intheheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
intheheart) wrote2019-06-21 11:19 pm
intheheart) wrote2019-06-21 11:19 pm
Entry tags:
- au: miscallaneous,
- character: aaron kendall,
- character: ahava jackson,
- character: anna warmind,
- character: danny sierbenski,
- character: duncan ralston,
- character: ellen carson,
- character: ethan hawkins,
- character: evan,
- character: felipe claro,
- character: gina caravecchio,
- character: hector alvarez,
- character: ivy hirschfeld-kendall,
- character: jake foster,
- character: joy maserati,
- character: kayleigh ryan,
- character: kevin vargas,
- character: lars warmind,
- character: madison clarence,
- character: maya thakarta,
- character: michael sierbenski,
- character: olivia marhenke,
- character: omar,
- character: vanessa lynch,
- character: zachary ryan,
- not mine,
- warning
Reaper
Author: Kat
Title: Reaper
Story: In the Heart - Hunger Games AU
Colors: Olympic gold 6 (games), Blackstar 1 (Well, you're dead, you just ain't buried yet → Under the God (Tin Machine)), color party 39 (Ferruginous)
Supplies and Materials: Graffiti (Summer Blockbuster), portrait, eraser (Hunger Games AU), brush (hare), oils (it's getting worse), stickers (Only half the passengers and crew who reached America on the Mayflower in November 1620 survived until the following spring.), charcoal (some of the POVs), seed beads (some of the POVs), glitter (Self-Portrait in Charleston, Orlando, Dean Rader), novelty beads ("There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man."), mosaic, fingerpainting (I do not often write overt violence, as may be obvious)
Word Count: 8982
Rating: R
Summary: The Games.
Warnings: Oh God, so many. Suicidal intent and actions, murder (SO MUCH MURDER), violence, blood, teenagers murdering each other, drowning, stabbing, etc. Basically, if you've read or seen the Hunger Games, it's that. Oh, and teenagers having sex (implied).
Notes: I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE. HA.
Danny
I don't much remember the Reaping.
Stupid, right? The most important moment of my entire fucking life and I don't really remember it. It's just... one big blur in my head. But I can piece together how it probably went: the same way it's always gone for the six years I've been eligible. Next year I would have been safe. Next year... but it doesn't matter, does it.
Step one: we all gather in the big square, everybody in their best, nobody even with wet hair. That's a big deal for around here, you know. We're all dressed like we're here for a funeral, 'cause, ha, we are, we just don't know whose yet. We all line up, all the eligible kids, all of our parents, everyone who's not either trying to hide relief, and I'm just staring straight ahead, trying to get through it. Trying to survive another year.
Step two: the mayor tells us all why we're here, as if we don't fucking know already. How we all fucked up so many years ago, how we're all still being punished for something that happened before we were born, before our parents were born. My great-grandfather died in the Dark Days. He wasn't even fighting.
Step three: they read out the names of our past victors. There's seven of them, and we've got three still alive, sitting stone-faced on the stage. I don't know any of them. I don't care. It's not like we're going to win this year either. I wish they'd get to the choosing already. I wish we'd just get it over with. If I'm going to die, I want to know it now.
Step three: the Capitol's representative talks about what an honor it'll be to be chosen. It's some weird tie-dyed man whose name I didn't catch. I don't care about him either. I tune him out until he crosses to the big glass ball with the names of all the girls in there, some multiple times, some many, many times. My stomach clenches. Moment of truth.
Step four: it's not me. It's never been me. I relax. It's over for me now. Two more years to worry about Michael, but I'm safe. The girl who's been chosen is crying silently. They ask for volunteers. They never get any.
Step five: he goes to the boys' ball. He picks a boy's slip. He calls out Michael's name.
This is where I stop remembering. I'm told I screamed. I'm told I clawed my way up to the front. I'm told I climbed on the stage and threw the girl tribute down and screamed at them that they would take me or I'd kill them all there. Someone said I had fighting blood. Someone let the crying girl go back. All I remember is us standing at the station, my mother sobbing hysterically, Michael clinging to my hand.
I'm not coming home. I know that. But Michael will.
I'll make sure of it.
Aaron
My mother is looking at me. It's not unusual. She looks at me a lot. Even, sometimes, like this, though I've never been able to read it before. Now, though--
Now, I look away from that intense, terrified, hungry gaze, and I look at my stepmother. Ivy's mother is holding her, her eyes squeezed shut, like maybe she can pretend this isn't happening, like maybe if she just holds on hard enough and long enough they'll say it's all a mistake and give her Ivy back. I know it isn't true, can't be true, but for a moment I close my eyes and pray with her: let Ivy go back.
Nothing happens, of course. I open my eyes and everything's just the same.
Then there's Summer, and she looks so confused. She's only three, only a baby. I touch her hair, soft as gosling down, lean down and kiss her forehead. My baby sister. Will she even remember us, in nine years when she stands for her first Reaping? Will they take her too, and leave my father childless? I already know my mother will be, when all this is over. I think she knows it too.
My father is standing by the door, his hands working helplessly, open and shut. I know what he's thinking. Is it something he's done? He has three children, two of us eligible, and we have both been chosen this year. It can't be a coincidence. We all know it's not a coincidence. Not that it matters; it's not his fault. I hope he remembers that. I know he won't.
My mother comes to me now, and puts her arms around my shoulders. She's stiff when she hugs me, holding back tears with every muscle in her body. She knows what I'm about to face. She faced it too. She came out alive.
"Come back," she whispers, fierce in my ear. "Live through this. No matter what it takes," and I know she's talking about my sister.
My sister, my little sister, with her freckles crayon-outline obvious against her pale face, two long red braids trailing down her back. My sister, who used to wake me up every morning jumping on my bed, who used to push me out the door to go play with the baby goats, who used to trade me stall-mucking chores for egg-gathering duty. My sister, who cannot survive if I'm to come hoome. My little sister, whose life I have to take in order to live.
Come back, my mother says, but I cannot hurt my sister. Not my sister. Not for anything.
Come back, my mother says, but I won't.
Lars
Anna and I sit side by side in the train car and watch, silently, as the other Districts' Reapings play. It's kind of an odd year. There's only three Careers this year, two from District 2 and one from District 1. No one volunteered for the District 1 girl, and I look away as the camera focuses in on her face, on the dawning realization and the horror there. Anna, beside me, stares straight at the television, her jaw tight. But Anna always could handle things better than me.
District 3: there's us. On the screen, I look white but steady. Anna looks like nothing's even happening, her gaze clear and even. District 4 is another brother and sister, a boy around my age and his sister pushing her way through the crowd of girls, screaming that she volunteers. She's not a Career, the announcer tells us, just a girl. Just a sister who loves her brother. I look at Anna again. She doesn't look at me.
The first of the twelve-year-olds pops up in District 5, then another in District 6. They're both girls, and one of them is actually the boy's half-sister, unknown to both of them until then. It's around then that Anna draws in a sharp breath. It's rare that there's even one pair of siblings in the Games. Now there are three, and if that's not a pattern...
District 7. District 8. District 9. They roll by without incident, or without unusual incidents. The children cry, their parents cry, the rest look relieved and sick and sorry. Then District 10: yet another brother and sister, clinging to each other as the Capitol's representative encourages the crowds to cheer. District 11, and the announcer tells us this pair might as well have been siblings, close since childhood, hand in hand on the stage. District 12 goes back to normal, and the television falls silent. Anna and I look at each other then, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
It's not fear for herself. Anna has always been brave, climbing the tallest trees, sneaking around and spying on the Peacekeepers. Anna's courageous, and strong. She has, I think, a real chance of winning these Games. I remember Chrissy, white-faced, holding us one in each arm in the departure room, and I know Chrissy was thinking it too. Anna can win. I can't.
I reach out and take her hand. "This isn't normal," I say.
She shakes her head instantly, and squeezes my hand. "Not here," she says. "Not here."
Then where? When? We have to talk.
But Anna's looking away from me again, at the blank television screen, her expression distant and empty.
Gina
The sad part is that I'm kind of enjoying this.
It's been a treat for me, my whole life, to shut myself in my family's bathroom and have a day primping. Curl my hair, file my nails, shave my legs and underarms, bathe myself until I feel so squeaking clean that flour seems like a distant memory. But I couldn't do that very often, once or twice a year at most, and I never had such clothes to get into.
Is that shallow of me? Maybe not. In five days I go into the arena to fight for my life, and I have seen my opponents. Even my fellow tribute looks like he could kill me; he's only a year younger and he matches me weight for weight. I've got good muscles from years of grinding flour, but he's out there in the harvest fields, wielding a sickle. And that's not even counting the others; the woodcutters and their axes, the stonemasons and their hammers, the three Careers and their everything. I know my chances are slim. So why not enjoy this?
My stylist's name is Cassia, and she's very pretty, but more importantly she's very stylish, and in a way I like. I've seen the other Capitol residents, all wild colors and garish clashing, but Cassia wears these gorgeous draped dresses, red and gold and seafoam green. She's had them lighten my hair just a little, to the soft yellow-white of a jasmine flower. My dress is the warm golden-brown of wheat, with sprays of gold embroidery in the shape of the plants' beards, and they've tanned my skin to just a few shades lighter. Cassia has even found some simple gold jewelry for me to wear on my neck and in my ears and twined in my hair.
"Good," she says, when I have been prepared-- simple makeup, to make me look innocent, my hair in curls to make me look younger, my dress smooth around my figure, to make me look beautiful. I am impressive, and gorgeous. If I do not attract any sponsors, it will not be Cassia's fault. "Now, here." She lifts my hand, and slides a bracelet on my wrist before I can stop her.
"Oh, no," I say, and pull my arm away. "I don't like things around my wrists."
She gives me a look of infinite compassion, and takes my other arm. "It will help," she says, and slides another on my other wrist. "Leave them on."
I look down at my hands, at my weighted wrists. The bracelets are shaped like chains.
Ahava
They've dressed us in these stupid costumes, vines twining up our legs and around our arms and all that nonsense. They even gave me a little flouncy grass skirt. Do I look like someone who would wear a grass skirt? Ugh. It's really dumb. Really really dumb. And if I'm thinking about this so I don't think about what's going to happen next...
Ugh.
The chariot is pretty unsteady. I have to hold the rim of the chariot and Duncan's hand so we don't fall over, because that would be a great start, wouldn't it? He's much better at balancing than me, but he holds my hand just as hard. He's been holding my hand from the start, actually. Since we were kids, and promised each other we'd stick together no matter what. Since the announcer called our names and we stood up on the stage together. Since we stood in the departure lounge and watched our parents, my brothers, our sisters break down. Since we got off the train here, before they made us go different places. As long as we've been together, we've been holding on.
The chariot lurches, and the one ahead of us, from District 10, rolls out. We're next. Soon the crowds will be watching us. At home our parents will be watching, and my siblings, and his sisters. Maybe they'll be in the same house. I hope so. We've always been close as one family, the Ralstons and us. I hope they stay that way. I hope nothing changes for them.
Our turn. The chariot rolls out, and the sun blinds me for a moment, the noise, the roaring crowd. I hold so tight to Duncan's hand that my knuckles go white.
He doesn't let go. Not even for a moment.
Ellen
My mentor's name is Rowan. I've known of him most of my life; he won the games when I was just a little girl, six or seven, and since then he's been this big hero for us. He's really handsome, too, so tall, with dark skin the color of mahogany and eyes like a twilight sky. I thought he was so cool when I was younger, when he came to our school to talk about the Games and what an honor it was to play. He seemed so shy then, not good with words, but strong and handsome and clever; all the girls had a crush on him, and so did I.
Of course, that was before I knew he's such a big stupid worrywart.
"You have to be careful," he's telling me. "Take every chance you get. Train everywhere you can. Most of the Careers are specialized, and that's their weakness." Blah, blah, blah. I don't listen much; I watch his face instead. Even if he is a big stupid worrywart, he's really nice to look at, and there's no reason I can't take advantage of that.
"Ellen," he says, and he sounds exasperated. "Are you even listening?"
I blink, and smile up at him. "Of course I'm listening, Rowan. Don't worry."
He sighs. "Child, I can't not worry."
That's another reason I don't have a crush on him anymore. Ever since I've been Reaped he's just called me "child." Ugh. "I'm not a child. I'm fifteen."
The look he gives me is almost pitying, and it makes me scowl. "Fifteen is still a child," he tells me, his voice almost gentle. "No one knows that better than me. I was your age when I was Reaped."
I knew that. It's why I'm not worried. If someone like Rowan-- beautiful, but maybe not the smartest-- can win the Hunger Games at my age, well, why can't I? I'm beautiful too, and clever, and quick. I'll win easy. Nothing to worry about.
"Ellen..." He sighs, and stops. "Just... be careful, all right? I'll do my best to get you some good sponsors, but it's really all up to you."
I smile up at him. Maybe, after I've won, he and I could go out a little bit. Get to know each other. Victors can spend time with each other, can't they? It would be nice. Maybe we'd even get married, and wouldn't the Capitol love that? We could be stars. Famous forever.
"Don't worry," I tell him again. "Everything will be fine."
Ethan
The other kids are so much older than me. Not all of them, of course. There's a couple of twelve-year-olds, and it makes me feel kind of sick to look at them, so I don't for long. Instead I focus on the training area, on the things we'll be doing. On the things I can learn.
I know how to tie knots-- I've been weaving most of my life-- so I ignore that station. Likewise the fire-starting and shelter-making stations. We're poor. We've always been poor. My mother likes to say what she's thinking, so we'll always be poor. I know how to do all these things. How to gather food, how to identify plants. I spend some time at the camoflauge station, because that should come in pretty handy. I've never really hidden before. I've never had anyone to hide from.
It's my only chance here, though. Like I said, I'm one of the youngest here. The two twelve-year-old girls are smaller than me, and one of the fourteen-year-olds I might be able to take if I had to, but the others? No way. I'm short for my age and undernourished. If they catch me, they will kill me.
So I have to make sure they don't catch me. Spend a lot of time running, hide my camp. Sleep in trees, hoard supplies. Appear harmless, so no one comes looking for me. If I can outlast the other tributes, or most of them, then maybe I can win this thing and see my little sister grow up.
It's not likely. I'm not hoping for it too hard. But there's that small little flame I can't quite kill.
Madison
The Gamemasters are looking at me from the moment I walk into the room. I mean, of course they are, everyone does. I'm a Career, and more than that I'm a legacy Career; my sister Reagan won the Hunger Games last year. It's why I volunteered this year. I probably should have waited; Reagan was eighteen and so are most of the Careers. But I can do this. I know I can.
I smile at them, and flip my blonde hair. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" At least one of them looks at my cleavage. Good. Maybe he'll sponsor me.
Most of my skills are with swords and knives, but I've played with maces before, and there's a beautiful spiked one in the weapons assortment. Destroying the dummy is one of the most incredible things I've ever done in my life. I imagine my fellow Tributes, one after another, falling under my onslaught, until I alone stand, the winner of the Hunger Games. Won't everyone be proud of me then? Won't I bring such honor to my District and my family? There's only two other Careers this year and the other Tributes don't stand a chance against me. I'll be their queen. They'll adore me, and everything will be perfect.
I blow them a kiss on my way out of the room. They give me a ten.
Joy
They've dressed me up in a gorgeous pink dress for my interview, mermaid cut, covered in glitter and tiny sparkling stones. It looks wonderful on me. They've curled my hair, too, and left it to swing. They've given me earrings and a draped necklace and a dangling bracelet, high heels and painted my nails and done my makeup. I look like a star. They want me to look like a star. They want me to be a star.
"Be yourself," my mentor Sapphire tells me, just before I go on stage. She smiles at me, but it's wobbly. "You're a very charming girl, so just be yourself and they'll love you."
I hope so. I need sponsors. It's my only hope.
They call me onstage, and I walk on, smiling as broadly as I can, making out like I'm happy to be here. I tell myself that my parents can stop watching after this. They can remember me like this, bright and happy. Joyful, like my name.
Caesar Flickerman stands up when I walk over, takes the hand I present him, and kisses it with courtly grace. I smile at him, and try to pretend this is just another conversation. He's just another customer at my father's florist.
"Miss Maserati," he says. "What a stunning sight you are!"
I smile again. I know I'm dimpling, and I hope the audience can see it. "Thank you, Mr. Flickerman. I did so want to make a good impression."
He smiles at me, at the audience. "Well, I'd say you accomplished just that, wouldn't you?" When the applause dies down, he turns back to me. "And please, call me Caesar."
"Then you must call me Joy," I tell him. That gets another round of applause. I'm doing well.
The interview goes on like that, light banter, silly things. He asks me what impresses me about the Capitol, and for a minute I'm stumped, because it's not that much unlike home, but then I remember. "How beautiful everyone is," I say, and the audience explodes. They applaud a lot for me.
Then the question. "So, Joy" he says, "can you tell me how you felt when no one volunteered for you?"
The audience goes quiet. I nail my smile to my face.
"Oh, it's such an honor, isn't it? I admit I was a little dismayed, but it's only because I really wasn't expecting it. Now I've had such a wonderful time here, and of course my mentor has been so helpful. I think I'm honestly very grateful now. I mean, so many people being so kind to me! Wouldn't you be?"
The audience roars again, and I smile and smile and smile.
Anna
Tomorrow we go into the arena.
I can't get it out of my mind. Tomorrow we will be in the arena, and we will all be doing our very best to kill each other. I have done everything I can by now. I've looked over all my competition, and ranked them in order of most to least worrying (the Careers, the girl from District 12, the girl from District 4 are at the top, with the twelve-year-olds and the boys from Districts 4 and 8 at the bottom). I've plotted out my actions tomorrow morning (sprint for the Cornucopia, grab whatever I can, and sprint away, literally running for my life). I'e chosen my overall strategy (lay as many traps as I can, stay out of sight, work from ambush). There's nothing else to do.
Well, there's one more thing to do.
Lars is still awake when I sneak into his room. He's sitting at the window, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the stars and occasionally wiping away tears. My chest feels tight when I look at him. My little brother. I wonder if he knows how much I love him.
"I do," Lars says, and turns around, smiling at me. It's shaky, but it's a smile.
"I said that out loud?" I ask. I know that I did. I don't do anything by accident, and we both know it. Lars doesn't respond, anyway. He just pats the window seat next to him, and I go over and sit there. "So, tomorrow."
"I know," he says. "Tomorrow."
We sit together for a long time, watching the stars move and twinkle. They look so serene up there. It's probably not the last time we'll see them; I don't think either one of us will die on the first day. But it's one of the last.
It doesn't matter how much I plan, how many traps I lay. We haven't trained for this. We're not ready. Lars is only fifteen, and we can't both win. We're not going to make it out of here. We're not both going home. And I don't know if I can face our family if I let him die.
"This is going to kill Mom," Lars says, quietly. He knows this too.
I reach out and take his hand, squeeze it between both of mine. "I love you," I say again. "You will always be my brother."
He smiles at me again. "I love you," he says. "You will always be my sister. And I won't make you kill me."
I close my eyes, shuddering. "I won't make you kill me either."
He nods. "Then that's all there is, isn't it? Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," I echo.
That's all there is.
Hector
It's such a funny feeling, knowing you're going to die.
Because I will. The girl who was chosen as Tribute with me, she's going to kill me. She's said so, repeatedly. They've put her next to me in the ring so she can do it more easily; I can see her less than fifteen feet away, just to my left, as we all rise in the middle of a lake. So I'm going to die, probably right away. Might even get to be the first death in the arena. Hurray.
The weirdest part of all of this is that I don't mind.
She'll be quick, my fellow Tribute. I don't even know her name, but I know that. She's sharp and fast like a trackerjacker on two legs, and she doesn't waste effort. So if I don't put up a fight, it'll be fast and as painless as possible, and then all of this will be over.
Let's be real here. I have no skills. I'm a coal miner, for fuck's sake. All I know how to do is swing a pickaxe and run away from rock falls. Maybe-- maybe-- if I got lucky, I could outrun the other contestants for a little while. But I can't outrun her. I can't outrun the Careers. Sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, and if you ask me? I'd rather sooner. I'd rather not live through any more of the Games than I have to.
I wish I had the courage to just jump off the pedestal right now. It would be easier that way, and quicker. But Mama has always told me that suicide is a sin, and it's not like I'll have to wait much longer. Besides, there's always the chance that the landmines won't kill me right away. I can't imagine a worse fate than bleeding to death, screaming my throat raw, while people die around me.
Well. I can, actually. But that doesn't mean I'll choose that way. Not when I have this girl.
The gong sounds. The girl bursts off her pedestal, and so do the other Tributes. Most of them just run, but the Careers head for the Cornucopia, and so does she. I watch her go. I don't move. There's no point.
She's reached the first of the weapons now. I find I can't look, so I turn my gaze to the sky instead, a bright arc of blue. Heaven is that color, Mama told me, the blue of the sky, of a newborn's eyes. Peace is that color. I used to strain for my first glimpse every morning, coming out of the mine off the night shift. I'd see that blue, and it would be like a blessing. Another day, another chance.
No more chances left. I close my eyes, and wait.
Kevin
The gong sounds. I throw myself off my pedestal, splashing into the water. The girl beside me has made her first mistake; she's jumped in on the wrong side, right next to me. If I have anything to say about it, it will be her last mistake.
She's flailing in the water. Idiot can't swim. I can; I learned in the rapids below the hydro-electric dams. This calm lake can't phase me. I swim over to her.
There's a quick flash of hope in her eyes. She's such an idiot. She thinks I'm there to help her. I smile at her, then put both my hands on her shoulders and shove her under.
She screams, even stupider, because that's all her air gone into the water. She flails and kicks, but I'm used to this. We used to dunk each other in the rapids too. You have to swim out from under it, you can't just struggle and hope you'll get out. Her kicks are growing weaker. She can't seem to connect.
Then she does, landing a sharp one on my knee. It doesn't hurt that badly, but it startles me, and I slip. She ducks out from under me and drags in a single breath of air before I land on her again. This time I throw my whole body on her. She's not getting out again.
She's weak. Her hair is floating around her face and her eyes are wide, terrified. She's clawing at my hands, but nothing's working. The bubbles of her breath flow up around me. She can't get free, and a strange joy is growing in my chest.
When the bubbles stop, I hold her under for a few more moments. Then the cannon goes off and I throw my head back, scream in victory.
I let her body go. She bobs up, her body limp, and I scream again, laughing in her face. Another cannon fires and that's another tribute dead. Twenty-two of us left and I am alive. This little blonde bitch from District 7 can't hurt me.
The bloodbath is well under way at the Cornucopia-- even as I watch another tribute smashes a mace into the face of the boy from District 3, and the cannon goes off again.
Time to get to work. I swim towards the shore.
Omar
I punch a girl away from me, grab a bow and quiver, a sword, and a few knives, and look up. Most of the other tributes have scattered-- I let them go, better to hunt them down later-- but a few of them are still here. The girl from District 12 is fighting the girl from District 3. District 4's tributes are running, but slower; the boy's limping pretty badly. At first I start to go after them, but then I see the little dark boy from District 9. He's twenty feet away from me, his hands on a pack of food, and he's frozen for just a moment.
Then he bolts. He's running away from me, so of course, I chase him.
He's too close to bother with the bow. I'm not as good throwing knives. So I draw the sword and catch up to him, legs pumping. I'll have him soon. I can stab him, or throw him down and cut his throat, or maybe just break his neck; I'm strong enough, I can do that. He's within range. I grin.
Then pain blazes through me, and I turn, outraged.
It's the boy, the Career from District 2, and he's thrown a spear into my back. It's not too bad; the spear's stuck in my muscles, and I can survive it, but how dare he? This is not how being a Career works! We are the last, the final explosive fight. We don't kill each other until then. But he's smiling, dark, and he's running toward me, another spear in his hand.
I wrench a knife loose and throw it, but my aim is off and he dodges it easily. Another knife is in my hand, I throw-- and pain, pain, more pain, shoving through my chest. I look down; the spear point is there, protruding through my stomach. I spin, dizzy.
The boy from District 9 is there, backing away. I grab for him, but the blood loss is making me weak. I fall to my knees. The boy's eyes flick away from me, but I can't see him anymore. My vision is greying over.
It's not fair. I'm a Career. This is not supposed to end this way. I'm supposed to win.
It's not fair.
The world goes black.
Evan
The Career turns away from me, back towards the other one who's running toward him, and I have a decision to make. I can keep running, but my lungs are bursting. Or... or, I can do something about the Career. His back is to me, and he's lifting a knife to throw, and I choose without thinking.
I jump. I throw all my weight on the haft of the spear, driving it through. There's a sick sucking sound and the resistence makes me want to throw up, but it goes through and I fall away and scramble backwards as the Career turns and falls heavily to his knees. He's out and gone, blood spurting, and I look away from him, toward the boy who threw the spear.
He's still coming, and I close my eyes, resigned. I can't run. My legs won't hold me; I can't get up. He's going to kill me. I'm going to die in the bloodbath. At least I made a respectable showing. At least...
But I hear the cannon fire for the dead Career, and I'm not dead or dying, or even injured. I open my eyes.
The Career has reclaimed his spear from the corpse, and slung the bow and arrows over his shoulder. Now he's looking down at me. He looks... he looks impressed. Impressed, and a little amused. "Nice job," he says. "Thanks for the assist."
"You're welcome?" It comes out as a question, and he looks even more amused.
"See you later," he says, and tosses me a salute, before turning and running back toward the Cornucopia, carrying his spears.
I sit in stunned silence for a moment. He spared me. He let me live. We killed a boy together, and he let me live.
Then the cannon fires again. Someone else is dead, and if I don't move it's going to be me. I grab my pack of food and run for it, diving into the forest, dodging among the trees.
He let me live this time, but I know he won't do it again.
Olivia
When the gong strikes, I run.
Two strides and then Jake is with me, running on my other side. He grabs my hand and tugs, and we run until my breath burns in my lungs. But he's more used to running than me, and he drags me along until suddenly he stops.
I bend over, my hands on my knees, and just breathe for a second. Then he says, "Livvy," and I look up.
He's smiling at me from a hollow in the roots of a tree. He's lined it with a square of plastic. It's small, especially for the two of us, but I don't mind. I'd like to be as close to him as possible before we die.
I crawl in after him, and he strips his shirt off and hangs it, camoflauge-side-out, in the hollow's opening. The only light in here is what sneaks in around the shirt's edges, and I can just make out his face. He's still smiling at me, but the edges of his mouth have gone softer. I reach up, cup his cheek, and kiss him.
They can't see us in here. Wherever the cameras are, it's not in here. It's just us, him and me. Yes, I only met him four days ago, and yes, we're supposed to be trying to kill each other. But we both know we're going to die. There's no point fighting. It's not like either of us has anything to go back to, either; my mother's... my mother and my father doesn't love me anymore, and his entire family is dead. So why bother?
We decided, the last night before the Games started, that we'd do this instead. We'd run away together and find a hiding place to just cuddle up together until someone found us and killed us.
He sneaks a hand inside my shirt and cups my breast, and I shiver. He pauses. "Are you... is this okay?"
"It's great," I tell him, and kiss him again.
I don't know how long we have. I don't know what's going to happen. But I do know that I'd rather spend these last few days with him.
Zack
I spend most of my time up trees.
I think most of us are doing that, actually. The entire arena is forested, as far as I know, and why should we not hide there? I like it. Safe, quiet, and I can hunt from the trees, dropping down on the animals when they pass underneath.
I could do that to other tributes, too, I guess. I haven't.
I don't know why. I mean, it's not like I'm morally against killing somebody, especially when it's you or them, and this is like the original you-or-them situation. I'm afraid of it, a little. A lot of the tributes are scary, scary people. And... I dunno, I just don't really want to kill a twelve-year-old. Back home, we always used to hurt for those poor kids. They never won.
But it's not... I dunno. Mostly I guess I'm just a coward.
So when the boy comes running by under my tree, I stay still and hidden. Part of it's cowardice, like I said. Part of it's plain common sense. He's streaking by like something's after him. Half a heartbeat later a spear sprouts from his back and he goes down.
The Career from District 2, the boy, he comes into view a few seconds later. He pulls the spear out of the boy's back, looks down at him for a moment, then stabs the spear into his throat. The boy spasms, then the cannon fires, and I hold my breath, because if the Career looks up, he will see me, and he will kill me.
The Career looks down at the boy's corpse for another moment, then shakes his head and walks away.
I cling to the branches and try to remember how to breathe.
Jake
We were sleeping.
I shouldn't have gone to sleep. I should have kept watch. But I didn't, so I wake up to Olivia's blood on my chest, her eyes wide and panicked. And then she's gone, dragged backwards out of the hollow. I scramble after her, and I get out just in time to see the girl from District 12 put a hatchet through her head.
I scream something, maybe just sound, and lunge at her. She drops Olivia's body and half turns toward me, but I hit her before she can complete the move. She goes down under my weight and I... I don't know what I'm doing. It's not like I have any weapons, just my rage and my grief and my bare hands.
And I just... I was sleeping. I was sleeping when Olivia died, and I was sleeping when my family died. I was sleeping, and I shouldn't have been, and if I'd only been awake maybe they would all still be alive.
I can't beat this girl. She's going to kill me in a second, just as soon as she gets her bearings. But I can mark her. I can leave bruises and I can bite and I can claw long scratches into her skin, so everyone can see what she's done. I can do something for Olivia, even if I can't save her.
The girl twists like a cat under me and throws me off, and I hit the ground hard. My breath whooshes out of me, and I lie stunned, my back cracked over a tree root. The girl gets up and reaches behind her. For a weapon, no doubt. I turn my head so I don't see it coming, and find myself looking into Olivia's eyes.
"Forgive me," I whisper.
I hope she does.
Kayleigh
I'm so hungry, I feel like my insides are collapsing. I haven't eaten since the games began and it's been, it's been three days. I've never not eaten for this long before. I mean, we've gone hungry, and I've gone to bed with my stomach growling, but there's always been some food. A crust of bread, a cup of broth, even some vegetables sneaked from the deliveries for the Peacekeepers. Mom always got something. And now there's nothing.
I huddle in the crotch of a tree, my knees drawn up against my chest. Mom can see me, I remember, and that's the only reason I'm not crying. If I wasn't on camera I'd be bawling. But I don't want Mom to feel bad. Anyway, I know starvation takes weeks to kill you. I've got time, even if it doesn't feel like it. But I want food, I want it bad, I want...
Wait, they can see me. They can hear me. Maybe...
I look up at the sky, and say, "Please." I sniffle a little, and wipe at my cheeks. "Please, I'm so hungry. Please?"
Nothing happens. Well, of course it didn't. It takes time for sponsors to get money to my mentor, and time for my mentor to get food and get it to me. But maybe if I'm pathetic enough someone will feel bad for me and buy me something to eat. Maybe. I stay in the tree, though. I don't know where any of the other tributes are.
I must sleep for a little bit, because I wake up when something hits me in the head. It is... it is a parachute. It's a piece of bread. It's food. It worked.
Before I know it I am sobbing, clutching the bread to my chest, looking up at the sky and saying, "thank you, thank you." I cry so hard the bread tastes salty as I eat it in big gulps, but I can't seem to stop. I can't stop saying thank you, either, at least, not until I cry myself to sleep again.
When I wake, there are two more parachutes. Two more pieces of bread. Food.
I can't believe it worked.
Duncan
Ahava is still with me.
I know how crazy that sounds. She's been dead for two days. But she's still there next to me, every time I turn to talk to her. She's still laughing at me when I trip, and still worried when I wrench my ankle. She can't touch me, so we can't hug for support anymore, but she's still there.
The Capitol, and everyone else watching, must think I'm nuts, because I still talk to her. I don't care. She said we'd stick together through the Games, and we are. She'd never leave me.
We're sitting together on a log now, watching the sunset and eating berries. Well, I'm eating berries. Ahava said she's not hungry.
"They're going to play the anthem soon," I say. "I didn't hear any cannons, did you?"
Ahava shakes her head. "No. But you never know. Maybe you were too busy sleeping."
I sleep during the day. The Careers still alive like to hunt at night. "Yeah, maybe. Doesn't really matter."
"Guess not," she says. "Hey, you know those are poisonous?"
I blink, and look down at the berries I've been eating. "Are they?"
"Yeah," she says. "I would've told you before but I just noticed. Are you feeling okay?"
I think about it. "Yeah," I say. And it's true. My heart's beating faster, and my breath is coming quicker, but I feel okay. Ahava's here. She'll take care of me. We'll stick together no matter what. "Am I going to die?"
She shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe. They're only bad if you eat a lot of them."
"Oh, thanks," I say, as wry as I can manage considering I'm nearly panting now. "I'm pretty sure I ate a lot."
"Oh." Ahava frowns, worried. "I didn't mean to get you killed, Duncan. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I tell her. I want to hug her shoulders, pat her arm, but I can't touch her. Yet. That thought makes me happy. "We stick together, remember? We're sticking together. It's okay."
She smiles at me, but her forehead is still furrowed. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," I say. "Just be sure you hug me after I'm dead."
"I will," she says. "I will. Almost there, Dunc. Not long now."
"I love you, Ahava," I tell her, solemn.
"I love you," she says. "Not long now."
Maya
It hurts, it hurts, oh, it hurts so bad and I can't breathe. Joy keeps putting wet clothes on my forehead but it's not helping, I'm still so hot. She's crying. I wish she wasn't. I wish I could tell her that it's all going to be okay.
Because it will, right? I'll die soon and then all this will be over. And I didn't want to die at first but now I do, because it just hurts, it hurts so much. I just couldn't keep the cuts clean. We had to hide in mud, and then there was all the bad food, and at least we had water, but it didn't really help. I got sick so fast and then it just keeps getting worse and now I can't even get breath to talk.
Joy is singing now, quiet and low. I can't make out all the words, but it sounds like a lullaby. She's singing me to sleep.
I close my eyes and rest my burning forehead against her leg. At least she's here.
I hope she wins.
Ivy
I can't sleep.
I mean, I haven't slept well since the second day, since the girl from District 2 killed my brother. That first night we switched off watches, but since then I've climbed a tree and dozed fitfully, every nerve on alert. Only part of that is fear. The rest... I dream about Aaron.
It's not all bad dreams. Sometimes it's just us, before this. We used to play games, run around together and dodge among the sheep. Never the goats, because they were ornery little bastards, but even with them we could make a game of it. How many times we could milk the goats without getting bitten, that sort of thing. And then when Summer came along we'd try to teach her things. How to smile, how to clap, how to walk, wobbly on her little fat legs. I'm glad Mom and Dad have her.
Tonight I'm looking up at the stars, thinking about the tributes who died today. The little twelve-year-old from District 5 died today. So did the boy from District 11, the one who was so close to his fellow tribute. Close as siblings, they said in their interviews. She died on the fourth day. I'm kind of surprised he lasted so long.
It was only those two projected today, but I heard a cannon a little while ago. God only knows who that was. I can't really remember who's alive and who's dead-- except Aaron, God, I can't forget Aaron. The cute blonde girl from District 1, she might be alive. Joy, I think her name was. The brother and sister from District 3, they're definitely still around. I saw them a few hours ago as they tried to find shelter, him limping. I think he broke his ankle the first day. He's another one I'm surprised lasted so long, but I guess his sister is looking out for him. Like Aaron was looking out for me.
Aaron. The bitch who killed him is still out there too. I've been watching for her face. I'm not sure if I'm glad or sorry that I haven't seen it.
My hands tighten on the hatchet I found in somebody's empty camp. I just got it today. Tomorrow I go looking for that bitch, and if I find her, I do my best to kill her, because she killed my brother, and I can't let that go. I mean, I probably won't survive it, but he's my brother. My brother.
I think Mom would be proud of me, if she knew what I was thinking. But I hope she doesn't.
Felipe
On the morning of the Feast, I kill a beautiful boy.
He's not the first I've killed in these Games, and it isn't as if I feel particularly bad about it. I've trained all my life for this, trained and planned and waited until it was finally, finally my turn to volunteer. This is my job. When I win, my family can stop working in the quarries. I can have a peaceful life, left alone in my new big house, plenty of food and comfort. I just have to kill a few people to do that.
And I've done that. The Career boy from District 1, easier than I thought. The boy from District 5, smug jackass that he was. And now this boy, from District 6, with his bright blond hair. I don't know how he's survived so long; the sun must have picked him out every morning and kept a spotlight on him all day.
So he's smart, and fast. He has to be, to have lived seven days. I remember seeing him in the three days before the games, intent on speed and survival. I remember thinking he was beautiful, and sort of hoping someone else would kill him. No one did, though, and I can't afford sentiment. So I kill him. I try to make it fast, anyway; a spear through the heart. He goes down fast.
We're down to four now, and I'm the only Career left. Me, the vicious girl from District 12, and the brother and sister from District 3. They're exceptional, I think. The boy is disabled and shouldn't have lived, but he and his sister are in the final four. I'm impressed as hell. It won't be easy. But I'll make it quick for them too, if I can.
I leave the beautiful boy behind, but before I go, I turn him face up and cross his arms over his chest. He deserves that.
Vanessa
The Gamemakers set the arena on fire the morning of our tenth day here. Good. I've been waiting too long. Two days with nothing happening. Two fucking days, no sign of any of the other tributes: not the Career I know is hunting me, not the girl from District 3 and her useless brother. He'll be easy. The other two... will be harder, especially that girl. She's got more willpower than I think anyone expected, certainly more than I expected. Too damn stubborn to die.
Until I get to her, anyway.
I go down to the Cornucopia like the Gamemakers so obviously want me to. No need to smoke me out. There's no sign of the Career-- he must have been that cannon shot I heard earlier-- but I see the girl and her brother hiding in the Cornucopia. They haven't seen me yet. I smile, but I do wish I had a distance weapon. No matter.
That damn girl, though, she has sharp ears, because before I can get close enough, she snaps around and her eyes meet mine. I don't hear what she says to her brother, but he ducks back into the Cornucopia and she... well, she runs right at me, and she has a net and a machete.
I wouldn't worry, but who knows what the District 3 people can do with a net? I make sure I have knives accessible, then run to meet her. Why draw this out?
Turns out I was right to worry about the net, because she's weighted it somehow, and when she throws it, it tangles up my legs. I don't have time to cut it, either, because she's on me: must have jumped.
Stupid of her. She needs room to use the machete. I don't.
The knife goes in her belly, smooth as silk. Another stab glances off her ribs. Damn. Could've been a quick kill.
She stumbles back, blood already spurting from her belly. The boy screams. His turn. I heft my knife and start toward him.
It's the last thing I remember.
Michael
"I'm so sorry about your sister," Caesar Flickerman says. He even seems sincere. "She must have loved you very much."
I stare out toward the audience. They must be out there-- I can hear them making noise-- but the lights blind me. Good. I like it that way. "She did," I say. My voice sounds distant. "We were all each other had."
"Oh?" That's the tone he uses when he's lifted an eyebrow. It's sad that I know that. "I thought your mother was still alive?"
I shrug. She is, but we weren't really on good terms with her. Dad's still around somewhere too, fuck him very much. I'm sure he'll pop up when I get home, wanting a handout. Well, he can just go fuck himself.
Caesar must realize that this line of questioning isn't going to get him anywhere, because he steeples his fingers in front of his face and leans forward. "You wouldn't let go of her, at the end."
"She died in my arms." My voice is distant again. It's all I can think about, though: Danny, dying, bleeding out her life in the dust. For me. Maybe she would have lived, if she hadn't made that last lunge, cutting off the last girl's head. She tore something inside her, then. I was moving toward her as fast as I could hobble, and I still almost didn't make it.
"She said something to you," Caesar says. "Can we ask what that was?"
If I had been anything other than numb, I would have screamed at him then. How dare he? How dare they? What makes them think my sister's last words are anything for them? But I can't feel much now, and anyway, I knew this might be coming. I had enough time to come up with an answer.
"She said..." I stop, and put my hand over my eyes. They probably think I'm crying. "She said she was proud of me, and she loved me." She did. She did say that, all the time. Oh, Danny.
The audience sighs. Caesar pats my arm. I have the sudden urge to punch him.
There's more after that. What I'm going to do with my winnings, how I feel being the only Victor in living memory to not kill anyone. I don't much remember my answers. It's not like they matter much.
Then the president comes out, presents me to the crowds, and sets a crown on my head. I smile mechanically out into the lights, and think about Danny's real last words.
Take them down.
I will, Danny. For you, I will.
Title: Reaper
Story: In the Heart - Hunger Games AU
Colors: Olympic gold 6 (games), Blackstar 1 (Well, you're dead, you just ain't buried yet → Under the God (Tin Machine)), color party 39 (Ferruginous)
Supplies and Materials: Graffiti (Summer Blockbuster), portrait, eraser (Hunger Games AU), brush (hare), oils (it's getting worse), stickers (Only half the passengers and crew who reached America on the Mayflower in November 1620 survived until the following spring.), charcoal (some of the POVs), seed beads (some of the POVs), glitter (Self-Portrait in Charleston, Orlando, Dean Rader), novelty beads ("There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man."), mosaic, fingerpainting (I do not often write overt violence, as may be obvious)
Word Count: 8982
Rating: R
Summary: The Games.
Warnings: Oh God, so many. Suicidal intent and actions, murder (SO MUCH MURDER), violence, blood, teenagers murdering each other, drowning, stabbing, etc. Basically, if you've read or seen the Hunger Games, it's that. Oh, and teenagers having sex (implied).
Notes: I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE. HA.
Danny
I don't much remember the Reaping.
Stupid, right? The most important moment of my entire fucking life and I don't really remember it. It's just... one big blur in my head. But I can piece together how it probably went: the same way it's always gone for the six years I've been eligible. Next year I would have been safe. Next year... but it doesn't matter, does it.
Step one: we all gather in the big square, everybody in their best, nobody even with wet hair. That's a big deal for around here, you know. We're all dressed like we're here for a funeral, 'cause, ha, we are, we just don't know whose yet. We all line up, all the eligible kids, all of our parents, everyone who's not either trying to hide relief, and I'm just staring straight ahead, trying to get through it. Trying to survive another year.
Step two: the mayor tells us all why we're here, as if we don't fucking know already. How we all fucked up so many years ago, how we're all still being punished for something that happened before we were born, before our parents were born. My great-grandfather died in the Dark Days. He wasn't even fighting.
Step three: they read out the names of our past victors. There's seven of them, and we've got three still alive, sitting stone-faced on the stage. I don't know any of them. I don't care. It's not like we're going to win this year either. I wish they'd get to the choosing already. I wish we'd just get it over with. If I'm going to die, I want to know it now.
Step three: the Capitol's representative talks about what an honor it'll be to be chosen. It's some weird tie-dyed man whose name I didn't catch. I don't care about him either. I tune him out until he crosses to the big glass ball with the names of all the girls in there, some multiple times, some many, many times. My stomach clenches. Moment of truth.
Step four: it's not me. It's never been me. I relax. It's over for me now. Two more years to worry about Michael, but I'm safe. The girl who's been chosen is crying silently. They ask for volunteers. They never get any.
Step five: he goes to the boys' ball. He picks a boy's slip. He calls out Michael's name.
This is where I stop remembering. I'm told I screamed. I'm told I clawed my way up to the front. I'm told I climbed on the stage and threw the girl tribute down and screamed at them that they would take me or I'd kill them all there. Someone said I had fighting blood. Someone let the crying girl go back. All I remember is us standing at the station, my mother sobbing hysterically, Michael clinging to my hand.
I'm not coming home. I know that. But Michael will.
I'll make sure of it.
Aaron
My mother is looking at me. It's not unusual. She looks at me a lot. Even, sometimes, like this, though I've never been able to read it before. Now, though--
Now, I look away from that intense, terrified, hungry gaze, and I look at my stepmother. Ivy's mother is holding her, her eyes squeezed shut, like maybe she can pretend this isn't happening, like maybe if she just holds on hard enough and long enough they'll say it's all a mistake and give her Ivy back. I know it isn't true, can't be true, but for a moment I close my eyes and pray with her: let Ivy go back.
Nothing happens, of course. I open my eyes and everything's just the same.
Then there's Summer, and she looks so confused. She's only three, only a baby. I touch her hair, soft as gosling down, lean down and kiss her forehead. My baby sister. Will she even remember us, in nine years when she stands for her first Reaping? Will they take her too, and leave my father childless? I already know my mother will be, when all this is over. I think she knows it too.
My father is standing by the door, his hands working helplessly, open and shut. I know what he's thinking. Is it something he's done? He has three children, two of us eligible, and we have both been chosen this year. It can't be a coincidence. We all know it's not a coincidence. Not that it matters; it's not his fault. I hope he remembers that. I know he won't.
My mother comes to me now, and puts her arms around my shoulders. She's stiff when she hugs me, holding back tears with every muscle in her body. She knows what I'm about to face. She faced it too. She came out alive.
"Come back," she whispers, fierce in my ear. "Live through this. No matter what it takes," and I know she's talking about my sister.
My sister, my little sister, with her freckles crayon-outline obvious against her pale face, two long red braids trailing down her back. My sister, who used to wake me up every morning jumping on my bed, who used to push me out the door to go play with the baby goats, who used to trade me stall-mucking chores for egg-gathering duty. My sister, who cannot survive if I'm to come hoome. My little sister, whose life I have to take in order to live.
Come back, my mother says, but I cannot hurt my sister. Not my sister. Not for anything.
Come back, my mother says, but I won't.
Lars
Anna and I sit side by side in the train car and watch, silently, as the other Districts' Reapings play. It's kind of an odd year. There's only three Careers this year, two from District 2 and one from District 1. No one volunteered for the District 1 girl, and I look away as the camera focuses in on her face, on the dawning realization and the horror there. Anna, beside me, stares straight at the television, her jaw tight. But Anna always could handle things better than me.
District 3: there's us. On the screen, I look white but steady. Anna looks like nothing's even happening, her gaze clear and even. District 4 is another brother and sister, a boy around my age and his sister pushing her way through the crowd of girls, screaming that she volunteers. She's not a Career, the announcer tells us, just a girl. Just a sister who loves her brother. I look at Anna again. She doesn't look at me.
The first of the twelve-year-olds pops up in District 5, then another in District 6. They're both girls, and one of them is actually the boy's half-sister, unknown to both of them until then. It's around then that Anna draws in a sharp breath. It's rare that there's even one pair of siblings in the Games. Now there are three, and if that's not a pattern...
District 7. District 8. District 9. They roll by without incident, or without unusual incidents. The children cry, their parents cry, the rest look relieved and sick and sorry. Then District 10: yet another brother and sister, clinging to each other as the Capitol's representative encourages the crowds to cheer. District 11, and the announcer tells us this pair might as well have been siblings, close since childhood, hand in hand on the stage. District 12 goes back to normal, and the television falls silent. Anna and I look at each other then, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
It's not fear for herself. Anna has always been brave, climbing the tallest trees, sneaking around and spying on the Peacekeepers. Anna's courageous, and strong. She has, I think, a real chance of winning these Games. I remember Chrissy, white-faced, holding us one in each arm in the departure room, and I know Chrissy was thinking it too. Anna can win. I can't.
I reach out and take her hand. "This isn't normal," I say.
She shakes her head instantly, and squeezes my hand. "Not here," she says. "Not here."
Then where? When? We have to talk.
But Anna's looking away from me again, at the blank television screen, her expression distant and empty.
Gina
The sad part is that I'm kind of enjoying this.
It's been a treat for me, my whole life, to shut myself in my family's bathroom and have a day primping. Curl my hair, file my nails, shave my legs and underarms, bathe myself until I feel so squeaking clean that flour seems like a distant memory. But I couldn't do that very often, once or twice a year at most, and I never had such clothes to get into.
Is that shallow of me? Maybe not. In five days I go into the arena to fight for my life, and I have seen my opponents. Even my fellow tribute looks like he could kill me; he's only a year younger and he matches me weight for weight. I've got good muscles from years of grinding flour, but he's out there in the harvest fields, wielding a sickle. And that's not even counting the others; the woodcutters and their axes, the stonemasons and their hammers, the three Careers and their everything. I know my chances are slim. So why not enjoy this?
My stylist's name is Cassia, and she's very pretty, but more importantly she's very stylish, and in a way I like. I've seen the other Capitol residents, all wild colors and garish clashing, but Cassia wears these gorgeous draped dresses, red and gold and seafoam green. She's had them lighten my hair just a little, to the soft yellow-white of a jasmine flower. My dress is the warm golden-brown of wheat, with sprays of gold embroidery in the shape of the plants' beards, and they've tanned my skin to just a few shades lighter. Cassia has even found some simple gold jewelry for me to wear on my neck and in my ears and twined in my hair.
"Good," she says, when I have been prepared-- simple makeup, to make me look innocent, my hair in curls to make me look younger, my dress smooth around my figure, to make me look beautiful. I am impressive, and gorgeous. If I do not attract any sponsors, it will not be Cassia's fault. "Now, here." She lifts my hand, and slides a bracelet on my wrist before I can stop her.
"Oh, no," I say, and pull my arm away. "I don't like things around my wrists."
She gives me a look of infinite compassion, and takes my other arm. "It will help," she says, and slides another on my other wrist. "Leave them on."
I look down at my hands, at my weighted wrists. The bracelets are shaped like chains.
Ahava
They've dressed us in these stupid costumes, vines twining up our legs and around our arms and all that nonsense. They even gave me a little flouncy grass skirt. Do I look like someone who would wear a grass skirt? Ugh. It's really dumb. Really really dumb. And if I'm thinking about this so I don't think about what's going to happen next...
Ugh.
The chariot is pretty unsteady. I have to hold the rim of the chariot and Duncan's hand so we don't fall over, because that would be a great start, wouldn't it? He's much better at balancing than me, but he holds my hand just as hard. He's been holding my hand from the start, actually. Since we were kids, and promised each other we'd stick together no matter what. Since the announcer called our names and we stood up on the stage together. Since we stood in the departure lounge and watched our parents, my brothers, our sisters break down. Since we got off the train here, before they made us go different places. As long as we've been together, we've been holding on.
The chariot lurches, and the one ahead of us, from District 10, rolls out. We're next. Soon the crowds will be watching us. At home our parents will be watching, and my siblings, and his sisters. Maybe they'll be in the same house. I hope so. We've always been close as one family, the Ralstons and us. I hope they stay that way. I hope nothing changes for them.
Our turn. The chariot rolls out, and the sun blinds me for a moment, the noise, the roaring crowd. I hold so tight to Duncan's hand that my knuckles go white.
He doesn't let go. Not even for a moment.
Ellen
My mentor's name is Rowan. I've known of him most of my life; he won the games when I was just a little girl, six or seven, and since then he's been this big hero for us. He's really handsome, too, so tall, with dark skin the color of mahogany and eyes like a twilight sky. I thought he was so cool when I was younger, when he came to our school to talk about the Games and what an honor it was to play. He seemed so shy then, not good with words, but strong and handsome and clever; all the girls had a crush on him, and so did I.
Of course, that was before I knew he's such a big stupid worrywart.
"You have to be careful," he's telling me. "Take every chance you get. Train everywhere you can. Most of the Careers are specialized, and that's their weakness." Blah, blah, blah. I don't listen much; I watch his face instead. Even if he is a big stupid worrywart, he's really nice to look at, and there's no reason I can't take advantage of that.
"Ellen," he says, and he sounds exasperated. "Are you even listening?"
I blink, and smile up at him. "Of course I'm listening, Rowan. Don't worry."
He sighs. "Child, I can't not worry."
That's another reason I don't have a crush on him anymore. Ever since I've been Reaped he's just called me "child." Ugh. "I'm not a child. I'm fifteen."
The look he gives me is almost pitying, and it makes me scowl. "Fifteen is still a child," he tells me, his voice almost gentle. "No one knows that better than me. I was your age when I was Reaped."
I knew that. It's why I'm not worried. If someone like Rowan-- beautiful, but maybe not the smartest-- can win the Hunger Games at my age, well, why can't I? I'm beautiful too, and clever, and quick. I'll win easy. Nothing to worry about.
"Ellen..." He sighs, and stops. "Just... be careful, all right? I'll do my best to get you some good sponsors, but it's really all up to you."
I smile up at him. Maybe, after I've won, he and I could go out a little bit. Get to know each other. Victors can spend time with each other, can't they? It would be nice. Maybe we'd even get married, and wouldn't the Capitol love that? We could be stars. Famous forever.
"Don't worry," I tell him again. "Everything will be fine."
Ethan
The other kids are so much older than me. Not all of them, of course. There's a couple of twelve-year-olds, and it makes me feel kind of sick to look at them, so I don't for long. Instead I focus on the training area, on the things we'll be doing. On the things I can learn.
I know how to tie knots-- I've been weaving most of my life-- so I ignore that station. Likewise the fire-starting and shelter-making stations. We're poor. We've always been poor. My mother likes to say what she's thinking, so we'll always be poor. I know how to do all these things. How to gather food, how to identify plants. I spend some time at the camoflauge station, because that should come in pretty handy. I've never really hidden before. I've never had anyone to hide from.
It's my only chance here, though. Like I said, I'm one of the youngest here. The two twelve-year-old girls are smaller than me, and one of the fourteen-year-olds I might be able to take if I had to, but the others? No way. I'm short for my age and undernourished. If they catch me, they will kill me.
So I have to make sure they don't catch me. Spend a lot of time running, hide my camp. Sleep in trees, hoard supplies. Appear harmless, so no one comes looking for me. If I can outlast the other tributes, or most of them, then maybe I can win this thing and see my little sister grow up.
It's not likely. I'm not hoping for it too hard. But there's that small little flame I can't quite kill.
Madison
The Gamemasters are looking at me from the moment I walk into the room. I mean, of course they are, everyone does. I'm a Career, and more than that I'm a legacy Career; my sister Reagan won the Hunger Games last year. It's why I volunteered this year. I probably should have waited; Reagan was eighteen and so are most of the Careers. But I can do this. I know I can.
I smile at them, and flip my blonde hair. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" At least one of them looks at my cleavage. Good. Maybe he'll sponsor me.
Most of my skills are with swords and knives, but I've played with maces before, and there's a beautiful spiked one in the weapons assortment. Destroying the dummy is one of the most incredible things I've ever done in my life. I imagine my fellow Tributes, one after another, falling under my onslaught, until I alone stand, the winner of the Hunger Games. Won't everyone be proud of me then? Won't I bring such honor to my District and my family? There's only two other Careers this year and the other Tributes don't stand a chance against me. I'll be their queen. They'll adore me, and everything will be perfect.
I blow them a kiss on my way out of the room. They give me a ten.
Joy
They've dressed me up in a gorgeous pink dress for my interview, mermaid cut, covered in glitter and tiny sparkling stones. It looks wonderful on me. They've curled my hair, too, and left it to swing. They've given me earrings and a draped necklace and a dangling bracelet, high heels and painted my nails and done my makeup. I look like a star. They want me to look like a star. They want me to be a star.
"Be yourself," my mentor Sapphire tells me, just before I go on stage. She smiles at me, but it's wobbly. "You're a very charming girl, so just be yourself and they'll love you."
I hope so. I need sponsors. It's my only hope.
They call me onstage, and I walk on, smiling as broadly as I can, making out like I'm happy to be here. I tell myself that my parents can stop watching after this. They can remember me like this, bright and happy. Joyful, like my name.
Caesar Flickerman stands up when I walk over, takes the hand I present him, and kisses it with courtly grace. I smile at him, and try to pretend this is just another conversation. He's just another customer at my father's florist.
"Miss Maserati," he says. "What a stunning sight you are!"
I smile again. I know I'm dimpling, and I hope the audience can see it. "Thank you, Mr. Flickerman. I did so want to make a good impression."
He smiles at me, at the audience. "Well, I'd say you accomplished just that, wouldn't you?" When the applause dies down, he turns back to me. "And please, call me Caesar."
"Then you must call me Joy," I tell him. That gets another round of applause. I'm doing well.
The interview goes on like that, light banter, silly things. He asks me what impresses me about the Capitol, and for a minute I'm stumped, because it's not that much unlike home, but then I remember. "How beautiful everyone is," I say, and the audience explodes. They applaud a lot for me.
Then the question. "So, Joy" he says, "can you tell me how you felt when no one volunteered for you?"
The audience goes quiet. I nail my smile to my face.
"Oh, it's such an honor, isn't it? I admit I was a little dismayed, but it's only because I really wasn't expecting it. Now I've had such a wonderful time here, and of course my mentor has been so helpful. I think I'm honestly very grateful now. I mean, so many people being so kind to me! Wouldn't you be?"
The audience roars again, and I smile and smile and smile.
Anna
Tomorrow we go into the arena.
I can't get it out of my mind. Tomorrow we will be in the arena, and we will all be doing our very best to kill each other. I have done everything I can by now. I've looked over all my competition, and ranked them in order of most to least worrying (the Careers, the girl from District 12, the girl from District 4 are at the top, with the twelve-year-olds and the boys from Districts 4 and 8 at the bottom). I've plotted out my actions tomorrow morning (sprint for the Cornucopia, grab whatever I can, and sprint away, literally running for my life). I'e chosen my overall strategy (lay as many traps as I can, stay out of sight, work from ambush). There's nothing else to do.
Well, there's one more thing to do.
Lars is still awake when I sneak into his room. He's sitting at the window, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the stars and occasionally wiping away tears. My chest feels tight when I look at him. My little brother. I wonder if he knows how much I love him.
"I do," Lars says, and turns around, smiling at me. It's shaky, but it's a smile.
"I said that out loud?" I ask. I know that I did. I don't do anything by accident, and we both know it. Lars doesn't respond, anyway. He just pats the window seat next to him, and I go over and sit there. "So, tomorrow."
"I know," he says. "Tomorrow."
We sit together for a long time, watching the stars move and twinkle. They look so serene up there. It's probably not the last time we'll see them; I don't think either one of us will die on the first day. But it's one of the last.
It doesn't matter how much I plan, how many traps I lay. We haven't trained for this. We're not ready. Lars is only fifteen, and we can't both win. We're not going to make it out of here. We're not both going home. And I don't know if I can face our family if I let him die.
"This is going to kill Mom," Lars says, quietly. He knows this too.
I reach out and take his hand, squeeze it between both of mine. "I love you," I say again. "You will always be my brother."
He smiles at me again. "I love you," he says. "You will always be my sister. And I won't make you kill me."
I close my eyes, shuddering. "I won't make you kill me either."
He nods. "Then that's all there is, isn't it? Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," I echo.
That's all there is.
Hector
It's such a funny feeling, knowing you're going to die.
Because I will. The girl who was chosen as Tribute with me, she's going to kill me. She's said so, repeatedly. They've put her next to me in the ring so she can do it more easily; I can see her less than fifteen feet away, just to my left, as we all rise in the middle of a lake. So I'm going to die, probably right away. Might even get to be the first death in the arena. Hurray.
The weirdest part of all of this is that I don't mind.
She'll be quick, my fellow Tribute. I don't even know her name, but I know that. She's sharp and fast like a trackerjacker on two legs, and she doesn't waste effort. So if I don't put up a fight, it'll be fast and as painless as possible, and then all of this will be over.
Let's be real here. I have no skills. I'm a coal miner, for fuck's sake. All I know how to do is swing a pickaxe and run away from rock falls. Maybe-- maybe-- if I got lucky, I could outrun the other contestants for a little while. But I can't outrun her. I can't outrun the Careers. Sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, and if you ask me? I'd rather sooner. I'd rather not live through any more of the Games than I have to.
I wish I had the courage to just jump off the pedestal right now. It would be easier that way, and quicker. But Mama has always told me that suicide is a sin, and it's not like I'll have to wait much longer. Besides, there's always the chance that the landmines won't kill me right away. I can't imagine a worse fate than bleeding to death, screaming my throat raw, while people die around me.
Well. I can, actually. But that doesn't mean I'll choose that way. Not when I have this girl.
The gong sounds. The girl bursts off her pedestal, and so do the other Tributes. Most of them just run, but the Careers head for the Cornucopia, and so does she. I watch her go. I don't move. There's no point.
She's reached the first of the weapons now. I find I can't look, so I turn my gaze to the sky instead, a bright arc of blue. Heaven is that color, Mama told me, the blue of the sky, of a newborn's eyes. Peace is that color. I used to strain for my first glimpse every morning, coming out of the mine off the night shift. I'd see that blue, and it would be like a blessing. Another day, another chance.
No more chances left. I close my eyes, and wait.
Kevin
The gong sounds. I throw myself off my pedestal, splashing into the water. The girl beside me has made her first mistake; she's jumped in on the wrong side, right next to me. If I have anything to say about it, it will be her last mistake.
She's flailing in the water. Idiot can't swim. I can; I learned in the rapids below the hydro-electric dams. This calm lake can't phase me. I swim over to her.
There's a quick flash of hope in her eyes. She's such an idiot. She thinks I'm there to help her. I smile at her, then put both my hands on her shoulders and shove her under.
She screams, even stupider, because that's all her air gone into the water. She flails and kicks, but I'm used to this. We used to dunk each other in the rapids too. You have to swim out from under it, you can't just struggle and hope you'll get out. Her kicks are growing weaker. She can't seem to connect.
Then she does, landing a sharp one on my knee. It doesn't hurt that badly, but it startles me, and I slip. She ducks out from under me and drags in a single breath of air before I land on her again. This time I throw my whole body on her. She's not getting out again.
She's weak. Her hair is floating around her face and her eyes are wide, terrified. She's clawing at my hands, but nothing's working. The bubbles of her breath flow up around me. She can't get free, and a strange joy is growing in my chest.
When the bubbles stop, I hold her under for a few more moments. Then the cannon goes off and I throw my head back, scream in victory.
I let her body go. She bobs up, her body limp, and I scream again, laughing in her face. Another cannon fires and that's another tribute dead. Twenty-two of us left and I am alive. This little blonde bitch from District 7 can't hurt me.
The bloodbath is well under way at the Cornucopia-- even as I watch another tribute smashes a mace into the face of the boy from District 3, and the cannon goes off again.
Time to get to work. I swim towards the shore.
Omar
I punch a girl away from me, grab a bow and quiver, a sword, and a few knives, and look up. Most of the other tributes have scattered-- I let them go, better to hunt them down later-- but a few of them are still here. The girl from District 12 is fighting the girl from District 3. District 4's tributes are running, but slower; the boy's limping pretty badly. At first I start to go after them, but then I see the little dark boy from District 9. He's twenty feet away from me, his hands on a pack of food, and he's frozen for just a moment.
Then he bolts. He's running away from me, so of course, I chase him.
He's too close to bother with the bow. I'm not as good throwing knives. So I draw the sword and catch up to him, legs pumping. I'll have him soon. I can stab him, or throw him down and cut his throat, or maybe just break his neck; I'm strong enough, I can do that. He's within range. I grin.
Then pain blazes through me, and I turn, outraged.
It's the boy, the Career from District 2, and he's thrown a spear into my back. It's not too bad; the spear's stuck in my muscles, and I can survive it, but how dare he? This is not how being a Career works! We are the last, the final explosive fight. We don't kill each other until then. But he's smiling, dark, and he's running toward me, another spear in his hand.
I wrench a knife loose and throw it, but my aim is off and he dodges it easily. Another knife is in my hand, I throw-- and pain, pain, more pain, shoving through my chest. I look down; the spear point is there, protruding through my stomach. I spin, dizzy.
The boy from District 9 is there, backing away. I grab for him, but the blood loss is making me weak. I fall to my knees. The boy's eyes flick away from me, but I can't see him anymore. My vision is greying over.
It's not fair. I'm a Career. This is not supposed to end this way. I'm supposed to win.
It's not fair.
The world goes black.
Evan
The Career turns away from me, back towards the other one who's running toward him, and I have a decision to make. I can keep running, but my lungs are bursting. Or... or, I can do something about the Career. His back is to me, and he's lifting a knife to throw, and I choose without thinking.
I jump. I throw all my weight on the haft of the spear, driving it through. There's a sick sucking sound and the resistence makes me want to throw up, but it goes through and I fall away and scramble backwards as the Career turns and falls heavily to his knees. He's out and gone, blood spurting, and I look away from him, toward the boy who threw the spear.
He's still coming, and I close my eyes, resigned. I can't run. My legs won't hold me; I can't get up. He's going to kill me. I'm going to die in the bloodbath. At least I made a respectable showing. At least...
But I hear the cannon fire for the dead Career, and I'm not dead or dying, or even injured. I open my eyes.
The Career has reclaimed his spear from the corpse, and slung the bow and arrows over his shoulder. Now he's looking down at me. He looks... he looks impressed. Impressed, and a little amused. "Nice job," he says. "Thanks for the assist."
"You're welcome?" It comes out as a question, and he looks even more amused.
"See you later," he says, and tosses me a salute, before turning and running back toward the Cornucopia, carrying his spears.
I sit in stunned silence for a moment. He spared me. He let me live. We killed a boy together, and he let me live.
Then the cannon fires again. Someone else is dead, and if I don't move it's going to be me. I grab my pack of food and run for it, diving into the forest, dodging among the trees.
He let me live this time, but I know he won't do it again.
Olivia
When the gong strikes, I run.
Two strides and then Jake is with me, running on my other side. He grabs my hand and tugs, and we run until my breath burns in my lungs. But he's more used to running than me, and he drags me along until suddenly he stops.
I bend over, my hands on my knees, and just breathe for a second. Then he says, "Livvy," and I look up.
He's smiling at me from a hollow in the roots of a tree. He's lined it with a square of plastic. It's small, especially for the two of us, but I don't mind. I'd like to be as close to him as possible before we die.
I crawl in after him, and he strips his shirt off and hangs it, camoflauge-side-out, in the hollow's opening. The only light in here is what sneaks in around the shirt's edges, and I can just make out his face. He's still smiling at me, but the edges of his mouth have gone softer. I reach up, cup his cheek, and kiss him.
They can't see us in here. Wherever the cameras are, it's not in here. It's just us, him and me. Yes, I only met him four days ago, and yes, we're supposed to be trying to kill each other. But we both know we're going to die. There's no point fighting. It's not like either of us has anything to go back to, either; my mother's... my mother and my father doesn't love me anymore, and his entire family is dead. So why bother?
We decided, the last night before the Games started, that we'd do this instead. We'd run away together and find a hiding place to just cuddle up together until someone found us and killed us.
He sneaks a hand inside my shirt and cups my breast, and I shiver. He pauses. "Are you... is this okay?"
"It's great," I tell him, and kiss him again.
I don't know how long we have. I don't know what's going to happen. But I do know that I'd rather spend these last few days with him.
Zack
I spend most of my time up trees.
I think most of us are doing that, actually. The entire arena is forested, as far as I know, and why should we not hide there? I like it. Safe, quiet, and I can hunt from the trees, dropping down on the animals when they pass underneath.
I could do that to other tributes, too, I guess. I haven't.
I don't know why. I mean, it's not like I'm morally against killing somebody, especially when it's you or them, and this is like the original you-or-them situation. I'm afraid of it, a little. A lot of the tributes are scary, scary people. And... I dunno, I just don't really want to kill a twelve-year-old. Back home, we always used to hurt for those poor kids. They never won.
But it's not... I dunno. Mostly I guess I'm just a coward.
So when the boy comes running by under my tree, I stay still and hidden. Part of it's cowardice, like I said. Part of it's plain common sense. He's streaking by like something's after him. Half a heartbeat later a spear sprouts from his back and he goes down.
The Career from District 2, the boy, he comes into view a few seconds later. He pulls the spear out of the boy's back, looks down at him for a moment, then stabs the spear into his throat. The boy spasms, then the cannon fires, and I hold my breath, because if the Career looks up, he will see me, and he will kill me.
The Career looks down at the boy's corpse for another moment, then shakes his head and walks away.
I cling to the branches and try to remember how to breathe.
Jake
We were sleeping.
I shouldn't have gone to sleep. I should have kept watch. But I didn't, so I wake up to Olivia's blood on my chest, her eyes wide and panicked. And then she's gone, dragged backwards out of the hollow. I scramble after her, and I get out just in time to see the girl from District 12 put a hatchet through her head.
I scream something, maybe just sound, and lunge at her. She drops Olivia's body and half turns toward me, but I hit her before she can complete the move. She goes down under my weight and I... I don't know what I'm doing. It's not like I have any weapons, just my rage and my grief and my bare hands.
And I just... I was sleeping. I was sleeping when Olivia died, and I was sleeping when my family died. I was sleeping, and I shouldn't have been, and if I'd only been awake maybe they would all still be alive.
I can't beat this girl. She's going to kill me in a second, just as soon as she gets her bearings. But I can mark her. I can leave bruises and I can bite and I can claw long scratches into her skin, so everyone can see what she's done. I can do something for Olivia, even if I can't save her.
The girl twists like a cat under me and throws me off, and I hit the ground hard. My breath whooshes out of me, and I lie stunned, my back cracked over a tree root. The girl gets up and reaches behind her. For a weapon, no doubt. I turn my head so I don't see it coming, and find myself looking into Olivia's eyes.
"Forgive me," I whisper.
I hope she does.
Kayleigh
I'm so hungry, I feel like my insides are collapsing. I haven't eaten since the games began and it's been, it's been three days. I've never not eaten for this long before. I mean, we've gone hungry, and I've gone to bed with my stomach growling, but there's always been some food. A crust of bread, a cup of broth, even some vegetables sneaked from the deliveries for the Peacekeepers. Mom always got something. And now there's nothing.
I huddle in the crotch of a tree, my knees drawn up against my chest. Mom can see me, I remember, and that's the only reason I'm not crying. If I wasn't on camera I'd be bawling. But I don't want Mom to feel bad. Anyway, I know starvation takes weeks to kill you. I've got time, even if it doesn't feel like it. But I want food, I want it bad, I want...
Wait, they can see me. They can hear me. Maybe...
I look up at the sky, and say, "Please." I sniffle a little, and wipe at my cheeks. "Please, I'm so hungry. Please?"
Nothing happens. Well, of course it didn't. It takes time for sponsors to get money to my mentor, and time for my mentor to get food and get it to me. But maybe if I'm pathetic enough someone will feel bad for me and buy me something to eat. Maybe. I stay in the tree, though. I don't know where any of the other tributes are.
I must sleep for a little bit, because I wake up when something hits me in the head. It is... it is a parachute. It's a piece of bread. It's food. It worked.
Before I know it I am sobbing, clutching the bread to my chest, looking up at the sky and saying, "thank you, thank you." I cry so hard the bread tastes salty as I eat it in big gulps, but I can't seem to stop. I can't stop saying thank you, either, at least, not until I cry myself to sleep again.
When I wake, there are two more parachutes. Two more pieces of bread. Food.
I can't believe it worked.
Duncan
Ahava is still with me.
I know how crazy that sounds. She's been dead for two days. But she's still there next to me, every time I turn to talk to her. She's still laughing at me when I trip, and still worried when I wrench my ankle. She can't touch me, so we can't hug for support anymore, but she's still there.
The Capitol, and everyone else watching, must think I'm nuts, because I still talk to her. I don't care. She said we'd stick together through the Games, and we are. She'd never leave me.
We're sitting together on a log now, watching the sunset and eating berries. Well, I'm eating berries. Ahava said she's not hungry.
"They're going to play the anthem soon," I say. "I didn't hear any cannons, did you?"
Ahava shakes her head. "No. But you never know. Maybe you were too busy sleeping."
I sleep during the day. The Careers still alive like to hunt at night. "Yeah, maybe. Doesn't really matter."
"Guess not," she says. "Hey, you know those are poisonous?"
I blink, and look down at the berries I've been eating. "Are they?"
"Yeah," she says. "I would've told you before but I just noticed. Are you feeling okay?"
I think about it. "Yeah," I say. And it's true. My heart's beating faster, and my breath is coming quicker, but I feel okay. Ahava's here. She'll take care of me. We'll stick together no matter what. "Am I going to die?"
She shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe. They're only bad if you eat a lot of them."
"Oh, thanks," I say, as wry as I can manage considering I'm nearly panting now. "I'm pretty sure I ate a lot."
"Oh." Ahava frowns, worried. "I didn't mean to get you killed, Duncan. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I tell her. I want to hug her shoulders, pat her arm, but I can't touch her. Yet. That thought makes me happy. "We stick together, remember? We're sticking together. It's okay."
She smiles at me, but her forehead is still furrowed. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," I say. "Just be sure you hug me after I'm dead."
"I will," she says. "I will. Almost there, Dunc. Not long now."
"I love you, Ahava," I tell her, solemn.
"I love you," she says. "Not long now."
Maya
It hurts, it hurts, oh, it hurts so bad and I can't breathe. Joy keeps putting wet clothes on my forehead but it's not helping, I'm still so hot. She's crying. I wish she wasn't. I wish I could tell her that it's all going to be okay.
Because it will, right? I'll die soon and then all this will be over. And I didn't want to die at first but now I do, because it just hurts, it hurts so much. I just couldn't keep the cuts clean. We had to hide in mud, and then there was all the bad food, and at least we had water, but it didn't really help. I got sick so fast and then it just keeps getting worse and now I can't even get breath to talk.
Joy is singing now, quiet and low. I can't make out all the words, but it sounds like a lullaby. She's singing me to sleep.
I close my eyes and rest my burning forehead against her leg. At least she's here.
I hope she wins.
Ivy
I can't sleep.
I mean, I haven't slept well since the second day, since the girl from District 2 killed my brother. That first night we switched off watches, but since then I've climbed a tree and dozed fitfully, every nerve on alert. Only part of that is fear. The rest... I dream about Aaron.
It's not all bad dreams. Sometimes it's just us, before this. We used to play games, run around together and dodge among the sheep. Never the goats, because they were ornery little bastards, but even with them we could make a game of it. How many times we could milk the goats without getting bitten, that sort of thing. And then when Summer came along we'd try to teach her things. How to smile, how to clap, how to walk, wobbly on her little fat legs. I'm glad Mom and Dad have her.
Tonight I'm looking up at the stars, thinking about the tributes who died today. The little twelve-year-old from District 5 died today. So did the boy from District 11, the one who was so close to his fellow tribute. Close as siblings, they said in their interviews. She died on the fourth day. I'm kind of surprised he lasted so long.
It was only those two projected today, but I heard a cannon a little while ago. God only knows who that was. I can't really remember who's alive and who's dead-- except Aaron, God, I can't forget Aaron. The cute blonde girl from District 1, she might be alive. Joy, I think her name was. The brother and sister from District 3, they're definitely still around. I saw them a few hours ago as they tried to find shelter, him limping. I think he broke his ankle the first day. He's another one I'm surprised lasted so long, but I guess his sister is looking out for him. Like Aaron was looking out for me.
Aaron. The bitch who killed him is still out there too. I've been watching for her face. I'm not sure if I'm glad or sorry that I haven't seen it.
My hands tighten on the hatchet I found in somebody's empty camp. I just got it today. Tomorrow I go looking for that bitch, and if I find her, I do my best to kill her, because she killed my brother, and I can't let that go. I mean, I probably won't survive it, but he's my brother. My brother.
I think Mom would be proud of me, if she knew what I was thinking. But I hope she doesn't.
Felipe
On the morning of the Feast, I kill a beautiful boy.
He's not the first I've killed in these Games, and it isn't as if I feel particularly bad about it. I've trained all my life for this, trained and planned and waited until it was finally, finally my turn to volunteer. This is my job. When I win, my family can stop working in the quarries. I can have a peaceful life, left alone in my new big house, plenty of food and comfort. I just have to kill a few people to do that.
And I've done that. The Career boy from District 1, easier than I thought. The boy from District 5, smug jackass that he was. And now this boy, from District 6, with his bright blond hair. I don't know how he's survived so long; the sun must have picked him out every morning and kept a spotlight on him all day.
So he's smart, and fast. He has to be, to have lived seven days. I remember seeing him in the three days before the games, intent on speed and survival. I remember thinking he was beautiful, and sort of hoping someone else would kill him. No one did, though, and I can't afford sentiment. So I kill him. I try to make it fast, anyway; a spear through the heart. He goes down fast.
We're down to four now, and I'm the only Career left. Me, the vicious girl from District 12, and the brother and sister from District 3. They're exceptional, I think. The boy is disabled and shouldn't have lived, but he and his sister are in the final four. I'm impressed as hell. It won't be easy. But I'll make it quick for them too, if I can.
I leave the beautiful boy behind, but before I go, I turn him face up and cross his arms over his chest. He deserves that.
Vanessa
The Gamemakers set the arena on fire the morning of our tenth day here. Good. I've been waiting too long. Two days with nothing happening. Two fucking days, no sign of any of the other tributes: not the Career I know is hunting me, not the girl from District 3 and her useless brother. He'll be easy. The other two... will be harder, especially that girl. She's got more willpower than I think anyone expected, certainly more than I expected. Too damn stubborn to die.
Until I get to her, anyway.
I go down to the Cornucopia like the Gamemakers so obviously want me to. No need to smoke me out. There's no sign of the Career-- he must have been that cannon shot I heard earlier-- but I see the girl and her brother hiding in the Cornucopia. They haven't seen me yet. I smile, but I do wish I had a distance weapon. No matter.
That damn girl, though, she has sharp ears, because before I can get close enough, she snaps around and her eyes meet mine. I don't hear what she says to her brother, but he ducks back into the Cornucopia and she... well, she runs right at me, and she has a net and a machete.
I wouldn't worry, but who knows what the District 3 people can do with a net? I make sure I have knives accessible, then run to meet her. Why draw this out?
Turns out I was right to worry about the net, because she's weighted it somehow, and when she throws it, it tangles up my legs. I don't have time to cut it, either, because she's on me: must have jumped.
Stupid of her. She needs room to use the machete. I don't.
The knife goes in her belly, smooth as silk. Another stab glances off her ribs. Damn. Could've been a quick kill.
She stumbles back, blood already spurting from her belly. The boy screams. His turn. I heft my knife and start toward him.
It's the last thing I remember.
Michael
"I'm so sorry about your sister," Caesar Flickerman says. He even seems sincere. "She must have loved you very much."
I stare out toward the audience. They must be out there-- I can hear them making noise-- but the lights blind me. Good. I like it that way. "She did," I say. My voice sounds distant. "We were all each other had."
"Oh?" That's the tone he uses when he's lifted an eyebrow. It's sad that I know that. "I thought your mother was still alive?"
I shrug. She is, but we weren't really on good terms with her. Dad's still around somewhere too, fuck him very much. I'm sure he'll pop up when I get home, wanting a handout. Well, he can just go fuck himself.
Caesar must realize that this line of questioning isn't going to get him anywhere, because he steeples his fingers in front of his face and leans forward. "You wouldn't let go of her, at the end."
"She died in my arms." My voice is distant again. It's all I can think about, though: Danny, dying, bleeding out her life in the dust. For me. Maybe she would have lived, if she hadn't made that last lunge, cutting off the last girl's head. She tore something inside her, then. I was moving toward her as fast as I could hobble, and I still almost didn't make it.
"She said something to you," Caesar says. "Can we ask what that was?"
If I had been anything other than numb, I would have screamed at him then. How dare he? How dare they? What makes them think my sister's last words are anything for them? But I can't feel much now, and anyway, I knew this might be coming. I had enough time to come up with an answer.
"She said..." I stop, and put my hand over my eyes. They probably think I'm crying. "She said she was proud of me, and she loved me." She did. She did say that, all the time. Oh, Danny.
The audience sighs. Caesar pats my arm. I have the sudden urge to punch him.
There's more after that. What I'm going to do with my winnings, how I feel being the only Victor in living memory to not kill anyone. I don't much remember my answers. It's not like they matter much.
Then the president comes out, presents me to the crowds, and sets a crown on my head. I smile mechanically out into the lights, and think about Danny's real last words.
Take them down.
I will, Danny. For you, I will.