I dance around this empty house,
Tear us down,
Throw you out,
Screaming down the halls,
Spinning all around and now we fall.

Pictures framing up the past,
Your taunting smirk behind the glass,
This museum full of ash,
Once a tickle,
Now a rash.

This used to be a funhouse,
But now it's full of evil clowns,
It's time to start the countdown,
I'm gonna burn it down down down,
I'm gonna burn it down.

Child's Play - 52nd Hunger Games.

Head Gamemaker Jeremiah Nickel.

When I hear the faint hum of the engine, I know we're coming to stop. I can hear my heart hammering against my chest, begging to be released. But this isn't the time to back out. It's far too late for that. I look over at the man that terrifies me more than anything else in the whole of Panem. President Snow. My life hangs in the air like a puppet on a string, the President waiting with the scissors that could seal my fate for good.

"We've arrived." a woman says calmly, clipboard in hand.

President Snow nods, keeping his face exactly the same as it has been the entire journey. Neutral. By now, I can the thudding in my ears, ringing out. No doubt he can hear it, which worries me even more.

The door to the hovercraft opens, bright light pouring in, streams of it highlighting the pristine colour of the President's silver-coloured suit, a fragile white rose sitting neatly in his breast pocket. I stand, wait for a moment for the President to arise, then make my way out the vehicle.

I take in the familiar sight, smiling as I realise he will get to see the arena first hand. I just hope he likes it, otherwise, snap. Strings cut.

"Is this it?"

His voice stays strong and calm. No hints of hatred or love, but either way, neutral is much better than the former.

"Not all of it, sir," I nod hastily, moving over and letting the man take the full sight inwards. We're landed on the roof of the arena. Straightaway, I can see the glimmer of a smile on his face, realising that it is indeed held inside a building. They've always been his favourites, mainly because they are Gamemakers' playgrounds. Full of deadly traps. "You see, this is the roof. The tributes won't ever get up here. But it's important for us to get in."

An attendant leads up across the rooftop, through a door and suddenly, after a winding of narrow hallways, we end up in the centre of my creation.

"This is where the Cornucopia and bloodbath will be held."

The huge room itself is sadistic. Pastel coloured walls, concrete flooring and more importantly, haunting decorations. It's all so child-like. It's perfect. 24 platforms sit, waiting for their plate to come home, the golden Cornucopia lies in the middle, hollow, waiting to be filled. The room is so large, even whispers echo. Imagine the sounds of screaming children.

"Then what?"

"You see, once the gong and bloodbath commence, tributes can run at their own will. The door on each wall leads to a new part of the arena, everything either being a room or a hallway, varying in size. This, of course, is where the fun will really start. Rooms that spin, floors that open up and drop them, walls that close in and squash them, weapons and traps that can be triggered and rip our tribute to shreads such as knives bursting through walls, machetes dropping from the ceiling and spikes jumping from the ground."

I pause, slightly out of breath. I needed to get that all out. That way, he can fully understand my creation and it's many wonders. As he observes the room, I smile at the thought of him enjoying it. Every year that has been a Gamemakers' playground, he has absolutely loved it. Back during the 33rd when it was a "carnival", he went giddy with the anticipation and called it the best year to come. This is sure to please him, or at least, is worthy.

"A Gamemakers' paradise."

"Indeed, sir," I smile. Yes, he loves it. "But of course, it's going to be deadly. The tributes will not expect it and more importantly, it can all be accomplished through the touch of a button. There's no light, no nature and no survival aids. Everything is confined within the building and it's wonders. They won't have a choice but to explore and react as fast as possible."

His smile widens, the faint smell of blood and perfume waver through the air.

"It is truly amazing. And what do you call this arena of yours?"

I pause again, delighted. I passed.

"A dollhouse, your President. And the tributes will be our toys."

I have all the tributes collected now.

childsplayhungergames . blogspot . co . uk/ - this is the blog to check the characters and such out, for information and everything. Remember, no votes, no more tribute and hello cannon. You get the picture and welcome to Child's Play