Part 1: The Launching

"Reenie," I say. No, more like plead. "Reenie, what am I going to do? I can't do this, I just can't!"

Reenie takes my hand, sits me on the couch. This leather couch, the humming, gleaming food dispensers, the echoing launch room itself, it all represents a life I don't belong to. A life you must be born into. A life I'll die in.

"Listen, Loo. You've got to be strong. You can be strong, I know you can. Loom, look at me," Reenie demands, for I've already glanced away, down at my raw, chewed-up fingernails. But the urgency in her voice makes me look up, into the eyes of the woman who has sent off so many girls before me to the Games. She must know something to help me out, help me see the smiling face of my mother once again.

Reenie strokes my hair, smoothes down my already smooth ponytail. Her trademark hairstyle. She says its practical, yet beautiful. Not that I could care less. When you're fighting for survival, a winning hairstyle is the least of your worries. A fact my tribute predecessors probably knew too well.

"Loo, I've seen so many tributes before you. None of them had the determination you do." I shake my head at her meaningless words, probably spoken to all her mannequins before the launch to their deaths. A pep talk to make us excited before we go in for slaughter for the Capitol's entertainment. All I've done since arriving for training was worry about my fate. Worry about the family I'm leaving behind, worry for my life. I'm no survivor, and we both know it. Every night since my name has been called from the thousands of paper slips in that glass bowl, I've awoken from nightmares about my death, each one closer than the last. I can't help thinking that as every second ticks by, one of my nightmares is about to come true.

Even if I know all this, I can't help clinging to my last contact from the outside world. I let Reenie comfort me, give me advice, build up the last few wisps of hope I have left.

"Remember Loo, find water as fast as you can. Hunger and thirst can become your biggest enemies. Try to make an ally. At night, try to keep warm. Be expecting some bitter cold nights, this jacket you're wearing is built to preserve as much body heat as possible," Reenie says, pinching the fabric of my death uniform between her fingers. Does she realize my mentor has already told me this? How does she know what's best for me, anyway? She's just a stylist. A stupid, inattentive stylist for the sadistic Hunger Games, who can't even catch the attention of the crowd with her drab outfits.

She's already lessened my outcome, taken away an advantage that could mean my life or death. Why couldn't it have been me captivating the Capitol with my flaming charm and romance? For the first time in what is probably forever, the rest of us tributes are left in jealousy of District 12.

But there's no time for petty jealousy anymore. The plastic chute waiting to carry me upwards has opened up, beckoning me forward. Reenie flutters about, forcing me to take a last gulp of water and a bite of fruit before I face the arena. Before I know it, I'm situated in the tube, looking up at the blackness that will soon turn to a bloodbath, a death scene, my place of death.

Quickly, before the door slides closed, I clutch Reenie's hand.

"Don't let anyone forget me."

Reenie squeezes my hand reassuringly before the doors whoosh closed and I'm shooting up, the plastic receding, and I'm left standing in the suddenly bright arena.