I stare into the vast desert around me. No water source or hiding spots. Weak weapons and dirty water are the only things in the Cornucopia. Everyone seems stronger and bigger and more confident than me. My pod malfunctions, I guess, because I see my body parts fly with the explosion of the pod.

I wake up, safe in my bed. Breathe, Chiffon, breathe. It was only a dream. I allow myself to lay motionless in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the texture of my bedsheets. It's probably about two-thirty in the morning. I push myself up and look out my window. My main one, that is. All four of walls in my room are made entirely out of glass, a truly beautiful thing. I move my toes through the pure white carpet, yet another luxury only available to people who live in The Heights. The Heights is the top part of District 1, where only the richest families live in modern mansions inspired by Capitol designs.

I can see most of 1 from here. There's the main city, of course. Big and modern, built using the money given to us by the Capitol for all the luxuries they receive from us. It's mostly white in there, with beautiful glass buildings where the people with great jobs work. I have one of those jobs: fashion designer. I design hundreds of colorful and unique outfits for the Capitol. I get tons of money in return, a free trip to the Capitol every month, and I actually enjoy it. Every person in 1 must start working at age 13. I, being a member of the probably wealthiest family in 1, got a free choice of a job, and there was lots of options.

Beyond the city is the jungle. This is where my other rebellious friends and I meet up to hunt, practice our survival skills, hang out, or get away from all the modern things that are in The Heights and the city. We built what I guess is a treehouse to store our weapons and game. It's pretty useful to hide everything in there. The jungle itself is huge, and Peacekeepers don't even bother going that far away from the city. That's where the view from my window ends. Thank goodness it does, though, because I hate what's on the other side.

The other side, or the Diamond Ditch as most people call it, is where the more poor people of District 1 reside. Little do mindless Capitol people know that the "fabulous" gems that adorn their accessories (that I don't design, by the way. For me, it's just outfits.) actually came from some deep mine in a ditch. Some of the cloth they wear is made in the smoky factories that are a "disgrace" to 1. The very best fabrics and textiles, though, is made in 8. Either way, the Diamond Ditch is awful, where miners and factory workers work to try to live.

I make myself turn away from the calm, dark city and look into the mirror. My wavy blonde hair falls to my hips. My emerald green eyes stand out against my clean, pale skin. My sweatpants cover my skinny legs and my shirt protects my thin body. None of this being from starvation or anything, just exercising a lot. I change into my hunting clothes: a thick jacket, a warm shirt, cargo pants, and boots. I whip my hair into a loose bun and, as quietly as possible, creep out from my room and into our large, simple living room. Mostly white, (yes, more white. We have a lot of white here in 1.) with the furniture being a strong shade of scarlet.

I tiptoe out the door as the cool morning air warps around my bare skin. I start to run quickly down a path that leads to the jungle. Everyone can sleep in today, so even the Factors (people from the Diamond Ditch) don't have to work. After all, it's Reaping Day. My fifth reaping, and I should have never had to have more than 5 slips in that bowl. I guess being 17 and wealthy, you think that you are safe from the rigged Reapings. Not really, though.

The way Reapings work in 1 is rigged, even though the rules of the Hunger Games clearly state that any children eligible to compete cannot train. However, kids are forced to start intense training at age 10. District 1 is a Career district, and we are always desperate to win. Training is where I found my fellow rebellious friends. Every year, at the end of annual training, there is a normal Reaping, or the semi-reaping. All the children's (the ones who trained) names are put into the two normal glass bowls. Everyone's name is only entered once, for fairness. One name is reaped from each bowl, and those two people must become the tributes. No volunteering.

The rigging part starts when the trainers have to make the semi-reaping a reality. There are two ways. The original way was that any name could be pulled, and the semi-reaping tribute had to volunteer. That is a big no for me, because I would be too terrified to speak. The other way is that all the slips with the other children's names are counted. The same amount of slips are put in, but all of them have the name of the semi-reaping tributes. I chose the second option, because, well, it's easier getting reaped than volunteering.

I finally find the treehouse, following the map that burned its way into my mind. It requires taking 28 difficult wide turns and climbing 17 trees. I expertly climb up the thick rope, the only way to get to the door. I silently push it open, doing a quick stare at it. It would be my last time seeing it. A rack is on the wall that you see when you first walk in. The rack holds our weapons. Knives, swords, tridents, bows, and axes. There's a kitchen for cooking the bits of carcass that we each get part of if all five of us go hunting together (If someone goes hunting alone or without the entire group, each person gets to keep all of their game). There's a table that we use for some weird games we invent together and eating. There's beds and some basic first aid, just in case. Finally, there is what could be called a makeshift living room. A couch, table, and books.

"Why did you have to be the one to get chosen at the semi-reaping?" a sad voice asks. I turn around to find my boyfriend, Hale, staring at me. Tall, strong, and let's face it: hot. We have the same blonde hair and green eyes, too. We truly love each other. I feel a tear forming in my eye as he wraps his warm arms around my cold ones. "You okay, Chiffon?" he asks quietly. "Always." I mutter halfway through my tears. I shove my face into his shirt. "Where are the others?" I mumble. There's one other girl, Paris. The other two guys are named Vine and Calix. "Couldn't come. Their families woke the poor people up at four to get ready. It's about seven now." he says with a hint of happiness. "I've been up since two-thirty. Nightmares again." I admit.

He starts playing with my hair. "You think you can win?" he asks softly. "Probably not. I do have a better shot if my parents decide to send me sponsor gifts." I say calmly, then add, "By the way, while I'm gone, do not let my parents waste their money on sponsor gifts." If my family thinks I can still win with a little bit of help, and end up spending all their money on sponsor gifts, I would never forgive myself. Even if I was dead. They would have to move to the Diamond Ditch and become Factors. I find his hand and squeeze it as tightly as possible. "It would probably be better if you liked the other tribute." he says. The male tribute, some guy named Polyest, seems extremely annoying to me.

Hale gives me a light kiss on my forehead. "We should go." he stands up and offers his hand to me, a gesture I accept. I get one last scan of the treehouse, the books, and our weapons.

"I love you, Hale."

"I love you, too."

"Don't let my parents waste their money."

"Wouldn't dream about it."

"Watch when you can. Get a projector here."

"Will do."

"Only tell my parents to give me a gift from you if I'm dying."

"Of course. Try your best."

"Yeah. Come to say goodbye, and tell the others to come."

"I have a gift for you, either way. A token."

I completely forgot I could have a token. If Hale didn't have one for me and I remembered, I guess I could bring a dull sketch pencil. Probably wouldn't make it through the board, though. We slide down the rope instead of climbing down. The knee-high grass scratches me as we walk back. I start crying again when I go towards The Heights and Hale towards the city. If I die, I'm dead. If I win, I'm dead. What's the point, either way? I silently go through the door. No one is up yet. It's seven-thirty now. I walk quietly to my parents' room. "Guys... It's seven-thirty... should I get started with preparation?" I ask quietly. "Yes, please." My father whispers. My mother isn't even awake yet.

I tiptoe to my room and type a few numbers in this touch-screen pad installed into the wall. I can call people, such as my friends and stylist, and send a message. "Ivory, wake up and come to the house in five minutes!" I shout into the microphone. "Will do, sweetie!" a cheery voice replies. My stylist, Ivory, is one person I slightly trust. She is sort of clueless, but there's a little bit of the Capitol in everyone. I quickly change into my pajamas and hide my hunting clothes. Just as I shove my left boot under my bed, several knocks come from the door. "Coming!" I shout.

I open the door and stare at her. Long, thin black hair with white highlights. Beautiful brown eyes. Tall and pale skinned. Actually, Ivory is from 8, but she escaped. She wraps her arms around me. "Are you ready?" she asks, putting on a fake Capitol smile and striking a stupid pose. "Ready as I'll ever be!" I giggle. We walk to what should be a useless room. Instead, we made a place where she could do whatever. Use makeup of every shade, use hot irons on my hair, pick outfits, and accessorize. She sits me down at a mirror. "I have something planned for you. You're not going to like it. But stick with me here." She walks over to the revolving closet and presses buttons. "I want you to look good for the Capitol and on the train. And for your new stylist." The rack finally stops spinning.

Ivory pulls out a white dress. Made out of chiffon. Diamonds decorate the neckline. A smile falls on my lips. "And you said I wouldn't like it." I say. I take off my clothes, and Ivory helps me put on the dress. It stops at my upper leg. The diamonds shimmer against my chest. "Let's get started." Ivory says. I get to sit down again as she works her magic. White covers my eyelids, and tiny fake diamonds decorate the skin between the bottom of my eye and my eyebrow. My lips are coated with pink lipstick. I am put into white, 6-inch high heels. She brushes my hair and uses tools to make it curly. She makes me put on necklaces, bracelets, and rings. "You're ready." she announces.

I stare at myself in the mirror. This looks nothing like the girl from the jungle. I look like a goddess, not like a District 1 resident or a Capitol teenager. "Thank you, Ivory." I whisper. "Please win, sweetie. I got a lot more planned for you." She gleams. For a Reaping in District 1, I am slightly underdressed. Every year, I see girls with purple and pink smoke coming from their hands, or guys having suits that glow like the sun. It's all high-tech. "Spin." she commands. I give a light twirl. She smiles even more. "You are ready, sweetie. Reaping starts in a half-hour." She says. "Goodbye!" Ivory says, in a false-cheery voice. I sadly watch her go.

"Good luck. We will miss you." my mother says. "You look beautiful." my father says. He gives me a twirl, like the kind people do while dancing. I manage a smile. I slowly walk out the door and onto the path. I will truly miss The Heights, but not as much as the jungle. I finally reach the city square, decorated with multi-colored gems and Panem flags. "Chiffon Perox." I announce to the man. He pricks my finger and lets my blood drip on a clear slide. Pointless. I walk to the Age 17: Girls Section. I stand across from Paris. She looks beautiful in a long, pale purple dress and matching flats. I look for Hale, Vine, and Calix, but I can't find them.

"WELCOME!" A women's voice booms over the speakers. Everyone turns to Idum, our idiotic, cheerful escort. She's my escort now, which is one more problem to worry about. "Hello there! Glad I have your attention!" Idum gleams, having the same smile Ivory had earlier. "Welcome to the District 1 Reaping for the 47th Hunger Games!" she exclaims. Silence. She frowns slightly, and I look at her neon green lipstick. One of my many friends from school designed that hue. "LADIES FIRST!" She quickly screams with a large smile.

I get a quick glance at the bowl. No chance of anyone getting reaped but me. I close my eyes. It's not real. It's not real. "CHIFFON PEROX!" Idum announces. I saunter up to the stage. "How old are you?" she asks. It sounds like she actually wants to comfort me. "Seventeen." I tell her. I can see Hale now. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "Next are the boys." Idum announces. She reaches into the other bowl. "Polyest Smith!" Idum declares. Scrawny, 14-year-old Polyest walks up. Gold hair, brown eyes. Diamond Ditch boy.

"And may I present to you, the District 1 tributes of the 47th Hunger Games, Chiffon Perox & Polyest Smith!"