"Stay weak," my mom used to always tell me when I came home from school, covered in bruises. "Stay weak, stay meek. If you act like a wimp, then nobody will fight with you. It's the only way to stay weak. Hide your strength"

So that became my motto. For 9 years after that, I stayed weak. Crying whenever people picked on me, never fighting back. I followed my mom's advice and hid my strengths, not wanting to get beat up.

When my mom was ill, and probably should have had someone be strong for her, I stayed weak on the outside. Crying and wailing all the time, not letting anyone know how I didn't really care. Death was part of life, and I won't really miss her that much. I'll get over it, but if I act strong free food and money will stop coming.

As I got older, I continued to follow this advice, out of just being used to it. Sure, I was still me, and still a snarky little biotch to people in my head, but in public I was a timid, shy little thing. I was really pretty though, and I know it. That caused some of the problems.

I have huge, brown eyes and short brown hair. My tan skin is clear, and I'm pretty strong yet well proportioned. Despite being quiet all the time, my looks led guys to ask me out. I'd always accept, out of boredom. Living at home alone gets boring after a while.

On these dates, some of the guys were gentlemen, some were jerks, and some were perverts. The gentlemen sometimes got second dates, the jerks were ignored, and the perverts… well they got to see my true self.

Let's take Benny Wood for example. Benny acted okay in school, so I wasn't too fussed when he asked me on a date. I expected dinner, or even just a walk, and him expecting a make-out session. I would've been fine with those- he was cute.

However, Benny was expecting something a bit more… carnal. Once he made clear to me what he was expecting, I obviously told him no. When he shoved me down and told me that wasn't a question… well, I may or may not have punched him in the face, and told him that if he ever even looks at me again, I'll cut off his head.

Yeah, the real me is pretty vicious. Vicious enough to win the Hunger Games, I used to joke, never expecting to be tested.

So when I was 16, and reaped for the games, I was pretty surprised and horrified. I would have acted vicious, but within the first two seconds, I realized what I had to do: I had to stay weak.

I made sure to walk up slowly, forcing myself to start crying. Man, you should've seen my escorts face. Here I was, a strong 16-year-old, sobbing hysterically about being reaped. Talk about embarrassing.

Once we got into the cart, I considered talking to my mentors about how this is an act. That idea was quickly thrown aside, however, when they looked right at me, shook their heads, and turned to my district partner.

Fine then. I'll do this on my own, I thought, and I did.

I went through the entire pre-game rituals without speaking to my mentors once, a feat I doubt many could pull off. It wasn't too hard though, they both avoided me like the plague. The closest to a conversation we had was right before I left for the games, my mentor looked at me, opened their mouth, shut it, and shook their heads.

I guess I should be offended, but I really did try my best. In training, I slipped, missed, and fell enough to get a 3. In interviews, I made a point of seeming weak and stupid. And, until earlier today, I hid for the entire games.

But I'm not stupid, and when some tribute dropped some axe right by me, I joined the fight. Grabbing the axe, I killed them both and went hunting. In all, it took me less than a day to kill all remaining 8 tributes, and now I'm standing here, waiting by my beheaded, final victim.

I guess staying weak was a good idea, huh? Thanks, mom.