w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

Claire Dasilva
District Eight Female, 18 Years Old
Day Nine

I awake to the sound of heavy footsteps.

They're running, their feet stomping on the ground with every step. I shoot up, grab my backpack and knife, and immediately jump off of the bench. I look down the hallway, and when I look back down the other way, I notice them. The figures are running down the hallway, their weapons raised in the air, their features nearly indistinguishable.

It's the statues.

They're back.

It is the finale, after all.

I begin to run down the hallway, not looking back over my shoulder. They wouldn't kill us, would they? The Gamemakers want a finale; not a tribute killed by a muttation. I continue down the hallway, and I turn the corner, entering a long hallway. At the end, I see a door is open, and beyond those doors, I have a feeling the other two will be there.

Cailen.

Wren.

Sprinting down the hallway, I stop short once I reach the door, finally looking back. The statues are far away, but I don't waste any time. I step through the doorway, entering the larger room. On the other side of the room is a doorway and in front of me is a staircase.

I see Wren.

And, then, I see Cailen.

It's the girl that killed one of my allies.

Then, it's the girl who was my ally. The one I abandoned. The one I hurt.

Cailen stands there, avoiding any eye-contact with me. Actually, it doesn't even look like she's doing it on purpose; she seems like she's ignoring me completely. Just like I did with her.

Wren stands at the top of the staircase, while Cailen and I are on the ground. Wren and I continue to exchange glances, while Cailen stands there in the doorway, seemingly unfazed. She seems stoic – like she knows what outcome of this will be. Wren finally opens her mouth to speak, and I anticipate some response from Cailen, but once again, she remains quiet.

She just stands there staring.

"How ironic," Wren comments, her voice sounding nonchalant. She sounds calm. "Let's do it for our dead allies, I suppose."

"This isn't very fair, is it?" Wren says, glancing at me and then Cailen. She shakes her head, slowly raising her knife. She switches from looking at me and then Cailen, making sure the both of us don't make a move. I don't look at Cailen, though.

I can't look at her anymore.

"Unfair?" I ask, saying it loud enough for her to hear. I stay where I am, unsure of where Wren will move. Or even Cailen; I don't know what she's going to do. What she's planning on doing.

"Don't think I forgot about your alliance," she says, narrowing her eyes as she glares at Cailen. I shake my head, still refusing to look at Cailen. We were once allies, but not anymore. Now, we're individuals. We're just tributes who want to win.

Who want to become victor.

"That's long gone," Cailen says, speaking up. Her voice shakes at first, but it becomes more serious. "It's just me, Wren. And you. And her."

Her.

Wren side-steps, drawing her machete. She pauses, checks behind her, and continues down the stairs. She slowly takes off her backpack, throws it to the side, and leans back.

Wren's already making her way towards me as she glides herself along the wall, and she glances at Cailen, making sure she's staying where she is. When I see that Cailen hasn't even budged, I widen my eyes, unsure if she's waiting for the right time to come over or if she's just going to wait.

Is she waiting until either Wren or I die?

Why wouldn't she help me?

Wren reaches the bottom of the stairs, and slowly, she continues to walk forwards. I grip my knife, sliding my own backpack off of my back. We won't need that anymore… Now, all I'll need is my knife. All I'll need to do is kill.

And then, I can go home.

And then… I'll be the winner.

Wren doesn't hesitate to make the first move.

Wren gently pokes her machete forwards, still a few feet away from me. I flinch, and I react, taking a step back and swinging my own knife upwards. Wren narrows her eyebrows, her head bowed as she looks up at me. She glances at Cailen one more time, and when she knows that she isn't a threat – when I know that she isn't going to help me – she makes her next move.

She makes a fist around her machete, sending that flying, and it smacks me in the face, my nose immediately throbbing with pain. I swipe my knife in front of me, waving my hands, trying to back myself up. She leaps forwards, though, sending another fist into my stomach, and I hunch over, the knife nearly slipping out of my fingers.

Just as she's about to punch me again, I swing my head to the side, dodging it, and impulsively, I drive my knife forwards, feeling it cut Wren right on the hip. She lashes out, knocking her fist right into my jaw. I stumble back, and I go at her again, driving my knife a little more to the right. She angles her machete, though, and slams the grip down onto the top of my head, and my ears begin to ring.

She thrusts her machete forwards.

I snap out of it, and with one swift jump to the side, I side-swipe my knife. It cuts her lower-arm, and with a grunt, she swings her arm aggressively. I back up, avoiding any attack she attempts. Wren looks up, and with a scowl on her face, rushes forwards, knocking right into my shoulder. I spin around, and flip my knife around, plunging it aimlessly behind me. It digs right into the back of her knee, and she bends it, taking the knife with her.

There goes my weapon.

I notice the backpack near the staircase, and I take a big jump towards it, feeling Wren latch onto my arm. From the corner of my eye, I see Cailen standing there, still refusing to help me. She's just standing there. She's just watching.

I deserve this treatment, though.

I treated her in the same way.

Slamming down onto the ground, I put my arms up against my face, cushioning the fall. I reach for the backpack, and I unzip it, shoving my hand in it for my other knife. This one's much smaller, and I try to flip over, but Wren is now latched onto my ankle.

"Looks like she isn't going to help you," Wren says, her voice muffled and out of breath.

With one swift stab, I plunge the knife into her hand, and she grunts again, swinging the machete. I throw my head back, barely avoiding the blade. Thrashings my leg, I try to distract her, and when she struggles to keep her grip around my leg, I push myself up, releasing my leg. We exchange eye-contact one last time, and before she has the ability to get up, I drive my knife forwards again.

The blade digs deep into her shoulder, and this time, she screams. She swings her machete, and I move to the side, yanking the knife out with me. With one last motion, I thrust the knife forwards, aiming right for her chest. When it digs into her chest, she drops the machete and her jaw drops.

She blinks rapidly, and as she slumps to the side, I move to get her machete. She falls near it, though, and I back up, staring down at her body. For a moment, I want to glance over my shoulder to see Cailen's reaction. But, I don't. I don't want to see how she sees me as a person now.

I always knew that I was deceptive. That I was artificial. That I was selfish.

But, she didn't. She trusted me. She cared about me. She thought we were friends.

And we were.

I just had a weird way of showing it.

And, now, she sees me as a killer.

I might not have wanted to do it, but if I want to go home… if I want to win… I had to.

Cailen will have to die, too.

Ally or not, I want to win. Friend or not, I want to win.

Either way, she has to die.

Even if I don't like it – even if I don't want to do it – I have to.

I have to kill her.

I have to win.

Cailen Arkley
District Eleven Female, 18 Years Old
Day Nine

Claire gawks at Wren's body.

From her face, I can tell she's surprised. She looks like she's in disbelief; that even she can kill. That even she had to kill.

We all did.

And some of us still have to.

Claire walks around Wren's body, staring down at it, bending down to grab Wren's machete. She finally looks up at me, and I shake my head, seeing her lips twitch into a half-smile. A smile… No. We were never friends. We never had a relationship.

She's just trying to trick me.

She's just trying to play me.

"How does it feel?" I say aloud, my voice much more forceful than I intended it to be. I stand there firmly, my feet spread apart, the knife at my side ready. Ready to fight. Ready to kill. Ready to win.

To go home.

To see everyone I left behind.

"What?" Claire replies, a skeptical look on her face. I nod towards Wren's body, still seeing Claire's knife lodged in her chest. She has Wren's weapon now, holding it at her side. I raise mine, though, showing her that I don't want to be friends anymore. She ruined that a long time ago.

There's no time left to be friends, anyway. It's about survival now. It's about victory.

We are the final two tributes.

And only one of us can make it out alive.

"How does it feel, Claire? Knowing that you killed someone?" I snap, my voice raising in volume. In terseness. In pure anger. "That you ruined their life? That you stripped them of their life?"

"Cailen…"

"How does it feel, Claire?"

"I… I don't know…"

"I know how it feels. I know what it's like to have blood on your hands. I know the feeling of stabbing someone else, of feeling the knife cut through skin and bone," I say, watching her eyes widen. Her mouth drops, but she quickly shuts it, forcing her lips into a blank expression. She's trying too hard to remain emotionless. To make it seem like none of this has any effect on her. "But, I had to do it. I had to kill. I had to take their life to keep mine."

"I understand-"

"You don't, Claire," I retort, cutting her off instantly. "You don't understand and that's just it. You just killed. You didn't have enough time to live with yourself. To live with the utter anguish."

"Cailen-"

"I'm going to kill you, Claire," I snap, feeling exasperated. I stare at her, and I shake my head, feeling my fingers tense up around the knife. I watch her begin to tremble, the fear in her face. She never cared. She never cared about me or anyone, for that matter. She only cared about herself.

I was just too naïve to realize it. I was too stupid.

It was all a lie.

"I'm going to kill you, and you know what?" I say, pausing. I inhale deeply, and exhale slowly, trying to regain composure. "I might feel terrible about it. I might even feel like killing myself."

"Cai-"

"But, I have to do it. I want to go home," I continue, taking another pause. I close my eyes, and I wait a few seconds, hoping that my anger settles. That it subsides. That my emotions don't shroud my judgment like they used to."I want to live."

I can see Claire physically becoming angry. She opens her mouth, snaps it shut, but then opens it again. She takes a step forward, and before I can get another word in, she decides it's her time to talk. I don't want to hear what she has to say, though.

She never talked to me. And, even when she did, it was blunt and cold.

Why would she want to talk to me now?

Just before I'm about go home. Before I'm about to win.

"I think we could have been friends, Cailen," Claire says, her hands shaking lightly around the machete. "Just not here. Not in the Games."

Don't be soft now.

Don't reminisce. Don't empathize.

And, yet, I can't help it. I feel a rush of emotion; one that makes me falter, one that makes me gulp. One that makes me unsure of what to do next. When I see Claire take another step, though, I snap out of it, focusing everything I have in me on her.

On killing her.

On winning.

On going home.

Suddenly, the doors behind us both slam shut, making Claire flinch. She looks over her shoulder, and before she can turn back around, I charge at her. She catches me in her arms, swinging me around, right into the wall. I throw my arms in front of my face, letting them smack against the wall, and then I push myself off of it.

I charge at Claire again, swinging my knife, and after two or three times, she swings her machete back. Our weapons clash, and we make eye-contact, hers looking upset. Like she's ready to cry. Mine don't look like that.

Mine look determined.

Mine look prepared.

I already had enough time to be upset. This isn't the time anymore.

I retract my arm, and as she brings her machete down, I thrust my knife forwards. It goes right over her machete, grazing her neck. A small cut is formed, trickling blood down her neck, but it looks only like a paper cut. She raises her arm quickly, making my elbow bend in the air, and I bring it back again, thrusting it forwards once more.

Claire looks as if she's about to speak.

But, I don't let her.

I don't want to hear it anymore.

She spreads her fingers apart, clawing at me wildly. I dodge each swipe of her hand, and even when she manages to grab a few strands of hair, I swing my head to the side, releasing myself from her. As she swings her weapon, I realize that the machete is larger than my blade, so I bend down, trying to go for her legs.

She sends her knee flying upwards, knocking me right in the nose, making me swing my head backwards. I throw my hands up in front of me, though, just as Claire lunges forward. My knife catches something, and I hear her yelp just as I fall back onto the ground. She lunges forward again, the cut on her neck still dripping blood, and now, I see there's another wound right under her eye.

Just as she hunches over me, I kick her right in the stomach, making her buckle over. Quickly, I push myself up, grasp my knife tightly, and hook my arm around her ankle. I pull her down, and as I do that, I stand up, and desperately, she tries to do the same thing. I raise my feet though, jump to the side, and now, I'm standing above her.

Claire tries to grab the machete, but scramble to get it out of her reach, and before I can, she springs up, our heads knocking into one another. I rub my head, backing up, my eyes feeling hazy for a moment. She comes at me, though, swinging her machete some more, and I run away, leading her towards Wren's body.

I gesture my knife at her body, and Claire shakes her head, ignoring it. Over Wren's body, she thrusts her weapon forward, and I perform the same action. Right over her machete, I thrust my own, and this time, I slit her wrist. She latches her hand onto the wound, and as I'm looking at her squeeze her hand, she jumps around Wren's body, coming right at me.

Kicking her ankle, I make her hesitate, and with one more swipe of my knife, I slit the knuckles of her hand. The machete drops out of her hand, and she bends down to pick it up, but with my foot again, I push her over to the ground.

"Cailen…," she says, flipping herself over, realizing that I'm already there, standing right in front of her with my knife. She swallows, still squeezing onto her wounds and trying to do something about them. "Cailen, please."

"No, Claire. There is no please," I say firmly, and for the first time, I hesitate. I don't attack her – I just look at her. I just stare down at her, seeing everything that I've done to her. To my ally. To my friend. Or so I thought, anyway.

And, before I can even make another move, Claire latches her hand around my ankle, and with a forceful pull, brings me down. I collapse onto her, and I hold the knife out in front of me, the blade facing downwards. Just as I fall on top of her, I feel the knife sink into her, the blade going all the way through.

When I look at her, I see that the knife went right through her skull.

Holding up my hands, I scramble to push myself up, tripping over her leg. I stand up, looking around me, glancing at Wren and then Claire. Claire lies there, though, my knife in her head, everything turning into a bloody mess. This was my fault, I think. I did this to her.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice nearly a whisper. I lean forwards, pressing my face against her chest, listening to her fading heartbeat. Soon, it disappears, leaving me with nothing but the hollowness of her chest. The emptiness of it. She might have hated me, and I might hate her too, but now… Now, none of that matters.

I killed her.

Just like I killed Alumax.

An ally. A District partner.

What kind of person am I? What kind of person does that make me?

"I had to…," I drawl, feeling myself getting choked up. When her cannon sounds, I am startled, gripping my hands around her own. There's no pulse, there's no twitch – there's nothing. Her body is motionless, and I close my eyes, shaking as I breathe. "I wanted to win… I want to go home…"

I wanted to do it for myself.

To show everyone that I was capable of it. That I wasn't weak. That I wasn't useless.

That I wasn't a people-pleaser. That I wasn't dependent.

That I was worth something.

Around me, it's all silent. I can only hear my own breathing, my own sobbing, my own movements. I open my eyes, lift my head up, and I tremble as I push myself off of Claire. She lies on the ground, the knife still in her head, the blood dripping down the rest of her body now. It begins to pool underneath her, and I crawl away from it, but I can't.

I can't do it.

I have to, though. I'm the victor.

I won the Hunger Games. I might have killed in the process, but I won. I won for myself.

For the first time in my life, I did something for me and me only.

I did this for me.

I won for me.

"May I present to you the Victor of the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games – Cailen Arkley of District Eleven!"

District Twelve, Wren Maddox – Placed 3rd

District Eight, Claire Dasilva – Placed 2nd

District Eleven, Cailen Arkley – Victor.

Author's Note:

There you guys go – the Finale for Settle a Score! And, congratulations to Cailen Arkley from Eleven for becoming victor! Go you, girl. You rock.

So, I won't ask any questions this chapter. I'll save it for the Epilogue.