THE 55th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES

The Pre-Games:

Jasmine Lees, District 5:

God. Once again we're here. The reaping. My hair is tied up into a bun and my blouse covered by a lime green jacket. For the first time, I feel beautiful.

I hope the unlucky girl reaped this year is different from last year. Helen, who was originally a scared fourteen-year-old, turned brutal and started ramapaging, until the victor, Michael from 6, eventually killed her. Not many girls or boys are like that in this district, so we're hopefully going to have an honourable tribute who dies knowing they did it for their family.

As we enter the square, my fellow fifteen-year-olds check in. The pinprick on my finger is the familiar sharp pain, but after that it quickly deteriorates into nothing, only a small mark where the electric needle went in.

Our escort, Marilyn Ofterner, starts the reaping by handing over to our district mayor. He begins the long, dreary speech about the Dark Days, how we must never do it again, how generous the Capitol is, blah blah blah. Then Marilyn takes over and walks over to the big, glass ball with hundreds of slips of paper in it. She pulls out the white slip.

"And our female tribute is... Kalee Lees!"

My whole body tenses up. My sister, my little sister who's twelfth birthday was only a week ago. My little, lovely sister who's eyes light up whenever she enters a room, my sister who is loved by the whole district. I can't stop the words pouring out my mouth.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Marilyn seems somewhat relieved that finally, the most boring district who's tributes nearly always die in the bloodbath, has some excitement. I push Kalee behind me as I climb the steps onto the stage. She's wailing and crying now, and eventually my mother has to run forwards and practically carry her back to her spot in the twelve-year-olds area.

On stage, I try and keep a straight face. The other tributes will want to see if I'm a possible target, if the sponsors think I'm worthing spending their money on. I'm not thinking of my impending doom. All I can conjure up in my head is Don't cry.

Patrick Williams, District 5:

Wowsers. That's a first. A volunteer. In District 5 of all places. As I stand in the seventeen-year-olds section, I crane my neck to see where her sister is. She's still sobbing at the back of the square with her mother, the tears dropping onto her blouse. I turn back to the stage as Marilyn walks over to the male's glass ball. Her hand fumbles around in the sphere, deciding which unlucky child to choose. She then pulls out a slip and heads back over to the microphone.

"And the male tribute from District 5 is... Patrick Williams!"

WHAT? I was so sure! There are thousands in that bowl and the odds were so low that I didn't bother worrying about it. I didn't take any tesserae, we can live off the strawberries we sell from our garden. The odds were in my favour. And then they turned on me.

"Patrick? Come on up dear!" pipes Marilyn. My feet begin to shuffle forwards, not wanting to be dragged on stage by Peacekeepers. As I climb the steps, I see Jasmine's face devoid of emotion. Clearly it's an act. Nobody, apart from the Career tributes, are that calm during this time. Marilyn then asks for volunteers. Of course, nobody steps forward.

"Come on you two, shake hands!" Her hand lightly grasps mine as we shake. I can feel the tension between us. In just a few days, we'll be in the arena, and possibly killing each other as well. So yeah, not a good situation.

Ed Lawrence, District 10:

Custody is not what I expected it to be. The walls are a bare wooden and the rotting chairs are uncomfortable as ever. My aunt and uncle walk into the room first, but there are no tears in their eyes. Instead, big smiles cover their faces.

"Finally! We've been plotting how to get rid of you for so long, and it's finally happened! You were costing us too much money! Die for us, will you?" With that, they leave the room.

I wait for somebody else to enter. I didn't expect much from those two. They hated me from the start, ever since my parents died. All they care about is money and fashion. You can tell by their Capitol hairdos and their disgusting make-up. I guess my only option is to die, or face life with those two forever. Maybe, with the mindset of the Games still in me, I could kill them. Though that would get me executed. Yeah, better to just get killed in the bloodbath and be done with it.

Bea Intuler, District 10:

Last year, my big sister got reaped into the Games. She did so well, until she was killed by the Careers in the final five. This has been devastating for the whole family, and now, they've got to face that pain all over again.

The train is so smooth-running, you'd barely notice it's going 250 miles an hour. It would be my dream if it wasn't for the inevitable death waiting for me. My mentor, Tracy, is nice enough. Many victors turn to drinking or drugs to help them forget about the Games, but not Tracy. She's so laid back about everything, I wouldn't be surprised if she killed and didn't even blink.

I toss and turn in bed, before realising my efforts are futile. Sleeping is impossible. Especially during the nights leading up to the Games. That's when the insomnia kicks in.

Despite this, I eventually drop off. When I wake, the first lights of the Capitol are startling at first. I've never seen civilisation this big. The buildings reach the skyline, the people are dressed in sickly clothes. As we pull into the station, reporters and cameras are there, jumping up and down, trying to get a glimpse of us, the tributes from 10.

Soon it will all be over. Soon the carnage will start, and I'll likely be first death.