He sits in the stand watching the game of rugby. He doesn't know who is playing, some local team, he thinks. It's not important. He doesn't even understand the rules. He isn't here for the game. He is

"No publicity, please!" the old woman says, palming my camera away. She frowns and shakes her head. "You people," she says. "Will you never leave me alone?" "I'm sorry,"

"It's not a debate," he says, and with that shuts down the conversation. We sit here in silence. Well, almost silence. Bilker farts, and Kibber taps a beat with his finger on the arm of his chair.

"I'm not prey," he mutters, hiding behind the large overspilling garbage bin. It stinks of rotting meat, vegetables, and shit. Even the rats are looking at it suspiciously. He hears a Sentinel

"Button it!" the woman says. The child ignores her and continues to complain that she is hungry and wants to eat the sweets. "You're not hungry," the woman says, pulling the packet

The head on the door is talking to me, again. It was quiet for a while, a few days I think. But since I woke up about three in the morning running from something horrible in my dreams, the head has been

Myers told us that it was time to "play Sacrifice the Lettuce!" Everyone cheered, including me, until I noticed that under my nametag was a tiny picture of a salad. I put my hand up. "Err,"