Suffering.

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." - Kahlil Gibran.

Kennedy Ames, District Eight Female.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Thirtieth Hunger Games, Kennedy Ames – the tribute of District Eight!"

When the ladder drops, I'm a blur towards it. The chilled metal almost brings tears to my eyes, my anchor to sanity as I ascend into the blinding light. I'm going, I'm leaving, I'm alive!

Alive.

When the tears pepper my eyes, hanging and pooling under my eyelashes and streaming down my face, I let the stomach pains consume me as the sobs tear through my body. The brightness of the hovercraft is a welcome sight, sore against my eyes as the stark white walls puncture through the darkness I've grown to live with. Slowly, I open them and accept the beauty such a simple room brings.

Candle light hasn't got a thing on this illumination, and even now as I squirm in their arms, I'm appreciative of everything. We jerk upwards, but the movement is so fluid I'd almost have said I'd imagined it. Elijah's down there, or on this hovercraft with me, or another one ready to be boxed home and sent to the ground.

I start to cry more at that. As bad as he had become, I was the cause for that. The reason behind a pure, kind-hearted boy destroying himself just so he could kill the one person who took what he loved the most and stabbed its heart. It wasn't Atarah herself, not really, it was the message and meaning behind her. Friendship encompassed who Elijah was: loyalty, dedication, love. I killed that inside of him.

But for now, I let the gentle rocking of the gurney guide me to sleep. I know when I'm forced to live with what I've done, the nightmares will come tenfold and painful.

I know Lawson hasn't escaped from his, but he moved on through strength. He was strategic but kind, calculating yet charming. He'll be proud of what I did.

That's more than can be said of me.

I'll never be proud of betraying my friends.

But I'm alive. I won with the odds stacked against me.

For now I have to focus on that, only that. The alternative is too painful. If I let it consume me, I'll never be able to live with myself. And after what I've been through, I'm not letting my life go for anything. Whether death is better than life, that doesn't matter. I'm keeping what I fought for. I'm not letting go.

"They wanted you," Lawson stalks closer towards me, his lips peeled backwards into that charming smile of his. From my position on bed, wrapped under blankets tucked up to my chin, I look half my size. A dainty thing that couldn't possibly have won the Hunger Games. Yet, when he leans down and buries my face into his shoulder, snippets of memories burst behind my eyes and I do all I can not to cry out. I did win. I did.

"They wanted me? Who wanted me?"

He runs a thumb along my cheek, grinning when I sniffle and push upwards onto my elbows. The Capitol air has whisked through this room, setting it to a nice chill, the kind of chill that has a bit of warmth to it as well. Air that's true and good, not frozen through some contraption or device. It's still hard to feel solid ground again. What was a week felt a month, a month of torture and pain. A month I'm glad to be done with.

"The Gamemakers. The President. The Capitol. You weren't the favorite to begin with, but as the days went by your odds shot up. The people supported you."

The moment of elation lasts a second, then my mind processes why and Lawson nods his head, kindly, warmly, with understanding in those blue eyes of his.

"I know it's not what you wanted to hear."

"They wanted me because I killed Atarah. The President wanted that sort of survivor to come out the Hunger Games, the sort of person that is willing to do anything."

He shuffles across the blankets, perching on the edge. "Do you regret it?"

"No."

Because, despite the nightmares I've had since I got back this past week, despite everything, I will never regret what I did. I can still remember those two as my friends, what they did for me and who I became with them. But that doesn't negate the fact that I wanted to win more than anything, and for me, survival came at a costly price which I was willing to pay.

"Elijah was too broken. Calliope too obvious. You were their perfect example of what a tribute is."

"I feel honored," I half-joke, smiling at him through a few tears that still blur my train of sight. "I bet the crowd loved Megaera."

It's Lawson's turn to tilt his head back and laugh. Maybe it's wrong to look on a dead girl with a smile. But in some ways, despite who Megaera was, we're still remembering her. It's better to be remembered than to be forgotten, and I don't hate her. I could never hate a girl so corrupted by the Capitol she didn't know anything else.

I pity her more than anything. In the Games it was different, we saw her as the enemy. Here though, now I'm free and alive, I can see her for she really was. A victim.

"She split the crowd actually, some loved her, some hated her. Yet she had a spirit to her, one that was only matched by you."

"I'm happy you're here."

"You've certainly changed haven't you?"

I raise an eyebrow, pulling down the blanket to my waist and digging around my pocket for the tablets. When I find them, for a moment I remember those capsules that taunted me for the majority of the time. I thought I'd hate Lawson, seeing him here. I couldn't hate him for guaranteeing me my Victory, no matter what happened, no matter who I killed. I swallow them dry. Pain relief for the headaches, bought about alarmingly through nightmares.

"I'm no Atarah, I'm not going to let you do what you want and me sit there with a cute little smile." Sorry, Atarah. I hope she doesn't loathe me from wherever she is. I hope the pair from Nine are still somewhere, supporting me, understanding. "But yes, they were my friends. They changed everything. My perspective, my attitude, me."

"Are you really okay though?"

I'm about to blurt out a yes, the fact I don't want to admit to it resurfacing. Building up those barriers to protect vulnerabilities, block out weakness and refuse to bend or break for anyone. People take advantage of that, so I always thought it was better to be stronger than you truly felt. Now though, I can admit to anything. And no, I'm not okay, I won't be okay. But I can still laugh with people, cherish the good moments because despite what the Games are, there were some of those moments. I need to move on.

I shake my head and Lawson grips my hand, squeezing it tight.

"I don't think any of us are. But we're all here for you."

My fingers tighten round his own for a moment, cherishing the moment. My friend, Lawson. My mentor sure, but he's my friend, perhaps one of the only friends I have left.

Because I killed the two I had.

Killed them for myself.

Killed them so I could be here.

"I bet the Nine mentors hate me," I laugh, not because it's funny, but because it's true and I'm accepting it.

I can accept anything now.

After what I've been through, I doubt there's much that can surprise me. I always was strong. I never thought I'd come out stronger, but here I am, worse for wear, weak, but stronger.

Lawson's right. I have changed.

Trilla cries when I walk out from behind the door. The tiara laced through my honey-colored hair itches a bit, but I smile graciously all the same and pat her on the back when we go for a hug.

Truthfully, I'm opening up to the woman a lot. She's not a friend. But she's a good woman. Confused and naïve, but good.

"Oh my," she opens her mouth but only more tears leak out her eyes and trickle down her rosy cheeks. My white dress trails past my knees in a flurry of frill and lace. I tie up one more ribbon and Trilla – almost kindly, almost – nudges me up to the barrier between stage and backstage. I'm not necessarily nervous. Not as nervous as I feel I should be.

You're prepared for this. You've lived the horrors once, you can live them just one more time.

Only, will I be allowed the relief of this being the last time? I bite my lip and confidently move past the curtain to the bombardment of applause. I hope so, I really do.

Caesar's a red spectacle amongst the blue furnishings. A drop of blood in the ocean. The thought only dampens the brief moment of happiness being back with Trilla brought, but all that I cast aside with a wide grin in his direction.

"It's great to see you Kennedy. And so beautiful. Quite the changed girl you are, wouldn't you say?"

The light finds my face, a dazzling spotlight that startles me for a moment. Questions were coming, of course I knew that, but the act of being asked one... I open my mouth, stupidly fumbling for words only for the raucous laughter to break out amongst the Capitol crowd.

Caesar joins them in a fit of chuckles and grips my hand tightly.

"Let's get to the questions afterwards then."

I nod my head with a faint smile and the Capitol booms with their cheers.

Were they always so loud? It was another Kennedy that sat in this chair and listened to this bedazzling man prattle on about nothing important. It makes me dizzy to consider where I was a week ago and where I am now. From murder to stardom.

I don't want to be a celebrity.

It's the cost of victory. You're theirs now. Embrace it.

I shuffle into the velvet cushions and watch Caesar announce proudly for the recaps to begin. I can do this. I take a deep breath, composing myself and settling into the chair. I can do this. No more tears. No more.

I recognise the voice that introduces the Games. The man that announced the beginning of my time in hell and the man that called upon the feast only one week ago. The voice isn't quite as calm as I remember it being, it's edited with to make it more foreboding and suspenseful. I spare a moment to look at the front row, each bizarre man and woman leans forwards with wide eyes of astonishment. They've seen everything and yet they act as if this is new to them?

The confusion hides itself away when the reapings begin. They whiz through most, spending a moment to focus on Calliope, so stoic as she moves to the stage. There's Megaera and then Tatum, frowning that special frown of hers. A lady winces when they show a close-up of those angry eyes. I can't blame her. Those eyes were so dead when we found her. So lost of hope through agony.

There's me, sulking up with narrowed eyes and a heavy heart. I was the same girl there that I was during the Games, that I am now. The girl that would fight for anything. She knew what she had to do and that's why I'm sat here this very second.

If I could tell her anything, I'd have nothing to say. We played the Game well, we played the Game the way the Capitol wanted us to play it.

When the camera lands on Nine, out the corner of my eye I notice Caesar's shark-like grin turn towards me. A certain sparkle in his eye unnerves me, but as much as Atarah's tears and Elijah's uneasy smile makes me want to do something, anything, I do not satisfy him.

"Don't worry, it'll be over soon, no need to be scared" I mutter jokingly. He only turns with a blush and resumes watching.

Hopefully that'll stop him facing me like some boy wanting a sweet. He won't get a reaction. I won't give him what he wants.

The Chariots are whisked through just as fast. District Ten is zoomed in on for a few more seconds to acknowledge the strange noises coming from Raelyn. The audience laughs at that, those rosy cheeks lit up with joy. She was oblivious yet strong at the same time. Alton's sulking face earns a few more laughs and then it's off to the interviews. They have nothing to show of training.

The real beauty of swordplay comes with the Games. For now it's us picked and preened for their amusement. Dressed in our finest only to be stripped down the following day for a fight to the death.

My interview is played out in full. Some people laugh, some people remain in silence like I do. It's funny watching me up there, the distant words that pour from my mouth feel foreign.

I doubt I'd say such things now. I was prepared but stupid. I didn't know what sort of game to play other than the fight that was to come. Now, I have Lawson to coach me. He knows what I must do, what is required of me so I don't overstep.

I won't deny the urges, but they're placated somewhat. I owe him that, another debt I'll never get to repay.

An excited buzz fills the stadium. The lit up stage moves to a pitch black room, canvasing the entirety of where the Games will begin until the camera settles on a spot somewhere above a faint golden glint. The Cornucopia. The bloodbath.

My breath hitches at the sound of beating. Is it the Games or is it my heart? My palms are sweaty, I wipe them on the hem of my dress and try to shuffle into a more comfortable position. Each one is as disconcerting as the next. When the gong sounds, I nearly gasp out loud. Nearly. This is a lesson I taught myself. How to hold things back at the last second.

I lean backwards and try to act nonchalant when the light starts dimming out and fazing on and off. The doors click open and out pour the tributes. I spot myself, a brown-haired blur sprinting straight for Elijah whose coercing Atarah out from her room.

The cowardly courageous girl. I smile when Elijah grabs her hand and the camera moves onto Megaera's silent sneer. She eyes up the girl from Five and that's when I notice the shift in the audience.

The first kill.

Celene's chest is punctured cleanly. Megaera turns back and briskly moves towards the Cornucopia, the drops of her victim's blood dripping to the concrete. I stare once more at her pale face, blonde curls framing her peaceful expression locked in death. It's not fair. Not right. Caesar's grinning when the camera shifts to Calliope walking towards a fearful Raven.

He goes down almost as quickly, but not before screaming for someone. Someone to come help the poor boy. His pleas fall on closed ears and he slumps forwards. The second victim.

Graeden Peltz falls with a spear in his side, Matteo human for a moment and Career the next. Megaera pulls him along forcefully back into the fray and moments later, Kitty slumps to the ground with a broken skull.

Tatum.

She looks down at the brick and the dead girl at her feet. I never even knew. I don't feel anything, thankfully. Lawson told me that sometimes what you see on screen, secrets you never knew coming forth into reality, can have an effect because you're seeing the truth of some people's actions you never knew about. She only did it for her survival.

I miss the angry girl. I miss her more than I thought I would.

The Capitol murmur when Megaera and Saskia butcher the two boys. They make a game of it and link arms, strutting away to the sound of cannons as if this was a high school playground and they were the popular girls. I don't mean too but my fingers clench, and just this once, Caesar notes the reaction and smirks with his eyes finding mine.

Let him look. Let him see what he wants to see. It doesn't mean anything.

I ground my teeth so hard I fear they might snap. The bloodbath victims move to a chart somewhere off to a side screen. A mere table that you might find drawn up for a game of sport at school. The list of dead kids shown for Panem to draw apart the unlucky from those whose luck lasted just a little bit longer.

Day Two begins with the Careers in a huddle, supplies issued out. If Megaera did one thing that benefited the rest of us, it was splitting this group of killers. It was a stupid act on her behalf, it tore apart the one group that might have managed to stick it through together until the end, but it helped. I watch carefully as Saskia leads the group up a separate flight of stairs. Her eyes note the sign that leads to the second floor, the never-ending cycle of broken corridors left to ruin.

I remember this day. Saskia died. There's always a bizarre sort of curiosity when it comes to Careers and how they die. I don't want to picture the twisted girl falling, but I can't help but wonder how it actually happened.

When she notes the appearance of something, pieces begin to fall into place. I've seen these things, what they do. Matteo and Alistair chase after and as quick as they come across a distracted mutt, Saskia charges and her neck is cut with a swift slice of a machete.

They spend a brief moment on us three, huddled together in complete obliviousness. We were foolish to think that we could spend so much time together, camping out in the water and telling stories. I recognized what had to happen, what the Gamemakers would do. They focus once on the parachute, my startled eyes and lips forming acceptance when my hands find the capsules.

The Capitol murmur their agreement, happy with my choice not to throw them away and forget about it. I became a candidate for Victor that day. So early in, and the Capitol saw a spark they wanted to grow and grow until it swallowed whole our innocent little friendship.

Lochlan's alliance stumble across the chambers we found Tatum later on. Blood puddles and torture equipment thrown around on the floor and orderly hung up on sharp hooks. The moment the door slams shut and locks itself behind the trio, the camera shifts to Ada and Raelyn stumbling around through rubble.

Ada tries her best to pick up a teary Raelyn. Kitty's death hit the girl hard. Knocked reality into her. Maybe it was a good thing Kitty fell so such a sweet girl stood a chance by realizing where she was. But that doesn't feel right. I hide away the uncomfortable thought and watch Ward Bingham appear.

Ada goes down with a knife in her stomach almost a second into the fight. Raelyn stumbles away, crying and shouting with anguish.

The girl with the smiles dead. A new girl in her place.

I frown and the screen changes again. Back to Lochlan, Tyndall and Tatum. They continue to move through the different rooms, faces a mixture of disgust and interest as they pass through arches riddled with filth. I recognise the next room they come across. A table bolted into the ground, mold and rot clinging to it desperately. Tatum stays back only to be locked away, the creature advances and as her screams die out, once again we move quickly forwards to another scene.

She was so scared. She had a right to be. The girl was a fighter and she was never even given the chance to make it past the second day before the Capitol caught her up, and threw her into the worst part of the Arena.

The day ends with Raelyn a mess on the floor, the faces up in the sky as she watches through bloodshot eyes. Like Tatum, the Games took away the one thing she had going for her. The sense of who she was. Tatum had the fight inside her, Raelyn had that happiness. The Games shattered it all.

Our alliance is the focus at the beginning. Huddled together, Elijah saves me from falling into the murky waters and he goes off to scout.

That's when the camera shifts to show Sabrina, wading closer and closer towards my bag. If she'd only waited a little longer for me to move closer to Atarah, she might have managed to slip away. Or if Elijah hadn't have seen her when he did. I could be dead because of the girl's cunning. She was one of the people who accepted their future and did what they had to do.

Only, it didn't work out for her. Elijah and I give chase and as the fear sinks in, warping her features into terror, Elijah stabs her and lets her body fall to the green ripples. He breaks after that, crying until we manage to coax him out of his tears and into his smiles.

They show Tatum, a bloody slab against the table. A hunk of meat with strips of flesh dangling around her poor, broken body. She cries once, but the scene is quickly moved to another. The Capitol groan at the sight, they may have liked it when it was there, but they act squeamish. None of it makes sense.

At least we're given a moment away from the torture, another fight beginning. Lochlan and Tyndall fall upon the path of Matteo and Alistair. The two Careers overwhelm the pair. Tyndall is killed swiftly, curled in pain as his cannon shakes the walls. Lochlan manages to get away. His face is a picture of strength, and how he manages it, is beyond me. With one ally dead and one lying down underground with a torturer getting to work, somehow he managed to keep it together.

I admire that. He was another fighter, prepared to go through whatever the Games had in store for him.

The day ends with a quick scuffle between Megaera and Calliope. They almost fight it out but behind Meg's shoulder, the creature with a bloody machete steps forwards and Calliope breezes away. When Megaera turns, the creature is gone. The Capitol didn't want their two favourite competitors to die just yet.

I suppose that makes sense. Megaera was a force to be reckoned with, and Calliope, she made it to the finale for the same reason we all respect her.

Two girls completely the opposite, and yet, with them both dead I can look at them properly. I don't even hate Megaera. Some of the Capitol cheer her on when she flashes a smile in the direction of the camera, and the screen goes to black, a new day blossoming.

I recognise this day. The same day Davin succumbed to the Games. Whilst I never bonded with him, my eyes seem to automatically find Woof sat in the crowd, his face a mask when he meets my gaze and looks up to the screen. He mentored Davin, and now that I'm here and he isn't, he seems to hate me for it. He doesn't want me here after what I did.

Another person to hate my actions. Another name to add to the list that would rather me dead than alive and breathing.

Raelyn breaks through the top of the staircase, a complete mess as she spits words at Alton and lunges at Davin. I manage to swallow down the gasp when her knife pierces into his neck and she chases after her own District partner. The Games housed people that were depicted in their insanity, and through her time here, the Arena twisted her mind in the very same way. It's over quickly though, and in some way, I see it as a mercy.

Lochlan brings her down with a swift crack over the head. One knock with his staff and her skull splits open, her body going still. Maybe wherever she is now, she's smiling. I hope so. She deserves to be the same person she arrived as. They all do.

Alton returns up the stairs, whilst Lochlan stands attentive in the wake of footsteps heading for him. Calliope almost goes for the kill, almost. He proposes a deal of sorts and they ally. As quick as that, the girl that would have killed him in a heartbeat is now his temporary companion. Lochlan was too much of a threat. I never saw happiness in other people dying, that made me feel three times as wrong and angry with myself. But it's better he wasn't there. He was spiteful boy, but he was clever with his words and strong to back it all up.

So many different outcomes, a single change in the structure, and I might not be here. I want to believe it's because I fought for my own survival, but maybe it is just luck. Maybe none of this happened for any other reason than pure, random chance.

I hope not.

Another death concludes the day. A beast with shoulders that damage the wall with each step, spots Tirzah turning a corner. A chase begins with Alton joining the girl from Seven. He spots his moment and doesn't resist from taking it. Tirzah goes down quickly, the beast stops to leer over her body, and Alton gets away. As quick as that he became a killer. Another person who changed so they could make it far.

I'm starting to not necessarily feel good about myself, I doubt that will ever happen, but content with what I did. I'll never regret my actions, seeing the truth as to why I did what I did. But I can find solace in the fact I'm not the only one that the Capitol managed to manipulate into filling their role.

I'm just another child that became a murderer. It's awful, and yet, it settles my stomach and leaves me for the better.

In the morning of the next day, our group comes across Tatum. The creature that disfigured the girl, extinguished her fire and soul, dies quickly. Tatum weeps in Elijah's arms, clawing at his back as if she's not believing it's real and she's still a victim to her captor. The Capitol make soft, gentle sounds, commending myself and Elijah for saving the girl from Six.

I look in their direction. A lady is teary-eyed, wiping one away from her eyelash. Is this really what they see as the more emotional scenes within the Games? They don't care that she was just mutilated, oh no, it's the fact she's hugging a boy most of the girls probably find quite attractive. It disgusts me. Lawson notices my face and shakes his head. I bite my tongue and with my cheeks burning hot, I turn back and watch the day progress.

Ward from Six, the one boy I never focused much on, never really saw anything in, starts to crack like Raelyn. He falls apart, the Gamemakers manipulating his sense of fear with the darkness and banging either side. When he's a complete wreck, I hold a breath when Megaera walks up, the light illuminating her like a savior sent down on Ward's behalf. He goes to... to hug her, and with venom in her tone, her sword rips open his torso and another person falls. His name flashes on the chart and Lochlan and Calliope take the focus again.

They come across the very room we were in earlier that morning. The creature is pummeled by Lochlan in a rage, and then when he sees Calliope standing there with understanding in her eyes, he almost crumples entirely. But he's good, real good. Again he worms his way out and she spares him, promising their alliance can still benefit her when I know he was just making things up to settle her down. Anything to save your own life, he got that, he understood that. I almost smile at the way his face lights up with his own sense of joy.

Almost. Megaera appears for the final death of the day. Using Matteo's own sense of self-preservation, she forces him to strike down the boy from One. Alistair, so different to the Career stereotype, goes down with the hint of a smile on his face. He never really stood a chance with people like Megaera in the Arena alongside him. He may have killed, but unlike those who grow stronger from tragedy, he was breaking. Some people have it better off falling to the Games. Alistair was one of them.

The beast returns for the next day. The day that...

I look out at Lawson and find him smiling at me, nodding his head. Whilst my eyes start to brim with tears, knowing the outcome, I find it in myself to blink them away and root myself to the screen. Atarah's arm snaps, followed by a shriek from the audience and Atarah's own agonizing wails. I wince with each noise when Tatum leaps forwards, luring the creature away.

If she hadn't have done that, I could be dead. She went out of her way to help the group that saved her life. When she finds the creature that tortured her, alive and coming for her, I feel a tear slip down my cheek. The Gamemakers had it out for her and she never did a single thing.

She was the one to fall in their trap, so she was the one to see it through to the grisly end. The hook that tore her arm apart punctures her neck and Tatum Caville falls as another victim. I wipe away another tear and shake my head. I can't cry. If I cry at that, I'll cry more with what's about to come.

Elijah stands up and his hand finds the very same backpack that held the poison I was going to use. I notice the shock and fear on my face, feel it somewhere at the back of my mind resurfacing for this moment, and he's gone. The Kennedy on screen takes a moment to hold back her fear, and then looks over at the innocent form of Atarah.

Her sweet face is twisted in pain. When she moves closer, my hands ball into fists, nails digging into my palms.

Don't cry, please, don't cry.

My lip trembles and stomach somersaults when Atarah wakes up. She breaks down and a tear presses again my eye, willing to be released. The sadness and anger and doubt and all of it pushing and pushing. If I give in, I'll lost what kept me alive.

My knife finds Atarah's chest and the worst is over. It focuses once on Elijah's sobs when I run past, and that's it for this terrible day. I don't cry. As soon as the screen fades to black, so do the tears as I wipe them away with the back of my hand and stare with narrowed eyes at the screen.

It's almost over. Almost. Not long to go.

Elijah's given a few seconds of screen time. They focus on his hand tightening round the knife, standing up to walk off. I know what name is going round that head of his. Who he pictures in those watery eyes when his knife finds the victim he longs for. At that moment pieces began to fall apart. All my fault. The Games took their toll on yet another boy who went in there a kind soul, and left a defeated shell.

Alton's fight earns the laughter of several members in the audience. Caesar who I almost completely forgot about, laughs when Alton mumbles something in the direction of the creature and with surprising agility, his hooks his way up the trunk of an arm, and stabs into its neck. A pointless fight considering the boy from Ten sought the creature out, but he smiles and leaves happily all the same.

The Gamemakers pull their trick on Calliope. Using the candles to their advantage and the decrepit scene of cell doors creaking and rubble scratching away on the floor, Calliope hears the sound of Megaera's voice. Alongside Lochlan, they give chase. Though I can't see her anywhere when the camera switches into night-vision mode, we all hear the words spoken in that chilling tone. Calliope whirls on the spot, thinking it's her greatest enemy, and Lochlan receives a sword through the stomach.

He goes down with Calliope's startled eyes locked on his dark one's. She pulls the weapon out and only stares at the dead boy, shocked with shivers that shake her body. She was prepared to do anything. And in her preparation cemented every plan that she'd fulfill. Only Lochlan's death wasn't supposed to happen just yet, not in her mind. She wasn't ready to take him out.

They don't show it for more than a second, but there's a tear under Calliope's eye. It glistens on her beautiful skin, and is gone without a moment's notice. The day is over, and another one begins.

Not much happens on the screen. Matteo and Megaera decide to set out on the hunt for Calliope, Matteo nothing but a willing lapdog to his fellow partner from Four. When they start to prowl the corridors, something changes in him. The confidence we saw back in the Capitol and beginning of the Games.

Unfortunately, Megaera was always clever. Too clever. She tunes in to his shift in attitude and before he can get away from her, she shoves a sword through him and takes away her very last ally. I'm shown walking the very same halls, avoiding the sounds of footsteps until the doors creak open and a pus-ridden hand claws its way out. The patients move one by one from their cells, ready to push us together for the final fight. I remember the fear I felt seeing those creatures. The sense of darkness that shrouded them. I tried to tell myself they were just mutts but it didn't work. Something about them felt real. Too real.

At least they weren't released to kill us.

They chase me at the announcement of the feast. Alton moves, Megaera moves and Calliope sets forwards. Elijah is washed away in a tidal wave of the green water from below, flooding his particular corridor and projecting him down the staircase and towards the Cornucopia. Alton soon finds his way when Elijah reveals the sickle in his own backpack.

The two fight, both with conviction, and Elijah slices off half the poor boy's neck. He slumps to the ground and Calliope arrives, Megaera soon finding her way down the stairs.

Each and every audience member holds a breath when it happens. The two exchange a look and the fight that everyone was waiting for begins. They're good. Amazing, really. Each attack is precise and dealt with ease. When one's about to gain the upper hand, the other counters it and moves to the offensive.

It's Elijah who breaks the battle, a single stone arching through the air and smacking straight into Megaera's face.

In her fury, my old friend is nearly cut down. But not before Calliope gets there. I bite my tongue and taste blood when Meg's arm falls to the ground, a jet of blood smothering Elijah's face which he quickly sets to wiping away. The inhumane girl is quickly brought down with a stab wound through the stomach and out the back, and down I appear, ready for the finale.

If I had have arrived any earlier, would I be one of those victims on the floor? A dead body rather than the one sitting in this chair? Elijah would have killed me like he tried to at the very end. Calliope and Megaera wouldn't have hesitated. Alton would have given as much a fight as he did against Elijah and tried to take my life.

We all wanted it as much as the other.

And now on screen, the finalists stand rigid, starting at each other, waiting for the first move to be made.

His face is almost empty of anything. But those words are laced with the hatred he feels towards me after what I did to Atarah. Like with Megaera, he orders Calliope to stand down and let him take me out. But she's not like Elijah who stood by until the very end. She steps forwards and the way she speaks fills me with the same sensation I felt when those words were delivered. It made me understand what it was to be a tribute and what had to be done. Elijah broke down because he wasn't willing to understand the real message behind the Games. Calliope and I were the two finalists who were standing with a steady mind and unwavering determination to win.

Elijah just wanted me dead.

When Calliope strikes, I take the smartest move and jump backwards, disappearing from sight. Elijah and Calliope begin to fight one another. Through his anger to get to me, he manages to keep off Calliope. Harshly, the two batter away at one another, matching blow with blow. Calliope receives a scratch to the forehead, Elijah's legs tearing open with a spear that is thrown his way.

I watched this from the shadows. And there I am, darting out with my knife. I never held a grudge with Calliope. But she was always the one to beat. I meant to kill her with that knife, I meant to take her life and kill Elijah moments after. Only she turns in time and it plunges up to the hilt in her shoulder.

Elijah takes advantage when I slip away, cutting open her neck. The girl from One falls and the two of us are left, a perfect finale in the Capitol's eyes, former friends turned enemies because of one girls' need to survive and the other's desire for revenge because of a fallen ally.

The fight doesn't last too long. With my single knife, I knew I could never hope to rival Elijah's fearsome sickle and the strength behind each attack. When he knocks me to the ground, I remember feeling as if that was it. If I had have given up, it would be him sat on this chair watching himself break down as he slams my head against the concrete.

But then I felt the handle of my knife, saw the moment, and nothing stopped me from taking it.

When he dies with it embedded in his stomach, the screen cuts off to trumpets and cheers. The Capitol stand up and applaud me, Caesar stepping forwards to pull me up and wrapping his thin arms round my frame in a tight embrace.

The shock from death to such a reception almost knocks me over. I feel light-headed, swamped with admiration as the Capitol hoot my name and on the screen, fireworks burst around the single picture that never filled the sky. My face with Victor emblazoned across it.

I smile.

I won.

Tears start to pour down my eyes, but they're neither happy nor sad. They're simple, relentless tears I let fall down my cheeks to the sound of the Capitol reveling in the presence of their newest Victor.

Lawson and Woof are the only two sat down. One angry. One smiling.

Neither reaction matters.

I'm here. I'm alive.

I'm the Victor.

I'm going home.

The Peacekeeper raises his hand, curled into a fist.

Amongst the fields, other workers continue to frantically pick cotton without any regard for the boy about to receive a beating.

There's just me.

And I'll gladly step in.

When his fist comes flying down, Holden is shoved in the dust and the fist clips my shoulder. I bear the brunt of the pain, gritting my teeth and turning around to face the Peacekeeper with a sharp grin. My best friend stares at me with those intelligent eyes of his, gratitude in those blue speckles, but no smile to match it.

"What are you doing?" The man snaps, gruffly. He's hesitant when his eyes hover over me, looking me up and down.

"Don't know who I am?"

Holden remains a mess on the ground. He won't rise up to say anything, not when he refused any amount of my money when I came home. I hate to see him wearing himself to exhaustion out in these fields, but it's all he's known and my best friend can be stubborn when he feels it.

I laugh and raise an eyebrow. "Well?"

"You're Kennedy Ames."

He sounds defeated. Lawson's teaching rings through my ears but just for this one moment, I forget about his worries. In regards to those I care about, having watched friends I've made die because of me, this one I get to save.

"And who is Kennedy Ames?"

"You." He sounds dumb. I laugh and shove a thin finger to his chest. He's double my height, arms corded with muscle under his uniform. I remain steadfast and take a forceful step towards him, regardless of his size and my meager height.

"Yes, but who am I? What did I win?"

He bows his head. "The Hunger Games."

With his defeated voice, I grab my shoulder and wince. Though the pain throbs away when my fingers dab where a bright bruise will soon thicken, I hold it tight and shake my head.

"Whatever will the President say when he finds out you punched a Victor?"

Someone barks with laughter, but this man has no fear for those he controls. His eyes snap to attention and the frail old man resumes working, though I see the smile and the way his eyes flicker towards me with recognition and thanks. I've only been home two weeks and it feels good to be here.

The fields I used to work in, I visit once or twice a day. For my friend and these other people, lost to their own ways and hurting themselves in the baking sun. I do my best to help when I can. Despite my wealth and new-found fame, I'll never become that type of person.

I help pick cotton as I always have, clinging to my old life for a few hours a day and returning home to eat to my heart's content. Living both lives. It feels good.

"I won't say anything."

Momentary relief widens those nasty little eyes of his. I raise a hand and shake my head, then point another finger at Holden who continues to gawk at our exchange.

"But if you raise another hand on my best friend, or better yet, any of these people and I hear about it. You'll wish you hadn't."

He opens his mouth to say something, but with one shake of my head, he shuts it and stalks off with his eyes to the ground. I'll pay for that soon enough. The Peacekeepers won't touch me but if someone with more authority hears, something will happen.

I'm not scared though. The worst they'll do is chew my ear off with their pointless words about what my place is, and that'll be it. Besides, I don't do this very often. Lawson's words have calmed me down from the way I used to be. He knows what I want to do and I know how hard it is to stop myself jumping in all the time.

Whether or not I tore apart any sense of loyalty people might think I once had when I stabbed Atarah, I still care about these people who I once knew.

Holden pulls himself up and brushes the dirt from his knees, cradling his arm which is bleeding.

"Want something for that?"

He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that."

"You're welcome."

I get the reaction I wanted, a brief grin that's gone in a flash, but a grin I recognise and cling onto.

"You're an idiot."

"And you're no fun, but do you see me complaining?"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling out flecks of gravel, spending a moment to look at my shoulder which really does hurt like hell. I groan and twist my arm round, hearing it click and wincing again.

"Actually, I do."

Another worker laughs, the same worker from a minute ago. He walks towards me, shaking through illness but rolling his head back with mirth all the same. It makes me happy to see these people still enjoying moments despite the terror lingering behind them at all times. I won't be here every minute of everyday to stop them. And not every Peacekeeper that comes by will be so lenient.

Some are bigger, scarier and as stubborn as Holden.

I was lucky this time, I won't be lucky again.

"You should get that treated."

"It was a punch, I've handled worse."

He nods his head and turns his attention towards Holden. His withered face flashes with pain when his legs almost bend under pressure. My friend holds him up and with one more turn in my direction, he smiles and gestures in the direction of the rest of Eight, the slums and the Victor's village all there beyond the fields.

"You should get back, I'll help him."

"Are you sure?" I ask, worried. They're weaker than I remember. Eight is becoming harsher as each day flies by and there's not much anyone can do to stop it.

"I'm sure."

He turns to go, hobbling along with the man whose coughs have turned to painful wheezes. He inhales and exhales, clutching his emaciated torso and struggling to reach his place. It saddens me, knowing he'll die soon. But workers die each and every day.

I can buy food and drink with my money, a limitless supply at my fingertips. But I can't buy a person back their life. That's one thing no one can do. And I have to accept that.

I turn to move away, walking with a skip in my step despite the pain flaring up my arm.

That's when Holden calls one more time, shouting my name. I turn, watching him settle back to work with a happier expression than the norm for a boy like him.

"Thanks Kennedy, really. It's good to have you back."

Not everyone feels that way. Woof, people I knew from school, even my own Father struggles to look at me with those eyes of his and tell me he loves me. We hugged but that's been it really. Nothing more. It's hurtful knowing that our relationship which was once patchy to begin with, is slowly pulling apart.

But that's alright. Not everyone will understand what I did. Not everything can see the actions I committed on television as the way us Victors have to act.

I'm new to this way of life, but I understand some things.

I understand I need people like Holden.

I understand I need to keep my friends close to me.

"It's good to be back," I add with a smile, turning and walking in the direction of home.

They show the Victory tour in full. Months later, when I return home to sit down after a long, painful few weeks. The moment I enter the lounge, the television fires up and there's my face. My calm, composed, stoic face as the spotlight brightens up and District One falls to silence.

It was hard. I remember that much. Easier than I anticipated, but hard. I hated it. Alistair's family are a quiet collection of tear-filled shells. His grandmother almost falls off her platform. Her crooked frown, wrinkled face, it hit nothing when I was on that stage. It still hits nothing. Lawson told me to be strong, so I'm remaining strong.

Calliope was harder. Her parents do nothing but cling to one another for support, staring at me as I deliver the robotic speech, my voice droning on and on. I mute the sound and stare at their expressions, nothing, not an ounce of anything. It's Calliope's pale, beautiful face that stirs something. Swaying on the projected screen that ruffles in the wind, a perfect Career, and my knife caused the pain to which Elijah pounced on, taking her life for good.

Next is District Two. If looks could kill, Lochlan's sister would have cast me down the moment I stood from the stage. Her eyes are angry, her lips curled to a snarl as I speak on and on about his supposed bravery. I didn't know him, I didn't care, I didn't feel anything. He was brave because that's what I saw, what I remember from an outside view.

Saskia's father rages and swears and cries with tears that fall from his chiseled jaw and smack the rocky platform. It left me nervous, watching him fall apart for his lost daughter. She was an awful young girl, but the point to always remember is the fact that she was just a girl. That's what Calliope was, what Megaera was, what Atarah was. What I am; just girls, young girls. Children.

Tyndall's sister sobs into her girlfriend's shoulder, and when her eyes fall on me, I can see the resentment brewing behind those tears. The rest of her family stand stock-still, an array of different faces. All I see now as I watch is sadness. Pure despair as they mourn the loss of a shy boy called Tyndall.

When Ada's family is focused on next, I move backwards into the chair. It's slightly easier to watch because I didn't know these people, not really. I'm known for my actions against my own alliance, and through my own time betraying the people I loved, I was allowed to stay away from the rest of them. They let me take my own precious time inflicting pain upon my friends because that mattered more than me killing other children I didn't know.

Entertainment means a lot to them, that's why twenty-three are now dead. Gone. Buried.

The hardest thing in Three had to have been the bundle of innocence wrapped tight in her mother's arms. Ada's new sister, the one she never got to meet, stares at the world with wide doe-like eyes. I cried afterwards. I remember seeing Ada in those eyes, a girl I never knew, never spoke to, and this little girl will never get to know what it's like to have an older sister.

Matteo's family is less strapping than the Career I saw in the Capitol. A huddle of ragged clothes, greasy hair and tear-stained faces. When I mention how the boy was a fighter, two people move through the crowd and leave. Even now, I have no idea who they were. Strangers to me, maybe the most important people in the world to Matteo. That makes it hard to hate the pretense Matteo tried to uphold. He may have tried to be a cold-faced killer, but truly, he only did it so he could live.

I can't hate him for that.

Megaera's brother tears apart the icy silence that chills the air of Four. When I neared the end of my speech, I remember him storming off, swearing and cursing and maybe even crying for his beloved, deranged sister. I watch with wide eyes when he barges through the crowd and storms down an alleyway. It was terrifying to witness. Upsetting too. Even Megaera has people who miss her, who want her back.

Effectively being here, I killed them all. But Lawson told me never to think like that, so I blink once and the thought is gone. Locked away with all the other nightmares. A chest full of terror and pain.

A girl with shadow eyes stares at me for the entirety of Cynder's speech. She could have been beautiful if not for the fractured soul hidden in those dead eyes. Ella her name was. That's what I heard whispered when she fainted. Ella the girl who lost her sister to the Games. Ella who lost her friend Cynder not long after. I almost feel relieved when the camera pans out to move onto Celene. Broken Ella on the floor was too much then and it's too much now.

Celene's parents accept my speech with nothing in their eyes. Their cheeks are void of colour, it's as if two ghosts are standing in place of the bubbly girl's parents, staring at me but not quite seeing what's going on. When I look closely, I see that crisp sheet of paper clutched tightly in her mother's hands. A kitten or something, painted beautifully as she hugs it to her chest. Celene was a dreamer, a girl lost to her optimism.

She reminds me of Davin, the boy I never got to know. I don't think Woof's forgiven me yet for Davin. I didn't deserve it he said, the smiling boy should be where I sit, he cursed. I don't blame him. But smiles don't win the Games, so that's why I sit here watching myself, and why Davin is buried in the District cemetery where his family go to cry and mourn their lost boy.

It's awful, but that's the truth behind the Games.

I didn't know Ward, not at all. My words were nothing but a script handed to me, lacking any personalization, any real sentiment. The way his parents look at me as I speak rehearsed words shows they know this. I watch them stare harder and harder, narrowing eyes, solid as they remember their son in their own way rather than my pointless, empty words.

I did know Tatum, for the tiniest amount of time. In those moments together, I grew to appreciate her strength. Her sister cradles her mother tight in her arms, shaking with the sobs that break her frail frame. It must have been awful. Not only did they have the knowledge of Tatum in the Games, but what they had to witness... it's not right. Not fair on anyone. People are packed tight around the platform. A man who looks as if he's about to break out in floods of tears. Two girls that stare at Tatum's projection, a mixture of guilt and longing for whoever Tatum was to them. She was a closed off girl, and from my place here, I see the dissent amongst the people that loved her.

Maybe that's why she was so distant. Because she had to be. Life carved out this path for her, a path of anger because there was no one truly there for her. It makes me sad because compared to her, it doesn't seem right for me to have felt the way I used to feel. The world wasn't as harsh for me as it was for poor Tatum. It wasn't fair of me to act like it was.

Although I didn't know Graeden, his scene stirs something inside for the deceased boy. The woman on stage stands by herself, a man tries to push himself onto the platform but she quickly shoves him away. She cries and sobs angry and terrible tears. A fiery-haired girl attempts to stand with her and clutch to the woman, but she's equally bombarded with fists and kicks until she leaves, abashed with tears in her eyes. Graeden's mother will not let anyone share her grief. It makes me feel awful for the woman, awful for those she's turning away, and awful for Graeden who's left behind a shattered family.

Tirzah's parents are nowhere to be seen. Or maybe she just didn't have any. The ashen-faced lady that stands rigid in my direction is garbed in some kind of maid uniform, completely out of place amongst the cowering, gray-clothed citizens of Seven. It doesn't strike her when the eyes turn to face her, a Capitol man snickering. All she hears is Tirzah's name, all she sees is Tirzah's face. Her parents may not care, but this lady does. At least she has someone, someone to miss her.

With District Eight left to last, I know what's coming. The worst part of the tour. The place where it all resurfaced, all of it, everything.

When the camera take a long sweep through the grain of Nine, highlighting the red and orange sunlight of a dawn that brings out the beauty, I grip onto the couch as tight as I can. Fear isn't an option. Lawson's words. He's like my teacher. Come on Kennedy. But when the light finds me on the stage, quivering, a wreck with the words that dribble out awkwardly as I fight back tears, I want Lawson more than anything.

Elijah's family group together. No one moves a muscle, but their eyes, their eyes. I stare at them, shaking. Shaking now and shaking then. A younger boy starts crying into his mother's skirts, gripping onto her leg as she struggles to stop the trembling in her lip. They zoom in, circling over each member of the Fawkes family united in their loathing towards the girl that broke their son.

But that's not the worst part.

The camera then finds Atarah's father. Lonely. A solitary figure with his daughter lost to the Games and a wife lost years ago. Atarah told tales of her beauty and courage, then when she lost herself to illness those qualities fell apart too. Elijah held her tight when she started to cry. I see Atarah in her father. A sweetness, an innocence, the kind of strength that isn't obvious to everyone.

It lasts until I end my speech.

And he moves through the crowd.

It's quicker than it should be, as if Nine wants to see him kill me. Again, something I can't blame them for. I remember my limbs locking as his figure darted for me. I remember his hands coming for me, hateful hands, hands that wanted to hurt me as I hurt his daughter. And then the gunshot that takes out the last member of the Neve family, a bullet to the brain, and he's dead on the ground.

On screen my body falls to the stage floor. Fainting into a pale heap of fear and tears that freeze on my cheeks.

I dab away at my own face now, here at present time. Wet. I bite my bottom lip when Ten comes onto the screen, angry at my weakness, angry at my strength. Angry at the man who let himself die rather than live without his daughter.

That could have been my father, storming a Victor if I had have died. My father's corpse buried next to my own tombstone in the cemetery if I hadn't have won. Maybe if it was another time, I'd find myself relieved of my own victory again, but all I feel is sadness.

At least I don't have to see that ever again. Now it's Ten's time, an easy District, easier than Nine. Everything's easier than Nine.

When Alton's face plasters the chilly air of Ten, I see the gash that nearly opened his neck completely. I blink once, shutting my eyes and feeling a sweat creep along my brow, but when I open it's still there. His smile is bloody, his eyes dead as his family rock to the words I spout without conviction. He was just another boy I didn't know. Yet, I saw his corpse, and until the camera moves over to Raelyn, those sunken eyes decay into the white of his skull.

I shiver away the fear, focusing on Raelyn's family. An elderly lady, only hanging onto life by a mere grip, hobbles closer to Raelyn's mother. They hug and grieve for the smiling girl I knew. I remember one moment I was convinced I hated her. Hated those cheers, those grins and those laughs. It was foolish the way she acted, and now, I only find myself wishing I had gotten to know the girl before she fell to the Arena. As I knew Elijah, she could have given me a sense of hope. If only I hadn't have been so stubborn, so childish. The old lady's wet eyes stare into the camera once, before Ten fazes out to be replaced by Eleven.

Amongst the fields of this impoverished District, I see nothing but hopelessness etched into each child's face when they scan across the Square and center in on the platforms. I always thought Eight was difficult for me, but when I visited Eleven, it was astonishing to see how starvation had hit them full on, the children and elderly bearing the brunt. I was spared the most shocking images, but nothing could beat off the smell of corpses. For me in the Hunger Games, I was spared that smell. Thanks to the Capitol, perhaps the only thanks they'll ever get from me.

A boy, maybe Sloan's brother, wrings his hands nervously as I spit out words that pose no truth. I didn't know Sloan. From afar, I saw him by himself, but that was all. The first day his face appeared in the sky and I thought nothing of it. I notice the slight distance between the parents and the boy, maybe he's just a friend then? Whatever their relation, they all share in grief with Sloan's curious eyes shining behind them.

Sabrina's family is a mismatch of emotions. It was harder with those bright tears, those faces that looked at me with contempt and hatred. It wasn't me who swung the sword, but it was my friend who carried out the deed. With him a corpse and me alive, the blame has to be shifted somewhere. I'm willing to accept it, because I understand why. Sabrina's sisters hug close, no gap between them as they quiver and shake in the breeze that tore through the Square of Eleven. She was a smart girl, Sabrina. Smart and stupid at the same time.

Arrogant.

It brought about her downfall. An early end for a poor girl.

Raven's parents are perhaps the two people that struck a cord with me. The two parents belonging to an unremarkable child I never spared a thought for. The woman is beautiful, even with silent tears that light up her rosy cheeks, she stands with a strength as her eyes lock with my own. It was harder then. Others would look away, or stare at some other part of me. But she met my sorrowful gaze and matched it.

Her husband is weaker, when I finish my speech, he finally chokes on a sob and breaks down with my back to him when I turn to walk away. Raven Stillman was a shy boy, I remember that much, but he has parents that will hopefully move on in their grief. That much he deserves, other families have broken down. Maybe his can patch themselves together.

No one moves for Kitty. Her family are the same as any other through a time of torment. They hug and cry and some try to stay strong through my speech. Girls Kitty's age flock round the platform. One girl has a smile on her face that is quickly wiped off when another glares her way. Another mumbles an apology in Kitty's direction, staring at her wide eyes and timid smile. I wonder what Kitty was to these people. A cherished relative to her family, but to these girls, her friends maybe, what was she?

I watch with a smile on my face when one of them cheers Kitty's name, a show of strength despite what the situation entails. I left Twelve a little stronger. I watch it now, feeling uplifted from the other Districts.

Only Eight to go. I brought a bounty of food with me to share with the hungry, people who used to be like my family before my wealth. Davin's eulogy was a brief flicker of sadness amongst the happiness I supplied. I need to focus on that, I have to. When Davin's family steals the focus, I watch it with a smile, remembering the boy who would have hated these tears and frowns.

When I conclude my speech, the Capitol seal centers the screen, and the recaps are over. Almost on cue, someone knocks boldly on my door.

I know who it is before I answer. Waiting for his face, the face that might empty this feeling in the pit of my stomach and light it with something else.

"I'm guessing you watched it?" Lawson asks with a smile.

I nod my head, leaning into the door-frame "Did I have a choice?"

He laughs once, a jolly sound, a welcome sound.

"You were strong."

"I was robotic," I answer honestly, though we both mark it with giggles, wondrous sounds that replace what the tour took from me.

"I'll speak to you later. My prodigy."

"Get stuffed," I laugh and push him out to the cold, Eight air. He raps once against my window and I flounce for it, pulling back the curtains and swatting him away.

He's a friend I don't deserve, but a friend I can cherish. He's the only one who truly understands me. And for that he's lost Woof, the boy he mentored and rose to wholeness. He sacrificed that relationship for me.

All around me, for as long as I've known, relationships have burnt to ash.

Atarah and Elijah.

Lawson and Woof.

They've all lost what they had because of me.

But rather than focus on what has ended, from now on I'm looking at what will rise. What good can come from bad. What I can build up and love rather than hate and scorn.

I fought for my life and won it.

Other Victors have wasted the gift they secured with blood and tears. Not me, with Lawson, I can patch myself up and be the strong girl I always tried to be.

No more fantasy. No more lies and pain and sadness.

I fought in the Hunger Games.

This is just another fight.

Another Games of sorts.

I won once.

I can win again.

And with this chapter, Madhouse is over.

I can't think of that many questions to ask, so really all I'd like to know is for thoughts of this chapter and the story overall. It's been fun, writing for these tributes, having them grow and then watching Kennedy come out and showcase the events afterwards.

I struggled in the Capitol, but that's probably because I was eager to get to the Games. A big thanks to everyone who submitted, everyone who has read, all the reviews, favorites and follows.

I'll miss Madhouse, but I'm also happy to bring it to its conclusion. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. The tributes made this story what it was, from the reapings to the finale, from Kennedy to Celene, each of them had their own input which made me eager to start each and every chapter.

Thanks once again to everyone, Madhouse has now finished!