"The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath"

- Led Zeppelin

Brielle Darling, 17, Capitol Female

Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games

"Tea, my darling, Ms. Darling?" President Crimson's eyes bore right through me. I know the president is trying to be kind, by offering me tea, but I don't like the way he plays with my name. It reminds me that I am merely a toy for him to play with and dispose of at will. All of Panem is nothing more than a toy box to him.

I shake my head, pushing some hair in front of my face to conceal it from his view. Some glitter falls from my hair onto my lap. My hairdresser must not have done such a great job. Some Capitol citizens would march back into the salon and demand a redo or a refund. Elita certainly would. I can hear her voice in my head now. "We are the Capitol Victors. We are the best of the best. We deserve anything and everything we've ever dreamed of."

But she's wrong. Perhaps she's simply more resilient, or more cruel, or better at hiding her pain than most of us Victors. It's been nearly a decade since her Games. Perhaps time has dulled her emotional pain. But I only won two years ago. I vividly remember the screams of the District Six boy and the District Two girl as I pushed them into the lava. I had no choice. I was small, and they were ganging up on me. I had to act. Yet, their screams still ring vividly in my ears day and night. I killed them. They are dead, and it is my fault. Sometimes the pain of it threatens to overwhelm me. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, in the tips of my fingers and toes, in the depths of my mind.

The girl from Two, Lana, had been one of my allies; I used my Capitol status to weasel my way into the Career pack. The boy from Six was named Devyn. I don't know much about him, but I know that I'm his murderer. I'm the face of evil that will forever haunt his family members and friends.

I remember enough about my own Games not to delude myself into believing that being from the Capitol makes me better than anyone from the districts or that being a Victor makes me any better than the tributes who perished in the Hunger Games.

I'm not better than anyone else at all. I'm just much, much luckier.

"Suit yourself," Crimson says slowly, enunciating each syllable as he tends to do. He turns to offer tea to the other three Capitol Victors: Adalee, Elita, and Damian.

This is the third time I have sat at Crimson's ornate wooden conference room table. The first time was shortly after I was named Victor of the ninety-third annual Hunger Games. He droned on an on about pride in the Capitol and Panem, while I sat and thought of Lana and Devyn and all the other dead tributes who were also from Panem. The president did not take any interest in them. He does not mourn the deaths of his own citizens. He cares only about his own power. He has taken an interest in myself and the other Victors only because of the tender positions we hold in the hearts of the Capitol citizens.

The second time I sat in this room was exactly one year ago. Crimson likes to sit down with all of the Capitol Victors every year to discuss the upcoming Games.

Each time I interact with the president, despite his efforts to create a casual atmosphere, I feel as though I am being interrogated. Tested. Violated.

There is a knock on the conference room door. Crimson says "come in," but his gaze continues to travel between the four of us.

Crimson's assistant enters the room. "Mr. President, Yalia Stride is here to see you."

"Ah. Good. Send her in. She should meet the Victors."

Damian Newly, 22, Capitol Male

Victor of the 91st Hunger Games

The woman's hair is stick straight and deep red in color. Her cheeks are rosy and her nose is too perfect to not be surgically modified. I wonder whether she had the nose job to impress a man. She is dressed from head to toe in leather.

I sense that this Yalia Stride woman is shy and weak. She avoids President Crimson's eyes. Her knees actually begin to shake when she realizes that the only empty seat at the table is next to Crimson himself, across from us four Victors.

Yalia reminds me of Brielle in a way. They both lack strength and confidence.

Brielle is always going on about how she only survived the Hunger Games on sheer dumb luck. She's right. All she did was get in with the Career pack and let them do all the dirty work. Before she knew it, almost all of the tributes had torn each other apart. When only three tributes remained, all Brielle had to do was push the other two into the hot lava that characterized her Arena, and poof. She was victorious.

Me, on the other hand ... I did not just get lucky. I am the Capitol's sole Career Victor. We have had a few more trained Volunteers over the years, but so far no one else has won.

I killed. And killed. And killed. And killed. That's right, I killed four people. Did it feel horrible? Yes. Does the guilt still weigh me down sometimes? Certainly. Do I still have nightmares in which I hear their screams of terror and watch the tears stream down their families' faces? Of course. I'm not a monster. I did what I had to do to survive. I did what I had to do to claim my rightful place as Victor and to claim all the glory I deserved for myself, for my family, and for the Capitol.

And it was all worth it.

"Dearest Victors," Crimson begins to speak. He rises from his chair, and we follow suit. "Please be seated," he says after an awkward moment during which we all stand around and stare at each other. "It is my greatest pleasure to introduce Yalia Stride, the newest Head Gamemaker of Panem's esteemed Hunger Games." We clap politely. "And my dear Ms. Stride, it is with greatest honor that I introduce you to Mrs. Adalee Verona, Ms. Elita Nirvana, Mr. Damian Newly, and Ms. Brielle Darling. These four outstanding individuals are the Capitol's four Victors. It pleases me beyond belief that the Capitol had produced more Victors than any district since the Hunger Games were reinstated nineteen years ago."

Yalia seems to be trying to speak, but the words don't come. She appears torn between congratulating us on our victories and expressing her condolences for all that we've suffered.

She's indecisive. Weak. Just as I predicted.

"Hi! I'm Adalee!"

Elita and I exchange looks of exasperation. Adalee is grinning broadly, and her hand is outstretched. Yalia takes it tentatively

"Ms. Stride has a daughter," Crimson comments. "Twelve years old. Precious thing. And the father is ... nowhere to be found, if I am not mistaken?"

Yalia blushes a deep scarlet. Apparently, Crimson is not mistaken after all.

"But Mrs. Verona is a mother as well. Note my usage of 'Mrs.' she is married to the father of her three children."

Yalia's face becomes an even deeper shade of red to match her hair. This is typical Crimson: preying on the weak, and bringing out his target's deepest insecurities. Then again, it is Yalia's fault for being weak. Crimson could never get to me or Elita or even Adalee like this. Elita and I are obviously the truly hardcore ones of the group. Adalee is annoying as anything and probably the most sickeningly cheerful person on the planet, but she's strong too. She's not afraid to stand up for herself. The same cannot be said for Brielle nor for this Yalia girl.

Elita and I exchange another glance. I raise my eyebrows seductively at her and she nods in response. This is our signal to meet up later for some ... adult fun.

"What's your daughter's name?" Adalee gushes.

"Ziva," Yalia responds, meeting Adalee's smile.

"How beautiful!" Adalee's violet eyes are wide with excitement behind long, fluttering lashes. "I have three little girls myself. Their names are Amilyn, Adonica, and Anniella."

"They sound very sweet," Yalia says. I don't know where she's getting that idea from. Adalee only told her their names.

"They are! They are the sweetest, most adorable, most wonderful little girls in all of Panem!" Adalee springs out of her seat, runs around the table, and flings her arms around Yalia. "I'm so happy another mother will be Head Gamemaker from now on. You'll take care of the little darling tributes as best as you can, won't you? Won't you?"

Yalia nods a bit, overwhelmed.

"Mrs. Verona, kindly return to your seat." Crimson says, clearing his throat.

Adalee does as she is told.

"And now, I present Ms. Elita Nirvana, Victor of the eighty-sixth annual Hunger Games."

Elita curtseys to Yalia and Crimson, but only I notice the mocking smirk plastered across her face; Yalia is too awkward to look at anyone but Adalee, who is retuning her smile. Brielle is looking at her feet, and Crimson is already gazing upon me with pride.

"And Mr. Damian Newly, Victor of the ninety-first Games."

"That's me," I say, winking at her. "The one and only Capitol Career Victor at your service."

"And finally, Ms. Brielle Darling. Ms. Darling is our newest Capitol Victor and we could not be prouder to have her with us today."

Brielle smiles slightly without showing her teeth. I can practically hear her heart beating in her chest, even though Elita sits between us. It's pathetic how much Crimson scares her.

Elita and I roll our eyes in unison.

Weak.

Elita Nirvana, 24, Capitol Female

Victor of the 86th Hunger Games

Eggplant or lilac? Eggplant or lilac? That's the question of the week. As a Victor, I have made the color purple a big part of my persona. Naturally, each week I pick a shade of purple to die hair and paint my nails. I think I'll go with lilac for next week. Eggplant is too similar to plum which I have this week.

Yalia, the new Head Gamemaker, is stammering nervously. "Um. So, um, President Crimson. Um, sir, should I show them all my Arena plans?"

"Ms. Stride are you trying to ruin all the fun?" His words are lighthearted, but his tone is stern.

"Um. No. No, sir. Of course not, sir."

"Good girl. You are not trying to ruin all the fun. Therefore, you will not spoil the surprise for our dear Victors by showing them your Arena plans, now will you?"

Yalia shakes her head sheepishly.

"After all, the best part of being a Victor, is watching the Games unfold year after year, with the nearly unique perspective of having played the Games and lived. Oh how I envy you. Alas, I may only watch the Games with the perspective of Panem's leader, never as a former participant."

I roll my eyes. Watching the Games is the worst part of being a Victor. That's the part that hurts. The best parts are the fame, the fortune, and the endless array of stuff we have access to: beauty appointments as often as we like, gourmet food, gorgeous mansions. Sure, most people in the Capitol are wealthy, but they don't live with anything they could ever want right at their fingertips. We do. We are better. We were born better than the people of the districts, because we were born in the Capitol. And we grew up to be better than the people of the Capitol, because we won the Hunger Games.

"Um, so," Yalia takes a deep breath, and finally manages to make eye contact with the president and then with each Victor. "What am I doing here?" Her voice is small. She doesn't want to sound rude.

I scoff audibly. I don't care about sounding rude.

"Well Ms. Stride, I simply brought you here to get to know our lovely Victors. Furthermore, I wanted you to see that the Capitol produces the most wonderful Victors in all of Panem. Perhaps you should keep that in mind throughout this year's Games. I think another Victor from the Capitol could make a wonderful addition to this charming group."

"How can she possibly see that we're the best, if she hasn't met any of the other losers?" I spit.

Making Crimson angry is a cherished hobby of mine.

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Nirvana?"

"Well, you know that we're the best Victors, President Crimson, because you know all of the Victors. She's only met us. I mean, sure, she's seen the rest of them on television, but she's never actually met any of the district Victors. So how can she know that we're the best?"

"Enough, Ms. Nirvana! Must you nitpick everything I say? Can you not simply accept the compliment?" The president is breathing heavily. His nostrils are flaring and his face is bright red. Satisfied with the damage I've done, I shrug and recline back in my chair.

"But you're not going to give special treatment to the Capitol, right Ms. Stride?" It's the first time Brielle has spoken throughout the whole meeting. Her voice is high pitched and meek.

I roll my eyes at her. When she first won two years ago, I tried to be nice. I was her Mentor in the Games after all, so afterwards I tried to take her under my wing, but she just didn't get the whole concept of Victor life. She refuses to get her skin dyed, tattooed, or pierced. I convinced her to get some sparkles put into her lifeless hair, and she just lets them fall right out without complaint. Her outfits would be mediocre in District One; here they're just sad. And she rarely speaks, except to remind us all yet again that we didn't deserve to live, and we just got lucky. Who wants to keep someone like that around?

"No, Brielle, of course not," Yalia reassures her, but the glint in the president's eye tells me that he has different plans. "And you can all call me Yalia. No need to be so formal."

Brielle has assumed the role of the quiet girl lacking self-confidence, and Yalia seems to have stepped up her game in response.

"Is this meeting over yet?" I snap.

Yalia looks to President Crimson. He nods once curtly. He is glaring at me, but I don't care. What's he going to do to me? I'm a Victor, and the people of Panem adore me. Short of actually sparking a rebellion, there is nothing I can do for which the president can kill me. And if surviving the Hunger Games has taught me something, it's that if they can't kill me, they can't break me.

"Good. In that case, I have some other business to take care of."

I grab Damian by the collar and pull him towards me. Our lips me, and I thrust my tongue between his teeth. We make out passionately for several minutes, not caring that the others are watching. Glad the others are watching. Especially Crimson. I love to grate on his nerves.

I'm not one of those Victors who is shaky and scarred for life. I'm one of the tough ones. I'm the kind of Victor in whom Panem can take pride.

So I'm just going to keep enjoying my life of splendor, and taking what I want, thank you very much.

Adalee Verona, 35, Capitol Female

Victor of the 78th Hunger Games

I have the best husband in the world.

Armando is waiting by the door when I get home. It's late; President Crimson claims that tea tastes better after midnight. I think he just likes to make the atmosphere of our meetings spookier.

Armando ushers me inside. I run into his outstretched arms. He picks me up and spins me around. "How'd it go?" he asks in a whispered tone; the girls are asleep.

"Ugh. You know that man gives me the creeps." Armando nods.

"But I love the new Head Gamemaker!" I add. "I know, I know, it's not exactly the most noble profession, but she's really sweet. She's a mother too. I think she'll have some sympathy on those poor kids this year."

"I don't think Crimson will allow that," Armando says bitterly.

"I suppose not."

"I hate that these Games have such an influence on our lives. When I first met you, you were so scarred, you refused to go out with me, because you thought you didn't deserve love."

I swallow anxiously, suppressing a shudder with difficulty. The years following my Hunger Games victory were the were the worst ones of my life. I hate it when Armando tries to bring them up.

"But then a certain chef I met at a banquet convinced me otherwise," I remind him. "And it's a good thing I married you," I tease, "because the food has yet to disappoint."

"And then we had three kids," Armando continues, "Three beautiful daughters. And now Amilyn is only three years away from Reaping age."

There is nothing to say, so I simply nod.

"How were the other Victors?" Armando asks in a lighter tone, trying to uplift the somber mood.

I sigh. "Pretty much the same as always. Elita and Damian were ... Elita and Damian." Armando chuckles. "As for Brielle ... the poor girl is still struggling a lot. I think I'll go visit her tomorrow. Maybe I'll bring Anniella along. She can make anyone smile."

"Good idea, honey."

And with that, we tiptoe off to bed in unison, careful not to wake our three little sleeping angels.

As I lie in bed I try to ignore the nagging thought that has plagued me since Amilyn's birth.

She could be Reaped. She could be forced to suffer the physical and mental anguish that all tributes endure.

She could die. In just three years, my daughter will be eligible to be randomly assigned a death sentence.

I cheated death. I made it out of the Games alive.

My daughter might not be quite so lucky.

Thanks for reading! Please continue to submit your tributes, as I don't have nearly enough submissions yet. The deadline is still the end of June 1st as of now, although I might extend it if I still don't receive enough submissions.

I can't wait to meet your tributes! Happy submitting! :D

Also, please check out Vermillion Shorelines, an SYOT by Paradigm of Writing! Paradigm is a fantastic writer, and it is shaping up to be a really great story. I have already submitted a tribute, and I highly recommend you do the same! :)

And now some questions for my dear reviewers:

1) What did you think of the four Capitol Victors introduced in this chapter? Did you have a favorite? Least favorite?

2) Which of these Victors do you think should be mentors this year for the Capitol tributes in the 95th Hunger Games?