Disclaimer: Well, for the last time, I do not own the Hunger Games (I might be in the movie if I get an agent though)

Dedicated: MeanZombieQueen, this is your character with a few modifications,

xXKillerxxCupcakeXx, this is your arena,

and finally, everyone who has read this whole thing, it means a lot.

Morning Rose (Age 12) female – District 3

I sit at the edge of the meadow, the colorful giant five-foot flowers dance around me in the morning sun. My curly black hair brushes itself against my chubby cheeks and I try to keep another tear from slipping. The effort is futile. I shouldn't be here. I'm twelve, I'm fat, I'm weak, I'm slow, and I can't survive. Where would I learn to survive in District 3? We make electronics. As far as I'm concerned, electronics are the exact opposite of nature. Of course, this isn't exactly nature. I doubt there are poison daisies and giant bugs in nature. I shudder at the memory of the boy being consumed by the prey mantis, and the girl dropping dead after an innocent sniff of a flower.

I let out a sigh, rise to my feet, and make my way out of the giant flower forest. I break the boundary into the meadow, where the stems of a million short flowers brush against my legs as I walk. I look at the surrounding forest one last time and start to move slowly to the center of the meadow. Maybe someone will see me and shoot me quick, it would be better than the starvation which is already creeping into my stomach. I don't know why I haven't died yet. I all but walked in slow motion away from the Cornucopia yesterday. Slow and fat. Those are the two most common words I hear back in the District to describe me.

"Well, I don't know why we handle reapings the way we do. If it were up to me, I would make it so the least efficient person in the District had to volunteer." The other girls surrounding Isadora broke out into uncontrolled giggling. They knew what she was about to say. So did I. "So, looks like her fatness herself, Morning Rose has chosen to volunteer!" The other twelve-year-olds' giggling turns to laughter as their friend falls into the Capitol accent.

"I'm right here, Isadora." I whispered, hoping that she wouldn't pick up what I just said.

"Oh! You learned to comprehend sentences now? Well, looks like I have to dump all the dumb jokes. Darn. Oh, don't look so happy yet. You're still fat. Aw! Now the little baby is crying."

I still remember the look on Isadora's face when I volunteered for her: Shock. I know I'm not going back there now, and she can never say those things to my face again. Though now all the things she said are proving true. I have a 0% chance of surviving, and everyone in the arena knows that. Even if I did manage to make it back, what good does it do? No one is waiting for me, cheering me on, or sending me gifts. No one wants me home, so why don't I give that opportunity to someone else? I let myself fall down to the ground, crushing the flowers in what must seem like an earthquake to them since I'm so fat.

I lie there, staring at the sky, waiting for someone to come along and pick me off. Anyone, even a fellow twelve-year-old can finish me now. I won't even fight back. I lie here, next to the beautiful rose bush, wishing that the beauty could belong to me. The name is mine, but anything can take on a name and be nothing. Here I am, fat, dumb, ugly sharing the same name as these poisonous, beautiful, slender, perfect flowers. I lift my hand and let one rest in the palm.

My mother always told me that roses are the epitome of beauty. She would always stop by the rose bush outside the Justice Building and smell the flowers. I think the bush felt neglected once she died because it too faded away into a distant memory. I pluck the red flower off the bush and bring it to my nose, inhaling the sweet, deadly aroma. The poison is quick at its work, and I let out a sigh of relief, happy that I took the time on my last day to stop and smell the roses.

S~i~l~v~e~r

Gladiolus Cyclamen (Age 13) male – District 10

I look around the girl's body but find nothing. No food, no water: No supplies. Nothing of which can be use to help my own survival. I consider briefly the possibility of turning her over to see if there is anything underneath her, but she is much too fat. I would never manage on my own. The curious thing about her now is that I can't find how she died. I was in the tall flowers when I heard the cannon fire, and I knew the girl was in the meadow.

I didn't see her and I knew she couldn't have gone far, so I ran out to the center. And I found her body lying here, right next to a red rose bush. There is no one else in the area, there are no fatal wounds marking her skin, there is no blood pool, as she should be lying in one. There is no hint on how she died. My nose wrinkles together as I try to think of some explanation, but my mind comes up short. There is simply no answer. Maybe she just sat down here and died of a heart attack from physical exertion, she certainly doesn't seem the type to be used to moving around. Yes, that is probably the most logical explanation.

I let out a sigh and plop down on the dirt next to the body. I suppose it would smell weird, but the alluring aroma of the rose bush overshadows it. I reach over to the girl and slide her eyelids shut. It gave her the appearance of sleeping. "You're lucky you know," I say thoughtfully to the corpse, "your death doesn't seem like it was that painful. And it's over. I will probably kill myself in anticipation for my death. I'm scared a giant bug will swallow me whole at any minute. I'm almost envious." I look up at the blue sky and allow a rare grin to etch itself onto my face.

"It's beautiful here. The smell is sweet and calming. Whoever thought of this, they must be a genius. Evil, knowing children will die here. But it is a genius design. Giant flowers? Giant bugs? It gives a since of how small we are, how helpless. And this meadow, it still gives us control over something, somewhere where we can be the biggest. And to be surrounded by color when you die, it almost makes the murder seem justified. If I were to die anywhere I would rather it here than back on the pastures at home. It smells like cow crap there." I look back to the unresponsive corpse and notice the rose in its hand.

I reach over and grab it, twirling it in my fingers. It is a pretty flower, but why was she holding it? I'm about to lift the flower to my nose when the shadow falls over me. I look up hesitantly to see the towering body of the prey mantis. My heart falls. It is rubbing its odd incisor like hands together. I know from watching it back home that it will attack soon. I know there is no escape. And who am I to deny myself one last pleasure in life? I lift the rose up to my nose and take a whiff of the enchanting smell. As soon as the scent touches my nose, I feel the consciousness dragged away from me. Poison, the flower is poison. Pick your poison the saying always seemed irrelevant. I think I understand now. I pick flower.

The End

These are the stories of another fallen. These are the stories of another victim. Just another dead in the world of death: Nothing outstanding, nothing special. They are not ones whom someone would morn years over, not ones whom people will even remember for years to come. There is no reason for their tales to be that of Victory, but, no reason for them to not be. These are the stories of the dead; this is the other half of the Hunger Games.

Okay, so I hope you enjoyed (The random silver is because nothing will show up unless it has letters). This is the last one, so I made it two deaths. 33 chapters and 35 deaths. Thank you all for reading. And, you want to know a secret? Well, it's not a secret, but today's my 15th birthday. So you want to click the little review button down there and tell me what you think about the chapter/story in whole, and what your favorite death was? It'll make my day =D. I'd like to thank you all who have stuck with this story, when I started there were maybe 200 Hunger Games fics, now there are close to 1,600. You have a lot of choices out there now, and I'd like to thank you for reading Knives Fall. Until I think of another story, this is goodbye. Unless, of course, by some random act of fate I become casted in The Hunger Games movie, but, until then, this is Lauren signing out.

- Silverstardust, a.k.a. Lauren