I'd been training all my life,
and my father made me do it.
It was a quarter quell,
and so I volunteered.
We were quite successful at the bloodbath;
The supplies went to the careers.
We were safe on top of the mountain.
I thought I could win this.
Suddenly the mountain changed.
It became a deadly volcano.
I was caught up in the lava,
and my body burned to ashes.
I was one of the 1,743.
I lost the Hunger Games.
The games were very easy,
Over half the kills were mine.
I had made it the final four,
and I barely had to lift a finger.
We had worked as one,
and killed off all the others.
Now it was the final two,
just me and my district partner.
We stood and faced each other.
I knew I was going to win.
I expertly went in for the kill,
and I missed.
She took the moment of advantage,
and stabbed me in the chest.
I was one of the 1,743.
I lost the Hunger Games.
They never gave me a second glance,
the tribute from District Three.
I surprised them and beat the odds.
I escaped from the cornucopia.
Panem was in for a surprise,
there were some tricks up my sleeve.
Carefully, so carefully,
I constructed my trap of death.
I concealed it perfectly,
and waited for my prey.
A mutt emerged from the trees,
snarling and terrifying to behold.
I staggered backwards in shock,
and fell down into the hole.
I fell and was skewered by my own creation.
I was one of the 1,743.
I lost the Hunger Games.
Confident was I from the moment I was chosen.
I had the advantage,
eighteen years old and a career.
I waited in anticipation upon my platform.
The gong went off and I darted into the fray.
I quickly grabbed a trident,
giddy with excitement to begin my storm of death.
My vision honed in on my first victim.
With perfect form I skewered him through the stomach.
I stood there for a moment,
Gloating as he screamed.
Then suddenly I collapsed to my knees,
speared in the back.
I my last moments, I caught a glimpse of my killer.
I had been betrayed by one of my fellow careers.
I was one of the 1,743.
I lost the Hunger Games.