Hey, guys! So this isn't my normal update for the story I'm working on, but it's an idea I saw from AmericanPi, and I just really liked the idea of it! So here is my first tribute I decided to write for, aka, the first tribute I actually cared about that died.


I'm in the business of misery

Let's take it from the top

She's got a body like an hourglass

That's ticking like a clock


Parvati Hallows, 18

District 1 Female

I was never afraid to do what had to be done. I always thought ahead and was always planning to wow the audience. I wanted to make a statement, and I wanted to show them that I was more than just a pretty face. I wanted to show them that my body was more than just a sex object.

Unfortunately, that failed.

In order to get ahead, you have to do things you aren't proud of. The Hunger Games was never built for timid and shy people. It was always built for sharks. The second my platform came up and I saw the arena I knew that I would be the one to make it out of there alive. The other tributes were temporary players in a long term game.

No one stood a chance. Aligning with the outer district kids was an obvious strategic move on my part. I could rely on them to be the sacrificial lamb, and then when all else failed and they became a liability to me I would take them out.

Which is what I did.

"Parvati, they're ready for you." says the stage manager as they knock on my dressing room door. The red dress I'm wearing really pulls out the tones of my skin, and I know that's what the Capitol is looking for. I know that's what the President is looking for.

As I walk down the long hallway, smiling at people as they walk by and congratulate me, something inside of me stirs. Because tonight a number of things fall into place. The first is that I'm officially a Victor. The lifelong dream that I've wanted to accomplish since I was a little girl is finally coming to fruition.

The second is that I'm probably going to be very unhappy until my looks fade away, or another prettier version of me has come along and won the games. It's not a secret what the Capitol does to it's more desirable tributes. It's not something I can avoid, and I knew that coming in. I knew that when I flirted my way to the end. I knew that when I degraded myself to do the things that I did.

But I wasn't going to die in there.

I don't think that's a bad thing. Self-preservation, no matter how selfish, is always in your best interest. There were so many chances for those idiots to off me, so many chances for them to say, "Hey, this girl is smarter than she looks. We need to take her out now."

If it wasn't for self-preservation, I wouldn't be here right now. Those people that lay down their lives in the arena because "they just weren't themselves anymore" are quitters. They're people who said their life wasn't worth it, that their life wasn't worth going through all these things.

I had a great life. I had to do everything I could to get back to it, and if that meant getting pimped out once a year when the games start again, then so be it.

The stage lights are bright, and the audience roars as I walk onto the stage. I give them one of my innocent smiles as I wink and blow kisses to the audience. They do stupid things like jump up and catch them, or get into fights over who I actually blew the kiss too. This is why these idiots were so easy to manipulate for sponsors.

"Parvati, how does it feel to be the lone remaining tribute from the 176th Hunger Games?"

I honestly don't remember the master of ceremonies name. They aren't, and never will be, relevant to my life. So I sit there, and I answer his lame questions as I go back and forth between being a ruthless killer and innocent charmer.

When the interview ends he wishes Panem a farewell and the audience begins to pack out of the stadium. I stand up and begin my walk off the stage when a hand grabs my arm and I turn to look at the master of ceremonies in surprise.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?" he asks me. "I have you for the night."

I honestly can't tell you what I was expecting at this moment. It's something I knew was coming, and it was something that I was prepared to do, but now that it's staring me in the face I can't help but feel the tears well up in my eyes.

"I-I wasn't aware that you did," I respond. I don't even think that answer made sense with the conversation at hand. I just want this to be a dream that I wake up from, and this random guy isn't claiming me like an object.

"Well, now you do." he says.

He holds out his hand, and I take it. We walk backstage through the crowds of many workers that are tearing down the set. When we get to his dressing room he turns to me and looks at me.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart," he says. "You'll go in, you'll come out, everyone will go about their evening. Just listen and do what you're told and this shouldn't be a problem." He opens up the door and I walk in and sit on the couch. As I watch him close and lock the door behind him a single tear falls down my face. I'm quick to wipe it off and not let him see me for the fragile and vulnerable thing that I am in the moment.

"Well," I say taking a deep breath as he turns around to face me. "Let's get started then."

I loved Parvati. Unfortunately, not every Hunger Games has a happy ending like so many of us write on this website. Ruthless in every sense of the word Parvati was a manipulative genius and wasn't afraid to do what had to be done. Parvati was written in the story Second Chance by CreativeAJL. She placed twelfth.

The next update should be out soon. This is nice closure.

I'm also making a blog for this. It'll be called IVolunteerasAuthorsTributes . weebly. com

There is a full set of placed tributes there.

Keep it classy,

Caleb