"You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them."

-John Green

Karlina Pareith, District Eleven (17)

I've never been more scared in my life.

Of course, I've also never been this cold in my life. Or hungry. Or close to death.

Or so overwhelmingly, mind-consumingly in despair.

My legs are shaking so hard as I force them, painful inch after painful inch, across the freezing expanse of featureless snow. I can barely make myself keep going. I haven't had any food for...how long? The deaths have shown twice. It must be day three of the Games. I last ate three whole days ago.

I thought it was weeks.

I've forced down snow that numbed my mouth and throat, just to get some water, because I don't dare go near the lake where the Careers are. I've barely slept. Maybe a few hours, but huddled in my pitiful jacket in the snow, shuddering until I felt like I might fall into pieces, I woke up more tired than before. I'm probably being too boring for the audience, and the Gamemakers will likely send mutts or a trap after me. I just wish I could make myself give in and stop struggling, so my overtaxed body could find relief in death.

But I can't make myself stop going. Because of Phoenix's last words, playing over and over and over again in my head forever.

'Run, Karlina, don't look back!'

I'm running. I'm not looking back. And I'm going to win this hellish game and get out, because he couldn't.

'Don't look back.'

I didn't see his body. I only saw it that night in the sky, and even though I knew he was dead, I was still blown away. I thought I'd curl up and never do anything again, but instead, my brain made me keep going. I thought I'd break. Instead, I grew.

'Run, Karlina.'

I'm still running.

But I can't keep going forever.

My aching feet slip in an icy patch, and I hit the ground hard, air knocked out of my lungs. I hear a crack. I'm not even sure if it's the ice or me. Spots swim in front of my eyes, but I drag myself up without a sound and keep staggering forward.

I can't stop. I'm doing this for Phoenix, and for Nigel and Clemence and Father and Mother.

I can't give up.

I'm still going.

I am dead but I am alive. And even if- even when I get out of this arena, dead without someone who cared for me, I'll be partly alive, because it will be for him. For them all.

This arena has actually done one good thing for me. It has cured my tears. I don't cry anymore, can't. I've used them all up. Nobody will ever laugh at me again, or be ashamed of me for my childishness. Somebody was there for me, no matter how short a time, and he gave me something to go on for, something far more important than weakness and tears.

So I'm still running. No matter what it takes.

Aaliyah Kingsport, District Five (16)

It's amazing how quickly I discovered I made a mistake.

We're actually kind of similar, which goes to show how much other people possibly hate me too. We're both mildly sociopathic individuals with no parents, extensive skills, and an overpowering thirst to win. Besides that, though, we're completely different.

The stone runs up his spear again, down, up, down, scraping it sharp, and every slight scratching noise it makes is driving me mad.

"Would you stop that?" I hiss. "You could drive it through a concrete block by now."

"Scuse me, Miss Kings, wouldn't want to disturb royalty," he says breezily, tossing it away and almost skewering Jakob.

"Kingsport, Kingsport, Downing, ram that through your head, would you? I'd be happy to oblige with something a bit sharper, if you can't even remember my name."

"Sorry, sorry, Kingsport. But there will be no ramming through my head of anything, understand?" He twirls his other, equally sharpened spear around absently. "I'd hate to have Carryaway see the big people fighting."

"Caraway."

"Right. Sorry, kid," he calls over to Jakob, who's trying to start a fire out of snow-soaked wood."

"If you call him kid one more time, I swear-"

"What, are you going to possess me and have me kill myself? Oh wait, you can't-"

"Your ice power is great in an arena already made of it, instead of something useful like fire-"

"I could kill you without any power and you know it, sweet-"

"For the love of-"

"Cute cannibal girls?"

"That's it." I stand up, and shift Jakob behind a tree. "Jake, stay out of the way."

"You aren't going to fight him, are you, Aaliyah?" he says, worried. "But if you die or get hurt that would be really really bad. And then he'd kill me too. Please don't."

"I'm sorry, Jakey, he's reached the point where I have to kill him or myself. Grab all the supplies you can, so if he kills me, you can teleport away with them."

He reluctantly retreats, and I face Ashely Downing with no weapons, clenching my hands into fists.

"Come on, Downing, let's settle this. No weapons. We can't both win the Games, but I'm pretty sure one of us will, and we can decide that now."
Ashely cocks an eyebrow. "Uh, no, Kingsport. You're two years younger than I am, and you're skinny. It wouldn't be fair."

"I'm almost seventeen. And I'm not skinny!"

"If I had a dog, a bone, and you, he'd bury you first."

"Drop the spear and we'll see who gets buried."

"I don't fight girls."

"Afraid I'll win?"

"Not a chance."

"I bet your parents disowned you the moment you were born."
"I bet your dad killed your mom to punish her for making you."

"What do you know about a dad or a mom?" I sneer. "At least I had a mother who loved me, and you can't even say that."

"You snark like a girl."

"You would know!"

"I'll take off the mask."

His suddenly calm tone surprises me, and I drop my guard. "What?"
"Do you know why I'm acting like a complete idiot?"

"Because you are one?"

"You should know about masks. You put one on yourself at the Reaping." He closes his eyes and drops the spear. "I've been terrible. I don't actually act like this. It was for the cameras."

"Oh." I almost fall over backward with realization. "I guess we're more similar than I thought."

"I'm done with being 'funny' and annoying you for the audience. I'll stop being an idiot. Well, I won't be quite as much of an idiot." He offers a hand. "Truce?"

We shake hands. "Truce," I agree. "Only, there's a problem."

"Which is?"

"When people wear masks, you can never tell how far down they really go."

His icy eyes glint with suppressed amusement and something far more dangerous than I can tell. He's just waiting for the right time, and then he'll wreak havoc. Something lurks in there that I can't trust at all. But what choice do I have?

"Too true, Aaliyah."

"Ready to be real allies, Ashely?"

"Can I come out now?"

Jakob's childish voice makes me smile fondly, reminiscing back to times with Marnie and Carson as they'd hide for their little games. I always found them. I always will.

"Yes, Jakey, you can come out. Ashely's decided to stop being a jerk."

"He's not Downing anymore?"

"Nah," Ashely says. He dissipates the snow from a large rock with a snap of his fingers, and gestures for Jakob and me to sit with him. "It's Ashely. Even though I hate that name for not fitting me. It's a girl's name."

"So why doesn't it fit you?" I say with wide, innocent eyes, sitting down gingerly across from Ashely. He scowls and flicks a hailstone at my ear. "Watch it, Smalliyah."

"You're both weird," Jakob proclaims, and plunks himself soundly in between Ashely and me. He wraps his arms around me, and in seconds is snoring happily. I really envy that kid's gift of sleep.

"He could win a prize for sleeping," whispers Ashely, mirroring my thoughts.

"Yeah. He's a cool kid." His tone registers in my brain. "You whispered. When I was sleeping a bit earlier, after I'd helped with the lean-to, Jakob says you were practically a marching band. I was out cold, but still."

"Hmph. It's just that he's kind of like my own little brother. He did abandon me, but he just seems sort of familiar, like home. He looks a lot like him. My brother got the fair side of the family." Ashely shifts, uncomfortable at lifting his mask so much. "Wow. I generally don't talk that much about my family. Or anything."

I stealthily withdraw my tiny possession of him, which had been just enough to keep him talking. "I must be a good influence on a surly old iceboy."

"Yeah." He squints suspiciously. "Now why didn't I think of that…?"
"No idea." I bat my eyes, and he relents. "Fine, fine. I wouldn't be averse to expecting a surprise snow ambush in the near future if I were you, though."

"Okay with me."

We sit in silence as Jakob sleeps blissfully between us. The scene draws up old memories of my mother and me sitting on our worn couch with tiny Marnie fast asleep, sprawled across our laps.
"It's like a family again," I say dreamily, looking up into the dark night sky. "The little kid, the mother and father- oh gosh, I didn't actually mean that!"

Ashely makes a face at my unintentional words. "If you're implying any hidden desires, I'm out."

"I didn't mean that. Sorry. I just meant that Jakob seemed so much like a kid, and we were just-"

"I get it." He gives me a reluctant half-smile. "I was kind of thinking that too. But only the Jakob being a kid part."
"Right."

"Right."

We sit in companionable silence again as we drift off to a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

Ember Burns, District Twelve (16)

My eyes are fluttering shut with exhaustion, despite my guard duty, when the Capitol anthem blares, almost deafening my enhanced ears. I've only heard one cannon today, but I've got to know who died. I don't want it to be Sam. It can't be Sam. I have to see if it's Sam.

"Promise, Rory!" I tap Promise on the shoulder and shake Rory; he's harder to wake up anyway, and Promise is still exhausted from The Event.

"The death is going to show."

"Oh. Hmmrgh. Could you just tell us who it was in the morning?" Rory mumbles, bending his blanket around his head in a u-shape.

"No. And it's your turn to guard."

"Awww."

"Stop that, I've been awake for hours."

"Fine," he yawns. "Hey Prom, wake up."

"Mmmmergh."

"Wake uuuup."

"Goway."

"All right, let her go back to sleep," I say, worried about her health and reaction to the medicine. "She can just take watch tomorrow night."

If we're all still alive by tomorrow night, I think, but don't voice the depressing thought.

Promise curls up again, and is asleep in moments, despite the loud music.

Rory snuggles up against me, trying to keep warm in the snow, and I fold my arms around him. He's like a little brother to me by now. I feel a sharp pain in my head whenever I remember that we won't both be able to live. If I want to see my home and family again, he'll have to die.
I shudder, and try not to think about it.

"It's not Sam," Rory says.

"I hope not. But he's just such a nice guy, and I don't think he'd ever hurt anyone at all."

"Ember, I'm smart, you know that, and I don't trust him. He's not really like you think. He has an exceptional chance of winning."

"Just stop it, Rory!" I hiss. "I trust him. He was nice to me. He gave me a present for my birthday."

"Fine." He draws back from me a bit. "Let's just see who died."

I want to apologize, say that I believe him, but I can't. Sam is a good guy. Rory has to be wrong about him, even though he hasn't been wrong on anything else.

A sad girl with a resigned expression appears in the sky, a girl who always knew she'd have no chance. Now both from District Three are gone. Erica Jones looks down at the arena of her death for the last time, and is gone within seconds.

"Not Sam," Rory says. "I knew Erica Jones would never last long." His face is hard and expressionless. With most people I can tell, but with Rory, I have no idea what he's thinking, if he's saddened or truly unfeeling about it. He helped kill the little boy from District Four, even accidentally, and I don't know if he's given it another thought. Sometimes he scares me a bit.

"Rory, do you care?"

I clap my hand over my mouth, wishing I could Avox myself.

His mouth falls open. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I apologize, I didn't mean that at all, I know you actually-" I know he actually- what? I'm not sure. I can't say anything without being even more horribly offensive.

"Ember, what...why would you say that? Do you think I don't feel like dying myself every time I hear a cannon? Do you think I don't want to scream?" His lip is trembling. "Do you think I don't keep seeing Nurturew Quetile die over and over again?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I am so sorry, I was wrong, I was being stupid. I didn't mean it, please, Rory."

"Leave me alone." He takes back his blanket and pushes me away from the tree where I was sitting. "Go to sleep, I'm on guard now."

"I can take your guard shift-"

"No. Just go to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he says coldly. "I don't mind guarding, because apparently I will get to cackle over the deaths and plot how to make more gory kills."

I feel like he's hit me. "Rory," I gasp. "I didn't-"

He turns away, and I'm left to try to sleep through his hushed sobs, and feeling like I've lost a brother.

I SUCK. GOOD GRIEF. I HAVEN'T UPDATED SINCE CHRISTMAS. HANG ME, SOMEBODY.

So, ah, sorry. Yeah. Arggh. I'd promise a new chapter soon, but soon in terms of my HEINOUS writer's block could mean a month…

I'm also sorry for this sucky chapter.