Prelude
I have to wonder if 26 years ago people would think that their children and grandchildren would be participating in such a blood bath known as the Games. Even now, as I stood on one those twelve platforms, I couldn't imagine such a thing, such a "game", existed.
"Focus!" snapped the man standing in front of me.
The tall, lanky man was my mentor, Weft. Like all mentors, he was a previous victor of the Games. But truly, I don't see how he could have won. His physique couldn't even be considered a physique; he was as thin as a walking stick. I could only assume he won by hiding the entire game.
"Calico, once these platforms are raised, wait until the signal sounds and then find some place safe to hide," Weft told me.
Once these platforms rose I would be welcomed with the sight of the Cornucopia, which was commonly the cause of death of many tributes. Weft was only warning me to keep away because he assumed I couldn't survive if I went in.
I looked to my right. There was my fellow District 8 tribute being talked to by his mentor, Woof. Woof was much younger than Weft, though still had that slim appearance. Looking at Weft and Woof together would push the stereotype of our district; that there was nothing to us. But I was going to prove that wrong.
A sudden countdown rung out.
"Looks like the Games are going to start," said Weft. "Remember, just hide and survive."
Weft repeated his words of wisdom as he backed away from the platform. As the lady's voice from the speakers reached seven, the platforms slowly began to rise. I already had my plan in my head as the scene of this year's Hunger Games came into sight.
"Ready," I whispered to myself.