My mother told me that we came from dust, and to dust we shall return. And right now, I am nothing but dust and ashes and misery, floating away on the flippant breeze. I've been clutching my knees for so long that I'm sure they've frozen to my hunched body, that they've disappeared. I don't dare move, and I keep my eyes closed. Those were the last words I heard my mother say, and I've been in this position for what feels like a year, the shift of day and night blurring into a milky gray and flattening until time becomes meaningless.

Somewhere in the distance, a child screams.

The air is biting against my filthy skin, which feels gritty and greasy, the result of months of rebellion and chaos, anarchy in the streets, standoffs on the sidewalks. The wood and rubble that used to be our house is rough against my hollow cheek. My muscles cramp, my face burns.

And my eyes stay closed.

The drone of planes prompts a fresh bout of screams and yells from those who cannot see me, the stragglers, the last remaining fighters. The families. The children. Bombs drop, and I can feel the blunt sting of bits of stone as they fling themselves to my face, clawing with vicious fingers. A tear slides from my closed eye, pulling stone and ashes with it.

My father was a rebel, a train conductor who couldn't stand the starvation of his wife and child. My mother whispered to me at night, while men spoke with urgency in low voices in the parlor of our shack. You must keep your eyes closed, you must keep your ears closed. You don't know anything, you love our president.

It became my lullaby. I would fall asleep with her words in my ears; her sentences would be on my lips the moment I awoke. But as dreams turned to riots and riots turned to war, my lullaby changed.

You are a child, you are loyal. You don't know anything. But Mrs. Saville on Block 21 is a known rebel. Then run.

My mother left me alone with my eyes closed to try to find us food, her body hidden beneath layers of shapeless fabric, her face smeared with dirt. She couldn't trust the soldiers, the rebels, the children, me. She couldn't trust anyone after my father left one morning for a scheduled riot and never came back. She is gone, I can feel it, sure as I can feel the ground vibrating beneath me.

Blood drips from the new cut beneath my eye, the result of a flying piece of debris. Clothes rip, women scream. Bombs fall, the earth shakes. Children cry, mothers die.

I am a child of war.

Eyyyyyyy

Welcome my lovely bitches to the FIRST hunger games how ORIGINAL am I? I know i know you're too kind

But anyways, welcome to the SYOT!

Here are my main rules:

SUBMIT DETAILED TRIBUTES

When you submit, do so as- Katniss Everdeen, D12F in the subject box. It makes things hella easier

You may submit AT MOST two tributes

Pls review because i am needy and ily and your reviews!

Lit! There is NO sponsoring system for these games, as it is the first. HOWEVER, if you are active, you review and follow the story, you WILL be able to talk to me behind the scenes, and your tribute can "find" water, food, etc.

Enjoy this super original syot y'all are the best

Thank you for your time folks!

ethereal :))