Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any character in it. It's a Suzanne Collins's production.

will be different, this year

Don't lose your grip, don't let it go, you will never get it back, if you slip down, you're lost. It's like apnea, you grope until you resurface, and there's no oxigen in there, just a wall, a wall you can not disassemble. If I open my eyes the sun beams look blurred, dim and shaky. Only confused movements, nothing recognizible, nothing at all, an indistinct chatter, it might come straight from hell, who knows? I'm not that far from there by now. Not anymore. I'out of the limbo, my body feels the contact with world, I don't yet. I wash I had forgotten everything, but I haven't, my life imposes itself firm in front of my eyes, images, sounds. Nothing worth to be held. The fog I have in front of me fades piecewise, and reveals glimpses of light iluminating something light blue. As the water of that arena, the only thing which truly seemed alive, different from all those black puddles that gently flew around it. That turned out to be a gold blade too, which smashed a lot of lives, but who am I to judge? I'm not light blue nor limpid, just a gold blade, drenched in red by now. My body got numb, senses but doesn' feel, and it starts to tremble from my legs up to the shoulders. I'd like to rub my eyes and refresh my face, to check that there's the usual green countryside outside my window, weaken by coldness and snow. There are no windows here, I guess, certainly there's no trace of snow, just the coldness persists. A weird coldness, intense and different, I just feel it inside, nested in my stomach, spreading like a river in flood, but it can not really shake my from my numbness; and maybe it's good, torpor atrophies my mental activity, keeps me from thinking, reminding of that blade on the wall, merciless, spotted not only with arena's blood, but with life's blood, a live that doesn't belong to me, that I don't know, still it wrappes me and grinds me. Thank you President Snow, for making me wish everyday to have died in that hell, for making me frenetically look for a shelter I'll never find, for making me the person I've always been afraid of my entire life, a killer outside the arena.

" Welcome back, milady" someone's trying to catch my attention, these are the first words that are really clear to me. I don't answer, as usual, I never do, it's pointless, I comand, not answer. Still no one knows it out there.

" Where the hell am I?" my tone soon gest overbearing, I take old habits back, I put the old mask on, it's narrow, it stings my face, but you can't see it from outside.

" safe, milady. Almost healed" healed from what? Certainly not from this nightmare. I'm still entangled in the net. The light blue I saw before is just the colour of this huge room that'd want to be a infirmary; there's just a man standing next to me, and he seems a little worried though.

" you passed out, milady. But you're fine now, we gave you.. " I interrupt him before he starts, he could not image how I do not care about it.

" Shut up, damn it" I try to massage my head, but I'm blocked, chains are over my arms, and this guy takes them off in a rush, he has to respect me and fear me so much, not that it's new.

" President wants to see you, milady. He asked for you as soon as you had recovered, but if you don't.." my hand interrupts him again, I hear even too much jabbering. Everyone talks here, without saying anything.

Without listening to other stupid warnings, I make my way to the red door, where everything starts and everything ends, always for the worse I have to say. There will be a reason why the door is painted in a scarlett red. Silence is to be cut, even the blowing of the wind makes a creepy, deep echo. As I knock, the doors submits and leaves ajar.

" Chantal Crysler, what an honour. Just in time from the dead." He obviously knows what happened, I don't. giving him an advantage is not smart.

" I heard you were looking for me, Mr President, so I made one more effort " his face hard line turns into a smirk.

" efficient as always " he points at the chair, red too, but I narrowly ignore him.

" Doctor said you're ok, no permanent damages, just supeficial cuts "

" that's what the Doctor said, unconditionally" I let him intend I don't believe him or anyone in Capitol City. I do have cuts, not on the skin though.

" anyway, you're suspended from your service" he know it might please me, that's why I start to worry. He studies me, but he goes on, not noticing anything particular.

" Hunger Games are practically here, we need Victors here in Capitol, you know.. to mentor " oh no, he won't stuck me with this, too. No way. I won't teach kids how to be killed without suffering too much.

" I'm not inclined to comply your request, Mr President"

" it wasn't a request, Chantal"

" I'm sure you will find a lot of volunteers in the Victor's parade, tomorrow" the same old tycoon's parade showing their talents and their garish things.

" oh it will be different this year, Victors will be helpful for other aims" he sleeks his beard sneering, with a weird gaze.

" you stimulated my curiosity, I admit that. You don't really want me to mentor, do you?"

" yes, but in an untraditional kind of way" he pauses to tip his finger on his desk.

" you see, Chantal, I have some great news for this year, and I need some, how to say that.. pillars. And you are in my list."

" may I have some details or are you just going to leave me wallowing in ignorance?"

" I'm fed up with these peacocks, they think they are invincible. Plutarch had already given me a good idea, but I took a step further" I heard something about that, but I just thought it was an unhealthy idea. What the hell are they up to this time? Not that I care, but I don't like being involved in Capitol's business.

" What would that be?"

" the Arena will participate more, Tributes won't be alone this time "

" it keeps not making sense to me" and maybe it's for the best.

" tomorrow you'll have everything figured out, don't worry" satisfaction on his face is tangible, that hateful expression doesn't stand for anything good, who knows why I sense that this is going to end up in a bloodbath, one way or another.

I give him a questioning look, since he does nothing but telling me nonsense things, ambiguous, undetailed. Everything must be done as he says, or not done at all. Everything has to pander his unbearable theatricality.

" Tomorrow you'll be one of my guards at the conference" do I have to suppose he's going to need a guard? What he's about to say? Other than the Hunger Games are sadly upcoming again.

A.C. this is a new one, my first one, hope you enjoy and review