"Ladies and Gentlemen; Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker!"
The screams of the crowd are deafening. This is my last year, the year I retire. I've served my country for twenty-four years, the maximum amount a Gamemaker can work. I was the one who devised the magnificent arena the year after President Frans was assasinated. I managed the first Quarter Quell with ease. And now I get to control the one-thousanth death in the history of the Games, and it'll be a show for sure.
"Thank you, for that wonderful introduction. But fear not, this won't be the last you'll be seeing of me!" I speak into the microphone. "After all, I'm only forty-nine. I'll be visiting the Control Room long after I've retired!" More applause, shouts, and praise.
"Now, I know all of you are anxious for tomorrow's reapings, but you must be patient. Only nine more days until the gong sounds! Let the countdown for the Forty-fourth annual Hunger Games begin!"
I shake President Minerva's hand and she leads me into her mansion. Once the doors have closed behind us and the noise from outside softens, she places her arm around me and speaks quietly, so I am the only one who can hear.
"Did you get the list?" she asks.
"Of course. It is locked up safe."
"You reviewed the names?"
"Yes. This year's tributes sure do seem interesting."
"They are. Now, I've given you the tools for an unforgettable show. Don't disappoint me." With that, she walks away, leaving me behind with my first threat, trembling.
Back in my study, I go over the plans for the arena once more. They're brilliant... perfect... right?
No, no, they're all wrong. The Cornucopia should be closer to the center, and maybe we should have more trees in this section here. Those cliffs are too steep. And the whole thing is too small.
Criticism runs through my brain into my pen, and I begin to make notes for the corrections. Relocate, improve, tip, expand. Relocate, improve, tip, expand. Relocate, improve, ti-
"Oh, stop fussing. It's genius." I look up to see my second-in-command, Cedric Alden, standing in front of my desk. I frown, unimpressed with his ability to enter a room unnoticed.
"You're sabatoging me. You want my last Games to be a failure. You want to make me a fool."
He laughs evenly, unfazed by my accusations. "Did Minerva threaten you?"
"Of course not. I expect too much of myself, I know. But it's the last time I'll ever wear this robe, and it must count." He doesn't buy it, but I don't care. I hardly ever tell him the truth. He can't handle it. There are cons to being Head Gamemaker, and in my opinion, they outweigh the pros by tons.
"No matter the reason, you mustn't worry. Get some rest. There are tributes to be reaped in the morning."
"I haven't watched a reaping in twenty-three years, Cedric." Again, he doesn't believe me. But this time it's the truth. The President picks them based on rebellious behavior, heritage, and school grades. Then she gives me the final list a couple days before the reapings. I wish she gave me a little information on them, though. That way I could design an arena to target their deepest fears. It would be magnificent.
"Well, I'm going to bed. But first, I think I'll indulge in a little hot cocoa. Care to join me, Thalia?" I nod, straighten the papers, and file them away. It will be good to get my mind off of the task ahead, and what will be the result of my failure.
Mm... Hot chocolate. It's warm, smooth, delicious.
I glance at Cedric. He's sitting, smugly sipping his own cup, as if having me here is a victory of some sort. Idiot. I know he slipped something into my drink. Not poison; he wouldn't kill me. But a drug of some sort, something that would disable my brain so he could tamper with the arena plans. No, he wouldn't kill me. Murder's too messy to cover up, and how would he humiliate me if I were dead?
Some may think he's clever. But I am more so. I had another cocoa made and switched the mugs while he wasn't looking.
You may be wondering why I'd choose a bonehead like him to be my successor. It was my own fault.
I had thought him brilliant in my first year as Head Gamemaker, when he suggested we install a pool in the training center so tributes could learn to swim. I appointed him my right-hand man that evening. Unfortunately, two tributes drowned on the first day of training. But once you've chosen your replacement, you can't turn back. Unless they die...
I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It'd be so simple. And besides, it's not like it would be the first life I've taken.
No. I can't. He's a good kid, no matter how much of a pain he is to me. He deserves this.
Wait, what am I saying? Of course he doesn't deserve it! He's trying to ruin me in my last year, for goodness' sake! But, despite my title as Head Gamemaker, I have a good heart.
"Well, thank you for this lovely beverage, Cedric," I say and stand to leave.
"You are most certainly welcome, Thalia," he says. His smile is sickly sweet, but his eyes are cold as ice.
"Enjoy the reapings," I say at the door without facing him. "And everything that is to follow. You will never outdo these Games."
I peer out my bedroom window at the shrieking crowd below. This city - no, this country never sleeps the night before the reapings, though I suspect the unrest in the districts is for completely other reasons.
The colors, the music, the celebration. It's beautiful. It's precious.
I close my eyes and think back to when I was little. Oh, times were so much simpler. The Dark Days had ended a few years before, the Hunger Games were new and exciting; keeping the districts in their place. I remember being eight or nine, sitting on our plush living room carpet and listening to my grandmother tell stories.
"I was about your age when Panem was founded, you know," she said. "Your great-grandfather was one of the founding members of this country. He had lived through the Years of Despair and he knew what was right for us. He helped write the laws we live by today, Thalia."
I looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Did he write the Treaty of Treason?" I asked. I remember my grandmother laughing and running her hand through my long black hair.
"No, Sweetie. He died before the districts rebelled. It's a good thing, too. It would have broken his heart to see us go through what we did."
"Why did they rebel if he wrote those laws so perfectly?"
I was a curious child. I had a compulsive need to know everything.
"They didn't agree with his laws. They thought it was unfair." I smile to myself and look out over my city. I don't remember much of what life was like before the Games. But if they thought that was unfair, they were put into their rightful place. Now, this my last chance to keep them there.
I'm startled awake by a pounding on my door.
"Thalia, it's your last year. You must get up. The reapings are about to start!" Cedric calls to me. I rise reluctantly and open the door.
"Why do you care so much, Cedric?" I ask bitterly. It's 11:00. District One's reaping will begin in half an hour.
"Oh, Thalia. Are you... uh, well?" He obviously expected the poison to have disabled me by now.
"Yes, I'm perfectly healthy. Should I be otherwise?" He pauses, caught offguard.
"Um, no. You just seem... weary." I laugh, enjoying his distraught expression.
"Yes, well, I'm not completely immune to poison." His jaw drops and his eyes widen. He has no response. "Come in, anyway. We can watch them together."
I had the same food delivery system the tributes have in their rooms installed a few years ago. We order breakfast and it soon appears, piping hot.
"Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's almost time for the District One reaping to begin! But first, a special message from President Minerva!" says Giles Jonesman, the Hunger Games announcer. Julius Waxis, the Capitol's Head Interviewer, sits with the president on the stage where the tributes are interviewed.
I tune out the program now, because this "special message" is the same every year. When the president leaves the stage, it's 11:08. Julius goes on to say how it is my last year, and to fill the next twenty minutes, they will play a short re-cap of all my previous Games.
"This will be interesting to see," Cedric says, leaning forward. But I already know what happened each year.
When it ends, it's 11:28. District One pops up on the screen, and the camera does a quick swoop of all the waiting children. They look so frightened.
I smile. Let the Forty-fourth Annual Hunger Games begin.