This is a collection of random segments that I have written that I think are interesting enough, but don't really fit into any of the stories I'm writing. If you're inspired by one of these, feel free to take it and run with it- I suppose that's the purpose of putting them up here. If you do, let me know about it- I'd like to see what you do with them. Thanks! : )

I will not play their game.

The pedestal rises up out of the catacombs under the arena and I lose sight of my wonderful costume designer. It is the last friendly face I will ever see. I am enclosed in a concrete tube for only a moment before rising up into the arena itself. A vast grassy plains spreads out before me, far past the cornucopia and beyond the tributes across from me.

It is such a beautiful sight and I give thanks for the opportunity to have witnessed it before my life is taken. A warm breeze flows over my face and I close my eyes. The aroma of the balmy, grassy plains fills my nostrils and sets my mind at ease. I can almost imagine that this is a paradise made just for me.

I sigh, opening my eyes back up, and take a deep breath. I sit down on my pedestal and look around. A circle of similar pedestals with tributes- no, just kids- of other districts surrounds me. Some are beginning to panic, as if they have just realized how close their death may be. Others are determined, willing themselves to survive, despite the odds. In any other situation, I would be intrigued by the different psychological responses, but now it no longer matters to me.

I have already accepted my fate.

When the gong goes off, the world falls still and silent. I can see the action unfolding around me, but it feels as if it is all happening somewhere else to some other person. The world is moving in slow motion and I see the games for what they really are. Kids fighting kids, killing each other, but for what? None of it makes sense to me.

All around me, lives are ending and I can feel hearts at home breaking.

The smart ones immediately turn from their pedestals and run from the fight, while the brave ones charge in dutifully. Kids of both strategies get cut down, their once life sustaining blood draining out onto the now tainted ground. A decade and a half of life simply ended with the swing of a blade. I can hear their screams and though I don't know most of them personally, I can still feel their agony.

The battle eventually subsides and only five tributes remain, hands gripping blood stained spears and swords. They are laughing at their recent conquest and their quarry's utter failure to fight back. They meander among the bodies, checking for survivors, not understanding why the cannons haven't fired yet, signaling the end of the bloodbath.

Julia, the girl from District 1, notices me first. She stares at me, confused, then a grin spreads across her face like a child who has discovered one last Christmas present hidden beneath the tree. She gets the attention of the others and points in my direction. They share some playful banter, then argue over who gets the honor of taking my life, as if they are arguing over the last cookie in the package.

Pepper, the boy from District 2, wins the argument with a threatening gesture toward Julia, and begins to stalk toward me. My body language resonates submission and acceptance to the inevitable.

I know that my time has come.

The warm breeze and sunlight continue to wash over me, seemingly oblivious of the horrors being committed below. As I sit on my pedestal, I remove my shirt and close my eyes again, basking in the warmth. I treasure every moment and every feeling as if it were my last, aware that any of them very well could be.

Pepper is now only a few feet away, but I have made no attempt to move. I continue to stare at the ground, watching a line of ants march between the blades of grass. He stops and stares at me, almost disappointed that I am showing no signs of fear or attempting to escape. After a few seconds of this, he barks out gruffly, "You aren't even going to try to fight?"

I lazily move my glance up to meet his gaze, but I don't say anything.

"Nothing?", he barks, "Well I guess I don't blame you." He looks up and down my scrawny, malnourished body. "You wouldn't last very long anyway."

I sigh and stand up. I hesitate, looking down at the shirt now crumpled in my hand, and ask him in a philosophical haze, "Well, what would you do if you knew you only had twenty seconds left to live?"

He stares at me for a while longer, and I can see a faint glimmer of pity in his eyes, but it is not nearly enough for him to spare me. Instead, he brings up the sword, ready to end my misery. Before he does, however, I toss the crumpled shirt up into his face, blocking his eyes.

He tries to swing the sword, but this movement is predictable. I move in and block his swing with my right arm, clench my left fist, and bring it up into his lower ribcage as hard as I can. There is a muffled cracking sound and I know I've achieved my goal. He lets out a surprised yelp of pain and throws a wild punch with his right arm. This move is also predictable and I raise my left hand to block. With my right hand now free, I throw a second punch into the same location, this one much harder, completely breaking the dislocated rib.

Pepper drops the sword and stumbles backward. He finally manages to wrench my shirt off his face, and is just in time to see me heel kick him just below the sternum. He hits the ground, which knocks the breath out of him.

I casually pick up the dropped sword and walk over to him. He is now writhing in agony, gasping, trying to catch his breath. I smile down at him and say, "Make that three seconds left to live", and jam the sword down into his throat.