Jem Darling, District 1

(Used 13)

"Deeper! She screams! Push it inside me! Further!"

So I jab the flute into her heart.

Lyric Mason, District 2

***Did not hand in entry strike 2***

Technick Flux, District 3

        The black leather shoes on his feet make Technick nervous. He won't be able to run correctly in a landscape with soles like these. Or rather, lack of soles.

He descends upwards and goes over his plans over and over until he can repeat it word for word. And it's not even a long mantra! It's "Get the hell out. Find the others and run."

He finally stops and he expects warm air to hit his face, all he feels is air-conditioner air! What is going on? The countdown and all Technick can do is breathe. He begins counting downwards, in sync with the automotive voice.

Fifteen. What on earth would happen in the next fifteen minutes?! Ten. How many will he have to kill to be declared Victor and go home?Five. Hopefully some will get themselves killed. Four. Hopefully. Three. But hope is a bird. Two. And birds have wings to fly away.

One. Technick has hope.

And like that bird, he flies away. He will not be killed, not today. Maybe not ever in these Games, not when people are waiting back home for him.

Technick arrives at the Counucopia and is very disappointed. Where are all the weapons? All that is there are a bunch of wooden instrument. That makes no logical sense. But then again, the shoes don't either.

He doesn't even care that he has to kill with a bow, he'll poke someone's eye out or just stab them through there. And that's exactly what he does. Some girl, he can't remember her name, gets in his way and he does not hesitate. It wasn't a clean kill and his navy blue button up is soaked and darkened.

Blood looks nice on his shirt.

He regrets it the moment he thinks it. But these are the Games and Technick must return home.

He then realizes that he can take an assortment of these bows – some from cellos are made thicker and shorter, the violin and viola ones are longer and then. Like javelins...

Tecnick goes back and collects those bows. He'll fix them up later and see if his little inventions might work. When he gets there, he sees two female bodies strewn across the massive pile. He pushes them off and collects something heavy – an electric guitar. A sickening idea passes through his mind. Its quiet scary, but Technick has to do these things to survive. And help his allies survive for the time being, anyway.

Speaking of the little devils, Mye steps next to him and shows him his hands. They are extremely dirty with blood.

"What did you do?" Technick asks.

"Smashed some girls head on a piano. It was gross the way it cracked, but hey! You gotta do what you gotta do."

Another one of their allies, Nicholas, comes behind a curtain. Beside him is the dead body of some guy Technick can't recognize. All he sees is the curtain rope being around the poor guy's neck. Tiredly, Nickolas joins them and helps look for their missing allies.

They run around and are about to disperse into one of the various rooms when the pair hobbles over to them. Nevia is in Maxim's arms, probably hurt. And by the looks of it, the attack was enough to make her go into shock.

"She saw me break this guy's neck. She started running away when she thought I was going after her. But then she saw it was me and here we are." The group nods and quickly exits. Six dead, and four of those at hands of Technick and his allies.

He thought he would feel remorse – he does – but he has to survive. And although he demolished it from multiple people, Technick still has her wrapped in his arms.

If he will die, he will die a killer. A killer and a survivalist at that.

Waye Tidal, District 4

When the timer stops, I don't think. I just run. The waxed floor of the stage is slick under my feet, providing little traction. Around me, I see one or two people slip, falling to the ground. I've made it to the orchestra pit before most other tributes, and I know right where to go.

Inside, I regret this terribly, but in the moment, the adrenaline is enough to keep me going. I plant my foot on a cello, kicking through the wood. Strings fly in the air, and the mahogany splinters everywhere. In the carnage, I reach for what I came here for. An endpin. I pull it out, weighted and glistening, from the polished wood. The tip is sharp, and the metal is heavy. Perfect for killing.

There is only one other of the instruments in the pit, and I smash through that one as well with my endpin, fishing out a second. As I grip them, I run over to the woodwind section, grabbing up a clarinet and some reeds. Maybe I could make a blowgun out of this? Probably not, seeing as I have no talent whatsoever for things like that. But, if worst comes to worst, I'll just use it to club people over the head. (Then again, isn't that what you could do with anything here?)

I shove the clarinet into the waistband of my pants, hoping the elastic will hold it there. Then I shift my grip on the two endpins, positioning them so that they could be thrown or used to stab. And just in time too, because the girl from Six is running at me, full speed.

As she runs, she gracefully grabs a flute, squeezing it in her hand like she's ready to strike. I take the endpin in my right hand and prepare it to jab her. I lunge towards her with it, sure she will impale herself. But at the last second, she drops to the ground, sliding across the wax floor. She swipes at my ankles with the flute, making contact with one. I go down, one of my weapons slipping from my grasp as I do so. She jumps to her feet, the flute poised to hit me. She takes a swing, and I roll out of the way of the instrument. It smashes into the floor, leaving a deep gouge in the woodwork. As she brings her arm back again, I scramble to my feet, grabbing my other endpin. I run past her as she spins around, trying to get a good look at her. But she spins with me, swinging her flute as we go. Damn, she must be determined to take me out. I slowly start to back away, edging myself out of her range. And then I stop, taking the weighted metal in my palm. She stops too, sliding a step closer to me. She goes to take another, but this time in the opposite direction. I have let go of the metal, and it is flying end over end towards her head. It is too late for her, however, as I watch the endpin smash into her skull. There is a sickening crunch, one I've heard before. Her skull is broken. Just like my brother's had been.

I watch her fall, blood streaming from the wound. But then my vision goes static as another memory surfaces. Ger, falling out of the tree, shot down by a nervous Peacekeeper. The blood from his skull flowing, and the horrifying sound his body made when it hit the ground. Dead. My screams, cutting through the air, soaring on the wind so that they could be heard through what felt like all of Panem. Because the world needed to feel my anguish. And then I realized, that same thing must be happening back in District Six. A bloodcurdling shriek as a family watches their daughter die. Horrible, the townspeople would say. They'd apologize for the death of their daughter, send what little they could as gifts. But they wouldn't understand. Not like I did. I knew the pain of losing someone. And yet, I'd killed anyway.

To kill, or to be killed? That is the question. To die, leaving my family childless, breaking their hearts? Or to murder, crushing so many other families? I could live, but would it be worth the guilt? I could die, but would it be worth who I left behind? I'd craved death years ago, but since then I've come to terms with my life. Do I return to that life, knowing it will never be the same? Can I?

I don't know what to do. But, luckily, I don't have to make that decision. Not yet. I just have to make it out of here, out of this instrument pit. Nothing that happens here matters, because I haven't decided yet. When I am alone, I can choose between my own death and those of others. But now, I have no choice. If I am to decide for myself, I must fight.

She is a blur, cutting through tributes as fast as they come to her. Though it's merely a blunt instrument, the saxophone in its case is a force to be reckoned with. She crushes in faces, breaks legs, and snaps necks. Three fall dead at her feet in quick succession. Mye Bentler, whom I remembered from his stirring goodbyes to his family. He would never return home again to see that boy he kissed goodbye, his unspoken promise broken. His face was crushed in beyond all recognition, so that the only reason I knew it was him was the number on the back of his shirt. The boy from Eight, his necklace hanging off his broken neck. He had no family to return to, nobody to mourn his loss. He was alone. Samuel Johnson, the boy who looked as if he was barely twelve, fell victim to a harp string around his neck cutting off all his air. Choked to dead, his face purpled.

I am slower, taking down only one, and with regret. Technick Flux, the genius from Three. I could see the cold calculation in his eyes when he saw my weapons, determined to get them from me. But he had none, nothing other than his bare hands and his intelligence. Even then, he was an incredible fighter, because he could tell exactly where my weaknesses were. He tried to crush my ankle, the one the girl from Six almost broke. His chokeholds were strong, and it was only by luck that I was able to slip the endpin into his body and puncture a lung. He choked as he died, and I rose from the corpse as Beatrice set her eyes on me.

She was dead, before we'd even crossed swords. Dead inside, cold. Her arms were rail-thin, but her fury burned bright. I'd heard things about her, that she'd been forced into these Games. If she ever got out, she'd have her parents arrested and maybe even executed. She wasn't afraid to kill, and we both knew it. I was just one more step, one more obstacle between her and vengeance.

The case she holds is bent all out of shape, the impacts from previous blows leaving divots and scuff marks. In contrast, my endpins are perfect aside from the blood dripping from them onto the floor. Her anger and hatred have bubbled up inside her so clearly that it's like her thoughts are etched on her face. I am struck with fear, because I know this girl is ruthless. But I can kill too, evidenced by the bodies that lay behind me. So I decide to make the first move, taking a fallen flute and flinging it across the room at her.

It hurtles towards her chest, faster than even I expected. She sees it coming and makes an attempt to move out of the way, but in doing so, she ducks. The instrument hits a glancing blow to the side of her head, and she winces at the pain, lifting a hand to the site of the hit to see if it drew blood. Her hand comes up dry, but she looks down at it, as if to examine it. And that's when I make my move.

I sprint across the open space, running as fast as I can. She looks up just as I near her, and I slash. She ducks, dropping to her knees. I swing at her again and she dives backward, bending over to pick up the instrument she dropped. Bending over almost backwards, she snaps back up and sweeps it towards my legs. I jump over it, and then down onto her arm, hearing the sic crunch of bone snapping. She screams in agony, and then wrath too. I snatch the harp string up off the ground and prepare to wield it as a whip to distract her. I toss one endpin behind me, far enough that it is out of her reach, and lash out.

The string draws blood every single time, whether it's because of the velocity it's being whipped at or the fact that the metal end has frayed. Whatever the cause, it leaves little gashes on her face, drops of blood pushing through the cuts to the surface. It serves as I hoped it would, she seems so focused on it that she doesn't even notice the way I've snuck around her in a circle. I whip the string once again, but this time I do not aim for her face. I aim for the hand that has snaked around behind her. I catch the other end, and bring it to her neck, slowly lowering her as I crush her against my chest. Her breathing becomes shallow, and I drop her to my knee, using it as leverage against her. At this point, I have adjusted it so that I am holding both ends of the string in one hand, and my other holds an endpin. I work it around her body, and plunge it deep into her throat.

She dies choking on her own blood. And I stand alone, surrounded by shattered instruments and blood. "Music is a form of rebellion, and therefore it needs to be destroyed," Chess had said. But how does one destroy something that has been around since before memory? Maybe music was never meant to be destroyed, but by linking it to something as horrible as this, it has been stained red by the blood surrounding me. Trampled violins, bent clarinets, and smashed guitars. The world will never see music the same way again, and it is partially my doing.

The notes ring from my throat, loud and clear. I have only ever heard this song once, but it has stayed with me for all my days. It is a sad, mournful song, but also one of hope. That there will be a better day, that it can only improve from here. It is a song for all the dead, beautiful and haunting. A promise: they will be remembered.

"Give me one last kiss, while we're far too young to die.

Far too young to die."

Samuel Johnson, District 5

Breathe. Sammy had to remind himself over and over again to just breathe.

"Ten... Nine..."

As the timer counts down, he frantically looks around the arena, and he could feel his heart hammering faster in his chest and his throat constricted to the point where breathing was even more of a challenge. It was a theater. The arena, the whole arena was one giant theater.

"Eight... Seven... Six..."

Seconds seemed to pass like hours and Sammy clenches his fists, looking around at the other tributes. They were all standing on their individual entry platforms, all of them lined down the two aisles between the three sections of red velvet covered seats. He follows their gazes up to the stage where the Cornucopia lay and it was filled with... Instruments?

"Five... Four..."

Sammy's face lights up with hope and he feels his heart beat even faster. The Careers were trained to use weapons but these weren't weapons! He had a chance now, Sammy could feel it. And as the count down slowly ticks down to one, he can feel time abruptly speed back up for him, seconds passing faster than seemed possible.

"Three... Two... One."

All hell broke loose.

Sammy found himself racing towards the one of the two sets of stairs leading stage with all the other tributes in his aisle, and he suddenly felt glad that he wasn't from District 12 or 13, as they were positioned farther down the aisle. The stairs were small though, and fights were breaking out on each set, the groups of tributes bottlenecking at the entrance while they tried to all climb the steps at once.

Sammy, being fairly small, was able to worm his way through the melee and was almost to the stairs when someone is shoved back into him, almost pushing him into the orchestra pit which was positioned directly in front of the stage. He cries out and jumps out of the way as the boy who had shoved the other tribute, the Capital girl whom Sam remembered being called Fleur, punches her in the face and knocks her back into the pit. From where Sam stood, it seemed practically bottomless as it was extremely dark and he couldn't hear the girl hit the ground.

The boy, who Sammy recognizes as the District 2 male, then turns on him and Sammy lets out a startled cry, ducking under the punch the older boy throws at him as he dashes up the steps. The unlucky tribute had placed too much momentum in his swing and he ends up falling off of the steps, landing on the edge of the pit. Sammy was too terrified to feel good about the dodge, and he scurries up the rest of the stairs, only to find himself sliding to an abrupt halt at the top.

Chaos had erupted on the stage as a lot of the tributes were already at the Cornucopia and he's spurred into action again when a tribute coming up the stairs behind him tries to strangle him. He lets out a startled scream as the person wraps their arms around his neck and starts to squeeze, causing Sammy to struggle frantically. His jostling ends up getting his mouth close enough to the person's arm that he was able to bite down on it hard, and he gags when blood fills his mouth.

The person recoils with a hiss and Sammy is able to tear himself from their grip, pushing them back enough that they fell down the stairs and onto the tribute still running up it. Glancing back, he sees that his attacker was the District 13 female that he never learned the name of during training, and she was already attacking the District 2 boy she had been pushed onto.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Sammy races towards the Cornucopia and takes a quick survey of the instruments left. There were still tributes dashing around through the collection of miscellaneous instruments and a lot of them were breaking them apart, taking what could be used as a weapon. He tries to grab a clarinet, his path is blocked by to struggling tributes, one having broken a viola and was using the string as a garotte to choke the other.

He recognises both of them and he stumbles back in fear as Jem Darling holds the string taut, strangling the the District 9 male whom Sammy could not remember the name of. The Asian boy struggles fiercely, clawing at the cord as it cut deeper into his neck, causing blood to pour over his shirt. It was all in vain though, and eventually his eyes roll back into his head and his body slowly goes limp, Jem letting him fall to the ground with a thump.

Sammy feels his throat constrict again and while Jem hadn't noticed him yet, Sam's fear of the tribute was enough to make him painfully aware of the fact that he didn't have a weapon or anything to defend himself with at all. He frantically looks around for a instrument he could use and he dives for the closest violin to try and break it to use the sharp splintered end of the neck, but someone else was going for the same instrument. This tribute he recognised the name of, and he recoils back from her, terror across his face. Shadow Skye snatches the violin and smashes it on the ground before pouncing on him. She holds the sharp broken end of the neck high over his head ready to stab him with it when

another tribute kicks her off of him, attacking her with a trumpet and continuously beating her face in with it until she did not move anymore.

Sammy screams as blood splatters across his face and he scrambles to his feet, grabbing the closest instrument to him as he ran into the wings of the stage right, hiding in the red satin curtains. He was shaking with terror and his sweaty palms could barely keep a hold on the instrument he had grabbed. Looking down, he sees that it was a piccolo. His heart drops into his stomach, there was no way he could fight off anyone with this.

But he shoves the small instrument into his pocket anyway, before nervously turning and peeking out from behind the curtains, the first person he saw being the tribute who had killed Shadow. The male tribute was standing over the body with a crazed look on his face, his eyes darting around in a shifty, insane way that made him seem like a caged animal. He looks around for someone, and Sam realises that it was most likely himself the tribute was looking for.

Sammy recognizes him as a District 11 tribute, Noel, whom he'd always thought was a little off, but not like this, not insane. He whimpers and backs up farther into the curtains until he bumps into something, and he lets out a startled, choked sound that he quickly tries to cover up as he whirls around to see what it was.

He ends up letting out a small relieved sigh as he sees that it is only a taught knotted rope, but as he stares at it, he suddenly realizes what it was for. Lights. The rope was meant to raise and lower the stage lights.

Sammy feels a lump form in his throat and after a slight hesitation he quickly starts to work at the knot, trying desperately to undo the large knot done in the thick rope. He lets out a sound of triumph as it suddenly comes loose, and the rope goes flying up into the air, at the exact same time loud cries of alarm sound from the stage and there is a bright flash, casting frightened shadows all over the walls. A horrible crunching sound is heard and Sam screams, covering his ears to block out the sound of sparks zaping out of the lights and skidding over the ground. He didn't have to see it happening to recognize the sound.

Sammy was trembling when he slowly lowers his hands from his ears, and he timidly works his way out of the curtain, peeking tentatively out onto the stage. The stage lights along with the long metal pole they had been attached to had crashed to the ground downstage of the Cornucopia, crushing four unlucky tributes who had not gotten out of the way in time. The rest of the tributes on the stage had scattered, some running into the wings while others ran into the sea of seats, easily disappearing.

Sammy felt sick to his stomach as the looked at the bodies of the three dead tributes on the stage, all of them having their skulls or spines crushed by the lights. The fourth was alive, Noel, and just one of his legs was trapped under the twisted metal. He curses loudly and Sam quickly backs up into the curtains again so as not to be noticed. Once Noel had freed himself from the lights he immediately started to limp off the stage, growling and dragging a twisted and bloody trombone behind him.

Once he was gone, Sammy steps back out of the curtains again and he guiltily looks over the people he had killed, morbidly making a list of who had died. The District 9 female, District 7 female whom he recalled being named Beatrice, and the male from District 6.

After a long moment of just standing there, he was about to run out and try to grab another instrument when he spots another tribute on the far left side of the stage, and both of them freeze, staring at each other with wide eyes. Sam Johnson and Mye Bentler stay like that for a long while, each of them waiting for the other to make a move, before both of them, as if under some silent agreement, turn and run into opposite wings of the stage; Mye to the left, and Sammy to the right.

As Sammy dashes backstage he finds himself in a long dark hallway, filled with props and costumes hung on racks. He starts to race past them only to do a double take when he passes a prop table, coming to an abrupt halt and backtracking to get a better look at the items on the table. He smiles as he sees a toy sling shot partly hidden under a large feathered pirate hat, and he grabs it, sliding it into his pocket along with the piccolo.

As he starts to run down the hallway again, the smile doesn't leave his face, and Sammy feels that he might, might, just have a chance at surviving yet.

Apollo Oak, District 7

***Did  not hand in entry strike 2***

Otto Han , District 8

I am lead by the peacekeepers into a small concrete room, they push me inside, like they probably do with every tribute from every district that isn't rich or lower than 4. I found the color of their uniform ironic, white was purity, innocence, goodness, but the peacekeepers were the opposite, harsh people, not caring about us because we were born into the lower district, making us the bottom of the totem poll.The room was dark, a small light was in the corner and there was a screen with the capital symbol. My stylist, Jȱnquiŀ, was present in the room. her hair was a light peach color. Her skin was a slight tan color, her fashion sense, was very good. This was coming from a district 8 tribute, so a good compliment, if she could hear what I was thinking though. She scans my outfit to make sure it's good. She nods."You'll do fine." She pats my back, she turns around and checks her schedule. Her pale yellow and black dress swirls with the action. She checks her watch, then looks at the schedule one more time. "Hmmm... the message seems to be coming out not on time, I've never seen Snow so late." She wipes her hair out of her face. She turns around and waits, leaning against the black table. Her eyes watch the television for any change, she waits a few seconds and the screen turns to a man with extremely white hair and looks incredibly old, or at least older than anyone in district 8. The man clears his throat before starting a speech"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."It ends and I groan, this was some scripted things they tell all tributes so death has a meaning. Boring. Jȱnquiŀ looks at her watch and the sheet again."OK the games are starting soon, I think. Stand on the platform." She motions over to a glass cylinder with a black pad."Comfortable" I tell her. I walk into the shoot, my excitement was becoming a little antsy for my liking. A countdown starts, beginning at ten. I look up, nothing there at the moment, so no hints on what the arena might be."Good luck Otto! I'll be cheering for you!" A few seconds later the timer hits zero. The pad starts to rise me up towards my almost inevitable demise. The tube becomes dark, as the light source is suddenly missing. I can't even see my hand, or the wall in front of me. A opening above then gives me light, the arena.There seemed to be a red or maroon color coming from the arena, which was sorta weird. My head is then brought above the opening and I see the arena at last. There were red curtains, soon to be cascaded in drips of blood like a modern painting, golden box seats for the elite, velvet chairs, and a wooden stage with instruments. I look around, there were no weapons, my stomach shifts, how will we fight? Suddenly an explosion fills the air, gray smoke fills the arena, divots in the floor. A head with long black hair painted with new red blood flies through the air as the body then falls to the ground from the lack of support, the girl was Heaven Taylor, from 11. A few startled yelps fill the air as blood stains the floor. The countdown still continued strong, with it now reaching 34 seconds. I look around, I knew I won't get far with no ally, but none looked promising that weren't already in one. The group was fairly attractive for my standards, but I don't remember all the scores, only the ones I needed like the ones above and around the same score as me.I felt a bead of sweat drip down my back, I didn't expect myself to be that nervous. The timer seems to be counting extremely slowly I glance around, everyone seemed to be looking at all the instruments, making use of them to make them a weapon, it was a very suitable idea. The timer was nearing 0. I looked around one more time, there were darts of eyes, probably from alliances being formed, or were already planned.The timer then struck zero, I sprinted forward, being fast from my short height, yet training from escaping quickly after having to steal certain things. I slide under the stage, as there was only a curtain blocking the way. I heard the screams as the weak tributes were slaughtered onstage. I found a metal latch, leading to the upper portion of the stage. I hear a set of footsteps nearing the hatch. I get ready and quickly open the trapdoor. A short black haired tribute falls to the ground. Her preditor, a pretty girl from 13, was chasing after her with a Clarinet. She ignores the opening allowing me to scamper out and grab the first instruments I find, which was one cymbal and a string instrument bow, likely for a bass due to the size.I stand up off the ground and look around, the initial bloodbath had seemed to have ended, very fast indeed, but there was still tributes to die. I turn around and see the girl I made fall, Shadow Skye, having her skull bashed in by the District 13 female. The prey then falls limp as blood erupts from the valley in her head, the fierce beast then, inelegantly, cracks her head to face me, she gives me a smile. She then starts to advance.I make an advance towards the girl, which was the least likely thing my looks would give her, I held my cymbal up as a shield as she quickly runs towards me. She aims for my side, but I bring the metal disk down and creates a loud BANG, she takes a step back, I jump up, and strike her in the head, but she steps to the side escaping the strife. She brings the clarinet to my side again, but the swiftness causes the pieces of the center to dislodge, making her weapon too short to reach me.She stares at me, being weaponless. In my peripheral vision I see a guy slowly walking forward, I rewinded through the fight we just had, I could use this strong girl as an ally."I could use you, and you could use me." I tell her, focusing on the guy, but not staring at him."Why would I need a runt like you?" She asks me, snorting."Because of what will happen right now. Move to the right, now." She jumps, I break the bow and half and throw the cymbal at the guy, Jem Darling. He lifts the drum up, causing it to break. He charges forward, extremely quick. I lunge to the side but keep my feet and the hair of the bow in his line. He trips forward and his neck meets the hair. I kick his back down and wrap the bow around him, constricting his neck. He brings his hands up to try and pry the string from his neck, but he's not able. I smirk, this was my first murder, it wasn't really something to be proud of, but it showed that I had some potential in these games. Jem's face was now a bright red, ruby or garnet like, looks he did fit his name.His body stops resisting and I slam his head down, ending the asphyxiation and confirming his death. I look at Dilen. She scowls to the side and then looks back at me."Fine, I guess we can ally, you sort of saved my life, or whatever. I could have killed him." I walked over to her and softly whacked her on the back of the head."No you couldn't have, face the facts bronze, you need a brain to make us a force to be reckoned with." She claws at me. I hit her head again."F*ck you!" I smile."I humbly accept the compliment, and I return it to you." I reach my hand out to her and pull her up, she was surprisingly shorter than me, so I guess short people were to be reckoned with. We walk back to the cornucopia. I pick up the cymbal on the way, and find its pair on the ground near a piano. I scan the pile for anything interesting, my eyes reach a felted instrument, with 4 wooden shafts and a flannel pillow looking, thing. I pick it up, I put my fingers over it, I look up and smile at nothingness. I had a great idea."Looks like it's a Hornucopia!" I tell my ally. She walks up to me and slaps the back of my head"Can we go tribute hunting yet?" My ally whined."Not yet, ......, what happens to be your name again?" I ask her."I ask the same, mine is Dilen Alderdyce, yours?""Otto Han, bland compared to yours," She gives me a warm smile, unfitting to her killer and murderous personality. The curtain shifts and dances, movement against it. I grab a guitar and ready myself, The district 4 male, and the district 10 male. The 10 Male, who had blonde hair and was tall runs towards Dilen, a bad choice as the vicious girl will surely overpower the guy, as she can easily break someone taller than her. The district 4 male, Waye Tidal I think his name was, runs towards me, the tribute is extremely tall. In his hand was a trombone, he jabs it forward hitting me in the chest. I stumble back and dodge to the right.I glance over and see Dilen sliding under the tribute, Mye Bentler I think his name was, and slam the cymbals on his back, hitting his spine. He lets out a shout. I focus again on Waye. He smirks, he brings the trombone over his head, but I duck and slide to the side. He swings it to the side, almost hitting me in the face. I lunge the guitar forward hitting him in the nose. He stumbles back, one hand on the nose. I take the chance, while Waye mutters a few shots, and whack him in the side, hitting his hip bone. I kick the trombone behind him causing him to trip. Behind him was the harp, I kick him back midair, lodging his head in between the harp strings.It was a shame the beautiful instrument was about to be painted with blood. I bring the guitar overhead and slam it into his side, causing the guitar to break. With the sharp wooden pieces I cut into his stomach and wrap. I look over at Dilen, she was smashing Mye's head in with the cymbals, each crash lead her closer to the other cymbal, finally she kicks him to the ground, and slam the metal disk into his head, she walks over to me, seeing my tribute problems.She grabs a trumpet and then smashes it against his forehead. Waye starts spin around, trying to dislodge himself from the harp. I grab the two strings and pull them close, stopping his movements as Dilen smashes his head with the trumpet, causing his face to collapse on itself, killing the tribute. The blood splashes onto the strings and the wood, sadly staining the grateful soundmaker, and ruining its tune."C'mon Otto, I want to kill some more people!" Dilen tells me. I groan. I pick up the bagpipes, as my other weapons are broken and my ally continues to wield the cymbals. We walk behind the stage and find a labyrinth of hallways leading in every direction. Dilen pulls me to the right, heading into an unknown direction. We walk down the dark hallway, shoved up against the wall. I hear footsteps up ahead, but they stop, and seem to sit down somewhere. We continue along until we reach a box seat.Sitting down watching the arena is a girl with blonde ish hair watching over everything. We block the opening quietly, the tribute still hasn't turned around. Dilen then frisbees the cymbal, smashing it into the back of her head."OW, F*CK THAT HURT, I HATE MYSELF" She screams. She turns around, I identify her as Nevia Saillie, from District 6. She lunges forward, Dilen puts the disk, causing the girl to faceplant into the golden cymbal. She picks herself up and launches at me, she grabs my black hair and pulls me down. Dilen then whacks the girl in the head with the cymbal one more time. I take the girl's hair and slam it down onto the bagpipes. She screams. I scrape it against the holes and then quickly bring her head up. Dilen slams her face with the cymbal again. Blood drips from the eyes, but there were no eyes.A waterfall of read tears falls down her face. Nev's eyeballs were gouged out. She lets out another scream. I push her back and she falls off of the box seat, she lets out a final shrike and breaks her black on the floor. I sigh, I wouldn't risk any other tributes, due to me and my ally killing a total of 5, one being blown up, and more probably dead. The capital doesn't want a short game, so I sit down."Take a seat Dilen, relax." She walks next to me and sits down on a velvet chair, watching to see if anyone comes out to watch the show. This part may be a little fun, and we should cherish that.After all, the games have only just begun.

Alexander Kioji , District 9

Mye Bentler, District 10

"Try not to die, huh?" Lilith Lumia had her arm placed creatively on her hip, and her eyelashes were large, yet fashionable. She wasn't one to embrace, but when the room was empty of anyone else, she awkwardly hugged me tight. Her greying hair was masked with a dye of sea foam green, and the contacts she wore made her look like any typical Capitol citizen. She was not, however, normal. Not to me.

"I won't make any promises," I said, trying to conceal the shakiness of my voice. Being afraid had grown to be second nature since the train had dropped me off, but I was still embarrassed about it nonetheless. The humiliation was also standard to me, and I would be damned to admit to anyone my real fears.

Lilith was acting strangely, as if she knew I would be dead soon. "Break a leg, Mye."

"Doesn't that mean good luck?" I asked, confused at her Capitol lingo. I didn't want to leave her standing in that isolated room, but when the bell chimed and she looked at me sadly, I knew I had to. I had to leave Lilith in a disastrous and acrimonious wake, terrified. The tube did nothing to console me as it lifted me up. Lilith waved at me once, and she disappeared.

Emptiness struck me like a hammer to a nail and my eyes shut, darkening the atmosphere even further. Dying was imminent in this solemn moment, but that second was forgotten as my back lay against the wall until it was exposed to the air. I'm not outside, was the first thought pounding through my head, followed by, break a leg.

Dozens of rows of chairs and a stage fit inside my view, and the first two districts of careers stood in the spotlight. The rest of us were scattered amongst the velvet seats. When I looked up, I saw several tributes were atop the balcony and some looked down at me. The cornucopia was smaller than usual, and it was frightening to see what it held. The careers eyed it angrily from behind, staring down the mass of musical instruments.

Music.

The countdown was half over by the time my thoughts were gathered and I could finally formulate a plan. I was mainly thinking of Technick, whom my full trust lay in. I couldn't see him as the countdown rounded twenty, and my plan began to lose its force. I wanted to go and fight my way through the cornucopia, but, without Tech, it would never happen.

I was placed in the mezzanine area, and the clock ticked zero, my feet falling to floor. A pain surged through my calf as my knees fell to the carpet. Break a leg, why don't you? I asked myself frustratingly as I punched the ground, standing, and flying down the steps to the orchestra. One boy, The Fisherman, abandoned his own path to intercept mine. Attempting to trip me, he slowed his running slightly and stuck his foot out.

I slowed at the same pace as he and he turned around like I had broken the rules of the Games. We stood facing each other, both of our fists clenched, and soon I was flying back to avoid his punch. A body cascaded my view and landed on Waye, sending the district four boy down to the ground. Two feet followed later and Technick landed in front of me, jumping down from the mezzanine.

"Is this Samuel?" Waye screeched from below the body, shoving the mess of dead weight away.

"Unfortunately. It's sad, really," Technick was acting rather slowly as I grabbed him and ran past Waye. Tech squeezed my hand to alert me that we were running into a death trap.

"Mye! Stop!"

Mye, you have to come home.

I'm in love with you, Mye.

This isn't real. Tell me that's not Mye!

Goodbye, Mye.

I was sweating under the heat of the theater lights, and I saw the district one pairing square up against district eight. Between their falling, crimson, bodies and Waye behind us, I didn't let the distractions hinder me.

Otto and Tailor were dead, and the textile district had no reason to keep watching. Yet, they probably did, hoping any of the other tributes would act revenge on the murderers of their children. Nobody would rest until at least Shadow and Jem were dead.

I chuckled at the view of Jem. He was attractive, yes, and I had once conjured the idea of us allying since we both liked boys. Silly, I know, but a plan was a plan when death was at stake.

"Mye, come on," Technick said quietly as we snuck up onto the stage. Shadow was standing downstage, at the edge, with a crushed and bloody guitar in her hands. It impaled another tribute and the motion of her snatching it back out contrasted my cautious footsteps. The pile of weaponry, if one could even call it that, was dwindled down by the Careers, each of which used the instruments with a certain level of disdain.

I was stepping quietly, and i grabbed a bow from an already stolen violin as Pierce and Lyric hopped down to the orchestra floor, leaving Jem and Shadow on the stage. Technick was caressing the wood of a grand piano as he contemplated how anyone could make use of it.

The stairs at the side of the stage creaked, and Shadow turned to see the fisherman who had tried to kill me. Waye realized his mistake and came running to defend himself at the midpoint between Shadow and me. Tech was still playing with the keys and silently poked at a triangle.

Waye stood facing away from me, and I extended the bow in my hands to tap it on his shoulder. He turned, but was soon unaware of reality as Shadow's half-guitar pierced several places in his back and began to draw blood. She continued to push it seemed, and soon Waye's entire chest was not recognizable.

Shadow tried pulling it out, but it was lodged in Waye's ribcage. She didn't know what to do; she had only ever trained with carefully crafted weaponry. I shoved Waye into Shadow, who fell back off of the tall stage. I followed her legs as they left the floor and Technick even stopped observing the pointless instruments to watch Jem grow entirely too angry.

I realized, as Jem left the edge of the stage, that the fall had killed his ally. I had caused Shodow's death. Jem came at me, but was struck in the face by a small metal object. The triangle. Technick had actually made use of it. Jem laughed. He laughed. A real, genuine laugh that was derived from the idiocy of what Tech had done.

"You threw a triangle at me," he said, feet slowly coming to me.

"I threw a triangle at you," Tech was frightened; it was obvious. I clenched on to the bow in my hands and waited for Jem to open his mouth and speak. Moment by moment, speak, speak, Jem, speak! My mind called through and through as the attractive Career stared at Tech, dumbfounded. Finally, his head craned towards me and his mouth fell open.

I seized at my only chance and stuck the bow out. I shoved the bow into his mouth and pushed it in a downward motion. Jem's eyes widened, but he couldn't control his limbs as the air was filled with the sounds of him choking. Gag reflex? Really? I asked myself to take away the fact that I was possibly, slowly, killing another boy. When Jem was no longer moving, and three-thirds of the bow was hidden inside of his body, I crept away. Technick grabbed my arm and pulled me backstage.

My eyes never left his body, until the black curtain made the entire theater disappear from my view. An hour had passed, and I was alive.

Noel Way, District 11

***Did not hand in strike 2***

Maxim Bischoff, District 12

***Did not hand in strike 2***  

Malik Leighton, District 13

DROPPED OUT

Fletcher McKinnon, Capital  

***Did not hand in strike 2***