.

Lights off, a shot in the dark, we get lost when we're playing a part.
We lay blame like we know what's best, it's a shame.
But I'm still standing here, no, I didn't disappear,
Now the lights are on, see I was never gone…


Willa Seamstress, District Eight


It's the end.

We're all together.

Well, admittedly, we all accidentally collided. I was striding back from the feast, back to the area where Arthur was told to wait. I found his body, stone cold and bleeding out.

Slate must have killed him. Surtr is too meek and young.

I grit my teeth and fold my arms over my chest.

Surtr's eyes are like black orbs of coal, glittering in the hot afternoon sun. His hair, longish and somewhat greasy, lies ruffled against his small head. His pale skin is obviously frying to a crisp in the sudden, and unwelcome, sunlight. His thin lips are contorted into a giant frown.

Slate's dark eyebrows are drawn together in concentration. His black hair, thick against his scalp and shimmering attractively in the sun, is tidy. His dark brown eyes are glistening, boring right into me. A scythe is gripped tightly, his knuckles white from grasping it so tightly.

This is the end.


Slate Bessarion, District Two


Our time is dwindling down rapidly.

Collectively, our breaths are ragged and quick.

We all have a weapon, no matter how impressive some are over the other. Surtr's little pocketknife rattles against his bony fingers as his hands tremble. Willa, with a scythe to match mine, is carefully caulked against her shoulder so she appears to be a miner. The drying blood caked on her face emphasizes the image.

Nobody makes the first move, and for that I am thankful. Surtr's in a position where his legs are slightly crossed, and Willa's swaying just a tad. I notice these things.

And I can barely process the shrieking thoughts that swirl through my head. Thoughts of Artemis, and little baby Deyanira. Of making my grandfather proud to have another victor in the family.

For one to survive, the other two must perish. My family taught me that.

I stare soundly at Surtr and Willa. They must both die.

This is the end.


Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve


My hands are clammy and sweaty, balled into fists at my sides. The pocketknife rattles against my fingers.

It's no match for Willa's scythe or Slate's scythe, or the amount of muscle that the latter has. But that doesn't mean that they've won. It's anybody's game, and I'm still in this.

Abandoning Lux was difficult, but her devious intentions were transparent once I cleared my mind. Letting Slate take care of her was easy, I just had to run and run until… well, until I came to the tree with the tire swing. From there, I watched from a high branch, evading the male from Three, as Slate stomped to the dumb tribute below me and sliced him open.

He's still there, his frozen corpse watching us on.

When Willa arrived, I had a half-thought just to stay into the tree and watch it all play out. But one look at a bird's nest with some ferocious-looking chicks made me think twice. I knew what had happened to Lux, and look where she is now. Probably getting prepped for a casket.

But us? We three? We are survivors.

Slate's haggard and worn down. There's bruiselike markings lining the undersides of his eyes, and his face is no longer clean-shaven. Grotesque nicks on his exposed skin are tainted with dried blood.

Willa's blond hair, once thrown into a pristine ponytail, has come around her face in waves, each tendril matted together with, once again, blood. She wears the expression of somebody who has seen too much.

And even though we're stock still now, have been for a minute or so, the sinking feeling in my stomach confirms it.

This is the end.


The finale was relatively quick. The first tribute to lash out was Willa, unsurprisingly. She always was one to march right into battle, and the determined look on her face as she charged the weaker tribute, Surtr, was quickly dulled by a slice to her shoulder.

Whirling around and howling in agony, she silenced Slate with a badly placed hack to his hip.

Groaning and staggering around, Slate watched with hollow eyes as Surtr, teeth chattering with nervousness, made a swipe to Willa with his little knife. Unlike the girl's first swing towards the boy, this one was positioned well, and it entered Willa's body cleanly.

The deed, however, was not done.

Slate, collecting himself enough to make another swipe at Willa, swung his scythe at her with so much force that her own weapon toppled out of her hands, and she was left, dazed, on the ground. Clutching her side and her shoulder with respective hands, she stared up at young Surtr with the fury of a saint in her eyes.

She would not beg for mercy. And the one thing that Surtr was good at was being merciful.

He stood back and watched as Slate slashed Willa's abdomen with his scythe, which was not knocked out of his hands. Willa was dead in moments, her lips parted in silent agony and her fingers laced together.

Surtr clutched the brim of his cowboy hat skittishly, trying to contain his trembling hands as he grasped the handle of his pocket knife with a sweaty hand.

It took one blow to the shin to make Surtr collapse. But he was not dead, rather peppered up with the knowledge that he could make it home, to his friends and family and wonderful, wonderful District Twelve.

The boy with dark eyes and a youthful mind wasn't thinking correctly. His mind was elsewhere. His eyes gazed off at the sun as he remembered all the good times he'd had with Lux, and how fortunate he would be if he could only take down one last tribute.

Slate Bessarion claimed the final slash to the torso that ended little Surtr Kayhiv's life, ripping through thin skin and muscle.

And no, he was not proud of it.


A/N: Never Gone by Colton Dixon.

3rd- Willa Seamstress, District Three. A scythe to the abdomen.

The girl who never expected more than life could give.

2nd- Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve. A scythe to the torso.

The boy who always kept his chin up high and his hopes higher.

1st- Slate Bessarion, District Two. Eight kills.

The boy who knew he had it in him.

Christine Mulheim – I can't thank you enough for Willa. Her spunky leadership skills were amazing. Her lust for life was truly great, and time and time again, I'd thought to make her victor. But, well, reality hits. And Willa, though confident and gallant, was just too human to really become victor.

Davvi – What can I even begin to say about Surtr?! From the start, I wanted him. He was so chipper and never had anything bad to say about him, yet he was realistic. He was fresh. He was a survivor, and I was totally drawn to that. His time here was one of my favorites to write about, and I can only hope I did him a little bit of justice. Nobody expected him to get so far, but I had all my faith in him. He was amazing.

Tyler – Congratulations, man. ;) You always had your faith and hope lie in Slate, and now, well, here he is. I hope you're happy with your very first victor…!

There will be one last chapter to follow, containing a brief epilogue and obituaries, but if you want to see more of Slate even after that, you can see him as the newest mentor for District Two, to star in Teen Idle and any SYOT's I have after that. :-)

Oh, and I thought I'd open Teen Idle submissions a little early. Just as a present for you guys.

Questions :D!

1. Thoughts on each POV?

2. Thoughts on the placements and your victor?

3. Who did you think would be victor, throughout the course of the story? (There can be more than one tribute who you thought would be victor!)

4. Are you happy with the victor?

5. General thoughts?