This is just a quick oneshot that I had floating around in my head. Thought it might make a good short story.

My plate rises. Time seems to slow down. Soon, too soon, I am at the surface. The first thing I see white. Everything is white. Cold, hard walls surround me. And all of my fellow Tributes are dressed in black. The Cornucopia is black, too. I twist my head around to see behind me. A door, standing out starkly against the pure white, is beckoning me. I count quickly. There are forty-eight of these doors, and only twenty-four tributes.

Thirty-seven seconds till the gong goes off and my inevitable death. My mentor said not to think negatively. I wondered if she was crazy. How could you not be negative? Twenty-three people die. One person lives. If my mentor's nightmares are any witness of the PTSD, that life isn't very much of an existence.

Twenty-one seconds. I know I won't survive the Bloodbath if I go in towards the Cornucopia. But what choice do I have? No food or weapons- that's like a death sentence. Oh wait- I'm in the Hunger Games. The Games themselves are death sentences. Even if I survive, I'm sure to die a horrible death at the hands of the Careers or a mutt.

Fifteen seconds till my bomb is no longer active. Fifteen seconds till the murder of twenty-three innocent children begins. Fifteen seconds till a miserable existence if you survive the Bloodbath and the first day. Fifteen seconds till my life is over- even if I survive. Even if I am crowned Victor.

Eight seconds. I'll quite likely never see my family again. Will they miss me? The odd child, the one who danced in the meadow, spoke gibberish, and sang nonsense? Do they even want me to live?

Three seconds. I brace myself. Here in the Arena it is kill or be killed. I will probably be killed. How would I survive? I'm from an Outer District. My District is poor, and we have no Training Academy. I do not stand a chance against a trained killer, much less six.

The gong goes off. An insane Tribute off to my left yells "Let the 57th Hunger Games begin!" and runs toward the Cornucopia. It startles everyone, but not for long. Soon the Careers are swarming the Cornucopia, grabbing anything they want. I am frozen on my plate. My District partner is running towards me. He knocks me off my pedestal and runs toward a door behind me. The number on the door is 14. His luck number. The door next to it is 13.

An arrow's whistle forces us to duck. Immediately, we are up and running. Something explodes between us, and we are knocked apart. I run through Door 13, and Malik runs through Door 14. "Regroup!" Malik yells. I nod and keep running.

I dash through another door and stop. The whole room is a black and white checkerboard. I cannot tell where the end of the room is. Is it my imagination, or is the room moving?

Sure enough, the floor is dipping and rising. It's like standing on water, trying to keep your balance when it is fluctuating underneath you. I start sliding to the bottom of the room. Everything has morphed to take on the shape of the inside of a top. I have a bad feeling about this...

The room starts spinning. Faster and faster, round and round, till the black and white squares mix and become grey in my eyes.

Now the top-shaped room is shrinking. Soon it will crush me and I will be able to do nothing about it.

The sides are pressing my bones, making them creak. Soon a crunching fills the air along with my screams. I am barely able to see the blood coloring the walls, changing the whirling horrors from grey to an odd burgundy. Soon I am too weak to scream. The walls suddenly part, level out, and I am in the middle of this room of torture.

Malik crashes in through a door. I cannot tell him that it is a trap. Soon he is by my side, and the floor has not moved. Odd.

He is breathing heavily. His hand touches my shapeless, crushed one. "'So'kay. I'm here, it'll be alright... Don't leave me! Please!"

I sigh, a painful rattling sound. He looks up, hopeful. "No," I say. "Re... Remember me. Don't let them forget."

He nods, and I let go of life. The cannon sounds. The arm extends. I am raised into oblivion.

Later, the lights grow dim and it seems to be night. On each ceiling, in every room, the anthem plays. The faces show. Ninth in the lineup is the face of the girl who got crushed, the girl who did not want to be forgotten. Her name flashes. She was called Amphorae. She was only 13. How could we condone this violence? This crime against humanity? Must it go on forever?

And... The end. Hope you enjoyed. Please R&R!