Darkness creeps in from the corners of the land and the situation is worsened by the milky fog bathing the whole arena. Night vision goggles are no use; the mist is so thick that you can't even see your own feet. The game maker smiles wickedly from his seat, "Let's see how they get out of this one," he says maliciously. The head of weather related effects nods wearily and thickens the viscous air reluctantly. We all watch as the tributes stumble blindly into each other's paths. I inhale sharply as the male tribute from district seven is struck hard in the skull with a knife. The knife is long and sharp; it belongs to the girl from district five. Her name is Julia, she never misses. The knife is stuck in the boy's head and Julia has to tug hard before it become dislodged, leaving the boy's head spurting crimson for all to see. She smiles disturbingly at the camera and even licks the blade of the knife clean for the people of Panem to squeal at. She's smart, she's clever. The cannon fires and we send in a hovercraft to collect the body. Julia runs back into the mist until we cannot see her any longer.

They send the body up to us, in the Hunger Games mortuary, the wound is clotted and then sent to me, I clean the bodies and store them until the district collect them and bury or cremate them.

The boy stares up with glassy eyes, filling the room with unnerving silence. I breathe shallow, incomplete breaths. My fingers go to his eyelids; I slide them down, as if he were sleeping. Then I slowly strip him of his clothes. In his pocket I find two matches and a crumpled photograph of a girl, "This must be your token," I whisper quietly to the boy. "Is this your girlfriend? Or maybe she is your sister? She's so very beautiful." My voice is choked with tears; I am sure that whoever this girl is she will miss him more than anything. It is true though, her beauty; the girl in the photograph smiles a curious smile, her face is young and unspoiled and her hair falls down in soft blonde curls, her arms are outstretched as if to say; "Come closer, I need to see you in the light…"

I place the photograph down on the bench. The boy is now naked. I scrub his body down until the skin is pink and raw and then place it in a zipper bag. I pull the zip up slowly until I reach his face, and then, as a final sign of respect I press my three middle fingers of my right hand to my mouth and press them down onto his mouth. "Goodbye," I say in a gentle tone. I jerk the zip over his face and wheel the body of the boy into the space with the plate inscribed with DISTRICT 7 hanging overhead.