There's another Hunger Games this year, as there always is. I'm going to watch them like I always do.

At first they were just another monstrosity on top of the whippings and the hangings. When I was eight, though, three years ago, my grandfather would shut me in a room with the Games playing on full volume and the highest resolution Panem had seen then. I would watch them as I was supposed to. They became interesting. They weren't just another monstrosity anymore. They were something to bet on and cheer for and fight over.

I'm still like that. I wish I weren't; I wish I still had that morality. Next week I'll be twelve, eligible, if I lived in the Districts. The Hunger Games are two weeks from now. Perhaps if the President weren't my grandfather, I would still loathe the Games. I would still have that morality that no one else in the Capitol bothers to have. The circumstances can't be changed now. I'm officially hooked on a game of brutal slaughter.

I brush my dark hair through, smiling. Tonight is the night the tributes arrive, the night I get to deliver my speech to thousands and thousands of Capitolites. My stylist bursts through the door, all thirty-two golden teeth shining at me.

"Miss Snow! Good evening, darling! Now, shall we bleach your hair? What color, deary?"

"Good evening, Priscilla. Let's not. I'm going natural still. Priscilla, you know that."

"Oh, but that brown is so dark and so dreary, oh, sweetheart. What about- orange or pink, or even a stark white!"

I sigh at her. Her eyes have a pleading gleam in them. "No. I like my brown!" I retort, louder than I meant.

Priscilla scoffs and turns out of the room, leaving me alone.

I decide to go for stunning but not fake. I curl my hair into loose ringlets. Two small pieces of hair in the front become braids that fall neatly at the back of my head. I paint my nails a shimmering ivory white and apply simple makeup.

Tonight is the night the world falls into my hands.

It's the time. I have my speech folded away in my pocket, memorized.

The chariots are all lined up, tributes standing in them. They look bleak and sad, as if terrorized. They are terrorized. President Snow says a few words. Then I step forward.

"I remember every second of every Hunger Games," I start, my barely-whisper booming across the City Circle. "I have them all in shiny files in my bedroom. I watch them sometimes when I'm alone. I was eight when I stole them from the Gamemakers' Office. I would watch the first one, the second one, all the way through the latest one, over and over again."

The crowd is silent. "And I'm ashamed. We're all watching something horrific, something awful, and I can never get over it. I thought they were a sport, once upon a time, just another form of entertainment. But they're not."

I can't do this; I can't cry, not now. "There was a rebellion," I say. No one speaks of it. It is forbidden. All who speak of it meet their death. Even I, the granddaughter of President Snow run the risk of an unfortunate assassination.

"It's over, now, and everyone who partook is dead now. I need to tell you this, because . . . I want my morality back." A few Capitolites laugh loudly. "It wasn't a joke. We watch innocent people, children die. And it isn't fair. I will watch one more Hunger Games, then, I swear, this will be the fallout of everything we've learned to love. The Hunger Games, and - this will be the final fallout of Panem."

Author's Note

So, how did you like the prologue? ~Writing Style ~Ideas ~Characters

I don't know what year this will be yet, but by the time I post the list I will determine it.

This is an SYOT. I will not have reservations and the second part of the prologue will be posted on June seventh along with the list. All details are on the bottom of my profile and you may, of course, PM me for questions.

Much Love,
 ~Brooke