There it was. The Cornucopia. Larger than life; in all its 75 years of use, it never once changed. Always the same colour, always the same size, always the same shape.

But I weren't much interested in the Cornucopia, much less than the stuff spilling out from it. It was a large haul this year. No night vision goggles though. In my day, they hadn't been invented. I would later become very grateful for this. There were swinging knives (that I knew Varnish couldn't wait to get her mitts on) maces (that I sure didn't want to see in action) and swords as long as my legs and boy did I have long legs!

I followed the Careers' eyeline as they sized up their arsenal. Sure enough, they was lookin' at them weapons like a little kid looks at a sweetshop.

But their greed and their bloodlust gave me an idea. I was pretty dang certain that, like every year, it would be same old same old. Every group of Careers, every year, they do the same thing, follow the same pattern. They run like hell to their weapon of choice, certain that their back and sides are covered by their allies, and then work their way out through the rings of supplies, picking off tributes as they go. It's a simple strategy, but it sure is efficient.

While they're off fighting for tents and whatever the Capitol dangle in front of their noses, there is a two minute (at least) window in which the outer supplies are ignored. Well, maybe not completely ignored. One or two might make for 'em, but if they ain't Careers I'm more than happy. It might not get me much- individually; the supplies are rubbish but better than nothing. But if I get more than one set of them supplies- that's even better than nothing.

And Georg? He has allies, not very good ones but with a bit of luck they'll pull through. They might even get good stuff. I'll find a way to reunite with Georg later on, maybe three of four days into the Games, when trust is scarce and there are less tributes to hide behind.

I don't have much time. The golden stopwatch is getting down to the last ten seconds. I remember Calpurnia's words "always have a plan." I have a plan now, so I should be off to a good start.

And then the gong sounds. Tributes that were stock still are racing- towards the Cornucopia. I wait for a half-second, to avoid being caught up in the first wave of murderous tributes before runnin' as fast as I can to the side. I'm not much of a runner, I'm pretty slow actually- but I'm runnin' in completely the different direction.

At first- all good. I got three loaves of bread, two blanket rolls and one sheet of plastic: you never know when a sheet of plastic could come in handy!

I was in perfect position, I could see everybody, supplies were in arms reach and at the first sign of danger I could take off.

I was just grabbing at my fourth loaf, when a terrible thought came into my head. With my arms laden, I was a sitting duck. At the moment, everybody else was quite happy killing each other, nobody taking notice of little ol' me. But the tide could turn at any second, and I needed to have a plan B.

Lying sadly, on its own, was a limp blue sponge bag with drawstrings.

Now, in the Hunger Games, there are two kinds of bags. There are huge backpacks, with ergonomic (whatever that is) foam-padded shoulders. These giant monsters can hold anything, hell they can even block a knife. Then there are puny bags. The strings dig in, wouldn't block a butter knife and can hold b****r all. Guess which one I went for. The puny one.

No sooner had I touched the stupid thing, but I heard an awful thing. I heard a scream. My head whipped around.

I know that scream.

Georg. Spread-eagled on the grass, Sparkle's foot on his chest; and Sparkle's spear inches from his pert bow mouth. He was sickly pale. And I soon find out why. Sparkle's sword had already taken off one of his hands.

There was nothing I could do. Please don't forget that- there was nothing I could really do.

I took a step forward, but I may as well have thrown a loaf of bread at him. It was hopeless.

Sparkle's foot pressed harder, and my heart tensed with it.

"Got any last words of your sister, punk?" growled Sparkle.

"Run, Leah RU-"

The last words were cut off by a sickening thud, as Sparkle's spear tore through Georg's mouth. His sweet eyes were still open, a little bit of blood dripping out of his mouth. Sparkle ripped his spear out and advanced on the girl from 11.

Of Georg's warning, I didn't need telling twice. Euler looked up from hacking to pieces the weakling girl from 12. I turned and ran. My own brother had been murdered right in front of me; and now I could only run like a coward.

Euler gave up chasing me after I'd reached the beginning of some woods, preferring to stake his claim in more supplies.

I ran, not caring about anything else, I ran flat out until I found a bush where I could take a break for ten minutes. There was enough foliage to hide me from view, but a quick scan through the leaves told me nothing bad was lurkin' there too.

I stuffed all my bread and blankets into my bag. Funnily enough, despite full out runnin', I hadn't lost nothing. I peered through the drawstrings to see what else was in the bag.

A cigarette lighter. No kidding. A small metal pot and water disinfectant. That was it. But, for a pathetic little sponge bag, not half bad. I might even survive a week.

With no more runnin' my heart stopped thumpin' and started breakin'.

Georg. My own brother. Why was I so stupid? So blind? There can only be one victor; and I should have protected him, should have warned him.

"That'll take the wind out of her sails." That's what they said. Why did I ever underestimate Sparkle? Sure, his name may be stupid, but he sure ain't. He's a Career, for goodness sake. Sometimes people forget that though 2 tributes are tough, 1 are just as bad.

But why would they purposefully kill Georg? Most Careers just blindly kill from day one. Why seek out Georg? If they didn't notice him, then he might have made it.

If I'd died, maybe they wouldn't have killed him.

Maybe it's my fault.

No sooner had I thought this, they started firing them cannons.

One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven.

Seven tributes dead. That's not enough. Last year, 13 went in half an hour; and the worst Games was when only four died on the first day.

Sure, three died before anything had actually happened, but that means that I have fourteen tributes to face, and until nightfall I don't know who they are.

I looked around me. I was in a funny kind of forest. The trees were very thin, with little branches. But there were soft underfoot, with lots of brown leaves. I could see a swamp in the distance, and maybe a lake of some kind. I'd have to get around to fetching water, and finding ground wet enough to have plenty of worms. Worms is bland, apparently, so maybe there'd be somethin' to make 'em taste better. I weren't never a good cook.

Given I'd stuffed myself at breakfast; I didn't feel like no food. I found enough leaves and sticks enough to make a lean-to behind a bush in a bend, so that my hiding place was doing what it said.

I huddled under my cover, and thanked my lucky stars I'd got blankets.

But when the anthem began to play, loud and clear, I got out of the lean-to to watch the skies. N

I don't wanna watch my opponents fall, cowering behind some makeshift camouflage. I'm gonna stand to pay 'em respect as they have their final fifteen seconds of fame, shimmerin' up in the night sky.