I'm so afraid. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I am writing this in hopes that someone might find it and be warned.
Don't trust the Gamemakers.
They will steal your life. They lie and promise glory and fortune, but it's not until you hit the arena does the full reality of the Games come crashing down. It's not until the paparazzi is gone and the parties are over do you comprehend the fact that you are going to die unless you murder someone else.
This is my story. Since my life probably won't last much longer, someone must find this and keep it safe.
I entered the Games as Glimmer, the sexy girl tribute from District 1. I hate my mentors. Their only focus is on Marvel winning. When we first met after the Reaping, they both saw me as nothing more than a spoiled, air-head blond with no potential, so they found the only angle they thought I could play. Physical attraction. I numbly went along with the act, too scared to defend my honor. Twinkle, the female tribute mentor, exchanged my classy designer clothes for sheer, short dresses. Every day, my face was caked with pounds of makeup. "It'll make you desirable" Zipper, the male tribute mentor, said. I didn't feel desirable . I felt like a fake, cheap doll.
Along with my trendy clothes, my own name wasn't good enough for them or the Capitol. So he changed it. My real name is Lenna. Was Lenna.
I am going to die with a fake identity. I know I will die because I am not good enough to win the Games. To whoever finds this, please show Panem who I really am, not the plastic version of me on television.
But before I was formed into an idol, before I entered the Games, there was Reaping Day. That's where the nightmare started. That day is seared in my memory like it was branded there by the Capitol.
Reaping day was a huge event for everyone. Suspense and curiosity filled the chatter in the square while vendors sold sweet-smelling foods and cheap Reaping Day souvenirs. All the potential candidates were dressed in their best, and in District 1, one's best is very extravagant. I floated through the square in a purple silk taffeta gown with intricate white lacing directly imported from District 8. From purple gowns to hairpieces, purses to bowties, the color of luxury decorated the entire district. Everyone smiled and waved at one another, too caught up in the festivities to care about who is in whose clique and whose father is richest.
"Mother," I asked. "Can I tap open the window?" I just spotted the boy I had a crush on since practically my birth out of the corner of my eye and wanted him to see me in my father's top-of-the-line luxury car from the business he owned.
"Go ahead," said my mother nonchalantly.
I tapped the holographic window pane and it dissolved under my touch.
"Hi Marvel," I waved and giggled. Marvel was a tall blond, son of the mayor, and as dreamy as all get out. Bethany, the Academy's gossip Intel, even slipped the hint that he liked me!
Marvel's elite were almost as dashing as he was. Rich and handsome, the entire group was as untouchable as President Snow. Marvel caught my wave and glanced across the sleek car. His eyes slid back up to my perfectly sculpted face and winked. Butterflies flitted through my stomach and I gave him a teasing smile before tapping the tinted window back up. I sighed in total contentment.
That was the last time I felt true happiness.
"Be careful, Lenna," my mother said.
"Mother, it's only Marvel. You know him personally from the mayor's banquets!" I defended.
"You never know who your enemies are." She stared straight ahead with her lips drawn tight. I didn't understand what she was talking about then. She was talking about Marvel. Somehow, she knew. As if waking from a trance, my mother wrapped me into a tight embrace that I now recognize as a woman's final acceptance that she is losing her daughter forever. I regret whining. I regret pulling away, telling her that she would muss my dress. The sad, long look in her eyes that I couldn't comprehend her intentions was punishment enough.
Please, please, tell my mother I understand now. Tell her I wish I could be back in her arms forever and the Games would dissolve into only a nightmare around me. I understood the second I walked up to the stage, beaming in hopes of glory, glory that died when Marvel's name was drawn.
Tell her I'm sorry.
Whatever interest Marvel had for me expired once Training began. With the District 12 tributes playing the whole star-crossed lovers act, Marvel made it clear that I should move on. That if it came down to me and him, he would kill me without a second thought.
Heartbroken, I faced the Training rooms alone. Though you are technically not supposed to train in the arts of war until after you are chosen, at the Academy we take an official weapons training class. I focused on the bow and arrow, so I headed straight for the archery station. First mistake. Katniss Everdeen was already there. And she was amazing. My eyes were glued to the unmistakable accuracy of every shot, my mouth unconsciously flowing with the slight oohs and awes of the crowd that had formed around her station.
I picked up another bow, but my shots looked like I was aiming blindly compared to her. I think destiny was trying to tell me something. I will never live up to Katniss Everdeen. If Marvel doesn't win, she will. And that's exactly why I bribed one of the Gamemakers to put a bow and arrow in the Cornucopia so I could snatch it up lure Katniss Everdeen with it. I'm not proud of what I did to get him to do it, but it was worth it. I want Marvel to pay for breaking my heart. And I want him to die by the arrow of the girl from District 12.
The night our private training session scores were televised went too smoothly. Everyone was nervous. Marvel was too polite. Zipper eyeballed his watch repeatedly and Twinkle habitually tugged the bodice of her metallic gold dress. It barely reached her thighs and looked like it had been spray painted on. Not that I was wearing anything better. I had been sewn into a neon blue corset and miniskirt that extremely handicapped my ability to breathe. But my mind was far from my provocative clothing and the eyes I knew were traveling it.
I had screwed up my private session with the Gamemakers spectacularly. I had attempted to impress them with archery to no avail. It was a miracle that the arrows flew from the shaft of my bow at all. I would be lucky to score a five.
Then the announcer cleared his throat. I went to bed that night both defeated and overjoyed. Marvel and I both scared a nine out of twelve.
The only thing left was the Games. The indescribable torture the world was eager to celebrate.
That was the first night I had the nightmare. The nightmare I now have every night.
*Thank you so much for reading! :D This is my first story on FanFiction, so please rate and review! More will be coming soon. This, being my first story, is dedicated to FireWolfHeart, my bestest best friend in the whole wide world! 3 *