Shadow Skye, District 2

"The Girl With The Black Ribbon"

I can hardly recall what happens from the moment Jem finds me, to the point where I end up here. All I know I know is that I'm here and that I'm alive. Jem died just seconds after he found me. I don't know by who or how, but I got out of there by doing what I do best – run. I found a room further down the hall and closed the door. When I turned around, the environment around me suddenly changed completely. I don't know how it did because what I'm seeing around me now is nothing like the rest of the theatre.

I recognize the descriptions of some sort of war-zone, but with a sense that a war has been lost or something. I don't know. It's all black and white, even I am when I look down on myself. I see small pits of fires and smoke dominating the air above me. When I look up, it almost seems as though it's just the smoke, but it's actually clouds and I see white flakes fall down and land on my hand when I put it out.

What is this? Where am I? What is the Gamemaker up to now? I don't know what to make of the sudden environment that's surrounding me. Faintly, in the distance, I hear the sound of drums. I don't know why, but for some reason they intimidate me. I don't know what they mean or why they're even here, but they are coming closer.

"I should never have come back for you..." I suddenly hear to my right as I turn around. J-Jem? H-He died! I mean, I don't know how or by who, but it happened! I saw it right in front of my naked eyes. I heard the cannon. H-How is he standing in front of me like this, covered in his own blood? "You were cowering away in that room, waiting for some of us to come and find you, and I did because we were partners. That meant me having your back and you having mine. Seconds later I get killed...I should never have gone back to find you..." He goes on.

I sense this lump in my throat as I struggle against the tears. He's right. It was my fault. The guilt is hitting me out of nowhere like the drumsticks hitting those drums that keep coming closer in the background. "You're a coward. It says in your name...Shadow. You hide in the shadows instead of just facing things and dangers straight on. Sure, that's how I got killed, but if you hadn't been a coward in the firstplace, I wouldn't have had to..."

My heart is pounding in my chest. I can see he's fueled with anger and that's not good when I know that he is...was probably the strongest tribute of all of us. He's ripped in muscles and he's much, much taller than me. I don't stand a chance physically. He's going to attack me at some point and by then I won't stand a chance. "I-I never a-asked y-you to..." I barely manage to let out. He doesn't respond. He's already on the move to get to me. Without even noticing, he's been taking small steps towards me and by the time he started to make his intentions brutally clear, I have no chance to shoot him with my arrows.

He places his fists around my throat. I hold onto his arms as he lifts me up from the ground and I'm struggling to keep breathing. I feel the strain on my neck and I start to feel like this isn't going to last for long. "That's bullshit and you know it..." Jem answers as he squeezes even tighter. I barely look down to see the anger fill his eyes. I'm suffocating. Each breath I get from here on is a gift. I feel like my eyes are rolling to the back of my skull after my vision has turned blurrier and blurrier.

Something weird suddenly happens. Jem's continuous insults against me disappear in some sort of haze and so does the approaching sound of the drums. Instead, as my eyes roll backwards, I hear my heartbeat, still going steady and strong despite of everything that's going on. As much as it calms me down somewhat, it gives me the chance to wonder what I have left to fight for? What is keeping me from giving up right here, right now? I'm in an impossible position after all.

That's when the sound of a barking dog enters my head. A memory flashes before me and the image of Silver appears. I would've recognized him by the bark, but now I see him sitting there, waiting for me. He's at his usual spot, next to where I would usually stand and practice on the bow. He's waiting for me to come and shoot so he can go and bring the arrows back to me. Back to me. If I give up, there will be no one. He'll just sit there until I come back...and if I give up, I won't.

It doesn't matter that I don't have a proper family to come back to. It doesn't even matter that it isn't a person waiting for me. Silver is a living being with a heartbeat and loyalty to me. He's expecting me to come back. He'll be mad at me if I don't. I focus back on my heartbeat, still steady and strong as I start swinging my feet, hoping to hit Jem somewhere or just loosen his grip around my throat. For a little while, nothing changes and I'm starting to lose hope, but suddenly I hit him in the groin and he immediately stumbles backwards, forcing him to let me go.

I heave for my breath as land on the ground and reach for the bow lying right next to my feet. Jem is standing a few meters in front of me as I grab an arrow and place it on the string, aiming at him. The arrow is banging against the bow-frame as I still fight to regain my breath. The sound of the marching drums are much, much closer than I remembered, but I keep my focus on Jem. He's the real threat at this moment. "I d-don't want t-to kill you..." I let out.

He looks at me for a moment. He's hardly ever heard my voice in these Games. He looks a little bit surprised that I actually had one, but he immediately snorts at me. "Sure you do, Shadow. You're a career...aren't you?" He asks. He takes a step closer to me, but that's all he gets before I release the arrow. It hits him with such a force that it goes straight through his chest. When he collapses, I see the bloody tip of the arrow come out of his back.

I swallow hard as his last words come back like an echo. "You're a career...aren't you?" That's what the people on the outside see – Shadow Skye, a career from 2. If I was to go out publicly and say I'm nothing more than a girl whose best friend is a wolf, I'd be a disgrace to the district. They'd think me too...soft. No, I wouldn't want to do that now, would I? I'm not a killer. I mean they force and want me to be, but I don't want to be. They seem to get their way with what I'm doing in these Games though. I am a killer...but at the same time, I'm not.

The sound of drums that have dominated this scenery are right nearby. Even struggling to get out of Jem's grip, I somehow heard the beat of the drums through my heartbeat. I turn around because now I can actually afford to. I'm almost overwhelmed by the spectacle that is heading my way. I'm about to grab arrow, but I'm too stunned to even move. It's a parade...a black parade. There's a marching band in the front, with a big rolling stage following them. I move out of the way, as they march by me.

Almost out of nowhere, a man approaches me. He's wearing the same black marching-band-uniform as the rest of the drummers. I see that he's holding a black ribbon in his hand. Without warning, he grabs a piece of my uniform and I'm almost grabbing an arrow to stab him when he grabs my hand. "As a sign of your bravery...a sign of your strength..." He says before he simply walks past me and everything around me turns to dust. The scenery that I have now grown used to disappear and I'm back to being surrounded by lights, cameras and musical instruments...

What was all of that? Was any of that even real? Jem rising from the dead, the drums, the black ribbon... When I look around me, I see that at least Jem rising from the dead was. A drumstick falls to the ground by the drums, as if somebody's just recently left it. I'm guessing that was real too. That's when I look to my uniform to find the black ribbon.

I touch it, observe it for a moment as I get to wondering what it's all about. It almost feel like an award of some sort. Except, when I think about awards, I would think it to be shinier. So what does it mean that it is in fact black? "As a sign of your bravery...a sign of your strength." So it's a recognition then... a recognition of what?

Before I get to dwell on it further, I hear commotion nearby. Luckily I'm close enough to one of the light switches and I turn it partly off. I find a decent spot behind some instruments further inside the room as I see Nevia and Mye enter the room. Oh God, they're two! They are two and I am one. My breath is growing shorter, I'm cold-sweating. I can feel how my grip around the bow is slippery because of my sweaty hands. I swallow hard before I see that they're separating, walking in opposite directions of each other to explore the room.

I silently grab an arrow as I see Mye is coming my way. I'm sitting down on one knee as he comes directly towards me. This has to work. If it doesn't, I'm dead. He's almost right in front of me when I pull the arrow backwards. I take a deep breath. He barely sees me before I release the arrow, going slightly upwards. It hits him just underneath his jaw and penetrates his skull as the tip of the arrow comes out on the top of his head. He collapses right in front of me and just by the sight of him, my entire body is about to shut down. "Mye!"

I want to throw up. Mye's dead eyes are staring at me and it's uncomfortable to the point where I just want to throw up. I manage to force it all down, if only for a moment. Nevia has managed to find the light switch and can now see me clearly. I grab another arrow and before she's even halfway, I fire an arrow and hit her in the chest. She falls down, her dead eyes just staring into nothing. They are all dead: Jem, Nevia, Mye...all dead, all their eyes open...

...I can't take it. I need to get out of here. I need to be alone. This is too much, just far too much. I'm not a killer. I don't intend to be. I never try to be. They have made me one. I'm just a girl – a girl with the black ribbon, the symbol of the battles she's been forced to fight...

Addison Cartex, District 4

The blood dripped from the mouth of a once-beautiful girl. Her hair which had once been lucious and gorgeous, now hung limp and unwashed. Her once porcelain skin was now rotten and drenched in blood. She turned to stare at me, her eyes full of malice, and her mouth full of blood. Blood from the heart of Mye she just ripped out.

She stood up, leaving the carcass on the ground, and stared deep into my eyes.

"You're next. You're going to wish that I killed you on the first day in the arena." but it's not Pierce's voice that comes out, instead, it's a deep growl.

Then, she slowly backed out of the light, and into the darkness.

"Addison! Are you okay?" I open my eyes to see Tailor shaking me awake, and everyone else looking at me, annoyed that I had woken them.

"Ya, I just can't get Pierce out of my mind." I wipe the tears running down my cheeks, and pull my knee close to my chest, as if hugging it will make my nightmare go away. "I know she's coming. I don't know how I know, but something bad is going to happen."

"Addison, this is the third time you've woken us up in the night since we found you again. This needs to stop."

You're darn straight this needs to stop! Pierce needs to stop attacking my dreams! I hate how she's hiding in the darkness of my dreams- the place I'm most venerable. I hate how she's hiding just out of sight, right where I can't see her.

We all sit in an awkward silence, because no one can seem to get to sleep again after my screams.

Our silence doesn't last long.

"Got a secret, can you keep it? Swear this one you'll save."

A haunting melody harmonizes with a creepy laugh. A chill runs up the back of my spine.

"She's here."

"She's dead, dumbass."

"Than how do you explain that?"

"Better lock it,"

Everyone stares at each other in horror.

"In your pocket."

Everything is happening too soon. When I said that I wanted her to face me for real, I didn't mean now. I'm not strong enough to take on a freaking zombie-girl from District 1.

"Taking this one to the grave."

As her haunting melody finishes, her laughs echo once more. The more she laughs, the more dread starts to fill my stomach.

Suddenly, Pierce appears on stage, surrounded by a cloud of black smoke. In her hands is a dead body. Fleur's.

"Hello, careers. It's ever so nice to see you again." Her caustic tone is dripping with acid, causing yet another chill to run up my spine.

"We need to get out of here, now." I try to yell, but Pierce disappears before I have the chance. She backs off into the darkness of the wings, just out of sight.

We don't waste anytime is getting away from the stage. Hearts pounding, we run off into the corridors, hopefully in the opposite direction.

But, no matter how far we run, the lilting tune of Pierce's melody follows us. Every turn is a new chance to run into Pierce. Every spot of light is a safe haven.

The farther we go, the less I think I need to run. I realize that there is nothing Pierce's dead body can take away from me that hasn't already been taken away from me. I'm already bent so far out of shape, that I'm practically already broken.

The only thing left to do, is to fight for my right to stay; I need to fight Pierce.

"I'm going back."

Tailor's head whips around to look at me, "What? After the nightmare about her you just had? After you just saw her carrying the dead body of the Capitol girl?"

And although she tries to hide it, I still catch her glancing uncertainly at my leg.

"It's okay, I can handle this. I need to handle this."

Despite her protests, Tailor and I leave the rest of the group and hobble back to the stage, still followed by Pierce's laughs.

During the walk over, I slowly gain back my shattered confidence. Now, each turn no longer seems like death, and the light patches are bigger.

One thing, I've realized, is that I'm no longer afraid of dying.

By the time we reach the stage, I know that somehow I'm stronger than I was just thirty minutes ago. Just before I turn the last corner, I grab a stake of wood to use as a weapon. The stage is set perfectly. Just like in my dream, Pierce stands over Mye's body, beating heart in hand. Also, just like my dream, her hair is matted with blood, and a large puddle of blood has seeped deep into the polished wood.

However, unlike my dream, Pierce's voice is smooth and silky rather than hoarse.

"I see you've come to face me, Addison."

I ignore her mocking tone, and limp over to face her.

"And weaponless, too. I guess you aren't just handicapped, Addison. You're an idiot too."

I smile sweetly, "At least I'm alive."

Then, I drive the stake into Pierce's leg. Although I missed my intended target by miles, the heart, Pierce is still injured.

Now, the sound of her once lingering laughter is replaced by her screams. I remove the stake, And stab it into her heart. I will not let her kill anyone else, and I sure as hell won't let her kill me.

"I've got a secret for you, Pierce. Never, ever, mess with a physically handicapped girl. Chances are, she's a lot stronger and smarter than you think she is."

I defeated my inner fears, and now I've defeated my outer fears.

Now, I'm unbreakable.

Nevia Saille, District 6

She could not sleep in this madness.
Death surrounded them. Bodies littered the floor; their solemn faces caked in grime and blood. Nevia's eyes were open, unflinching at the bright luminescent lights. She would not sleep tonight.
It was clearly not a bright idea to wander off in such circumstances, but Nevia no longer cared. She was blank now, an emotionless robot who remembered nothing about her life before. A vibrant bird, dulled by the cage it was encased in.
Technick and Mye could do without her. In fact, they would be much better off if she died.
Nevia looked down upon their sleeping bodies and wondered, not for the first time, if they would miss her when she was gone. They had known each other for only a few days, but Nevia felt a close bond with the two of them. In under seventy-two hours they had been through more together than anyone Nevia had ever met.
And eventually they would all be dead.
Technick was bright for someone of such a young age, it was no surprise he had made it this far. But it was far-fetched to think he would survive this place.
And Mye, he was another story. Only fifteen, shy, timid, and happy; when Nevia watched his District's reaping she doubted that this poor kid would live too long.
Nevia wished they could both win. She wished with all her heart that these two innocent kids would make it out alive. But she knew, deep inside of her, that was not possible.
And she had all this power in her hands. She could kill both these kids right now. They would not have to endure this hell anymore. They would be happy.
No matter how Nevia thought about it, she could not kill them. They had not come this far to stop at a dead end. At least maybe, just maybe, one might survive.
"I'm so sorry," Nevia whispered, closing her eyes, "I can't do it. I'm not worth this. But you are."
So Nevia slunk away to the hallway nearby, a nice dark place for her to think. a nice place for her to cry.
There couldn't be many tributes left. Half, at the most. At least six had died in the Bloodbath, one at the hands of Nevia herself.
The memory came back to her with ease, how her perfectly sculptured instrument had slid through the boy's head with ease. Nevia's eyes fluttered closed, longing for sleep, but the sound of clapping awoke her from trance.
Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide with panic, and she stood, weaponless, facing the dark figure.
"Ooh, look who we've got here!" The voice sounded oddly eager. And...familiar. "Aren't you the little lady that tried to murder me just a little while ago?"
Her mind flashed back to the boy she had stabbed, and a sudden pain in her thumb reminded her of the sickening crack as she had been pushed to the floor. Stomach curling, she straightened her back and tried to look menacing. Jem simply laughed. "How adorable," he said, "you think you scare me?"
The lights flickered on for a moment, and Nevia saw a flash of the boy, a gaping black hole where his eye used to be.
"Hey, think about it this way," he said, and Nevia could almost feel him grin. "We'll be almost famous, now. Nevia Saille and Jem Darling. The girl who killed and the boy who died, reunited once again. Won't this be the highlight of the show?" Another laugh echoed off the walls of the hallway.
"Yeah," Nevia replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. "But it's a shame that we can only be famous for so long. Once the world forgets about us, we'll be left behind. Everyone here will. We've both got some almost-famous friends, right? They'll be forgotten by next week."
"It's disappointing to think about, hm?" Jem asked, seeming amused. "Holding the spotlight for a few days, and then, gone." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. The kids from the Bloodbath don't matter anymore. The people favour the living over the dead. And once I kill you, that's one more abandoned kid."
Nevia knew if she even had a chance at winning this battle, she had to turn on the lights at the other end, where Jem stood. She couldn't see anything asides from the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. She stepped forward as a test, and in return Jem came even closer to her.
"Recklessness gets you nowhere, Nevia," He whispered, sending a chill down her spine. "Don't get too reckless."
"You think I'm weak, don't you?" Nevia narrowed her eyes. "You think that I can't beat you."
"A fact differentiates from a thought, and it is not a thought that you're about to die." He replied, without skipping a beat.
"If that were true, I wouldn't have already murdered you once. I could easily do it again." The words were more of a red herring than anything.
"What a wonderful surprise! You try to be strong, act like you can beat me again. This is like a Christmas present!" Jem clapped his hands in excitement.
"There's more surprises yet to come," Nevia said smoothly, her mind racing. It was either kill or be killed, now.
"Enough with the chit-chat," Jem said. "Let's get a move on, shall we?"
"If you insist." Nevia's heart raced. She had no plan, no weapon. The only option she had was to run. "But I warn you, your feet will ache after this dance."
Running in the opposite direction, her feet stepping silently and swiftly across the carpet floor, Nevia prayed to every god she could think of that Jem might get distracted by another tribute. With that thought, her heart skipped a beat. Mye and Technick were out there, completely vunerable and immune to any dangers. She should have never left them alone. You idiot!
The doorway came closer every second, and hope sparked in Nevia's chest. Maybe she would make it out of this alive.
But Jem was much faster than her, to her disappointment. He snatched the back of her ahirt, sending her flying backwards and colliding with him. The pair crashed to the ground and Nevia cried out as a burst of pain went through her already-broken thumb.
"It appears I'm having a bit of déjà vu," Jem said, unfazed by the fall. He easily clambered back onto his feet, dusting off his pants. "Except this time, I'll win the battle."
His foot came up, ready to crash down on her neck, but it never came back down. The boy let out a cry and stepped backwards, giving Nevia just enough time to get up and see what was happening.
She stumbled to her feet in time to see two dark silhouettes, lit only by the dim lights of the halls outside. They appeared to be fighting, and Nevia couldn't help but to grin. Her one chance to escape was finally here.
She darted out of the hall and paused for a moment, glancing down the hall towards where her allies' sleeping bodies lay in the distance. It wasn't a smart idea to run over there and risk their lives. Instead she ran in the other direction, towards the stage, where the bloodbath had taken place.
The first thing she came across was the body of a pretty girl, still holding a set of cymbals. Dried blood clung to her neck, which looked almost squished. The memory of seeing the girl in training made her wince. Shadow Skye had been one of the best contenders for this year's Games.
She halted at the sound of footsteps. Whipping her head around, she saw the two boys, Jem running towards her with the other boy hot on his heels. Thinking fast, Nevia snatched up the pair of cymbals just as the three collided like Jem and her had done a few minutes earlier. Swiftly, she located the head of one of them and slammed the cymbals against it. Hearing an almost-satisfying crack and a short scream, she grinned, praying that it had been Jem.
But luck was not on her side. Jem rose to his feet, grinning still. His eyes glittered with malice.
"Look what it's come down to. One versus one. It's a pity that this will be an unfair fight. You were never good enough, now, were you?"
Nevia ignored the harsh words. It was no time to get hurt feelings. Rather, she ran the opposite way, praying that some interference would happen again. But she knew that was impossible.
And then she heard a thump, like a heavy footstep. She turned to see Jem lying on the floor only a couple feet behind her. The fool had tripped on the carpet!
As quick as a mouse, Nevia lunged for him, her cymbals ready to smash. Fortunately, she overestimated her jump, landing almost directly on Jem's neck. Red blood squirted out of him and she heard a sickening squish.
She almost felt pity for him, but immediately stopped herself. She had almost been killed at the hands of this boy more than once.
And as she walked down the hall, she couldn't help but to think of Jem's final words to her. He had been right. She was never good enough.

Tailor Bobbin, District 8

It was hard for me to stay calm after that, to stay quiet. The alliance seemed like it was falling apart, especially after Jem's death, and I couldn't take it in the silence of the night.

I woke at midnight, expecting to see someone sitting at the door with keen eyes waiting for a kill, but the watch system had collapsed. No one wanted to be the next to die.

Getting back to sleep was out of the question with the destructive thoughts crawling through my mind, whispering what my double had said to me in that locked room, what seeing Ric had made me feel, what had been running through my head infinitely in the past year.

It wasn't my fault, but not according to the voices in my mind.

I stood and grabbed a weapon, although it seemed unfamiliar until I realized it was Addison's guitar crutch. I dropped it in favor of my bow and crept out the door, shutting it as silently as possible behind me. There was no need to worry anyone else.

It felt like most of the arena had been night for me - there wasn't much to do when everyone was happy in the daytime. At night, though, the shadows came crawling in.

The area backstage was hard to see in through the darkness, especially because I turned into a hallway I'd never seen before in the web of corridors. Exploring seemed dangerous, but I was sick of waiting around for the other tributes to find me and the alliance. It was time to do some real work.

I got lost quickly enough, confused by the identical looking hallways and rows upon rows of feathery clothing and masks that were terrifying to see in the dark hallway. The only light seemed to be seeping out of the cracks underneath locked doors, barely lighting the way through the maze.

I was never going to find anyone else, let alone my way back to the alliance. What had I gotten myself into?

Someone must have been busy while I slept, though, as there were two bodies that I almost stumbled over trying to find my way out. They only strengthened my fear.
My mother's words from when I was younger echoed in my brain - hug a building, and wait in front of it until I find you. There weren't any buildings here, though, and no one was coming to find me any time soon. The only way out was back, but I had no idea which turns I'd taken.

For a few minutes, I turned in place, eyes seeking out the tiny stretches of light that might have helped me find a way back, until I didn't even know which way I'd just come from. I thought all was lost, until I heard the footsteps.

I turned, bow at the ready, to see a familiar figure approaching me, the closest thing I had to a friend in the arena.

"Jem!" I exclaimed, almost rushing to him, before my brain reconnected. "Jem?"

He didn't answer, but the strange stare that my dead ally wore was enough to tell me the truth.

Another Gamemaker trick, and another Gamemaker win. I'd barely survived the last few visions.

For a second I wondered if that was all it was - visions. Ric hadn't been real, but my double had had firm hands that left a stinging red mark on my cheek and thumbprints around my neck - she was real enough.

And so was Jem, as he reached towards me. I barely ducked his surprisingly violent hands. "Jem, it's me. Tailor. I'm your ally."

"You let me die," he mumbled. "I hope you're happy, Tailor, because now I'm going to let you die."

"Jem!" I cried, dodging him again. He was surprisingly agile for a dead person - the one I'd seen had been stiff and unmoving, even when I leaned over the coffin lid to kiss him (His lips are cold and his eyes are closed and the tears running down my face don't even thaw out his frozen face - he just keeps smiling, the wound on his chest covered by a bouquet of flowers that remind me of the ones he used to send me).

He didn't seem to hear me, except to mumble again. "I hope you're happy Tailor, though I can't imagine how you will be when you're dead."

"Stop!" I pleaded, jabbing the bow at him. "I'm not happy! Stay calm, please!"

The Capitol was too smart to let their corpses listen to reasoning. "Tailor," he sighed, "you've ruined your chances already, by letting me be killed."

"Jem, please! It happened in the dead of night, I didn't know!"

"Quiet," he growled, and aimed at me again, arms flailing as he reached for me and I wove in and out of his arms, pleading with him all the while.

"Jem, I'm not the type of person who'd let someone die! I haven't changed, either - I'm not going to let the Capitol make me that person! Just, please, let me go!"
"Too late for that."

I stumbled backwards to avoid a punch and Jem yanked my bow from my hands, aiming the pointed end at me with malice running through his eyes.

"You think you're pretty smart, don't you? To have gotten further than the boy from One, further than your little boyfriend did-"

"Stop!"

"- but you won't even get as far as the cripple."

"Stop!" I cried again, louder. "Don't talk about her that way, and don't you dare mention Ric!" I grabbed the bow and tussled with him for a second, tugging the thin instrument away from him with strength I didn't know I had. "I'm done being the girlfriend of the dead boy."

Jem took a step backwards. "Tailor-"

"You're dead, Jem! Just like Ric! I can't bring either of you back, and neither can the Capitol. You're just a shadow of who you were before, you're not even acting the same!"

"Neither are you. You're brave, Tailor. Not brave enough, though." His words were soft, but still full of hatred, though I couldn't even tell what for. "You won't make it to the end, Tailor. You think you can fly high, but you'll just get brought down harshly. Come with me now, let me take you now, and you won't have to fall."

"I won't fall. You can't make me fall."

"Please, Tailor. Think of who you're missing up there. Otto says he's proud of you - he didn't think you'd make it past the bloodbath. And I met him. Ric. He misses you more than the world. Think of what you two could do up there. Together."

The enticing tone made me feel like a kitten that he's trying to get to milk, and I took a step forwards, entranced by his description. "There's an afterlife?"

"The best there is. Come with me, and you'll be unlimited."

I almost reached out, almost took his offered hand, but the cold stare made me stop.

"No." I stepped back, the look of shock on Jem's face mirroring what must have been on the Gamemakers. "You can't draw me in like this. I'm sorry, Jem."

I stabbed him with the cello bow, surprised when there's not any blood before I realized that he's dead, stiff, cold. Just like Ric, no doubt.

The Capitol could tell me whatever lies they want. I wasn't about to be sucked into them anymore. I was more than a pawn in their games, more than a lovestruck Juliet waiting for her Romeo. The Capitol would never be as strong as me, and someday, maybe, I'd be able to show them.

For the moment, all I could do was wait for them to find me, wait for whatever repercussions were coming my way. Whatever they threw at me, though, it would never bring me down.

Phoenix Miller, District 10

***Did Not Hand In***

Dilen Adwynce, District 13

Dear friend,

As a child you would wait and watch from far awayBut you always knew that you'd be the one that work while they all play.

She was breathing. It was quite a shocker to find herself still able to function. She had thought that was the end of her. She had almost wanted it to be. Now she was back in this situation, back in the mess of killing. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be out, on the sidelines, watching instead of being in the Games. This was no longer the place for her. This was for the old her. The hardened her. Now she felt like a kid again, the kid constantly hurt, who didn't fight back for such a long time.Somehow I'm still alive. I don't know how, but I escaped my clone, the reminder of myself- I'm in the clear.

I wander through the hallways yet again now, moving so quietly, around corners I peer.

In youth, you'd lay awake at night and scheme

Of all the things that you would change

She was tired. She was tired of fighting, tired of survival. She didn't know who she was anymore. If he had still been alive, she wouldn't have been this way. She didn't like herself. When he was around, she had strength. She was running now, alone, away from everyone. Too cowardly to face the others. No longer did she calculate, no longer was she a cold killer. She hated emotions. She hated loneliness. He was gone and she wasn't the same. She wasn't who she wanted to be. She was scared, scared of everything. The past, of her parents and the sister who haunted her dreams lately. The present, of the tributes and the Gamemakers who attacked her with her nightmares. The future, of the death that awaited her with pain, excruciating pain. She was frightened of it all. How terrible this had become. At every sound, I jump, startled; paranoid with every noise I hear.

I see a movement in the shadows- if you weren't dead, I'd say it was you- how queer.

But it was just a dream.

Here we are, don't turn away now.

How different she wished things were. If she had perished to her clone, maybe she wouldn't have suffered too much and she wouldn't have to live like this. Maybe if she had saved her ally, like she had been supposed to-after all, what are allies for?- she wouldn't be this way. Maybe if she hadn't been chosen for the Games her life would have turned out better. Maybe if she had never had such a crap life, none of this wouldn't have happened. God, how she wished she hadn't had such a crap life.And suddenly, you're standing in front of me. I'm hallucinating, I must be, because you can't be here.It's not you, it can't be- not with the cold in your icy blue eyes, not with the mean, confident sneer.

We are the warriors that built this town.

Here we are, don't turn away now.

She had gone insane. She had to have gone insane, because he had perished long ago. He was definitely dead. She was seeing things. He was fake, unreal. A vision the Captiol had placed in front of her to make her go out of her mind. There was no way. And as she studied him further, comparing his features to that of the ally she knew, she became more and more sure the boy in front of her was purely an illusion. But he seemed so real that she wasn't completely sure that she had been mistaken all along, that the boy had somehow survived after she had run away, even though it was impossible. She had no idea what inspired such an odd urge. What compelled her to step forward, towards him, reach out and touch him. Was it to make sure he was actually there? To convince herself she wasn't seeing things, wasn't completely non compos mentis? She reached out, hopeful, in a way, that maybe there was still some of her friend in there. He was cold, and a cold slap followed.

And with that look on your face, I know this isn't right. You- but not you- fill me with fear.You hit me, like my father, one fist a punch, the other a beer.

We are the warriors that built this town from dust.

Will come, when you'll have to rise

He was an enemy. He had to be, making her kill her ally was perfect. It would make her unstable, susceptible to emotions that would get in the way of defending herself, lead to her in tears on the ground as an imitation of the one person she had ever had a connection with stab her, and that was what everyone wanted, wasn't it?

I hate that the action reminds me of him; you're the last people I want connected, yet I'm half-expecting to see, on your face, his leer.

I don't anticipate the punch, so I don't dodge it; I gape at you in shock. You aim again, for my stomach, and to my left I veer.

Above the best, improve yourself

Your spirit never dies

Her friend of the past would never leave her. His memory would live on, the first encounters positive, but everything after terrible. No longer would she call him her ally, her teammate. Not after this. The Gamemakers had ruined everything by doing this, killed any humane relationship she had ever had. She would never again experience anything but cruelty. She didn't want to fight back. Her ally was angry, and rightfully so. She had run. He had died. How she wished she could have reversed their positions. The world was better off without her, she just hadn't quite been able to accept it until now. Everyone had figured it out before her. She had been told so by her mother, one of the clearest memories she had of the woman. The disgusted glance, narrowed eyebrows, slurred words as the empty bottle crashed down upon her head, "You goddamn pain in the ass! Our lives'd be easier if you didn't exist.".

You miss, and out of instinct, I punch you, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sure the Capitol just let out a cheer.

I draw my hand back, horrified to see, on my hand, a red smear.

Farewell, I've gone, to take my throne above

Don't weep for me cause this will be

Memories come flooding back, overwhelming her with the faces of her parents. Her father, the cane and the cocaine. Him sniffing, her sniffling. He wanted the drug, she wanted a hug, the hug that should be exchanged between all parents and their children. Instead of what she craved, love, she got nothing from her father but a shove. Never was there any "I'm proud of you" when she brought back a hundred percent, she was only cowed into silence as hurtful words lashed from the mouth of the man she had tried so desperately to extract warmth from. How she hated him for never supplying fondness. How she loathed him for treating her like the plague.

You're angry now, and I retreat. You run to knock me to the ground, but I leap away, agile as a deer.Why, friend, why? But it's not your fault, you're dead. It's the Gamemakers, enjoying themselves as down my face drips a tear.

The labor of my love

Here we are, don't turn away now

For so long she endured it, took the pain without retaliation, but eventually, as she grew older, realized this wasn't the only way. Maybe she would never get affection from her father, but he didn't have to wound her the way he did. She rose, fought back, caught her father by surprise. His expression of disbelief was permanently etched in her mind; she'd never forget the feeling of satisfaction as for once he was unable to hurt her. But he had never been afraid to injure her. The torture just grew worse and worse and she tried to stop him but couldn't. She was a child, he was stronger. The best she could do was dodge his attacks.

I'm so confused, so hurt, so sad. "I'm going to kill you, Dilen," you jeer.

My eyes are clouded, I can't see, but I don't want to see you, don't want to get rid of the blear.

We are the warriors that built this town

Here we are, don't turn away now

No. Nothing was ever going to be reversed. The past could not be undone. She would always be the person she was, her life would always suck, and her ally would always be dead. The things she wished for were impossible to achieve. She supposed she could compromise. At this point, she was almost to the point of hoping to be killed. But not by another tribute. Certainly not by her former ally. And not in the way that she would die. She didn't want pain; she wanted peace. She wanted people that cared about her surrounding her as she slowly drifted away, her eyes closing, a smile on her face as she reviewed her accomplished, happy life...

I'm losing hope; seeing you here is killing me, through my heart you're pushing a spear.

I'm sobbing- why am I sobbing? I don't sob- you're right, you're going to kill me, I think as you fleer.

We are the warriors that built this town from dust.

She knew she had to hurt him, but she didn't want to. She wanted him to be gone, to not be in front of her. Him being dead was better than this, this mutated, vicious version of him. How odd to not be able to kill someone. Before she wouldn't have had any problem swiftly slaying him. He had changed things for her, a lot. For better? He had tamed her bloodthirsty mind, her cold, unforgiving heart. But to be empathetic, to be considerate and kind, she had lost her strength. She had lost the energy of the sadistic sibling-killer. And really, that was all she was.

She had lost herself.

The end is near.

Fleur Cayce, Capital 

Violin music calmed her down.
She had just finished a long battle against this crazy, insane little boy younger than her, sweat drawn on her forehead as she wiped it away with her bloody dried hand. The brat had ran up to her with a small bow that would go with the violin instrument, trying to thrust it down her throat.
What a friendly child.
She, of course, was still worn out from the battle against her own clone. There was now a scrape on her forehead, crusted with dry blood and the wound on her shoulder blade was patched up with cloth she had found from a costume room.
Fleur kept her head up, knowing that the dream caught in her head was to win this one battle, win and make it through this before she collapsed in exhaustion. It took awhile, but the boy's body was soon in tatters just down the corridor. The stench was still alive, so it reeked there.
There was a violin she had found in the satchel that the boy had, along with some food, but that didn't matter. She had apples.
She quietly set the violin up to her chin, tuning it before setting into a series of chords and music, her eyes shutting as she hummed along, keeping a straight face as she listened to the own music she was making herself.
She needed to gather herself up in peace before she continued into her journey to make it back to that stage that she was in before she jumped back into the game. She wouldn't quit that easily, not until she saw the reward at the end of the dark, gloomy tunnel she was stuck in.
The day started off with a large riot of thoughts jumbled in her head, the voices of her parents, her horrid sister, trying to give advice and encouragement as if they were there. She could handle herself, thank you very much,
With that, though, she had managed to run and run until she found herself near a row of doors, seeing one open and revealing another tribute. The girl reminded her of fire, fire that was blazing through her hair. She was a redhead, with a loose grasp on the weapon in her hand. A handbell.
The girl's first instinct, was to, of course, lash in a series of punches aiming towards Fleur's face. She threw her hands up, stumbling back and glaring up at the girl, which seemed to be from Ten if she read the jacket number correctly.
Get up, get up, stand up, stand up.
The thought ran through the blonde's hair before she jumped back up to her feet, using her left hand to grasp the bloody clarinet as her weapon. She couldn't do anything physical, due to her should wound, but she couldn't hold back.
Being stubborn, she threw herself on the other, sticking the clarinet down on Miss Redhead's throat, her skin easily breaking. The bond there seemed to be really fragile and broken, and soon, her large lips became cold, her heart stopping abruptly.
Fleur had kept going on her way before she took a small break, seating herself near another door, in case someone attacked her and would be good for a hiding spot, and had continued thinking deeply to herself.
She belonged to a certain type of tribe, a group of people. She was fierce, yes, but she could break down easily. She was young, yet, her temper could easily strengthen her. Something resembling a lion cub, or something of the sort.
If-no, when-she got back home, the Capitol, she would start a small little riot of her own, against her parents, then her sister, then against the whole country. Sure, it would kill her, but she would go down with her heart showing the truth. She would go down starting a war, perhaps, maybe inspiring people around.
Fleur hid her head in between her brought up knees, a smile being embed on her face. She wouldn't be someone who would let others do the work for her, but instead pick her own little campaign and do the work herself.
She was a champion, after all.
She was on fire.
She soon stood up, being attacked by the little boy from Eleven, and was now calmly playing the violin, her ideas swarming in her head. Now, as she slowly opened her eyes, she dropped the instrument, a screeching noise filling the hallway as her fragile hands slipped the necklace of rope around her throat off, setting it near her.
That's when the steps alerted her back into game mode.
Running towards her with now a fully equipped weapon was that boy from Three, the one that she had killed and found the apples from. He either wanted his apples back...or what? He was dead for sure.
How was he still alive?
The Gamemakers. It had to be a trick. Something to mess around with them, or to entertain the Capitol with. Either way, she now has a goal, and she was determined to finish it off, save herself from this wretched arena.
She let out a battle cry, standing up and grabbing the rope as she kicked her leg out, watching as the boy stumbled back a little. His happy, go lucky face was gone, now seeming to be deflated with anger. He groaned as the small dagger in his hand was thrown at her, slipping past her face and scraping her pale cheek.
Fleur glared angrily as she pinned him to the wall, getting the necklace of rope over his head and pulling, pulling hard. He weakly made an attempt to punch her face, but only waved his hand around.
Before his eyes shut, he managed to choke out, "Y-You're whole shebang-ugh...i-idea's...gonna fail, a-anyway..." Then, he choked from breath and slipped from her grasp, sliding down to the cold, tiled floor.
She stared at him, her eyes widened with shock as she slowly shook her head, whispering, "Nothing's gonna be the same, anyway, whether I leave or not. Whether I'm dead or not. Everything will be fine."
With that, she slowly walked down the hallway once more, her backpack hidden with her clarinet inside, the violin snugged under her chin and the bow in her hand, continuing to play the same chords from earlier.