It is odd that I never thought my life would be in danger. With the reaping so close, it never once crossed my mind that I could thrust forward into a game where the only winner is death itself. I had seen countless people torn from their greiving families and forced to fight to survive. Only surviving is made practically impossible. I'd seen person after person killed brutally or they suffered until death decided it was time to claim them.

Maybe it had been the fact that my father was so involved with Capitol that kept me from believeing they would put me into their death trap, the Arena. I had completely fooled myself into believeing that I was safe, far away from the greedy and vile hands of the Capitol. Maybe it was my way of hiding from the truth that was now so evident. I was not safe. No one was.

The morning of the reaping, my family and I joined the others of District 13 as we always did. I stood looking at the stage as the strange woman approached the podium. She was a thin boney woman with skin the color of a grape juice stain. A pale pinkish purple, with silver tattoos that looked like vines, covered her face, making her look that much different. They droned on and on about the Dark Days and how the districts were pawns of the Capitol. They never said it quite like that, but everyone was thinking it. It was clear on the face of the people and the Capitol liked to keep it that way.

I remember a few years back when I was around 13. There had been an older man, probably old enough to be my grandfather. His youngest granddaughter had been chosen as the girl tribute for our district. The family was clearly greiving, but the older gentleman had been consumed with rage. Without warning, the climbed the stairs and dashed to the podium, knocking the strange lady to the floor. He began to rage about how the Capitol had us brainwashed and made us feel helpless. How if we would just rebel against the hold of the Peacekeepers, we could become a district that took care of itself and needed no one to kill off our young. During his ranting, there was a loud pop, send several people diving to the ground. The man froze in time, his mouth opened in a odd shape before he hit the ground dead.

After that, no mention of defying the Capitol was made. When I came back to the boring ceremony, the Plum, which was my nickname for her, was reaching inside of the big glass ball marked Boy Tributes. She pull out a piece of paper and read clearly in her annoying nasally voice, "Beck Thornfire."