Fox O'Brien

I realize not everyone will want to read it, so I have included a “too long; didn’t read” portion at the bottom to summarize the Games.

Portrait of a Family

 * Father: age 65


 * Mother: age 63


 * Brother: Marten, age 37


 * Brother: Tierra, deceased; would be age 35


 * Sister: Ashlyn, deceased; would be age 34


 * Brother: Elwood, deceased; would be 31

Up until shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I identified with one word only: Career. I lived in District 2 with two people who I considered to be my parents, and four people I called my siblings. I had a name, but to my family, I was the one who could handle a sword, the one who could crack a whip, and the one who could snap someone’s neck with my bare hands. Like the rest of my family, I was bred to be strong and trained to kill. Everyone who looked at our family saw a pack of fine Careers ready to own the Games with our brute strength. Not a single one of us went without a meal unless it was scheduled as part of our training, and no one spoke of a life after the Games.

Growing up, I had four siblings: three brothers and a sister. My sister, two years my elder, was perhaps the strongest since she had to routinely train with us boys. Our parents had never entered the Games and had never been close to entering the Games; they seemed to live on the fact that they could win their wealth and fame by producing children who could thrive in the arena. They barely seemed concerned when my younger brother died in training at the hands of my older sister. At first they were upset, but then they became silent and did not talk much about him. At the time, I thought it was their way of grieving over his death. But when I was older, I came to understand that though they were initially upset they lost their precious investment, they figured that it was better in training then ruin the family name in the arena. In the Games, all of Panem could see my brother’s demise, but to die in the privacy of training could be considered noble. It wasn’t to my sister; she put on a stoic face and pretended that our brother had died in a heroic manner, but when she didn’t think I was looking, she allowed herself to slip away into the patch of trees near our house and cry.

Our days passed with little other than thoughts of the Games. School was a farce, and it was only through my determination to have reprieve from the Games that I learned anything. I stayed up late into the night to study since at home we only spoke of training. Our days began early and ended late. Neither of my parents believed that we needed much sleep; after all, who would bother to sleep in the arena? We rose before dawn and exercised until breakfast, and we came home straight after classes to train with weapons. It was in my eighth year that I took up an interest in medicine. I spoke of attending university to become a doctor, but that was quickly squelched when my parents told me that I had only one goal in life. I believed them. But I still pulled books from the library to learn first aid; after all, I had to be able to take care of myself in the arena. During breaks from school, or when my parents pulled us out of classes, we trained for an entire day. Our family had a work out center, a training arena complete with an obstacle course, and a plethora of weapons. Knives, swords, ropes, spears—you name it, they had it. Anything and everything could be turned into a weapon, from the obvious hot poker used to turn the wood on the fireplace to the more discrete rubber band.

My brother died when I was twelve and he was ten. We were standing on top of a wooden structure that my parents created to simulate an environment in which we’d have to climb. None of us were great at climbing, especially me. But that didn’t stop me from hoisting myself and a broadsword up to the top, though if I had tried to use it, it would certainly have ended in my own bloodshed. My younger brother was up there, too, with a set of bow and arrows. His specialty. My sister climbed up, and I remember thinking that the entire thing was going to fall because it wasn’t meant to hold all of our weight. My family was made of pure muscle. She held this sword in her hands, and she balanced on the structure ever so carefully. (I’m going to pause and point out her how obscenely stupid it is to run around at great heights with sharp objects. Just in case no one else has figured that out and thinks that it’s a great idea that must be reenacted right now.) She thrust the sword at him in what I can only assume was a playful gesture, but the structure was indeed not strong enough. It shifted with her movement and emitted a groan as her weight threw it ever so slightly. It wasn’t enough to make the structure collapse, but it was enough to send her tumbling forward, and her sword to go into my brother’s chest.

Training became more rigorous. My parents hired a personal trainer for us, and we would go live with him on the weekends and when school wasn’t in session. I did not get along well with the trainer. I did everything he said, but my sarcastic quips often came back to kick me in the ass. I never argued his training, but it seemed that he wanted to quash any bit of personality I had within me in order to create some sort of mindless soldier. Sometimes I wouldn’t get food for a week unless I stole it from the closely-guarded kitchen. We were encouraged to beat the daylights out of each other and to give no mercy. The latter didn’t happen too often; my siblings and I had greater respect for each other than people believed, especially after what happened to my younger brother. But we weren’t soft. There were many fist fights and bloody noses. Black eyes became a common place. The occasional broken bone or superficial incision cropped up and was treated. Some days we feasted like kings, and other days we fasted like beggars. We jogged through the districts with our peers and sometimes fought with them, too. During my free time, I sneaked away and spent as much time with my paternal grandparents as I could. They were a sweet couple, and it is hard to recognize that they were the ones who bore my father. They distracted me from my constant training, and they spoiled me greatly. My parents didn’t mind if I visited them as long as I didn’t shirk my training; they spent a fortune on our trainer and it wouldn’t go to waste.

The 129th Hunger Games rolled around, and my trainer got a brilliant idea: if neither of my siblings of age were chosen, they would both volunteer. Having one dead kid in our family wasn’t good enough, and he wanted more. The reason, he said, was because it would draw in more sponsors and allow one of them a better chance at survival. He spoke with my parents and somehow got them to agree. My parents wanted the fame and fortune that came with a victor, but I never believed they would send two children to fight to the death against each other. I knew the trainer was picturing it in his head: a brilliant death scene between the two of them, the final Tributes of the 129th Games, in which my parents were guaranteed a winner. A fantastic situation by any standards, and one that would surely win my siblings support from the Capitol. But it was doomed. My sister died in the training arena before the reaping. Neither my older brother nor I expected it, and though we rushed to save her, we were too late. She had managed to slice open her femoral artery and she bled out within a matter of minutes. My family mourned her loss, but we didn’t stop preparing for the Games.

Reaping came, and my sister’s demise didn’t stop my older brother from volunteering for the Games. The family was proud of him; after my oldest brother failed to be reaped or volunteer, we finally had something to look forward to. So maybe the idea of two siblings together in the arena was gone, but our trainer assured us that everyone would love the story of a boy who lost two siblings in training.

My oldest brother busied me with training so that I didn’t have to think about the others while the Capitol televised the pre-Game week. He worked me so hard that I passed out more than once, and when I was conscious, I was too tired to give a shit about most things in life. Brilliant brother, saving my ass before I could do anything dumb in my grief. I watched the interviews and announcement of training scores numbly from my couch where I sat with the joke of a family. My brother received a ten. Marten and I trained for the next two weeks; he was nineteen and too old to enter the Games even if he wanted to, but it didn’t matter to either of us. The Games were the last things we wanted to think about even thought it brought so much joy to our parents. Neither of us saw our brother die the third day; we weren’t there to witness how he stood still as another Tribute rammed the knife into his neck.

I didn’t have a choice about whether I wanted to go to the Games, but there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to go. I was my family’s last hope; my parents had spent good money on the five of us, and now there was only one eligible left. I had trained my entire life for this: it was my purpose, the sole reason for my existence. Funny that, despite everything my family had been through, I still felt this kinship with my parents. I didn’t spend much time with them anymore between training with Marten and the trainer and going to visit my grandparents, but they were still the ones who brought me into this dark world.

The 131st Hunger Games rolled around. I was not chosen, and I did not have the opportunity to volunteer. But I was ready. I was living and breathing the Games, and I pushed and shoved my fellow sixteen year olds to have the opportunity to seize fame and glory. Threat or no, this was what I had trained for my entire life, and I was desperate to be in it.

For the next year, I trained harder than ever. When the 132nd Games came, I volunteered before anyone else could. This was it—this was everything I had ever wanted. (Dumb shit, huh? Who the hell is stupid enough to want to run off and die? Might as well have rolled myself in barbeque sauce and thrown myself to the wild animals outside of the district walls. Probably would have been less retarded.) I was ready for the Games, and I was going to win them or die trying. I embraced the preparation week and received a nine for my training score.

The Arena
Before I begin with the Cornucopia, let me explain the arena. It was something of a challenge to figure out at first because I couldn’t see the larger picture, and since I’m trying to tell a story here, it’s not going to do any good to leave you in the dark.

Imagine a square cake. Now cut that cake into four even pieces, two slices to form a cross. Cover the entire cake with boreal forests. Now in the top left quadrant, put a river through the forest. It’s neither deep nor fast moving. Just a river. In the top right quadrant is a meadow. In the meadow is a small house surrounded by a patch of farmland. The bottom left quadrant has more thick forests. Deep forests with both coniferous and deciduous trees. And finally the bottom right quadrant, though mostly forest, has a dark bog.

The Cornucopia is directly in the center. There’s a large, circular clearing with the trees a good run away. From here, it’s hard to tell that the majority of the arena is comprised by trees; my guess is that they wanted to throw us off. A small stream encircles the Cornucopia followed by about fifty yards of open meadow, which means that all Tributes must cross both the stream and the meadow to escape the Cornucopia. The stream isn’t deep and isn’t hard to cross; it’s about five inches deep at max, but it also has large rocks within it that one can hop across. It’s fresh water, though. Exposed, but fresh water.

But this is what sets the arena of the 132nd Hunger Games apart from arenas of similar Games. (Let’s face it; the Gamemakers’ creativity only stretches so far, and every dumb Game takes place in a forest. I have to give them credit for this one, though.) We started out in the morning: a spring morning. Bright, fresh. But by early afternoon, the air had grown unusually hot and humid. By evening, it smelled of autumn and the once-thriving vegetation began to turn yellow and die. At midnight, it was cold with a foot of snow on the ground. Morning arrives: spring. Rinse and repeat.

Day One
As a Career, I knew what I was supposed to do as soon as the platform raised me into the arena. I used my time wisely and scanned my surroundings. From here I could see the Cornucopia and twenty-three other Tributes. Around me was a meadow and then forests. I couldn’t see much of the forest or what was beyond it, so I dropped it and focused upon what Icould see: The Cornucopia. The bloodbath. This first battle would determine whether I was a contestant for winning. Strangely enough, I did not feel fear. This was my purpose in life, and I wasn’t about to fail. I was nearly 250 pounds of solid muscle, and I could own nearly every weapon that touched my fingers. These Games were mine. I saw a variety of weapons, and I knew that I could use one of the larger ones with ease, but I also needed smaller ones as well in case I needed something for closer-range combat. The gong sounded, and I was off across the patch of ground towards the Cornucopia. I wasn’t the first there, but I was close to it. Then I saw it: my longsword. But there was a girl near it, and she was reaching for it. How would she even be able to manage a longsword when it looked like she could barely handle a knife? I recognized her as the girl from District 3, but as my hand wrapped around a xiphos lying on the ground, I only saw someone standing in the way of my weapon. I swung the xiphos and it sliced into her neck. Blood spurted out, and she collapsed to the ground. I grabbed my longsword and turned around just in time to see a boy half my size running at me, no doubt attempting to stab me in the back. I swung the longsword, and his head and shoulders were no longer connected.

Before I could process what I’d done, I grabbed my xiphos off the ground and found a sheath lying next to it. I had time to tuck the xiphos into the sheath and I stuck it into my belt as everyone else was busy gathering items and slaughtering fellow Tributes. There was a sheath for the longsword closer to the Cornucopia, and I scan my surroundings. With plenty of time to grab the sword and sheath and run, I did just that. I snagged a small satchel on my way out, and I took off running across the meadows. I was confident that there was nothing dangerous within the grasses as I splashed through the stream and into the woods on the other side.

Once I was in the forest, I searched for a place where I would potentially be safe. I knew the other Careers would be gathering together and I should find them, too; after all I was part of the Career pack and I couldn’t outright abandon those I had agreed to ally with. But I wasn’t stupid; I had seen Careers put all faith in their alliance only to have it fall through prematurely. Instead I took a few moments to gather my bearings. The arena looked harmless enough, though it was hot. All of the Tributes wore a pair of brown trousers and a matching brown shirt with a deep brown belt. Our boots, as well, were brown. I was surprised at how thick my uniform was given the heat of the arena, but I wouldn’t let it bother me too much. I had two weapons: the xiphos and the longsword, whose sheath I affixed to my back. I cleaned the longsword on the green grasses and placed it carefully over my shoulder and into its sheath. Next I examined the contents of my pack. It was small, but within it were several grain bars for food, a bottle with a couple iodine pills and a pair of leather gloves sans fingers. I pulled the gloves out of the bag and slipped them on my hands. The pills I almost put back into my bag, but I caught myself. If, for some reason, I was separated from the other Careers—or perhaps if they turned against me before time—I couldn’t be left with nothing. For all I knew, every water source in the arena was contaminated; it had happened in previous Games, and it could very well happen in these. I pulled the lid off of the iodine bottle and slipped a couple tablets out before replacing the cap and putting the bottle in the bag. I dropped the tablets into my pocket and hoped that they wouldn’t get wet.

Five cannon shots.

Knowing that the bloodbath was over and I must meet up with the other Careers, I headed back in the direction of the Cornucopia. It didn’t take me long to find them; they were a loud bunch not bothering to disguise their noise. Also, they stood like bloody idiots in the middle of the meadow near the Cornucopia. That’s right, I forgot: brains weren’t muscles and therefore didn’t need to be trained. (I am convinced, to this day, that Careers are trained so they don’t have brains. Let that go to the other districts without the brawn. After all, brains and power are a dangerous combination to hold.) Fortunately for us, no one liked to pick on the Career pack, so we were relatively safe. After I announced my presence and joined them, the six of us combined resources. Some had needed things, such as food and water, and others had things that appeared to have minimal use: a white uniform, a harmonica, an empty bottle smaller than my fist. Of course, there were weapons. We were armed from head to toe with the sharpest, largest weapons we could get.

Diamond and Gabe of District 1 each had a backpack of food. Diamond had a spear and Gabe a trident, which he switched with Blenny of District 4. The girl was sharp, and as she took the trident in her hands and gave Gabe her machete, I could see the ease with which she gripped the weapon. Same with Gabe and his machete. He flicked it around with a twist of his wrist. Fine, I now knew their strengths, and I would know what to watch out for. Dorado, also of 4, scoffed when he saw everyone else’s weapons, and I knew he had grabbed exactly what he wanted: crossbow and arrow. It was odd to have someone from District 4 excel with a bow, but all that mattered now was that he was deadly. Finally there was June, my fellow District 2 Tribute, with a morning star. (I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that I was placed into the arena with a fellow District mate who was so damn hot. Figures hormones would get in the way of killing.) I glanced back towards the Cornucopia and saw the bodies littered on the ground.

We proceeded that first day away from the Cornucopia in a methodical fashion to hunt through the arena for any Tributes. There was one, a small District 12 girl, and Diamond speared her through the heart. The night grew colder and the air brought a sharp, crisp smell. The greenery withered away so quickly we could almost see it die before us. We slept in shifts the first night, and I sat with June and stared into the darkness as snow fell around us. I pondered right then and there killing the other five. I knew I could get a couple of them before the rest woke up, but that wasn’t how the Career pack worked. Instead I huddled close to June as we tried to conserve heat and watched the faces appear in the sky. I pretended I didn’t care when she leaned against me. When it was my turn to sleep, I retired with complete faith that the alliance would not disintegrate during the night.

CANNON D3 Female (bloodbath, me) D5 Male (bloodbath, D1F) D6 Male (bloodbath, me) D6 Female (bloodbath, D1F) D7 Female (bloodbath, D4F) D12 Female (Diamond)

Day Two
Once many Games ago, over half the Tributes died in the first day in the bloodbath and the surrounding areas of the arena. But that did not please the people at the Capitol, for the Games did not last as long and many days went without blood. Well then, they would have been pleased with the 132nd Games. Not a dull day went by without bloodshed.

I woke up on the second morning to the sound of fighting. I rolled over on my side and saw Diamond yelling with Gabe and Blenny. Lying on the ground was Dorado with the spear in his chest. Day Two had just begun, and the Careers had already turned against each other. Dorado had made a move Diamond did not approve of, and she had killed him while everyone slept. At least, that was the story. I knew I would find out the truth only when I saw the reruns of the Games; for now, I only had her word. Diamond, Gabe and Blenny, before they could outright kill each other, decided to split into two groups. June and I remained silent, for it was not our District which had gone awry. Diamond stated that June and I must choose between her and Gabe and Blenny, but June and I still could not speak. Finally I stated that until I had proof that Diamond had a reason for killing Dorado, I would not side with her. June quickly agreed with me, which left us with one option: to kill Diamond. But to kill someone who was not attacking you was a difficult task, and I remained silent when people asked who wanted to kill her. Diamond seized the opportunity and made a break for it. Blenny took chase and the two of them disappeared. As we gathered our supplies, an untriumphant Blenny returned. We proceeded onward.

As we traveled, we didn’t find many Tributes. Twice cannons fired, but not by our own hands. I counted it silently in my head. Nine Tributes dead in the Games so far. We stopped only long enough to eat food and drink from a stream we found. Then we continued to walk. We found a dried part of the forest with few leaves on the hardened ground and then all hell broke loose between the Careers for the second time in the same day.

Blenny wanted to continue her search for Diamond. June agreed with her. Gabe and I wanted to continue on with our pursuit of the other Tributes; let Diamond kill some of them for us before we killed her. But no, June and Blenny said there was no point in that, for she would sneak in and slit our throats while we slept. I could see their rationale, but I did not accept it; it did not make sense with four against one. But here they were willing to split us up so that they could find Diamond and right the wrongs committed within the arena. A joke—the wrongs were all committed outside of the arena. In the end, we split. I gave them some of my iodine tablets, and Gabe his bread. They shared water and jerky that they had. We agreed to meet in one days’ time at the same location. I said goodbye to the Careers and gave June a nod as we departed.

Travel was quiet, and I used the time to figure out how I was going to kill everyone else in the arena. I could not get it through my thick skull that I was murdering people. How could it be murder when it was my life’s purpose to be here? It wasn’t murder because no sane parent would raise their child to commit such a crime against other children. And here I was too stupid to realize that my parents had lost their sanity long ago and that three of their five children had died for a cause they worshipped. My parents, who had never once been placed through training or faced any of the trials we had underwent. So now it was just Gabe and I, and neither of us spoke until we approached a meadow. The yellow grasses were not unlike the ones at the Cornucopia, but these were longer and could conceal a human crouched down on the ground. In the distance, I could see the top of a small house. Smoke puffed out of the chimney.

“Look, a house,” said Gabe.

“Really? Is that what they call it these days?” I snapped. I drew out my longsword, and Gabe grabbed his machete.

Without another word, we pressed on into the meadow. As we came to the house, I saw a small patch of land used for farming. Large orange pumpkins ripened on the vine. An acre of what appeared to be wheat was cleared from the ground surrounding the pumpkin patch. The smell of bread wafted from the house. Together we approached with caution.

Or rather, I approached with caution. Gabe threw open the door, and I had no choice but to follow in after him. Inside we found a small two-room house. The kitchen was tight and filled with a table and a stove. Right next to the stove was a small girl. District 5.

“Are you baking bread in the middle of the Games?” I asked incredulously. I nearly dropped my sword as I saw her with the loaf of bread in her hands.

She looked just as surprised as I was. “No! I found it—”

But then the girl was dead, the machete in her chest. She fell to the floor, and the bread rolled out of her hands. Gabe walked over and picked up the bread, then pulled his machete out of her body. A cannon fired not too far away. For several minutes we deliberated over our next move, but at last we decided that we needed to seek shelter for the night. The previous night’s snow had been hard, and I knew that it had been nothing more than a warning. The Gamemakers couldn’t kill everyone off in the first night, but they could gradually reduce the temperature until only the strongest survived. Unfortunately neither Gabe nor I had a sleeping bag to insulate the heat. We dumped the body out of doors and picked a couple of pumpkins for dinner. But by the time we returned to the cabin and feasted upon the warm bread the girl had supposedly found baking by itself, I was too tired to cook the pumpkin. With Gabe taking the first watch, I struggled to stay awake for the anthem. Through the windows, I watched the faces appear in the sky.

“Gabe,” I said after the faces disappeared and silence overtook the house.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Wish me a happy birthday.”

“What?” I could tell he thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I did.

“Tomorrow. It’s my birthday,” I said. I would be eighteen. I wondered what would have happened if I was chosen the following year and I turned nineteen in the middle of the Games. Would I still be eligible? I lay on my back on the floor of the cabin and stared at the roof.

“Then I’ll wish you a happy birthday tomorrow,” Gabe said, and we were both silent.

CANNON D4 Male (Diamond) D5 Female (Gabe) D8 Male (D9 Female) D10 Male (D9 Female)

Day Three
Neither Gabe nor I were great at keeping watch, for I woke up in the morning after having slept through my shift and found Gabe fast asleep slumped against the chair. Spring had come once more, and I roused him from his slumber. Today we would at least eat a good breakfast before we headed out once more. I prepared the fire and sliced the pumpkin as Gabe went outside. The air was sweet, and the smell of baking bread had long since dissipated. Gabe returned a few minutes later with carrots dangling from his hand.

“The seasons bring different food,” I mused as he threw himself down at the wooden table. I joined him and brought the cooked pumpkin slices.

“I don’t think that’s how you cook pumpkin,” Gabe commented.

“Well, that’s the problem: you don’t think,” I snapped as I bit into a slice of pumpkin. He was right. It didn’t taste cooked the right way, but I continued to eat it anyhow. As long as it was edible, it was fine by me.

Gabe bit into a carrot and promptly died. (No, seriously. It was as though the instant the carrots touched his lips, he was dead; you think I’m making this story shorter? Maybe I should just pretend to kill off everyone right now and say the Games ended on Day Three.) I waited for myself to die; I waited for the pumpkin to kill me. But it didn’t. Instead all I heard was the cannon fire for Gabe. I sat in my chair and finished my pumpkin as Gabe slumped with his face against the thick wooden slats of the table. And I pondered, what would happen next? Why was the pumpkin edible, but the carrots were not? What other things within the arena would trip me up like that? Finally I decided I must move. The house was a landmark in the middle of an open field, and I wasn’t about to be someone’s next target. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I weren’t alone, but I was. As soon as I had eaten my fill of pumpkin and bread, I gathered up my stuff, raided Gabe’s body for any supplies while whistling a birthday song to myself, and left.

I would not be returning to the rest of the Careers, that I knew. They would immediately assume that I had killed Gabe. It was a fair assumption, I knew, but not a true one. And if something like this had happened to Gabe and me, what was to say that the others didn’t get split up? I did a quick tally in my mind; so far I had only been keeping track of the dead, but now I needed to figure out who was still living. There were still 14 people alive—a great feat for the Games. That meant that I had a one in 14 chance of living, and there was no way I was going to let that go. In order to live, I needed others to die.

The air was still cool as I set out, and the grasses thick and green. I pulled my xiphos from its sheath and carried it so no one could sneak up on me. The building I left behind was a fortress, and I knew that it would have been an excellent place for the Career pack to obtain. But the Career pack was no longer; we had disintegrated on the second day. Well, at least we weren’t kidding ourselves. I headed what I guessed to be due south (judging by the sun’s position) for the rest of the morning. Early afternoon brought summer and the greens of the forest began to dull into yellows. Two cannon shots fired one after another just before noon, and I was coming across a small thicket of trees when I found two Tributes going at each other with knives. I stayed low to the ground and watched them until one of the boys fell. I listened for the cannon shot before I jumped out of the bushes and killed the remaining boy. Another cannon shot, and I raided through their belongings. Between them, I found a canteen of water and flint for starting fire; neither of them had anything of great use, though I knew that I needed the water for my own supply would run out soon.

Summer turned into autumn as I stopped for a break. I ate another strip of (this time raw) pumpkin and thought about the turn of seasons. There must have been something else to the seasons besides the weather. Otherwise what was the point of it? The Gamemakers could bring extreme heat or cold in any arena, so why give us the different seasons? My brain couldn’t work it out, so I finished up my meal and continued on.

Nightfall was nearing and I was searching for somewhere warm to sleep. Or rather, somewhere where I wouldn’t freeze in the middle of the night. The ground beneath my feet was frozen solid where I knew that only hours ago it was soft, fresh land. Within a matter of minutes, it would be snowing like it had done for the past two nights. But I heard whimpering from the bushes. I readied my xiphos and listened carefully, but it was human and not animal. I pressed through the grasses.

A district 12 male lay on the ground. His face had several gashes with blood dripping down. His clothing was wet with his own blood. Though the light was dim, it looked as though his skin had split open. When he saw me, his whimpering grew louder and he tried to crawl away. I knew I ought to kill him and be done with it, but his skin looked so horrific that I needed to know what had caused it.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I began as I took a step closer. “In exchange for information, I will keep you alive.” It was a lie. I had no intentions of outright killing him this moment, but whatever happened to his skin was probably killing him right now, and even if I had the medical expertise to save him, I wouldn’t. “What happened to you?”

The boy eyed me warily and then said, “How can I trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice unless you can magically sprout wings and fly away,” I growled. I repeated, “What happened to you?”

“There’s this beetle,” he said warily. “There’s this beetle and it swarms from the trees during the summer.”

I looked around me. If there was a beetle that could do that lurking around here, I needed to ditch this area as soon as possible. The boy must have seen my reaction, for he continued,

“Only in the summer.”

The summer. So this boy knew something about the changing seasons. I raised my eyebrow and looked at him. “Tell me what you know about the seasons, and I’ll find out how to get those beetle-inflicted wounds healed.”

It was an offer he quickly ate up. “We started in spring, but that’s the most dangerous of seasons. There are giant dragonflies that swoop at your head. They got Julie—the District 3 girl—and one of them drilled into her forehead. She couldn’t talk or speak or move, and we had to drag her along. That was yesterday. Today during spring, Julie and the District 8 girl got eaten by the bog. I barely made it out. Summer is drier, but it has a lot of bugs and not much food and there’s no water. When autumn comes, a lot of food appears. And then there’s winter, which is really cold. We’re going to freeze if we stay out here any longer.”

He was right about the last part at least, though my brain was still working out the others. Spring was the most dangerous. It made sense since it had the ideal climate that they would fill it up with bad things once people let their guards down. A bog that ate people. Killer dragonflies that performed lobotomies. Then came summer, without food. Finally, autumn. Yes, things made sense now. If spring was a killer, then that’s why Gabe died; I ate the autumn food and he ate the spring food. So what was so dangerous about autumn? I saw the pros and cons of all the other seasons, but what hidden terror did autumn hold?

“What happens during autumn? Besides the food?”

“I’m so cold,” he whimpered in a small voice. I exhaled. Great, my one informant was almost dead. I reached for his bag and he exclaimed, but I ignored him as I rifled through it. Bandages, a strange silver square folded up, a bottle of poison, a rope. I pulled out the rope and tied up his hands and feet so he couldn’t move and thus couldn’t kill me. I searched his pockets and found a small knife on him, which I relieved him of immediately. Dragging him off to the bushes, I pulled out the silver square.

“Moron,” I said as I unfolded it. He had everything he needed right here, and the idiot couldn’t even identify a heat-saving blanket. As the air grew colder, I sat down next to him and pulled the blanket over the both of us. In any other circumstance I’d never allow myself so close to another Tribute, but these cold nights were determined to kill us.

And then I saw something silver fall out of the sky. It landed just out of my reach, and I leaned over and picked it up off the ground. The District 12 boy craned his neck so that he could see it, and I opened the box. Right there was a piece of birthday cake—a miniature cake—frosted and decorated with my name on it. In the center was a single candle with a small flame.

“I don’t get it,” said District 12.

“It’s my birthday,” I said quietly. The piece of cake was a punch to the gut. Happy birthday while you slay people, o happy day! I bit my lip and pulled the cake out of the box carefully so that I didn’t smudge the frosting.

The boy was quiet for a moment as though pondering the sweet irony of celebrating one’s birthday in the arena before he said, “Make a wish.”

I made a wish, but I didn’t wish for the Games to end or for me to win. I blew out the candle and pulled it out of the cake. My fingers found the ropes which bound the boy, and we ate the birthday cake together in silence. The warmth spread through me and I didn’t fear freezing in the night. When the cake was gone, I tied District 12 back up, and we went to sleep. CANNON

D1 Male (poison) D3 Female (bog) D8 Female (bog) D9 Male (D9 Female) D10 Male (D11 Male) D11 Male (me)

Day Four
I woke up the next morning to the District 12 boy panicking. I jumped up and saw the red scars running across his skin had grown deeper and exposed muscle and bone. Yep, he was more or less dead. My time was limited to extract information from him. I untied him to show that we were both friends.

“What happens in autumn?” I demanded again as soon as we were both awake.

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know.”

“You do,” I snapped.

He grabbed my xiphos away from me and threw it into the woods as far as his pathetic arm could manage. But it did the trick. My xiphos landed in a patch of mud on the other side of a few trees where it was quickly pulled down to the bottom. I let out a string of curses and grabbed the rope that had bound him a few minutes earlier and wrapped it around his neck. I pulled both sides of the rope, and he was dead. It wasn’t until his lifeless body fell back onto the ground that I realized I had killed the one ally I had in this death hole. I gathered up the heat blanket and the other supplies, and spun the rope into a loop which I affixed to my belt. I dragged his body through the woods and tossed it on an unsightly patch of ground. The bog ate his body. With the ground so patchy and uneven, I knew I had no choice but to stay here until it was dry enough for me to move away from the bog. I kept myself alert and my eyes opened for the brain-drilling dragonflies, but I saw none. Spring carried on and I watched the gas bubbles rise up from the swamp and pop on the muddy surface. I killed a boy I had shared a meal with just the night before. Not any meal, but my birthday cake sent specifically for me. He had been dying, and perhaps I had made his death less painful, but that was not what went through my mind at the time. Only anger, hatred. The need to win. A large bubble wiggled its way to the surface of the bog and popped. I watched as the ripples spread away and across the thick sludge.

Morning began to disappear and as noon rolled around, the ground grew firm enough for me to walk on.

There were seven people left in the Games now. I bet last night they interviewed my proud parents who couldn’t be more thrilled that they sacrificed their son for their own fame. With four kills, was I most valuable player? The thought made me laugh ruefully, but I continued through the dry and patchy woods, traveling westward. I saw no one. There were only seven of us left, and no doubt everyone was praying that they would win by keeping to themselves until the time was right. But boring is boring, and I found out firsthand what made Autumn so dangerous.

The grasses flared up, and there was fire all around me. I didn’t expect it at first, but it raged through the forest and ate away all of the brown and dried trees and branches and grasses. Initially I tried to run, but when that failed, I found the biggest tree I could and began to climb up. One hand after the other, each boot finding its foothold, I hoisted myself into the tree. It was no easy task, and I was nearly consumed by the flames that ate the forest so eagerly. The longsword tied to my back didn’t help matters much, but I refused to drop it in my escape for fear of finding something far more deadly than fire. The bark dug into my hands as I climbed and the air pulsed with heat. I didn’t stop until I was sure that if I took another step the tree branches would snap underneath my weight. But the fire passed as soon as it had come and left behind a charred world void of much life. A few dead trees like the one I clung to now remained, but the earth was barren and the raw soil exposed where once grasses and fallen leaves covered its naked flesh. Slowly I lowered myself down from the tree so that any of the tender fire-touched branches wouldn’t snap. When I was down on solid ground, I allowed myself to breathe. My lungs ached and I paused to drink some of the water. I knew that tonight I should fill my canteen up with snow and let it melt for the morning so that I didn’t run out of anything to drink.

I trudged on, this time southward. I had enough of the flames and I wanted to see what else this world held. I mourned the loss of my xiphos which I could use easily and didn’t burden me; my only choice was to carry my longsword for protection. Though my back felt lighter upon removing the sword, it immediately burdened my arms. Still, I had trained for this and I could deal with holding a heavy sword for awhile.

Shouts came up from the distance, and I approached a group of Tributes right as a cannon fired. There lay June with a trident in her stomach. But the cannon fire had not been for her; that was for Diamond who had finally met her match against June’s morning star. And the victor of the skirmish, Blenny, stood several feet away as she watched June. Her shoulders heaved as she breathed. June caught my eye, and Blenny followed the dying Tribute’s gaze up towards me. A smile spread across her lips.

“Career pack is finished. Little Fox goes from hunter to hunted,” she grinned.

“Little? Have you even looked at me?” I demanded, though my words were only a wall as I gathered myself together. Showdown time. I readied my grip on my longsword, thankful of the gloves I had found which added to my hold.

“Are you going to kill me to avenge your fellow district resident’s death?” she taunted.

“I guess you haven’t noticed, but she’s not dead yet,” I pointed out. She would be within a matter of time, but suddenly it became important to poke holes in whatever Blenny was saying to keep myself from breaking down. She wrapped her hand around the trident and tugged. June gasped as the weapon jerked her several inches off the ground before leaving her body. She fell back to the flame-eaten earth with a grunt. Several moments passed and blood poured out of her wounds, but no cannon fire. Each breath she took was labored and pained, and I couldn’t watch it any longer, so I continued to Blenny. “Oh, wait, just kidding. Now she is.”

Blenny ran at me with her trident out. She was trying to catch me off guard, and she almost succeeded, but I had been trained too well for that. My life was filled with expecting physical offenses, and I deflected her trident with my sword. She fell to the ground but scrambled to her feet with her trident in her hand. Once more she lunged at me, and the trident speared me in my left arm. I winced and my grip on the longsword weakened, but I gave the sword a swing. I caught her in the shoulder as she danced out of the way. Blood poured from the open gash and she gave a wild howl of pain. She thrust the trident at me again, and I moved out of the way and placed my foot against her chest as I kicked her to the ground. She tumbled onto her back and looked up at me with wide eyes as I brought down my sword over my head and plunged it into her chest. Her eyes bulged out. She went limp. Cannon fire.

I returned to June’s side and knelt down on one knee.

“Consider your death avenged,” I said to her.

She gave me a weak smile. “Thanks, Fox,” she replied. Her lips were bright red, and I knew she didn’t have much time left. By all accounts, I should kill her here and now and be done with it. But for some reason, I couldn’t. For several minutes I sat by her side. “Don’t use—her—healing…. Sun bright as shadows….”

A cannon fired, and I sat there on the ground crouched next to her. She had given me her departing words in a jumble. Was it a message or the circuits in her brain frying as she died? I made haste as I checked through their supplies. Food, weapons. I couldn’t carry it all. I needed things that I wouldn’t be able to find within the arena. A roll of bandages, a bottle of medicine, a pack of playing cards. I raised an eyebrow. The first two would be useful, but playing cards. I was about to discard the cards when I recognize the bottle of medicine. It had been on the first day the empty bottle someone had received from the Cornucopia. And now it was full of medicine. I popped off the top and smelled it. Sweet and medicinal. Closing the lid, I remembered June’s words: “Don’t use her healing (sun bright as shadows).” I figured the last half didn’t belong with the first half, but the first words sounded ominous enough. Thought I added the medicine and the bandages to my bag, I didn’t have plans to use the ointment anytime soon despite the—

An arrow planted in my shoulder and I cried out in pain and surprise. I looked around and saw the district 9 girl not too far away. With the fire-eaten forest, it was hard to hide amongst the deadened trunks. In the girl’s hands was the crossbow Dorado originally obtained from the Cornucopia.

“HEY!” I shouted at the girl. “Who taught you to shoot, your grandma?”

She fled into the forest.

I spent that night nursing my wounds. The trident and the arrow had struck me in the same shoulder. Leaving the medicine untouched, I removed the arrow with ease and applied the bandages to stop the bleeding and to keep the wounds clean. As I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, I could only think of June. In another life, we could have been together. I tried to tell myself that it was ridiculous because I barely knew her and I had spoken to her but a handful of times before we ever came to the arena, but it was no use. In that other life, perhaps we could have been friends, or more. I thought of the boy who I had killed this morning.

And I realized the worst part of winter was not the snow, but the cold thoughts it conjured. CANNON D12 Male (me) D1 Female (June) D2 Female (Blenny) D4 Female (me)

Day Five
The fifth day began with four people left. And one Career. While I was relieved that there was no one to rival my strength and weapon mastery, the fact that those left were underlings unnerved me. What did they have that allowed them to outlive everyone else?

Overnight, the winter healed the burned earth, and spring brought with it new grasses and the trees new leaves. I knew that I had to exit this part of the arena before autumn came and brought with it its fire. I spent the day with no interactions with any other Tribute. I turned northward and continued my trek. I stopped at a river only briefly to refill my canteen before moving off again. If I continued North, I realized, I would be following along with the river. I kept it to my left and continued further north and then turned right. As autumn disappeared into winter, I found myself making a nest in the forest with my heat blanket and sleeping into the night. Only one face appeared in the sky that night. CANNON D7

Male (D9 Female)

Day Six
After the fourth day had caused so much bloodshed, the fifth day was a disappointment to Capitol viewers. With only one death, how could it compare? But then again, they couldn’t allow the Games to end in only four days, could they?

I knew they were driving us together as a swarm of head-boring dragonflies swooped in on me. Had I not known what the District 12 male had told me, I would have been unprepared and I would have had my head drilled into right there. But as soon as I heard the hum of wings, I gathered my stuff up, wrapped the heat blanket around my head, and began to run. I crashed through the forest with little worries that someone would snipe me when I had such muttations attacking me. They bit at my arms and chest, but I knew they wanted my head by the way they left the rest of me relatively unscathed. When they finally vanished, I came to a stop and removed the silver blanket. My hair was soaked in sweat. I put away the blanket and grabbed the sword. I was wherever the Gamemakers wanted me to be. Now what was I to expect?

Summertime in the meadow. Butterflies flapped their wings above the green grasses that separated me from the house. Ah, the house. I came to the conclusion that someone was within the house. The Gamemakers must want me to face them. Fine then, I needed a way to infiltrate their base. There were only two Tributes left aside from myself. Two females, one from 9 and one from 11. But were they both within the house? Or was this just a trap, and they, too, were hiding in the woods?

No way to know until I checked. (Remember what I said about Careers having all brawn and no brain? I rest my case.)

I crept up to the house, keeping low in the grasses as I approached. I came up to the building and pressed my body against the wooden structure as I crept around towards a window. Sword ready, I knew I had to take a look inside the building. A snake slithered by my foot, and I jumped out of the way before it could bite, but it didn’t appear to want anything to do with me. I watched it disappear into the summer grasses. Turning away from the snake, I peered into the window. There were the two girls sitting on the floor. The District 9 girl was propped up against the wall, and the District 11 girl crouched down on the ground. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention to the windows. So. . . they didn’t expect me. I slipped around towards the door and remembered the two Tributes who had died in the building only a few days prior. It hadn’t been that long ago. . . had it? My fingers reached out for the door and I pushed it inside. Before either of them could react, I was in the room with my sword out and ready for damage.

The longsword met the District 9 girl’s arm right as she was raising her crossbow. She winced, and the District 11 girl launched at me with a crowbar. The bar smacked me in the head, and I stumbled backwards in a daze. My sword fell limp in my hands, and I knew that my time was almost over. No! I had trained too long, too hard for it to end this way! I heaved the sword up and swung blindly. The sword lodged into the table, and I tore it out and fled the building. My vision spun, and I could barely run in a straight line. I headed back out into the grasses before I collapsed on the ground. A cannon fired, but I knew it wasn’t for me.

I have the ability now to look back on the events of the arena and lay them out methodically. What I didn’t know then I will tell you now: the two girls had formed an alliance two days before during the bloody Career battle. They had one goal: to kill me. In the meantime, they disposed of the other contender, the District 7 male, so that they would have no one to interfere. But while traveling to the house on the fifth day in the summer, the District 11 girl had been bitten by something in the grass. The two retreated in the house where they tried to patch her up and they took turns keeping watch. It was during the District 11 girl’s watch that I had come and surprised them. After my retreat, the District 9 girl slaughtered her ally for failing at her duties. Violent? Yes.

But how did that differ from how I had killed the boy who provided me information about the seasons?

I woke up as snow was beginning to fall. My head throbbed and I stumbled out of the grasses and into the woods. Covering myself with the blanket, I fell asleep.

But once more I woke, this time as the anthem played in the night. The trees obscured my view, but I didn’t need to see it. There was no way that the District 11 girl was still alive. And here I was, tomorrow about to face the showdown that would determine whether I would see the following day, and I didn’t even know the name of the girl I would battle. I didn’t know the names of most of the people I had killed, five so far. Unease set within me, and I found myself questioning my actions and their consequences. For my entire life I had trained for this. Everything I learned culminated here and now. But what would happen after this? What would my life be like if I won the Games? I had been taught no skill but fighting, no motive but winning, no fear but failing. After this, I would be a winner, but what would I live for?

Wrapping the heat blanket around my body, I nodded off to sleep as the snow landed on my eyelashes. CANNON District 11 Female (District 9 Female)

Day Seven
The next morning, I ate my fill of food. The way I saw it, it was the last day of the Games. There was no way that the Gamemakers were going to allow the District 9 girl and me to live together for another day. I staggered to my feet, still feeling the effects of the crowbar to the head, and stumbled a few feet across the forest towards the meadow. Leaving behind everything but my sword and my rope, I moved through the lush green grasses. My head throbbed, but I paid it little heed. Within moments, there I was at the door of the house. My fist thumped against the wood.

“Knock, knock, anybody home?” I called out. I took a step back and readied my sword. It occurred to me then that the girl could be hiding within the meadows, expecting this sort of attack. But it was too late. An arrow hissed through the air and struck me right below the clavicle. I winced. “Good shot.”

District 9 stood on the roof, the crossbow in her hands. Damn, how the hell was I supposed to combat that? Retreating into the tall grasses, I rethought my strategy. She was on the roof and I was here on the ground. Best yet, I had an arrow sticking out of my chest. Faaaantastic. What came after the poisonous world of spring? Ah yes, the blissfully dangerous world of summer. And then a rather easy autumn. Maybe I could find that snake I ran into the day before and launch it up on the roof to bite her. In my mind, I ran through stupid idea after stupid idea. Half of them I knew were stupid and the other half I thought were the most brilliant miracles ever created. Finally I settled upon one that sounded far more amazing than anything even the brightest scientists of Panem could conjure. I headed back to my backpack and began to rummage through it for supplies.

Here I am counteracting the theory that Careers can’t be smart. If I had thought like this, the Games would have been over on the second day. I knelt down in the dirt and cut a circular hole in the heat blanket with my sword. My fingers found the rope at my waist and I picked at the frayed edges until I had several long pieces of string. I tied the circle fabric cut from the blanket to the bottle of supposed medicine that I had taken from the Careers. Would District 9 be able to tell the difference between this parachute and a real parachute, I asked myself as I held it up in the air. I waited for the next season to approach, I admired my work. As spring turned to summer, I stood up knew that it was now or never. Now, to plant the seed…. I remained in the woods until summer turned to autumn before I slipped through the grasses once again. I paused a good ways from the house and patch of farmland and tied several golden stalks of grass to my head like a crown to break up the profile. Camouflage. I could see District 9 from here. She sat on the roof and scanned the horizon, the crossbow in her hands. But there—I could see one arm was weaker than the other when she shifted the bow. The arm I had sliced in yesterday’s encounter. Well, it was time for her medicine. I crept forward, keeping low, until I was within range. I pulled back my arm and threw the bottle and the makeshift parachute high into the air in an arc. The “parachute” caught the wind and the fabric opened up so that it fell gently only a few feet away from the girl. Crouching in the grass, I could not see the girl’s movements. I waited.

Thirty minutes later as I began to doubt my own work, I heard screaming. Complete agony. I perked up, and too my devilish delight, the girl tumbled off the roof and to the ground. She clawed at her body, and I stood up and walked closer. The bow and arrows lay a few feet to her side, and in the evening light I saw the pulsing blue veins that ran up and down her skin. Her injured arm pulsated to the point where I can see it. I walked into the clearing.

“Oh, so that’s what that does,” I said as I mused over her arm.

“Wh-what?” she asked as she looked at me.

I clarified, “The jar. I didn’t know what it did?”

“Then you did this to me?” she demanded. She had the faux parachute in her hands.

“Nooo. I paid off the sponsors to send you poison. Yes, I did it to you, idiot.”

“You bastard!” she cried out.

It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. How could she have called me a bastard—this was my job. This was my life.

And this was her life, too. It was about to end so that I may continue my own existence. The most disturbing part of this is that until now, I never thought about it that way. I treated the other Tributes like props in a play in which I was the lead actor.

She snatched up her arrow and took a shot at me. It landed in my right leg and I nearly fell down. Longsword out, I limped at her, ready to spear her through. She ducked the blade and whipped out a small knife which she plunged into my stomach. I cried out and fell to the ground on my knees. The knife stuck out of my abdomen much like the arrows still in my shoulder and leg. Tears appeared in my eyes and I fought them back. She grabbed her bow and fired another arrow. I knew it was aimed for my neck, but it hit my torso between the ribs. Had I lost? Had I fought so far to be shot close-range with a crossbow? Would I die a human pincushion? The agony was one I had never experienced before. But this was my play, and I would not let anyone usurp my victory. Heaving myself to my feet, I used all the strength within me and charged her with the sword. This time, she had no knife since it was still hanging out in my internal organs. This time, she did not have time to draw back her bow. I rammed the sword through her chest and staked her to the wall of the wooden house behind her.

CANNON

District 9 Female (me)

The End

 * Brother: Marten, age 37


 * Sister-In-Law: Lavender, age 37


 * Nephew: Elwood, age 16


 * Niece: January, age 15


 * Niece: Shea, age 11

Okay, that’s my story. I’m done. I now live in Victor’s Village like everyone else who has won a Game. Those pictures on the wall I drew. Pen and ink. And see that sword over there—it’s a replica of the one I used in the Games. I can still use it, but I won’t. At least, not against another human being.

tl;dr
● The arena of the 132nd games was a boreal forest which changed between the four seasons systematically throughout each 24 hour period. (Why yes, I was inspired by The Thief of Always, so credit to that awesome book.)

● The Career pack split up early on, so Fox was on his own much of the Games. He killed a bunch of people. Blah blah blah.

● His weapons were a longsword and a xiphos. His main opponent was an archer from District 9.

● The Games took seven days. Each day had at least one death.

● Muttations included dragonflies which bored through people’s skulls and bark beetles that stripped the skin off Tributes.

● Fox celebrated his eighteenth birthday in the arena. With cake.

● The Games ended when Fox tricked the remaining Tribute into thinking she had a sponsor parachute of medicine. It was poison to get her off the roof from where she was sniping, and Fox was then able to kill her.

● The audience loved Fox for his horrible battle dialogue. Many people started rooting for him because his words seemed almost heroic.

● After all that fun, Fox doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the Games anymore. Though he makes sarcastic remarks about the Games, he never poses a threat to the Capitol as he lives out his merry little life as a healer/doctor. He has also taken up sketching and now does pen and ink pictures of the world as he sees it.

● The only family Fox acknowledges anymore is his older brother Marten and Marten’s wife and children. His parents, though still alive, are dead to him.

● Lulz fanfic. Yay.