Archive of Our Own

-5; Flo Batter-

Everyone knew the story of Porter Millicent Tripp. The only known District 5 Victor. She fought hard and broke her neck tumbling down a hill as she wrestled with the other remaining Tribute. She completed her victory tour in a neck brace. That was years ago, yet Flo was obsessed. She collected memorabilia and television programs that were about Tripp or mentioned her, learning deep details about her personal life.

Flo took to walking around everywhere with her own handmade neck brace for two years, and nobody commented, but it did make eating a lot harder than she had anticipated. She wanted to rock it as Tripp did. How cool was it to break your neck so thoroughly yet remain perfectly fine for your victory tour?

She wanted to be just like her.

Flo wrote fanfiction, too. She never showed anyone, being embarrassed, but she did. Tripp getting a happy ending, Tripp falling for one of the other Tributes in her game, Tripp in alternate universes where she was born in another District or went to a regular high school like Flo saw on television or in movies sometimes.

It was sick. She knew the Games were horrifying. She knew Tripp was deeply traumatized. Nobody had seen her after her victory; she was never seen in public again. Yet she couldn't stop. The Games were something she watched every year, safe in the comfort of her own home. They gave her new ideas on what to write.

Then she was Reaped.

Would she be like Tripp? Oh, if she won, she should wear a neck brace during her victory tour too, in homage, then-!

She died in the first five minutes when someone she didn't even see beheaded her.

-8; Lamé Quiller-

Lamé's legacy was taking the place of his thirteen-year-old brother because he suddenly caught a cold and didn't want to expose anyone else at the Reaping. What a coward. You were going to die anyway, either in the Games, in a factory, or by being caught outside when it was raining. Who cared about a silly cold? Lamé yelled at him, and his parents yelled back, and so Lamé went to the Reaping by himself and walked up on the stage alone, looking out at the sea of faces. The other Tribute was a girl his brother’s age who was tiny and frail and could break easily.

He didn't even try to do well in the training. He knew he couldn't fight, knew this was a death trap. It nearly broke his heart to see the girl, some tiny thing named Silk, because of course she was named that, trying her absolute hardest despite her obvious illness. His legacy was being the only one to pull her off the floor when she had fallen down completely and was too weak to even sit up because of her violent coughing.

During the bloodbath, Lamé got stabbed in the eye by a girl who didn't even look twelve. That was all his legacy was.

-2; Decima Honeybee-

How sad, a Career who couldn't lift anything heavier than a fork! How sad, a Career who was emotionally underdeveloped! How sad, a Career who wished she were 1 so she wouldn't have to spend her days drawing blueprints and slaving away at a calculator for tough equations she can't solve, and instead could be attending charity galas with diamonds on her neck. Oh, the plight of Decima Honeybee, wouldn't anyone think of her?

She thought of herself plenty, thank you very much.

She was tired of the pity.

Decima was thirteen but ready for the Hunger Games. Nobody believed she could actually do it, so she volunteered. Her family was probably the only group in District 2 who were actually worried about their daughter competing. She knew why. Ever since she was born, she has acted differently. She was emotionally stunted. Talked to people like they were brick walls. Even the Capitol with all its amazing medical marvels couldn't do anything. She knew the Games would be brutal.

Training alone was brutal. She was in the top five but cried every chance she got and sometimes sat on the floor, crying really hard because she couldn't handle all the trainers yelling at her. Her mentor hit her once to snap her out of it, but it just made her skittish and unwilling to talk to them again.

When she was killed during the bloodbath by something and someone she couldn't even see, it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.

-7; Bryony Evergreen-

She was only there because she took the place of a literal child. She was eighteen. Young, but not a child. It would have been okay if she had died. She has nothing to live for, anyway. That girl was the daughter of a baker; she had more of a future. Better than dying in some field. Bryony had nothing. No family, her parents were untraceable. She suspected she was the result of a regrettable night. She had a boyfriend, but they weren't currently on speaking terms. School spat her out unceremoniously, and she couldn't find a job.

She was killed on the first day when she tried to grab the same backpack as the District 3 girl, and the latter stabbed her in the stomach without a second thought.

As Bryony lay bleeding, she thought of the girl she had spared and how they had the same hair color.

She hoped she was not watching the Games.

-6; Shinkansen Honda-

Shinkansen saw her namesake in a book once. It was a very old book, from a century past, and her parents explained to her that if things were normal, if things hadn't gone the way they had, she could've lived and thrived in the country her name came from, riding the train.

It was a sharp and sleek thing, pure white, and even in the picture it seemed to zip by like a missile.

The Capitol tried to hide it, but many people in Panem were descendants of people who lived in What Came Before and had ancestors from far away. Shinkansen was proof of that. They hated race-mixing and diversity, pretending everyone was pure and perfect white. She knew people in the Capitol powdered, bleached, and painted their skin until they were whiter than fresh-fallen snow, and it disturbed her.

She knew because her elder sister, Jitensha, won the prior Hunger Games and had the ‘honor’ of visiting the Capitol. Shinkansen watched her on television, being young enough at the time that she truly did think maybe it was one big game. The Arena chosen was a tropical island, though the water was acidic and thus even the sand was considered a hazard. The Tributes spent their time up in the trees and often pushed each other out, realizing that was a viable way to win. Jitensha only won because she kicked the District 2 girl in the face in shock, and knocked her straight down to the ground. Because she was the only one left, that meant she had won.

That was when Shinkansen was eleven, and things still seemed innocent to her.

Now she was twelve, and chosen as Tribute, and she had to numb herself as her parents cried and Jitensha left the Reaping early, letting the Peacekeepers drag her back to her spot only because she had no fight in her. Her face betrayed no emotion, something Jitensha taught her. If you have emotion, they like you. They want to see you bleed. They want to see you die. To break and humiliate you. If you are stony, they get bored. They move on to someone else.

Shinkansen remembered all that on the train ride, as her mentor looked at her like he had better things to be doing. She remembered it as she chose a kimono with the pattern of cars and trains on it, stitched in a vibrant red and gold. She remembered it as she was interviewed, as her makeup was done in sharp gold to match the paint jobs of cars, as everyone told her she had such gorgeous eyes and beautiful pale skin, she looked like a character from a cartoon.

Shinkansen wasn't strong or fast. She just liked to read and followed whatever her parents told her. She wasn't Tribute material. Everyone knew that. She placed dead last in everything. She grabbed a backpack at the Cornucopia and headed for the trees, remembering how Jitensha won. The Arena was an urban area with few trees, but she did find a green area in the middle of a city park, and climbed up the first tree she found there. She clutched her chest, taking deep breaths.

She spent two whole days up there, realizing her backpack had only a knife, which she didn't want to use, and a yo-yo, which was useless. She didn't want to climb back down and get spotted by someone. She almost died of thirst until a Sponsor package came to her at the last moment. The silver parachute was her salvation. She pulled the bottle open and drank so fast and so much that she threw up half of the cold water.

Shinkansen then slowly climbed down, thinking it was safe. Who was her Sponsor? She wanted to know. Were her parents watching? Jitensha? She awkwardly waved to nothing, hoping a camera would pick her up. Why did she get a Sponsor? The package had no note. Were they fans of her sister and also wanted her to win?

She never found out.

The District 1 male somehow had a gun and shot her in the back, and she collapsed on the asphalt road.

-7; Oak Pinesap-

Imagine being a lumberjack with a broken foot. Oak didn't need to imagine that. Dropped an axe right on there and broke it so hard it never properly healed. At least, that's what the clinic told them. It was the bare minimum required to be considered a clinic, something they needed to have because their jobs were dangerous, but everyone in the District knew they didn't actually do their jobs properly.

Oak knew if they were in the Capitol, the medical treatment would be a different story. He would have been rushed to a good clinic and doctor, a doctor who would actually look at his foot, maybe take an X-ray, instead of just taking a brief glance and saying it'll be a miracle if he walks again. They would give him a cast or maybe even surgery, and then after some physical therapy, he would be cured and able to work again.

Instead, he had to hobble around everywhere, using a makeshift wooden crutch. His family looked at him in pity, and he hated it. Oak knew he ruined everyone's lives by losing his grip on that damn axe. When it was time for work, he had to walk with his father and brother to the forest and just sit by and watch, balancing his crutch under his arm and trying to keep his right foot elevated as if that would help. He dropped out of school when he turned fourteen, finding it useless.

When it came time for the Reaping, he didn't even wait for a name to be called. He raised his hand as a Tribute, then slowly walked himself up onto the stage, hearing several gasps as his disability was revealed. The announcer pursed their lips, but said nothing as they continued with their readings.

Training was brutal. Oak could throw an axe pretty well, but running was out of the question. He knew he was as good as dead and didn't care when he scored low in everything. When he was interviewed, they all focused on his leg. His disability. Many suggested he was half a man; others said he was such a poor dear, being unable to work. He thought his family's pity was bad, but he hated the Capitol’s even more. Even his mentor would shake his head and tsk and say he would die within the first five minutes.

He survived the initial first minutes by crawling away, taking advantage of the fact that everyone else was distracted by their fighting. He crawled into the first house he came across, locked the door, and cried for the first time in his life.

The house clearly belonged to someone, as he saw traces of life. A decorative bedspread, intimate photos. The fridge and pantry were filled with food, a water jug, and a carton of milk. It seemed too good to be true, yet Oak wasn't going to complain. The whole point was to outlast everyone else, right?

He stayed there for two days until he was woken up early in the morning of the third day by people yelling and screaming.

“Get to higher ground! There's a flood!” a girl was screaming right by the window.

Oak tried. By goodness, he tried. He got out of bed at a hurried pace, desperately searching for his crutch. It had fallen down somewhere in the night, and he couldn't properly crouch down and look for it without putting pressure on the foot, and he would wince in pain.

Had he been someone else, he could've escaped.

Had he been someone else, he probably wouldn't even be in the Hunger Games to begin with.

Oak was swept away entirely when floodwaters carried the house with them into a nearby river.

-6; Lamborghini Fetta-

He needed his next hit. He was addicted. He hid it well enough at work, doing attendance to be sure all the passengers were on the right bus, but at home, he wasn't normal until he shot his arteries. He left his foster home the first chance he got, being alone for five years. He didn't go to school; his job paid poorly, but it was enough. He just needed that morphling shot. Anything and everything was all for it.

He never planned on being a Tribute.

Fine, whatever. Kill him first thing, get it over with. Nobody really seemed to pay attention to him, even when he openly walked the streets in front of them. They were more focused on other things.

The tremors started on the second day, and the vomiting was the third. He shook and shivered, his teeth rattling in his body. He sought refuge in a pharmacy, but all the medicine had been removed, leaving him without relief. He sat behind the counter and rocked, his body shuddering every so often as he threw up violently. He was too weak to look for water and didn't know where any would be anyway.

Five days was all he could do.

-5; Nuc Wheeler-

Nuc was a simple man. Graduated high school when most didn't, started college, and learned the ropes when it came to electricity. He got to travel all around 5, fixing and installing wiring in people's houses, and he loved it. He saw more of 5 in a month than he knew others would in their entire lives. That's all he needed.

When he was Reaped, he thought nothing of it. He was eighteen, it was time. He had waited long enough. He breezed through training and spent the first day looking for an ally. He knew there had to be someone who needed an older companion for comfort. He instantly went for the 4 Tributes, but the male was too fast, and the female was uninterested.

He finally entered a lukewarm relationship with Augustas. Augustas needed someone who could keep the house he was hiding in running, and Nuc was glad to do that. That was what he was useful for.

When both of them were killed by electrocution after trying to walk into the electronics store six days later, well, he couldn't say he didn't do what he knew best in the end.

-2; Augustas Tiberus-

He was a Career. He needed to win. He needed to forge an alliance to do that. Careers stuck together, always.

This year, none of the Careers were on the same page. Diamond was a cold bitch who looked at others like they were dirt on her shoes. Shimmer was a crazy preteen he didn't want to be around. Pike stumbled around like he was seasick, and Minnow acted like she was mentally insane, singing to things that weren't there. Decima was like Minnow, where she wasn't fully there mentally.

He would have to look elsewhere.

Augustas grabbed the first thing he saw at the bloodbath and ran, hiding in a house. He was surprised that everything in the house was fully functional, though the power was out. He didn't know how long it had been, so the food would likely be spoiled in the fridge. He kept trying to fix the wiring, almost electrocuting himself. After his third try, he gave up with a groan. That's not what he was made for.

Nuc was a simple man, but Augustas needed simplicity. He asked if he could restore the power, and he said yes. He did indeed restore the power, and even got a rudimentary signal on the television, though it only played Capitol propaganda.

They weren't friends. Nobody made friends in the Hunger Games. Augustas knew that.

That's why, when both of them were electrocuted to death when Nuc desired to scope out possible future electronic ideas, he wasn't even surprised. It happened because he was weak and couldn't say no to the boy from District 5.

-4; Minnow Trease-

She often stood on the shore, singing a song she couldn't remember where it came from. It stirred her soul, so every night on a full moon, she would dress in nothing but a net and walk along the crashing waves, harmonizing and singing the mystery song in her head. It became a tradition for her, and soon the people in her city started spreading stories around about a mermaid who missed her lover under the sea and sang on the shoreline, as she was human and couldn't join him.

Minnow was a hopeless romantic and loved the story. She let the wind blow her hair around and did her makeup to resemble a nighttime vision of the ocean, humming as she walked along.

“Where did you go….you were my one true love…”

She was beloved in the interviews for the same reason. She dressed in little clothing, exposing a lot of her body, letting her hair cascade down her back, and coloring stripes into it to look exotic. Everyone cheered for her, and even though her combat skills weren't great, she earned many Sponsors who were banking on her sex appeal. She continued that even in the Arena. All the other Tributes, even the 1 and 2 ones, wore practical clothing that was tight only where it needed to be, heavy boots, and many even had gloves and utility belts. Their clothing was in the distinct colors of their Districts, but otherwise, they were dressed in utilitarian and basic clothing.

She wore a slim dress the color of salmon that was bedazzled, diamond flip-flops, and a glittering headdress with pearls and sea stars on it, looking like a mermaid. It was all for show. She wondered how far she would get with such an obvious disadvantage. The chosen Arena wasn't on the beach, and Minnow was saddened. There was only a river, and she gathered herself up during the bloodbath and sat on the riverbank, braiding her hair over and over again as she sang that same song to herself. As the days wore on, her state grew worse. She drank from the river, but never ate, and sand stained her dress and hairpiece, so neither were striking.

Nobody came close to her. Some whispered she was already crazy. Minnow just liked the peace. She received messages from Sponsors, wondering what the heck she was doing, and Minnow didn't have an answer. She herself didn't know what she was doing. She just knew she needed to be by the water to calm her nerves.

When Pike came for her, wielding that trident, she laughed for the first time since the day before her Reaping, saying he couldn't kill a District 4 Tribute with a trident.

Then she jumped into the water and let the river wash her away.

-8; Silk Lamars-

Silk had an ironic name for a girl who worked in a smoggy factory, toiling away making cotton clothes, before going home under a polluted sky to lie in bed and cough up mucus as black as the clouds that dropped green rain on their city. All she had was her mother, who couldn't be there for her because their factories operated at different hours.

She wondered if it had to be that way.

Silk knew such thoughts were bad, but she had them anyway. She wondered if anyone could do something about the air, about the rain that polluted further, the water that burned your tongue when you drank it, the long hours that kept family away, the black mucus that signaled death for anyone who saw it, the fact that they were all dying yet had to offer up their children as sacrifice anyway.

She never learned the answer to those questions.

When she was Reaped, she was wearing her nicest dress, a crushed velvet dress in dark red with holly embroidered onto the collar, and she walked up next to the male Tribute, a volunteer, who was several years older than her and looked at her like he found something delicious.

She collapsed during training to cough and hack, spewing black liquid all over the floor. The prissy 1s and 2s screamed and ran away, claiming she was dying. She probably was. If she were lucky, it would kill her before the Games did.

She survived the initial bloodbath, camping out in the residential area. She imagined most would run there too, but she was never disturbed. The house only had orange juice in the fridge, ironic. She drank it all during the first day and shivered. She closed all the blinds and curtains so nobody could see her.

Three days went by, and she developed a fever. Her coughing was continuous, wracking her small body and crushing her lungs.

After a week, she had gone to bed and never woke up.

-12; Arrow Weiss-

What a poor name for a coal miner’s son. What a bad name indeed. He hated it. What were his parents thinking? When he asked, they said it came from him being a guiding light in the tunnels, running forward with the cart.

“Why not name me Light, then? Or something similar?”

He never got an answer, no matter how many times he asked.

For him, there was little life before the Hunger Games. When his name was called, he took his place next to an average girl with the brightest hair he had ever seen. In 12, life was grey, drab, colorless. Even their outfits, despite being the best they owned, were in dark black, like they were attending a funeral. Her hair was a shock of color in a dark world. Arrow followed her and her hair throughout the training.

His eyes watched her throw an axe like it was nobody's business, and how she was being watched by the District 10 female, who also wore the same drab grey as him. His eyes stayed on her during her interviews, watching how she giggled and acted cute, the defenseless act they loved from all their female Tributes.

His eyes watched her grab the District 10 female and run, and he never saw her again.

The last thing his eyes saw was the shocked face of a girl watching as he was electrocuted, and he realized he stumbled into something really bad.

As he died, all he saw was yellow.

-11; Harvester-

He wanted to be strong. His icon wasn't a person but rather nature. When he was very young, a twister blew through the orchard where his family all lived and worked. It was a nasty and big one, so large you couldn't see either end of it. They didn't have a shelter in their tiny stick cottage, so they all held each other as tightly as they could, Ma saying if this was how they went, at least they would be together. Yet, they lived. They went outside after the fact and saw destruction everywhere their eyes turned, yet they were alright.

Harvester wanted to invoke that kind of strength in his life.

So, he trained. He lifted heavy buckets and baskets above his head, he dragged the combines through the fields, he ran the length of his family's field and back. He bulked up, but even he knew that wasn't true strength. He needed to help others in his community.

Unfortunately, that was not an option. The Peacekeepers watched them meticulously, carefully, ready with a whip if anyone even blinked in the wrong way as they worked. Harvester wouldn't have the chance to help anyone who fell behind because he risked getting both of them whipped.

When his time came to be Reaped, he decided he would protect the female Tribute, being shocked when she rebuffed him after an interview.

“I don't need protection from anyone.”

“It's not because I think you're weak. I just want to help others,”

“I'm not interested.”

Harvester tried to find someone else in the Games who needed help, but everyone either took off or died first thing. He spent his days wandering the streets of the city, dazed, unsure of what to do. He heard a rumor that after ten Tributes remained, the Gamemasters would release mutts on them, but either that was a rumor, or there were more than ten people left, because as the days wore on, nothing happened.

He came across an unlocked house and tried to see if someone was hiding in there, but all he found was an unwashed glass in the kitchen sink. He walked into the bedroom and saw a girl asleep in the bed, recognizing her as the girl from 8. He put a hand on her head and realized she would never wake up again.

He could've helped her, could've been strong for her, but he got there too late.

He slit his wrists and bled out next to her.

-10; Whiskey Garcia-

Never underestimate District 10. They were poor, but they were strong. Whiskey had powerful legs that could kick and run from years of working as a cowgirl on her family's ranch. She wasn't afraid of anything. She was determined to win, to prove a non-Career could do it, until Dandelion from 12 wandered by with her blonde hair and destroyed all of her plans.

They met during training, and Dandelion showed she was good with an axe, of all things. She completely beheaded a training dummy and impressed the trainers, and Whiskey blushed. They were similar in age and backstories, so they were often paired up for interviews, wearing pink and blue gowns decorated with flowers like wild nature children. Dandelion often kept her hair down for the interviews, and Whiskey would stare, mesmerized.

“We should make a pact,” she suggested the day before their Games started.

“Alright, sure," she shrugged.

The two survived the bloodbath and headed into the forest because it felt the most familiar. They hid for almost the entire game, knowing the numbers were dwindling every night the cannons went off and spelled the names out in the sky.

“They treat it like it's an honor,” Whiskey sneered. They sat up in a tree that night, swinging their legs.

“It probably is for some. Like the Careers. They probably get off on this. Probably don't think of anything except killing.” Dandelion said.

“Well, the Careers are heartless,”

“You have to be to win this.”

They held hands, even though they knew the Capitol wouldn't like it. They didn't like friendships or romance forming in the Games, especially between the same sex. Whiskey wasn't sure about Dandelion, but she knew she was never going to marry a guy after she reached a certain age. Maybe it was better for her to be here.

They made it to the last ten, ten and eleven, and kissed to celebrate. They had no idea why nobody thought to check the woods, but they were glad for it. Shortly after they kissed, a mutt crawled out from the shadows and mauled them both. Whiskey never saw what it was or fully processed what had happened until she fell out of the tree.

She was still holding Dandelion's hand.

-12; Dandelion Heartee-

Dandelion was one of the final eleven, only because Whiskey loved her enough to make sure she would be.

Dandelion was a girl with little in her life. Named for yellow weeds, because that's what they were, she always felt like she didn't belong. Her parents were too tired to give her attention, and she was a middle child who didn't fit in with her younger or older siblings. She would go on long walks around her town just to keep herself stimulated, to remind herself that in the grand scheme of things, her problems were relatively minor. She was chosen as Tribute in the middle of her teenage years, and her family didn't say or do anything. She wondered if they even processed that it was her up there and not some other girl who had vivid blonde hair.

She didn't want to go down without a fight. She impressed the trainers and judges, and even caught the eye of a tan and bold girl her age named Whiskey. She was pretty, but Dandelion feared making connections. What if she was just being used and went right back to being invisible?

Whiskey wasn't like that. Whiskey cared. They shared everything. They hid in the forest, the only wooded area in the whole Arena, and grew close. Dandelion spilled all about her home situation, and Whiskey did the same. They both found the Games cruel and decided the Careers were equally cruel to have such a strong desire to win.

Dandelion wasn't being mean when she said that. She meant it. Anyone who won the Games had to be emotionless and barricade themselves off mentally. How else could you live with yourself?

They made it to the top eleven, but died at the same time when a mutt caught them off-guard and mauled them, knocking them out of the tree. Dandelion didn't know the specifics of how or when she died.

She just knew it happened while she was holding Whiskey’s hand.

-3; Copper Daze-

He could never let anyone know his parents jumped the border. His parents were from District 5, hated their lives in poverty, so they snuck around, hid underground, and eventually outsmarted the Peacekeepers sent after them. They loved 3, their skills were in much better use there, they said. Father worked on electronics, and Mother programmed, and neither was available in 5.

He wasn't allowed to bring friends over, couldn't have friends anyway. Their curtains were black and blocked things out, and Copper was always told to never make noise that could cause suspicion. His parents didn't want Peacekeepers to come over and recognize them.

Copper didn't understand why they had to name him that. They must've been homesick, disgustingly so, as when he confronted them about it, his mother cried, and his father yelled at him.

“It's a perfectly fine name!”

Fine, for a District 5 boy.

He was not that.

Copper had to dodge questions about it, saying he was named for the copper wiring in many computers and television systems. That was enough to get most people off his back, but others were more persistent. He got decent grades, though he never really cracked coding. He preferred hardware jobs, opening up a computer or an appliance and getting deep in there, figuring out what made them tick.

In the Arena, he was unprepared and caught off-guard. He didn't grab anything but just ran. He worked with computers; he shouldn't even be there.

He made it further than he ever thought he would. Ninth. That was good, right?

His downfall was trusting a girl with the name of a fruit, the feet of a dancer, and a scythe that sliced his neck as cleanly as one of her crops.

-11; Peach-

Music and dance were important to her people. Even when there was work to do, Peach would be out there, spinning among the cotton, winding her way around fruit patches, and leaping from tree to tree. She was light on her feet and moved swiftly. She filled her baskets fast and could carry them with no issue. Her parents always lamented she had not been born in a richer District when she carried such a queenly disposition.

“Imagine if she were in 1. She would be a natural ballet star!” her mom said one night at dinner, shortly after Peach was twelve and the house started to become quieter.

“There are a lot of things 1 would provide her with that are more useful than ballet dancing,” her dad said back, and just like that, nothing more was said.

Peach knew why her parents were antsy, but she believed she would never get Reaped. She passed two whole years without it ever being an issue. Why would it suddenly happen? She kept dancing and singing.

When it happened, she cried. She was fourteen and didn't wish to, but she did. She cried, and her parents cried, and they pushed her onto the stage, where she cried in front of everyone.

She knew she would have to make the best of it.

She survived several days, being quick on her feet. Because it was so easy for her to grab something and spin out of sight, most Tributes decided she wasn't worth the effort. She became close to a boy from District 3 who had a funny name. Copper. She thought that was a metal!

Copper followed her everywhere, staking out buildings and matching her pace. Peach was shocked that he came from a comparatively urban District to hers. He fit so naturally into the green areas of the city. When she felt lonely, she would talk to him, gush about her dancing and the beautiful ocean back home, and how plump and juicy fruits were when you just picked them and bit into them.

“I've never had fruit before,” he confessed to her after a week and a half, and there weren't very many Tributes left.

“Really?!” she asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. I think most Tributes don't get fresh food unless they work specifically with it. All I ever ate was frozen stuff.”

“That's so sad,” she said genuinely.

She genuinely felt sad when she sliced him like a fresh lemon an hour later, using a scythe a Sponsor had given her. She knew she had to do it, even though she cried about it. It was him or her.

When she died a day later from rapid dehydration brought on by spoiled fruit she had eaten a few days prior, she could almost call it ironic.

-3; Macintosh Ire-

Macintosh lived right in the center of 3 and was a poster child for what they did. Already doing basic programming by seven, her teachers all praised her smarts and said she was going far. Her parents would watch her at tech conventions with pride, saying they knew they gave her the right name.

She lived seventeen years focusing solely on computer science and camera visuals, learning how to edit videos, take great pictures, and things of that nature.

The day after she took a picture of a beautiful sunset in the south of 3 and won a contest for it, she was Reaped.

Macintosh wasn't good at athletic stuff. She grabbed a red backpack because it was her favorite color, but saw the girl from 7 reach for it too. Desperate, afraid, thinking she would kill her, because don't they throw axes there, Macintosh pulled out a knife from the bag and stabbed her right there, running without checking to be sure if she was truly dead.

It didn't matter. She got the bag. She sprinted as fast as she could, finding a computer store in the downtown area and deciding to camp out there. Sometimes other Tributes would poke around, but never found anything they could use, so they would leave.

Then, she had an idea.

She hooked up all the wires and electronics, forming an electric barrier in front of the door.

When the next three people tried to walk in, they were electrocuted. She eventually turned it off so she could leave and embrace being one of seven people alive after a week and a half. She didn't think she would make it so far. She was walking up the stairs of a house, looking for supplies, when she missed a step, fell down, and broke both legs. She died of her injuries and thirst very unceremoniously, and despite placing seventh, her death was so boring that the audience didn't even bother to watch the whole thing.

-10; Angus Grounder-

Angus was charming. It was how he survived. Growing up in 10, you weren't offered many chances of that. You weren't given much of anything. He wasn't quick, wasn't smart, wasn't strong. He charmed his friends at school with stories of his escapades. He charmed the girls he dated. He charmed the other farmhands when he wanted to get out of work. He charmed the crowd when he was chosen as Tribute. He charmed his mentor, a hard woman who looked like she was sucking something sour. He charmed the trainers, being swift with a sword half his body size. He charmed the audience in interviews, talking about his humble origins and love of cattle.

He charmed the Career who tried to stab him on their second day when they both hid out in a grocery store. The boy was four years younger yet had the eyes of a man. It was suicide, he knew Careers thought 10 was a lowly and disgusting district. He just kept talking. The boy lowered his knife. He was just glad he wasn't holding the gun he had.

Somehow, it worked. Shimmer, the boy(what kind of a name was that, it was stupid), stuck with him. Then they added Barley from 9 to their group(and Barley made much more sense as a name, if you asked Angus), and Angus started to feel like Shimmer wasn't a normal Career. He laughed with them, got snacks from the grocery store for them, and protected them. A wolf mutt was once sent after them, and Shimmer killed it in just three bullets. Angus loved him.

They hung out in the house they broke into together, eating, laughing, sharing secrets and stories. “Did you know District 10 used to be considered a candidate to win in the early Hunger Games?” Angus asked them.

“Huh!” Barley said.

“It was 11, not 10.” Shimmer said, spooning cottage cheese into his mouth. “You don't know Panem history very well,”

It wasn't his place to know, Angus thought, but didn't say, because Shimmer still had his gun in his lap.

They spent many days together, even sleeping in the same bed. Angus had no clue what the rich elites in higher Districts thought of their friendship, but he was sure they weren't pleased, judging by the stuff Shimmer got from his Sponsors. Angus randomly got a Sponsor too, with a container of sweetened cottage cheese and a note saying I love your friendship.

Even here, he was charming the viewers.

The one person he couldn't charm was the District 4 male, another Career, who walked into their house and stabbed both him and Barley like they were fish he caught. He didn't know what happened after that, didn't even know he was in the top six. He didn't know any of that.

He just remembered Shimmer pulling him close with an anguished scream as the light left him.

-9; Barley Kipper-

Barley was tough. You had to be to survive in the extremely poor Districts. The Capitol had all but abandoned them, declaring no use for their goods and siphoning food from them solely so they would fight over the scraps. Their being in the Hunger Games was a joke. The first three times his name was called, someone else volunteered. He didn't know why. Couldn't ask them, obviously. Nobody just volunteered in the poor Districts. Nobody wanted to be a Tribute, to be more meat for a grinder that served to only entertain the rich minority.

When he was fifteen, his luck ran out. He stood up there, did nothing. He barely talked to his mentor, a man so old that Barley was sure his mind was gone. He didn't talk to the other Tribute, didn't even talk in interviews. People liked him for some bizarre reason. Their last interview before the Games started, he flipped the audience off, which the District 9 girl and the District 1 boy both found hilarious for some reason.

Barley survived the bloodbath and stuck around the urban center where all the shops were. He rarely slept, being paranoid. Instead, he wandered the streets, hands in his pockets, remaining alert. After two days, the District 1 boy approached him. He was a tiny thing, but his eyes were those of an older man. A gun was on his back. He asked for an alliance.

“I don't trust you,” Barley crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“It's not a joke,” the District 10 boy came out of the shadows.

“You look like you could win,” 1 said. “I admire things like that,”

Did Barley have a choice? While Angus and Shimmer(what an awful name, what a spoiled brat to be named that) bonded closely, Barley always felt like there was a barrier between him and the other two. Angus was decent company, but he never fully trusted Shimmer. He didn't trust anyone who grew up drinking gold from their baby bottles and playing with rare jewels like dolls and toy cars. He didn't trust someone who never knew what it was like to go hungry, to go several days without food, so hungry that a chunk of rotten meat and stale bread in the trash tasted like heaven. He didn't trust someone who didn't understand living in a house that was too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer, always shivering or sweating without pause. He didn't trust someone who didn't experience having the plumbing break suddenly and having to crap outside in your yard, and making sure the neighbors never saw because if they did, they would have the police called because you were exposing yourself. Hard to do when every house shared the same yard and no fence.

Still, he stuck with them because he didn't know where else to go. He had an alliance, and those were important in the games. They ate together, shared secrets, and slept in the same bed. One night, he received water and orange juice from a Sponsor. He, having a Sponsor? Was it a joke? There wasn't any note, so he didn't know who it was from or why.

He was expecting the inevitable; he just didn't think it would take as long as it did. Maybe being with Shimmer offered some kind of protection after all. When he died from being skewered, he looked right at Shimmer and was sure he had imagined the despair and sorrow on his face.

-4; Pike Mason-

Pike never believed any of the Career Tribute pact nonsense. His family lived on their boat, he never saw the shore. Mother said when he turned thirteen that it was to protect him, that if they never set foot on Panem ground, they'd never be Reaped. He didn't understand their logic, and it came back to bite them anyway when he was Reaped at fourteen and was forced to enter a world he didn't have sea legs for. He did decently in training and procured several Sponsors. He was introduced to the other Careers, but every single one of them wanted nothing to do with him.

He understood that. He didn't want anything to do with them either. He could barely walk as it was. Sponsors liked him, liked his story. It had appeal. It was only because of those Sponsors that he got as far as he did. One of them gifted him a trident, saying this is better than the dagger you had before, more fitting.

At least he wouldn't be afraid to kill people anymore. At least he finally had something of the sea in his hands. He didn't even think of the irony of it until he had already killed several with it.

It was even more ironic that he died by being shot in the head.

-1; Diamond Yarrow-

Her name was perfect. She was as hard and as sharp as the precious metal. She cut her teeth on that exactly, diamond knives that fit perfectly into her sleeve or under her dress, lockets that hid secret poison, and earrings that could slice someone's neck. Parties were battlefields for her. Everything could be used as a weapon; everything could be used against her. Everyone could betray her; everyone was waiting to manipulate her. At thirteen, she was already tall for her age, and shot up even more just two years later, towering over many party guests.

“Diamond, I hope you win. If you do, let me be the first to enjoy you, alright?” a drunk man slurred at her. She smiled politely and nodded. Words were a weapon that only the careful could wield well.

Despite being young, she volunteered that year. She wanted out of the stuffy parties and drunk men and donors who undressed her with their eyes the moment she said she had a good chance at winning. She hoped she would die and serve them all right. She didn't care what happened.

Her parents nodded and wished her luck, telling her to win and make them proud. On the train, she realized she was truly independent and celebrated by cutting up one of the offered fashion magazines.

She scored among the top five in training and got many Sponsors, but she didn't care. Diamond wanted to die. She didn't want to win and become arm candy for rich perverts. She wanted to make her own choice in life.

Diamond kept to herself for ten entire days. Nobody wanted to be near her, and even her fellow Careers stayed away. At first, she didn't mind. She didn't bother with the neighborhood and camped in the woods, getting many silver parachutes of jewelry, dresses, and other things that wouldn't be useful. Most came with notes about how she was doing great.

Hogwash. They would praise her no matter what happened; they would praise her if she became permanently disabled! She hated them!

After realizing nobody was going to kill her and seeing she was in third place, she hung herself.

-1; Shimmer James-

He was only fourteen but knew he had to win. Careers had everything chosen for them. He had no allies but didn't need them. At first, at least. He saw Diamond around several times in their training schools, but never talked to her because she looked like a snob. Besides, if he intended to win, he would have to kill her, and he didn't want to be the one to kill a fellow Career.

Shimmer was very young for a Career Tribute, but his family felt he was ready. His father was a professional trainer and had confidence in his skills after years of teaching other 1s, 2s, and 4s. His mother was a close friend of one of the District 1 mentors and knew all the secrets the Gamemasters put in their arenas every year.

He tied his hair into a ponytail as he stood on the podium in front of everyone, seeing his parents in the crowd. They looked determined. Diamond was a volunteer too, which wasn't a shock, even though she was also young.

Shimmer was very proficient with guns and knew from his sources that the Arena that year would be an urban setting, so he had a leg up on the others. He left the bloodbath and received a Sponsor package that very night as he hung out in a library, filled with food, water, silk hair ties, and a powerful assault rifle. He smirked as he loaded it.

The first person he killed was the District 6 girl, who was just walking down the street. He got her right in the back. It was their second day. He hid in the grocery store, getting out the knife he found in the girl's backpack and getting ready to stab the other person he found there, District 10.

“Wait! We could form an alliance!” the boy said, holding up his hands. “I'm good with my hands. I don't know how it'll be useful here, but surely you could think of something?”

Shimmer didn't want to admit it, but he fell for his natural charm. He was big and broad, with all the brown colorings of a cow. He nodded and set his knife down, and a relationship was formed.

It was unnatural. He received a Sponsor package that night, as Angus wandered the library looking for anything interesting. The package was frozen food, which was useless in a place with no microwaves, with an angry note about how he should dump him and go after a Career. 1s don't mix with lower Districts.

Shimmer crumpled the note up.

They wanted him to do whatever he could to win; they couldn't question his methods. Angus wasn't even bad company. He was protective and talkative.

Then, he met Barley. Barley was 9, but kicked a door down with no issue. He was strong. He formed his second alliance on the third day. He wouldn't admit it, but he felt Barley had a good chance of winning.

He got another Sponsor package with rotted fruit filled with flies and another message saying stick to your Careers. Do this again, and I'm done supporting you.

That note, he tore up very slowly, making a show of it for the cameras.

Angus and Barley were good company. They broke into an empty house and found food inside, so they sat down to have dinner and talked. Angus got some history wrong, but ultimately, Shimmer wasn't upset. He knew the other Districts couldn't help being ignorant. They weren't trained for the Hunger Games and weren't expected to have that life. He was an anomaly.

The three of them stayed in that house for days, eating the food, playing with the television and radio, even though neither got a signal, and sleeping in the same bed together.

When the District 4 Tribute broke into the house and skewered two of them like fish, it was the first time Shimmer felt his heart break. He shot him in the head, and had no more fight left in him when the last Tribute found him in the house, still staring at the corpses of his friends.

-9; Maize Haxton-

She was a tiny and frail girl; it was any wonder she survived at all. She knew she would die if she ever entered the Hunger Games. All she was good for was harvesting the golden crops she got her name from. Every day she would be out in the fields, sowing, planting, weeding, watering, harvesting. It was a rhythm she liked.

Mother was sick the day of the Reaping, so she went with her father, wearing a butterfly barrette in her bobbed hair that moved its wings like a real butterfly. It was the most extravagant thing she had. At eighteen, she wasn't expecting to be called, and yet she was.

Father looked at her with sorrow. She just hugged him and kept her head up high.

She knew you didn't need to kill everyone else to win. People didn't like to discuss other methods because they weren't engaging, but they knew there were other ways of winning games. Maize wanted to win solely by outlasting the others. Get the affections of the viewers and hide somewhere really good. Then, just wait.

Her interviews went wonderfully. Everyone adored the hardworking yet humble girl from 9, who giggled and sobbed and wore checkered dresses in bright blue and had the perfect curtsy. She didn't know how many people were betting on her, but she hoped it was a lot.

During the bloodbath, Maize killed three people. She didn't want to. But she knew it was ultimately necessary. Once everyone else fled, she grabbed two backpacks and remained right at the Cornucopia, sorting through her finds.

The days dragged on. Every so often, she would catch a glimpse of a figure in the trees, or a shadow running down the street, but they never drew close to her. She figured they were the other Tributes. Sponsors started sending her things. One sent a pocket knife. Another sent a canister of food and a bottle of water. The third sent a diamond bracelet, of all things. They never sent notes, but she knew they mainly came from District 1. She wondered why she struck a chord with them.

Maize was alone for a week and a half. It wasn't good for her, but she feared wandering away and getting killed. She survived on the food and drinks her Sponsors sent, some sending messages about how they were interested in what she was trying to do. A District 4 Sponsor said the 47th Hunger Games were won by someone simply outlasting everyone else; they never picked up a single weapon.

When Maize felt ready, she gathered up her things and trudged to the urban area, checking all the houses. Most were empty. A few had corpses in them. She didn't count them all, but she figured most of the Tributes died in the houses in some way or another. Finally, she reached the last house.

District 1 was there, holding the decomposing corpses of two other Tributes she couldn't recognize anymore. Blood and bodily fluids dried on his clothes, and snot and tears stained his face. Maize wasn't there to gloat or be mean. He had a gun next to him, but it was too advanced for her to use.

She took out a small dagger she received the other day from a Sponsor and stabbed him right then and there.

She allowed him the dignity of closing his eyes before she walked away.