view, we all gasp.

There's nothing left. A few twisted pieces of plastic and burnt cheese, that's all that's left of the beautiful pyramid of supplies we'd left not even an hour ago.

"Check! How many are still active?" shouts the boy from 1 as the other one tears at his hair and beats his fists on the ground.

I make a rudimentary inspection and call out, "None."

The boy from 2 starts kicking a corner of a crate before he realizes I've done my job too well.

I start to run.

It's too late. Cato has me in a headlock, he's twisting, twisting...

I hear a loud crack and the world plunges into darkness.

** So? How'd I do? I am personally a huge fan of the boy from District 3, I would've wanted him and Foxface to win if Cato and Clove couldn't. Yeah, I never support just one tribute. They need a victory partner, because it's just really cute to imagine them as a couple. Remember to review!**


	6. Tell Me, Would You Kill?

**Okay, this is the District 3 girl. She's a bloodbath death, and we know almost nothing about her, so it's really hard to write, but it also gives me a certain amount of freedom. I looked up her official movie name, but I couldn't find it, so I came up with my own name and called her Wira, kind of like Wiress, although her nickname is Doe. If anybody knows the official name, please tell me. I know that Kalia Prescott (actress) has blue eyes, but I needed to make the nickname work, so I made them brown. Thank you, my little onions!**

**I do not own the Hunger Games or anything that you recognize. **

Tell Me, Would You Kill?: The Death of Doe Silicon

As soon as I got into the Training Center, my mentor, Wiress, gave me a choice. "You're brilliant," she said, "and only you know what you should do. I'll give you two options. The first choice is to fight, and to get wounded, broken, but stay alive, just for a little while. Your second choice is to give up. I have no jurisdiction over you, so I cannot control your thoughts. Tell me."

The answer seemed obvious: Stay alive. When I told Wiress this, she frowned. "You're forgetting one thing, little Doe. Tell me: Would you kill?"

"I don't think so," I said.

"What about to save a life?"

"Most definitely!" I responded, looking meaningfully at my district partner, Noah. We'd sort of bonded.

Now, as the clock ticks down to zero, I'm sure that my choice was too hastily made. Sure, I can fight, but what will that amount to? I'm going to die anyways. Why not let it be by my own choice?

_25 seconds. _

I look to my right, at the lame boy from 10. Should I kill him? I should, but I can't. He seems sort of helpless, even though he's in his older teens and I'm only 13. I still want to protect him.

_Killing him would be protecting him, _I think. _The kids from 1, 2, and 4 can't hurt him if he's already dead._

_ 10 seconds._

Noah is on my left. I give him an encouraging smile, and then the gong rings.

Quick as a flash, I'm at the Cornucopia and grabbing a large black backpack. That will sustain me until I die. A water canteen joins the backpack under my arms.

And that's when he grabs me.

I think it's the boy from District 5. Yeah, he looks like the one I've been seeing hanging sort of near the girl from the natural medicines station. They even look similar. I wonder if they're related.

He's got me in his arms, but he should've known that one of my weapons is my strength. I wasn't known in District 3 for just being the smart one.

I wrench myself away. He seems surprised but runs off as the girl, from 4 I think, charges me with a huge knife in her hands; I try to run away, but she slashes my legs and I fall to the ground in agony.

The boy is back. He's got a knife.

"Goodbye, Doe," he whispers menacingly as the knife nears my throat.

When I was four, I saw my first deer. A doe with large brown eyes like mine. When I told my father excitedly, he said, "Oh, it looks just like you, my own little doe." He said I was just as bumbly as the teeny tiny doe that skittered on its legs and fell down often, because I wasn't the most graceful child. From then on, he called me "Doe."

When Noah first addressed me as "Wira," I shut him up and told him that that didn't seem like my name.

"That's what they called at the reaping," he said, confused. "Are you not Wira Silicon?"

"I am," I answered, "but everyone calls me Doe, so it... it just doesn't feel like that's my name. Don't ever call me Wira."

From then on, I was the adorable, gawky, bumbling Doe Silicon to the citizens of the Capitol. The 5'9" thirteen-year-old, too tall for her age, too smart for her size, and just skinny enough to fit in with the crazy people there. In fact, even Caesar Flickerman called me Doe during our interviews, but I didn't think any of the tributes would pay any attention to mine.

There's unimaginable pain as the knife cuts the soft skin on my throat, and unimaginable horror on the boy's face as I crumple, my neck at an awkward angle, but that's fine, because I'm almost dead anyway.

Wiress's words come back to me in the seconds before my cannon fires.

_Tell me: Would you kill?_

The answer has always been _No_.

Not innocent little Doe Silicon.

**Sorry that was so angsty, but I picture Doe as a reflect-er. She does the best she can, but she thinks back on her life often, that's why it seems all "Oh, woe is me," because she does think that she's not doing so hot. Please review! **


	7. Hell to Pay

**And... District 4! Home of the hilarious Finnick Odair, sweet Annie Cresta, batty old Mags, and now introducing Marina Trout and Triton Whisperwind! I definitely have a clearer picture of Marina and Triton's personalities than I did Wira's, so this will be a whole lot easier. We're gonna go with her story death here, because it's longer than the movie death. Interesting Tidbit: In the film, Marina lasted 17 minutes and 23 seconds, dying when Cato stabs her and throws her against a crate, then, out of sight, kills her, presumably with a sword. Sorry for language if you've got a sensitive mind. **

**Again, my clever cupcakes, I do not own the Hunger Games. **

Hell To Pay: Marina's Story

"Alright, who's gonna watch?" the boy with the spears, Marvel I think, says crossly. Cato smacks him upside the head, which sounds like it hurts a lot.

"Who do you think, dipshit?" Cato sneers. "Definitely not pitiful little Fish Girl over there." He points to me.

What? Pitiful? I got a pretty decent score, a nine, only one less than Cato! How dare he call me pathetic? I don't say anything, though. I saw what happened to Triton after the bloodbath three days ago. He argued with Cato, so Cato stabbed him in the stomach. He was crying all the while before his cannon went off. Wimp.

But I still do want a shot at the title, so I just keep my mouth shut for now.

"Because you're a stupid little shit, your district partner will take first watch," decides Cato. He and the black-haired girl retreat to the base of a big, strong tree for the night. I've been assigned the same sleeping space as Lover Boy. Isn't that a wonderful thing? Cato gets the hot, bad-ass little bitch instead of me, and who do I get? A baker. A _baker, _for Panem's sake!

"I – I'll watch with you," I murmur as the others begin to drift off. "I'm not tired."

Without another word, I sit down next to her, my hands resting loosely on my bent knees.

"So, you're pretty good with that sword, I noticed," Glimmer says.

"It's a thing," I respond humbly. "I'm not as good as Cato."

"They're his specialty. His father went into the Games, you know. He was almost killed by a sword by the girl from Six. He was telling Clove all this, and he said that when it was his turn,he'd find the girl from Six, and then her district would have hell to pay." Glimmer rubs the shaft of one of her silver arrows with the corner of her pea-green shirt.

I like that sentiment: hell to pay. It promises horrors like that of the realm of the Drowned Ones – fishermen that were dragged to their deaths by Moon mermaids. My mother used to tell me about Syrydnith, the Moon mermaid, and Legil, her most famous victim.

Glimmer suddenly yawns. "I'm exhausted," she grumbles.

"Would you like to hear the story of Syrydnith and Legil?" I ask. "'It's a story from back home in my district. Some people like my mother swear it's true. I guess it might be, but I never bothered to find out."

"Sure," yawns Glimmer.

And so I begin.

"Not so long ago, off the shores of Dunrith Bay Cliff," I begin, "lived a clan of Moon mermaids, sirens who sang sailors inter a trance and dragged them under 'til they drowned. The chief of this clan's name was Marle, and he had thirteen daughters."

"Thirteen daughters?" Glimmer interrupts. "That's a bit much, I think."

"Shush, let me continue or I'll not finish the story. Anyway, Marle's thirteen daughters were lovely creatures, smart and beautiful as the ocean is deep. The oldest and most beautiful daughter was named Syrydnith, and boy, was she evil. Her hobby was drowning the fishermen. She was the best in the clan at it, and it gave her much pride, for she was a vain mermaid, too.

"Now to introduce Legil. He was a fisherman's son, just starting to take up his father's trade. Legil's father always told him, 'Legil, boy, whatever ye do, don't go fishin' a' night.'" I make my voice deep and rough for Legil's father's voice. Glimmer laughs. "He knew about the Moon mermaids – everyone in District Four knew about them and feared them – but Legil didn't believe in them. So one night, when the full moon hung high in the sky, he took his father's boat and rowed far, far out, deep into the open ocean, because that's where you get all the good fish."

"Let me guess: Syrydnith drowns him?"Glimmer asks, blinking back sleep.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. She didn't drown him. But let me get to the story proper, and all will be explained. So, Legil's out in the ocean, maybe a mile outta the bay, when he starts to hear singing. He tells himself it's not real, just his father getting into his head. Guilt, really. Foolish boy, he casts his net and waits awhile for the fish to bite, and all the while he says to himself, 'Oh, don't worry, it'll stop." But it doesn't. It gets louder and louder, 'til Legil can't stand it and he shouts, 'I know you're there! Come out where I can see you!' Lo and behold, out of the water comes Syrydnith, and it's all Legil can do not to scream. Moon maids don't have hair like you and I do, they've got ropes of pearls and bloody kelp strands coming out of their heads. Their skin's pale as a full moon, because that's what they feed off of, moonlight and blood. Moon mermaids also have the bodies of fisher-girls just like me, I mean, just like me." Here I lift up my shirt to my ribs to show my stomach – the moonlight skin, the slight inward curve.

"Are you sure you're not a Moon mermaid?" she teases.

"Anyway, Syrydnith comes up out of the water, singing her song in the language of the merrows. When she surfaces completely, she switches to the language you and I use. Mermaids have the gift of tongues, you see."

"What song was she singing?" asks Glimmer. "Sing it for me!"

"Do I really have to sing it?" I whine.

"Yes."

"Fine." I take a deep breath, summon all the "honey" my mother tried to get me to sing with, and begin.

_Oh, that you could see what I see,_

_Miles and miles beneath the waves_

_That you could see what I see_

_T'would make my heart fair ache._

_My will's as tough as skilly'n'duff_

_My tail's strong as a shark_

_My hair is fair, my fin is rough_

_But my voice fair as a lark._

_Oh, come and see what I see_

_Distant shores await_

_You could see what I see:_

_The ticking hands of Fate!_

"Legil's entranced by her song, and when Syrydnith offers him her hand, he takes it like he was taking a net for the catch. Syrydnith kisses him – it's so that he can breathe temporarily underwater – and quick as a blink she swims down to the coral shelf her clan lives on, far, far below. She talks to her father, and it is decreed that Legil could be of use to the Moon mermaids; the grand Council of Elders, the chief's trusted advisors, decides that Syrydnith should take him to the slave pens. So she makes him a merrow, because his air's running out."

"How does she do that?" asks Glimmer.

"She kisses him. And when he can't breathe anymore, she takes her sharpest shell – that's what they use for knives – and cuts gills into his neck."

"That makes no sense!"

"Shush, shush. That's when the power of her second kiss comes in, and the holes turn into real gills. He grows a tail and everything, and when Syrydnith realizes how handsome Legil really is, she pleads with her father to free him. He says yes after a year, and Syrydnith and Legil get married. When the chief dies, Syrydnith becomes High Priestess, which is what they call their female chieftains, and Legil becomes the Consort-of-the-Priestess. It's like a chief, but Syrydnith gets most of the power.

"And if you ever find yourself out at night in Dunrith Bay and you start to hear singing, plug your ears, or the Moon mermaids will drag you down and feast upon you," I finish dramatically as the fire burns low.

"Interesting story. I think I can stay awake longer now."

The others' breathing turns slow and rhythmic. I can tell they're asleep, and I even check, but I don't need to. I'm intuitive. I also know that the girl up in the tree's gonna pull one over on us – escape, kill one or two. Mother always said if I wasn't "so interested in that barbaric center," I could've made a wonderful fortune-teller.

"What are you going to do, if you win?" she asks me. I need to distract her so that I can get her sleepy enough for me to kill her. Mundane talk usually works. At least, it worked on my father.

"Try to forget. You?" If she thinks I'm harmless, it'll be all the better for the audience when I kill her.

"Probably the same. Although part of me wants to remember. I want to remember that I'm not just some pretty face. I can kill," Glimmer says in a monotone.

She's totally lying to me. My intuition kicks in: Glimmer's acting out a part – ditzy girl who just wants to prove herself – and if I want to get through the night, I'll need to play along.

"Although I most likely won't win..." I trail off, and look dramatically back to two sleeping forms I know to be Cato and Clove. "What with Cato here."

Glimmer appears in deep thought for a moment. Now's the time to test her mettle. See if she's real ally material.

"Right. We need to get rid of him."

"We could do it now," I say in a hushed conspiratory whisper. "He's asleep. He doesn't suspect a thing."

_You might call it his tragic flaw,_ I add in my head. _Yours would be that you can bluff, but you can't spot a lie prancing right in front of your nose._

"Listen, Fish Girl," she says, but I cut her off.

"Marina."

She seems confused. "What?" she says. _How thick are you?!_

"My name is Marina," I state proudly. "Not _Fish Girl_. You aren't Glitz, either – that's what the girl from Five calls you, and what I think of you as. Your name's Glimmer. So let's call each other by our real names."

I think I pulled it off while maintaining my cover. I might also have stirred a grudge against the girl from 5, who I don't know anything about. All I know is that she was dressed all in sparkles for the tribute parade and came after Triton in the interviews. Maybe she does call Glimmer "Glitz."

I absentmindedly start putting my hair up in mermaid braids, a common hairstyle back home and a nervous habit. Didn't Glimmer's stylist rip these off, stealing them from me when I came off the train wearing them?

She collects herself and spills a convincing fake tear. "Listen, I know it's the Games and all, and that we shouldn't get too cozy with each other, but I don't want to kill Cato like that. It's cruel and horrible and I don't want to betray him," she says. Her voice cracks. I may be dealing with a professional.

"We're cruel and horrible, Glimmer. It's who we are. Careers." I bind one mermaid braid and start to work on the other.

"I'm not," Glimmer protests. "Sure, I kill people, and I like it a little, but… I'm not like Cato. I hesitate. It's not like it's effortless for me, and I don't like betraying people." She's playing it pathetic now.

Oh, you're very good, sweetheart. You're only missing one thing:

_I am stronger than you will ever be._

"Me neither," I lie. Pretend to yawn, stretch a little. Can you take the rest of the night? Or you could just wake me up before the others so that Cato doesn't yell at me." She nods, says "Goodnight," and I settle down next to Lover Boy.

Half an hour passes of me lying awake, eyes shut. I slow my breathing down as Glimmer comes over; a sharp ringing tells me that she kicks my mace into another weapon. She's a smart one.

Against my will, I close my eyes.

_Sleep, Marina, _I hear Syrydnith from my story croon, stroking my hair back from my forehead. _Sleep, and all will be well._

_Ow. _My roommate at the Academy barracks pinches my arm, hard. Kestrel's known for being a vicious little twelve-year-old, and she's got _nails._ They're almost sharper than shark teeth.

_Pinch._

"Stop it, Kestrel," I mutter, but my eyes open and I realize this is no dream. Things really are pinching me.

Bees.

"To the lake!" I hear someone scream. I take their advice, drop all of my things, and run. When I look behind me, I see Glimmer shrieking in the clearing, beating at the bees with her bow and crying for help. It's too late, can't she see?

More stings. The bees are following me, and distance from the nest brings no relief from the attack. In minutes my body is so swollen that overcome with some weird venom that I fall to the ground, twitching hysterically in a horrible dance. I convulse and shriek for what feels like an eternity while visions of me killing my father assault my eyes.

After what is probably only a minute, everything slows to a crawl. The bees meandering through what's left of my vision. A leaf falling from a tree.

My intuition was right, but not very distinct, was it? The girl in the tree did pull one over on us and get away. Some of us will probably die from this horrible venom.

But when I get a hold of her, there'll be hell to pay.

That last thought courses through my mind, and then everything I know is gone. Faded to black and out of my reach.

_Hell to pay, District 12!_

_Hell to pay..._


	8. Death Moves on Swifter Feet

**Thank you, The PTB's Red Fox, for pointing out that the end of my story doesn't match Marina's warning, it completely eluded me. Sorry folks!**

**It's a bit harder to do the boy from 4, he's a bloodbath too, but I think I can handle it, I'm a big tough girl. :) JEEZ it's so hard to come up with chapter names, wanna help me out there? Suggestions please my wallabies! And for all you Americans, the election's coming up this week! Woo! The next time I update this story, we shall be under the 2012-2016 president, whomever it be, Romney or Obama, good luck to them both. [I'm trying not to express my views, being a diplomat ;)]**

**I do not own the Hunger Games.**

Death Moves on Swifter Feet: Triton's Story

In the Launch Room, I try to shake all of my excitement out. This is really it. In five minutes, I will either be dead or a murderer.

My stylist puts on my jacket and I slip my token, a small wooden ball, into my pants pocket. He gives me a glass of water as a voice rings out over the intercom, announcing that the tributes must prepare for launch.

I blanch with excitement, planning out my targets in my head. Definitely the pair from 3, they look pretty weak. The girl from 11 – another easy kill, although she is kind of cute, and the same age as me. Cato said he's gonna kill the girl from 12, who outscored all of us in training, but I don't quite like his attitude. I mark her on my mental list, adding Cato after.

I can do this. I can win. It's in my blood.

"You'd better go," my stylist says. "Good luck, Triton."

"See you on the other side." I smirk and step onto the circular plate that will take me into the arena. He tries to give me advice, but the glass doors around the plate close and his voice is blocked by the soundproof glass; I raise my head up proudly and smirk even more, per Finnick's instructions.

The plate begins to rise, and my stylist waves encouragingly. For maybe fifteen seconds I stand in total darkness.

_I'll be disoriented, but I need to get ready. I've been practicing photo-conditioning for who knows how long. Find the alliance. Grab a sword. _

_ Win._

The arena comes into view. The light is blinding but I immediately blink it away – the timer will start soon.

Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, filling me with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The other tributes tense, getting ready to run. Some angle themselves toward the Cornucopia, laden with goodies in the middle of this plain stretch of grass. Others get into a position to sprint towards the piney woodlands. One or two look like they're going to run off to the right, where the land either drops off or slopes steeply – I can tell because there's nothing in the distance.

Now it's time to survey my competitors. To my right is a boy, I think it's the one from District 9. On my left stands the girl from 3, one of the first on my list of kills. But first, the weapons, oh the weapons...

Scattered out by our feet are sheets of plastic or loaves of bread. There's a dull, rusty knife by my feet that I can use. I can't tell why it's not closer to the mouth of the horn, but whatever. I could just reach down and -

I cut myself off there. If I even brush the ground, the land mines will blow me to bits. I must wait until the gong sounds until I can pick it up. But it's so tempting, I find myself bending over just as the gong rings.

The knife is in my grasp, and the girl from 3 is standing there, terrified. I advance towards her, but more tempting prey in the form of the running, hysterically shrieking girl from 6. Before I can get to her, Glimmer runs smack into her, knocking her over; Glimmer pulls her hair, and the girl from 6 pulls Glimmer's hair in retaliation. _Bad idea, sweetheart._

Glimmer takes a knife of her own and stabs the girl to death. I resist the urge to vomit and run for the supplies. I don't think I have the stomach to kill.

My way is impeded by none other than Rusty, my nickname for the older girl from 5 with the rusty hair. She meets my eyes and darts in, grabbing two small packs and a medium-sized green one, as well as a small knife. She's gone before I can get a good stab at her.

After a little while, I just hide inside of the Cornucopia, waiting to ambush tributes who make it past my allies. I snatch a yellow sleeping bag and sink between two crates. Glimmer passes by and I shrink back. None of the Careers wanted me except for Marina, my district partner. I think Marvel's got a soft spot for her, because he wheedled with Cato until I got in.

She doesn't see me. I take my chances and grab a small sword; a moment later, I spot him.

Cato is standing in front of me, machete raised threateningly.

"What's this about a sword?" he hisses.

"I – I need this," I say. "It's mine!"

Cato appears to think for a moment. "Okay," he says slowly. "I guess I'll let you keep it. Just one more thing."

He brings the sword across my neck, and the world goes red.

"_I don't tolerate wimps who argue with me._"

The world slowly fades from red to black.

My mother always said I'd be the fastest one to outrun death. As I learned today, death moves on swifter feet.

There's no escaping your fate.

I never managed to escape mine.

**Angsty at the end, sorry. He's twelve, okay? We're pitiful little people who wallow (no offense to selfless twelve-year-olds). I operated almost strictly from the Wikia page, so if you find anything wrong with it, tell me. I went by the movie here, it's easier, because I can picture him with Rue. Although it would NEVER EVER happen, wouldn't they be adorbs? Amandla Stenberg and Ethan Jamieson should soooooo go out when they're older! **

** Wanna review? Much appreciated. And please, no pressure on updates, or "Keep going!" or stuff like that. I really like the sentiment, but it makes me feel pressured and I don't work well under pressure. Tell me what you liked/hated instead. Characters, plot, angst, length... I'm open to it all. And please, chapter name suggestions. Cuz I'm doing District 5 next. *Tear * I love Foxface!**


	9. The Clever Mind That Failed Me

**Sigh... the time has come to kill off Foxface. Foxface is my third favorite character in The Hunger Games, mainly because she is smart enough to last as long as she does. She's sneaky like me, and she's actually pretty ninja, as well as a redhead like myself. To quote The PTB's Red Fox in The 69th Hunger Games (give it a read, folks!), "Hail the victorious dead!" So, my little onions, you may have to bring paper towels for the tears that flow from my eyes through your computers and onto your computer desks/laps. I'm sorry about the long update time, my computer is horrid and I couldn't update for the longest time.**

I do not own the Hunger Games. Duh.

The Clever Mind That Failed Me: Foxface's Death

_ You'll never make it out alive._

_ I'm betting you die in the bloodbath._

_ At least the district will be rid of a sneak._

_ Don't you dare come home._

This is what they said to me, that last day in District 5, when I was holding back tears in the Justice Building. They said worse, but I've tried not to think about it.

This is what my family told me. No "I love you"s.

_ Ryder's got promise. You keep him safe and make sure he wins. _

Ryder was my district partner. He did have promise: considerable strength, cunning, charisma, a smile that made girls swoon. That didn't help him in the arena.

He died. Not me.

My only purpose in these Games, the only thing they told me to do, was protect him. I found myself lost when Glitz, the girl from 1, stabbed Ryder to death not even a minute in. I told him to run, to hide with me; I told him I could keep him safe.

He wouldn't listen.

That's about when I knew that I wouldn't get any sponsors. It's been weeks, and the only thing I've gotten is an apple. Which is cheap.

They don't want to spend money on a tribute who runs and hides like a coward.

But I do something else, something very brave: I risk my life every few days by jumping through bombs, just to get an apple or a handful of cheese. The others don't know. I bet the alliance themselves don't notice that things are gone. The largest thing I've dared to take was a raggedy blanket, and even I didn't take that.

Noah did.

I remember that awful day – it started out amazing, if you don't count kids out to kill me. I'd woken up fairly early and tried my hand at throwing my rusty knife, just in case I managed to get some food. I hadn't eaten in several days, and my body was showing it. Somehow my knife struck a bird, which quickly became breakfast, all of it. After breakfast I had traveled over to the Cornucopia, when Noah whistled our signal.

He taught me the path again, like it was no big deal. He gave me an apple, some cheese, a good knife, and the infamous blanket. I clutch it closer to myself, thinking of the boy who showed me the way.

Back then, I didn't know it was the end. I ran away without another word. He called me back, and for some reason, I trusted him. I don't trust anybody.

He kissed me.

He kissed me, and I left him to die.

I sit numbly on the forest floor, wrapped in the blanket, remembering everything I've ever done, every blessed thing. The first time I stole from anybody in District 5. The day my little sister, Fennel, was born.

The day I was reaped.

The first time I met Noah.

A remembered cannon shot jerks me back into reality. There's no reason to think like that, Finch, I tell myself sternly, bundling the raggedy blanket and stashing it in a hollow in a tree. You've got to get some lunch.

There. The two from 12 have their camp set up, and I can see the girl, Katniss, off hunting. The boy is gathering berries.

I run in while the boy's back is turned, grab a few apples – if I get out of this, I'm never touching an apple again – and handful of cheese, and some of the berries he's already collected. They look as juicy as blueberries, although they're a bit darker. We don't have berries in the deserts of District 5. By the time he straightens up, I've disappeared into the shadows with my meal.

Even as I sit down and eat the apple, my mind flies back to Noah. Fate, some would call it. My meeting him. I would call it... I don't really know. Fate seems kind of formal. I'll just say it was mixed luck.

It was bad luck that brought us all together, us twenty-four. Only a few of them knew me, but I knew all of them.

Glimmer, or Glitz, as I called her. The seemingly trashy girl from District 1 wasn't all glamor. She was manipulative and deadly. Almost as clever as I am. Those innocent green eyes masked a snake, and her token was confiscated for having poison, too. A fitting weapon for a beautiful snake, indeed.

Marvel, Glimmer's district partner. He was very trusting, although not the sharpest tool in the shed. He seemed to be Cato's right-hand man, although I knew what he wanted most was leadership and to get back to some girl and his own little sisters.

Clove. She was vicious, cruel, sadistic... or was she? I know for a fact that she was in love with Cato; she said it before her cannon sounded, and by the way Cato cried, I knew that he was in love with her, too.

I know Cato now. He's got a hardened heart, but if you can break through, he's just as gentle and playful as a puppy.

Noah was my favorite, but I think I knew him least of all. He loved me, though. I didn't trust him and he loved me.

His district partner was a very passive thing, sort of like a deer, and Noah called her "Doe," although I know for a fact her name is Wira. Or rather, it was Wira. I remember her dying on the very first day, not five minutes in. She was pretty nice. I met her at the natural medicines station in training one time and found out that she's the only child of a middle-aged couple named Wiress and Beetee. Doe's mother is in her young forties, and her father nearing fifty. They're both victors. I guess they really hoped Doe would follow them.

The two from District 4, Marina and Triton, were as different as the sea from the desert. Marina was cunning, sly, and bloodthirsty – the perfect "Career tribute," as it seemed. She died a few nights in. Triton was her twelve-year-old counterpart, albeit with a conscience. He didn't kill anybody. He could've killed me, but he didn't.

And then there's Ryder: a complete stranger before the reaping, a priceless ally and friend in the days that followed. I told him to run, you know, to hide. I'd provide food for him, keep him strong until it was time for me to die. He refused; he said it wasn't right for me to keep him fit just so he could kill me.

Julius from 6 didn't make an impression on me. However, I did spy on him, just in case he was hiding some talent that was concealed by his meager score of a four. There was none. He was just a charming, talentless, gawking boy, quickly turned into a horrified child, morphing into a corpse.

Luna was the bold, outspoken teenage girl from District 6. I remember she laughed at my tight bun in training, and was friends with Doe. Luna died close to last, and she was probably killed by one of the big alliance members – the kids from 1, 2, and 4. I remember Katniss and the little girl calling them "Careers." Must be an outer district thing.

Willow was the girl from District 7, one of the cold, still hearts that are now being shipped back home. I bet she could've been in the Alliance; she was a mean shot with a throwing axe and could handle a bow like nobody's business. Must be because of wild animals in the forests that they lumberjack – is that a verb? - in.

The boy that accompanied her was sort of vague to me. He didn't make an impression, but his screams were loud enough to hear miles away, I'm guessing. I was maybe half a mile from the Cornucopia at that point.

They were kids that I once knew. They're all dead now, but I'll make it better. I'll make it up to them by winning and living the life I should've had.

I finish the cheese and make to start in on the berries. There's no point in trying to win if I just starve to death. I smile in remembrance of my cleverness – who else could get away with stealing from Cato? Who else could grab this much food just when someone's picking berries? Who else could find a knife and a pot in all that rubble the day after the explosion?

It's these thoughts that go through my mind as the berries pass my lips.

Suddenly, fire shoots up through my body. I writhe in pain.

_ It must be poison! _

I crawl towards the stream. If I can flush out the poison from my system, I'll be alright. My fingertips dabble in the water and I collapse, still twisting like a sidewinder snake.

_ It was so smart, wasn't it, Finch?_ I think bitterly as I begin to heave, trying to make myself spit up the berry juice.

_You've always boasted you're so resourceful and good at stealing, and now look where it's gotten you,_ my conscience hisses at me. The world fades to black and I try to arrange myself in a dignified position. My eyes open wide in an attempt to keep my sight, but it's too late.

_Good riddance, Finch_, says my clever mind as my sight is completely lost and I stop twitching.

_Good riddance_, says the clever mind that failed me.

**Tear. I love Foxface, and I always pictured her to be just the slightest bit arrogant. I mean, if you've managed to survive this long in the Hunger Games, won't you be? Oh yeah, my little cousins badgered me to play Hunger Games with them a few weeks ago. My eight-year-old brother won by stabbing me in the back and yelling "VENGEANCE!" after I killed my cousin.**

** So! What did you like, what did you hate, chapter title suggestions? In making Foxface remember, I've given you a little bit of the other kids' personalities. At least, until D7, where it stops. Remember to review, my onions and clever foxes alike!**


	10. The Boy and the Finch

**Sorry about the wait time, things sort of got out of hand. But now we're going to kill off Ryder, Foxface's mysterious district partner. It's not very thoughtful after the memory, as I believe that he didn't really have much time to think. It's sort of taking things in and then him dying. He was a bloodbath, after all. They don't have much time to think about things. Disclaimer, blah blah blah, thanks to my reviewers (richards25 and The PTB's Red Fox among some of y'all) and enjoy the show! PS: I still need chapter names for future tributes, if you'd like to suggest any you can, even if you're a guest. I'll take all of them into consideration.**

The Boy and the Finch: Ryder's Tale

When I was younger, my family's grocery store (which was the bottom floor of my house) was broken into. I woke up in the middle of the night to hear the crash of breaking glass and ran downstairs in my pajamas; the intruder was very small, probably younger than me, bent over and shoving leeks into a burlap sack. From where I was standing, it looked like a girl. Ginger, with amber eyes. She looked at me and then ran away, and I went back to bed.

Last week, I met that girl again.

On the tribute train.

She didn't say a word to me, but her mentor told me her name. Finch. She said I wasn't to talk to Finch, because it would upset her. Finch, I mean. So I kept my mouth shut and watched her shuffle around with zombielike indifference, so different from the nimble, sneaky child who stole leeks from my house all those years ago.

During training, she stayed off by herself and I tried to make friends. The wolf pack that was Districts 1, 2, and 4 rejected me, and the blonde from 1 swore she'd kill me. Really nice, huh?

She got a 5. I got a 7, which just goes to show who the better tribute is.

Now I look uncertainly at her, my lip curled in a sneer for show; she seems so terribly frightened that all I want to do is go over and hug her. If I didn't mind being blown to bits.

There's ten seconds left on the clock. I think I'll go for the sickle that's there in the heart of the horn, and the backpack next to it. It's like the Gamemakers knew that that's exactly what I needed. A weapon and a backpack.

Five seconds. My head whips around to Finch's pedestal.

"Come with me," she mouths. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

I put my right hand up in a fist and slowly raise the second finger. She sneers.

"Be that way," she seems to say, "and see if I care."

The gong rings, and I throw caution to the wind and run over to my silent partner. She's standing on her pedestal still, hands to her mouth in horror as the carnage begins.

"Can you guarantee my safety?" I ask, feeling edgy. Someone might take my sickle or my pack, but I need to know if I can trust her.

"I can't guarantee I'll be alive in a minute," she responds.

"But you'll try. I mean, I'm one of the tributes who's got good betting averages, Korra tells me." Korra, our escort, favored me over Finch. I was the pet tribute in her Capitol. I was the adored one, the one promised sponsor gifts.

"And you need me to keep you alive until you can do away with me properly. Oh, and you might want to duck." She's cool as dry ice as she drops to the floor of the meadow.

I guess I drop a fraction of a second too late, because I feel white hot pain in my back, more intense than anything I've ever felt.

"Help me!" I scream at her. "Do something!"

She wrenches the axe out of my back. "It was the girl from Seven. I knew I should've paid attention to her. Oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry."

I feel her fingers probing the wound and try to ignore the ominous slurping sound. I'm doing my best to keep still.

"I can't fix this," she mutters.

"What?!" I yell. "Why can't you fix it?"

"It's too deep. I'm so, so sorry, Ryder."

"Am I going to die?" I ask numbly. The pain is starting to recede, and I hear screams and shrieks, and my name yelled loudly. Not by Finch, though. It sounds like the girl from 9.

"You killed Ryder! You killed him, and I'm going to kill you!"

I hear Finch screech as I slump to the ground, breathing hard.

"We had a good run, you know," I whisper. "The boy and the finch."

**Sorry it's short, a bit crappy, but this is all I could shovel out in half an hour. I know, I know, half an hour seems like ages, but you try writing something presentable in thirty mere minutes with distractions like flip-y pens and noisy keyboards messing with you. I think I did pretty well. Review, and keep suggesting names, my onions!**


	11. Speak of the Devil

**Okay! For those of you who read my other stories, I've deleted them. Sorry, but it's really stressful so I've decided to only do one at a time. Why not keep them up, you may ask? Reviews from people going "WHERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER?!" It bothers me. I know you've waited, but I just can't do it, okay?!**

**I do not own the Hunger Games or anything you recognize. Thanks to my reviewers: The PTB's Red Fox, richards25, Monica Forte, and Little Fearless (guest). Your reviews brighten my day and really inspire me to write more. And to the person who said in a PM that I should call the D9 girl Zinnia (sorry I forgot who and I'm too lazy to scroll through every PM), Annie Thurman confirmed that the official name for her character was Demetria, but I like your name better, so I'll use Zinnia. **

Speak of the Devil: Luna's Story

My plate is icy cold, burrowing through my soft leather boots and chilling my feet to the point of numbness. I can't believe it was me. How could it have been me?

I only had four entries! I would rather starve than take a tessera, and yet it was my name they pulled out of the bowl. Everyone thought it was going to be Kara Dunsworth. She had forty-seven entries, being eighteen and having a large family to feed.

I wish it had been Kara.

The little countdown on the Cornucopia reads 30 seconds. I already know what I'm going to take: a small bag not ten feet from my plate, and maybe I'll run into the bloodbath to take that shiny silver bow and sister quiver. That was the only thing I was good at in training, and hopefully it's the thing that will get me out of here.

District 6 is nothing like this forest arena. It's a dirty, polluted, mess of a place, like District 8. They're our neighbor district, and boy, does it show. Most of us have nice clothes, smuggled illegally through the gapspace in between 6 and 8, and the smoke from their warehouses and refineries chokes our children.

Maybe I could've been friends with the girl from 8. I mean, we're so alike, but I didn't want to try. It was better to talk to the girl I couldn't get attached to: the girl from 3. We all know she's going to die; sometimes she planned it with me, and I know she dreams about it. But the time for dreaming is over. Somebody's going to have to die today.

Ten seconds are left on the countdown. I place myself in a ready stance, gearing up to run, maybe to get a kill in and then run away. The puny redheaded girl I made fun of looks terrified. Perhaps she'll be lucky number 1.

The gong rings. Before it's faded from the air, I'm off, pushing and shoving my way to a bundle of throwing axes.

Screeching like a maniac, I start to chase the redhead, throwing axe after axe… and missing pitifully. What kind of a tribute am I?

The boy with the lame foot is down, trying to crawl away from another tribute. I think he's going to die, so I stoop in and grab his yellow bag of life. This contains the items I need to go home, and nobody will take it away from me. Not even the stupid blonde girl from 1.

Speak of the devil.

The blonde yanks my hair, pulling me away from the bag and sissy-slapping my face.

"Oh, you do _not _want to do that!" I scream, slapping her harder. She falls down and glares at me. What's that in her hand? Oh, no. It's a knife. Knives are bad, bad, very bad, and she's got one in her hand, plus I've managed to piss her off.

However, I flip back my ponytail and charge at her, evading the knife and clotheslining her. She doesn't miss a beat, jumping up and swiping at me.

White-hot pain blisters my face. She got me. She really got me. I lift my hand up to my face in a daze as the pain turns to ice. There's more pain in my side, making me screech like the brakes of a car when stepped quickly upon with great pressure. I was going to make cars when I was older. That's what my father did, and his father, and my mother's sister. I was born for manufacturing.

Wrong. I was born to die.

Something trips me up, and the girl shoves me to the ground, pinning me by my shoulders and making my arms useless.

"Looks like kitty's got claws," the girl remarks.

"And more guts than a pampered idiot like you could have," I hiss. Hey, if I'm going out, I'm taking part of her insufferable ego with me.

"Bye, bye, kitty."

In District 6, we were raised on thought and efficiency, work ethics and dreaming big. But my mother always told me to keep my hopes bottled up, because somebody would always disagree with me. And then whenever I talked badly about them, Mother would say, "Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear."

**Reviewing would be appreciated, but it's okay if you don't. See you soon for her district partner.**


	12. We're All Just Stories In The End

**Okay, today's another bloodbath death. Merry Christmahannukwanzakah (because I don't know what you celebrate), anyway just happy holidays in general, happy Boxing Day (I don't include it in my happy holidays because it's a weird bank holiday) and enjoy what's left of 2012. Can't wait for the New Year! I do not own the Hunger Games. Thanks to my reviewers: Candy Pop (Oh yeah, it was you who suggested Zinnia, thanks!), richards25, Cunita, Fox, Ninazadzia, and the rest. (And PS from Chapter 8, Little Fearless (Guest), I think a lot of people ship Threshface too. You're not alone.) Okay, this Author's Note is getting way out of hand here. I'm just going to cut it off right… here!**

We're All Just Stories In The End: Julius's Death

As the plates rise up into the arena, where I might possibly not live to see morning, I look down at my shoes and think of home.

Back in District 6, I had a somewhat promising future. I was the mayor's son, which means I would've become the leader of 6. Well, I still _am _the mayor's son. I just don't feel like it.

I feel like a car on its way to the junkyard. If cars were alive, it would probably feel like I do right now: terrified and shaky and pumping adrenaline, trying desperately to make it through just one more day. However, cars don't know how to use a short sword as well as I do.

My head rises up into the arena. I am blinded by the bright sunlight, and I can smell a strange, fresh scent, sort of like the air fresheners we send to the people of the Capitol. The sound of waves gently lapping the ground is clearer to my head than the loud, sinister voice of the legendary Games announcer, Claudius Templesmith. As my vision starts to clear up, I focus on a large field rather than the faces of the children hell-bent on killing me.

The pedestal clicks into place, and Claudius booms, "Let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Okay, Julius. Calm down. Fifty-seven – no, fifty-five – seconds on the clock. That's enough time to figure out your game plan.

Option 1: Run away with absolutely nothing into an area I don't know anything about. Seems the safest, right? Not in the slightest – I'm better off running straight into the path of Cato's sword.

Option 2: Get a little something, like a pack of food or even the loaf of bread I see nearby a girl with dark hair tied up in a braid. She might be the one from 12, but I'm not sure. The sun's still really bright.

Option 3: Run full-in, snag a sword and a bag, and get the hell out of there. If I could bypass the Careers easily, I'd do it. Again, the problem of Cato.

Option 4 (my last one): Run in really quickly, get the sword, and kill Cato before he kills me. That's probably my best bet here, even if his minx of a district partner gets me afterward. Cato's not the newest car of the lot; he's got some tricks up his sleeve, but he's not too smart, either.

So, with ten seconds left on the clock, it's decided. I will go for the pretty silver short sword, resting on a pack of food, as if it was put there especially for me. Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker, always knew I'd want it, didn't he?

I look quickly to my right and left. The curly-haired girl from District 8 is on my right… and Cato on my left.

_"You took my knife!"_

_ "No, I didn't, that's stupid!"_

_ "Give it back or I'll punch you!"_

_ "Look, I didn't take your knife, man. I don't want any –"_

_ "Give it back, give it back right now, and I'll only punch your head!"_

_ "I. Don't. HAVE IT!"_

_ "I'm gonna kill you! I'm going to kill you first thing, and then I'll go home and kill your family!"_

The gong rings, and my feet carry me with surprising speed to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Several tributes are already there, scrambling for knives and water bottles and other things, but I pay no attention to them and snatch up the sword.

All the blood rushes to my head; I am undefeatable with this piece of metal in my hand. Nobody can hurt me. The game is all mine.

"Hello again, pipsqueak," Cato whispers in my ear.

In my panic, I almost drop the sword, but it ends up pointed at Cato's throat. That's a step in the right direction. "I – I'm warning you, Cato…" My voice trembles, but my hand doesn't. I could do it. I could do it right now and save half the tributes here from a horrible, painful death. My hand's in position. It would be so easy, I quick flick of the wrist, a powerful punch to end this brute's life.

But I'm not that kind of person.

I slowly lower my sword. And run away like the coward I am.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boy from District 5 writhing on the ground. I see Luna, my partner, the only one I could ever trust, being stabbed to death by the pretty tribute girl from 1.

"Luna!" I scream, but it's too late. The tribute that killed her looks up at me with a vicious grin and licks the blood from her knife (yuck) and then makes to come for me (very, very bad). I run toward her, bowling her over and pinning her to the ground. Now I'll have to do it for real; she's right there, she's a menace, she's virtually helpless. My knife inches toward her pale neck…

A weight throws me off, yelling, "Oh, no you don't, pipsqueak!"

Cato.

I have time for one last scream before I feel unimaginable pain and something warm and sticky spilling out of my throat. Cato drops me and I feel the ground crunch beneath me. Everything slows down; the sly redhead, Finch, pushes down the girl from 8, apparently shielding her from something. I think there's a knife sticking out of Finch's leg. Maybe. The girl from 3 falls to the grass, dead. Beneath my dying body, the ground is stained red, and slowly, my vision tunnels out.

In the arena, you've got one choice to make: you can either die and become some forgotten statistic, or you can win and be remembered forever (or so they tell us). But even if you do win, the sands of time will wear down your name and the list of winners will pack you into the dusty, old, forgotten tomes of the Old Ages. No matter how we play it, we're reduced to simple tales, fireside legends or nightmares. And whether we like it or not, we're all just stories in the end.

**Okay, I'm sorry if this is a sucky chapter. I personally hate it, but my due date's 10:00 and it is 9:47. I can't write a chapter in 13 minutes; you try it. It's hard. If you hate it, tell me, just please keep the flames away. Stay tuned for the next chapter, we're on to District 7! As always, I need chapter names and even if you want to suggest names for the characters I haven't done, I'll take them into consideration. I'll also need character names for the sequel, which will be the past victors from Catching Fire. If anybody wants to suggest a name for that story, my PM box is always open, and I'll respond to every suggestion. Ta for now! **


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Hunger Games, Angst, Hurt-Comfort