AKYLAS/DISTRICT 2/18

Idiots. I despise them all, traipsing about, tittering and pointing at the train as we come to a stop. We are immediately ushered inside by Peacekeepers. A ridiculous title, really. One look at those guns is enough to let you know that their purpose is anything but peace. If I got my hands on one of those guns...

I am left in a neat, tidy looking room. A trio of brightly dressed women begin their attempts to make me look 'beautiful.'

"He's so pale," one mutters, clicking her tongue. How I despise that sound...

My eyes latch onto a pair of scissors. Their polished metal surfaces reflect splotches of light onto the white ceiling. They sit so innocently on the counter, probably meant for nothing more than cutting one's hair.

My fingers slowly edge towards them. The attendants, so caught up in their fussing and chattering, don't even notice.

That is, until I've stabbed one in the arm.

She screeches, and I grin. What a beautiful, melodic sound. This is why they kept me locked up, hidden in the attic every day but that of the Reaping. No longer. When I win, when twenty-three lie dead at my feet, they will never be able to imprison me again. They will beg for mercy, scream for forgiveness, and-

I grin again as the sedative they've injected me with takes effect. After all these years, they will finally pay.

WILLOW/DISTRICT 10/17

"It's gorgeous," I breathe, turning to admire the dress from every possible angle. Sure, it won't be the most stunning costume tonight, but it is definitely nicer than anything I've ever owned before.

Hayden - my stylist - has gone for the 'farm girl' look: A straw hat, a long-sleeved red plaid dress that falls to just above my knees, and a wide black belt about my waist. The shoes are black, with small, wedge-shaped black heels.

Hayden shrugs, not looking entirely satisfied with his creation. "I did the best I could. 10 is rather difficult to do without disguising you as livestock." He wrinkles his nose which is, of course, perfect, just like everything else here in the Capitol. I self-consciously bring my hand up to my own face. My imperfect features do not belong here.

My daddy wouldn't have thought so. He always called me his "pretty little princess." Oh, Daddy. What would you be thinking if you were still here now? If you hadn't been shot by Peacekeepers for that stolen bread you tried to bring back to your starving family?

I sniffle, trying, and failing, to hold back the tears. Oh, Daddy, I wish you were here. You wouldn't have let them bring me here, to this strangely beautiful land of sickeningly delicious food and perfect people with perfect faces. As beautiful as it is, I hate it. It just reminds me of the fate that awaits me in - what is it? - four days? I'm not sure. And, to be honest, I don't want to think about it.

Hayden makes a tsking sound. Not out of concern, but of frustration. "Your makeup is running," he says, sighing dramatically.

I glare at him, and he steps back with yet another sigh. "You know, throwing a tantrum won't solve anything."

"It's not a tantrum," I say quietly.

"Well, whatever it is, stop now. I simply haven't got time for it."

I remain where I am, seething. Finally, he forces me to sit down and cleans the makeup from my face to start afresh.

Oh, daddy. I wish you were here.

DAX/DISTRICT 5/12

So many people.

Flare and I wear luminescent bodysuits crisscrossed with wires. I think the headdresses are supposed to make us look like lightbulbs, but I'm not sure. I sneak a peek at some of the other Tributes. The boy from 2, who is dressed to look as if he's made of carved stone, has a lopsided grin on his face and seems more focused on his hands than on the crowd. It takes me a moment to realize that his wrists are bound to the chariot. I wonder why.

The crowd roars, impossibly loud, as the pair from 9 emerges. Their clothes look as if they're made of straw. It seems to me like that would be incredibly itchy. The 11's are wearing bright colours and leafy capes. The two from 12 are wearing black and are wreathed in flame. Flare mutters something about "copying theirs" and it "being bold" for the stylists to do "seeing how it turned out last time." I don't really understand.

Come to think of it, there's a lot of things I don't understand. And it seems like, if I want to survive, I'd better learn 'em quick.

CALYPSO/DISTRICT 4/18

"You were fabulous," Nia purrs. She holds me at arms length, fingering the frilly collar of my ruffled blue dress. "You'll do well, I think."

"I know I will," I reply, stepping back and crossing my arms, a cocky grin on my face. My mentor raises her eyebrows.

"You've got spirit. Thank goodness. Last year's Tribute was impossibly dull. It's no wonder no one sent her anything. Wasn't even that pretty." The raven-haired woman sighs. "I do what I can with what I've got, but when you've got nothing..."

"Well, you've got me now," I reply sweetly. "And I'll give you plenty to work with."

"I don't doubt it, dear," she says, "I don't doubt it."