Welcomeeee. The tribute list can be found on my profile!

There is still some written graffiti on a bridge right by the train station. People rarely notice the mark. And if you for some reason don't miss out the faded mark, you'll quicken your pace. You'll pull your coat closer to your body, not because of the cold, but because you suddenly feel like hiding. The reaction is inevitable.

It exists in several of this district, not the mark – but the reaction; the idea. It's an everlasting pain.

People tell themselves, they convince themselves that they can live with this. They convince themselves that they won't forget about the losses, but every year as two tributes are shipped off to the Capitol, the memories of the lost tributes from previous years grow even foggier and faded.

Children, who's lives were lost – who was promised to never be forgotten, is now nothing more than a statistic. A statistic.

1,749 to be exact.

All these parents' heart sank to their knees during their childs reaping. All these parents saw their terrified child off at the train station. All these parents heard the sound that signified their child's death. All these parents received their cold, dead child in a wooden box. All these parents' lives ended there. All these parents could say or do nothing. All these parents were merely thanked that they gave up their child.

Thanked.

This year, the year after third Quarter Quell, people are watching the recaps of the finalist of the 75th games. A fist to her head, finally, picking through the lead, who knows- the anxiety is rising… so one more in her eye and now the upcoming victor can breathe, pushing her off him.

People in the Capitol want to watch tributes destroy each other; watch people destroy something beautiful.

Arson. Assault. Mischief and Misinformation. No questions. No questions. No excuses and no lies. Trust the Capitol.

Since most of the last standing tribute's injuries never got a chance to heal, they've got nothing to lose in the looks department. His mentor, Glitch, got asked in the sponsor lounge what there was to do about the hole through the tributes cheek that never seemed to heal. Glitch had just laughed, saying that if the tribute were to drink anything, they could just put two fingers over the hole so it wouldn't leak.

The finalist's dirty, punched raw fingers is formed in a hold that gives the victim just enough air to stay awake. In the final battle in the arena, Adagio Rinzler from District 3 hit the face that was his final opponent. He remembered her. She was beautiful back before the arena, and he wanted to demolish every single detail that would earn her the trade of something beautiful.

First with the bony knuckles of his fist like a pounding molar, and then the knotted tight butt of his fist after his knuckles were raw from getting stuck in his opponent's teeth. Then, finally, to everyone's joy in the Capitol, the young girl fell through Adagio's arm in a heap.

When the new victor first met his mentor again, his mentor told him that head never seen a tribute destroy something so completely. ''You looked like a maniac, Psycho-Boy, where did you go?'' That night, the Capitol knew they had to take the games up a notch or shut it down.

Don't think of this as extinction. Think of this as downsizing.

For thousands of years, before the Dark Ages, human beings has screwed up and trashed and crapped on this planet, and now history expected people to clean up after everyone. Everyone has to foot the bill for nuclear waste and buried gasoline tanks and landfilled toxic sludge dumped a generation before they themselves were born.

Adagio was angry.

He had held the face of his last opponent like a baby or a football in the crook of his arm and bashed her with his knuckles, bashed her until her teeth broke through her lips. Bashed her with his elbow until the skin was pounded thin across her cheekbones and turned back.

He wanted to breathe smoke.

And the weird thing was, as the announcement was made – the new victor didn't listen. Instead, he did what his grandfather had ordered him to do: He closed his eyes and pictured a world without a view. For a moment he was lost and blind.

And now as a victor he couldn't be saved. He was free, but he couldn't be saved.

The oddest thing just happened. Adagio Rinzler just became a statistic.

How you join the SYOT: (It's pretty easy, really.)
1. Go to my profile.
2. Copy the form and paste it in a PM
3. Take a moment and ask yourself the questions: Is this original?
Is it a copy of something I've already submitted? Should I take a break and go make myself a sandwich? (yes!)
4. Fill it in and SEND!