Look Around

"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now – history is happening."

June Pennington
District Four Escort

At least I can't do worse than last year. And that's not just being optimistic, either. Last year, District Four's escort, Sylvia Shaw, got herself killed by one of the tributes during the train ride. That particular tribute – whose name was Memphis – proceeded to get himself blown up stepping off his pedestal at the start of the Games, and was quickly joined by his district partner, thanks to a lucky throw of an axe by the girl from Seven.

They placed 24th and 23rd. The only way I could possibly do worse than that is if both of my tributes – whoever they are – somehow both get blown up at the same time before the start of the Games, and tie for last place. And since that seems … unlikely … this year will be better. It has to be.

That's not good enough, though. Better than pathetic is still pretty pathetic, unless I manage to bring home a Victor. After a year, it's even more clear that it doesn't particularly matter where a tribute placed. Both Memphis, who placed last, and Neblina, who placed second … they're both just as dead. Just as gone and forgotten by most except their families. In the end, it doesn't matter where a tribute places. It only matters whether or not they win.

But that … well, it's not really up to me. Not much, anyway. I can give them advice. But, in the end, what they do in the arena is their choice. It's my job to do my best to make sure that they come home alive, but, in the end, only one of us is going to succeed in that goal. One escort out of twelve is going to be escorting a Victor home. Only one person brought a Victor home last year – Gloria in District One. It's not that the rest of them didn't try, of course. It's just that only one person – only one tribute – can win.

I shake my head as the train finally arrives in District Four. Hopefully we'll have some better prospects this year. One would think that, with a sixteen-year-old and an eighteen-year-old last year, we would have had a good chance. But the eighteen-year-old was a rebel who got himself targeted by the loyalists during training, and might have been killed quickly even if it weren't for his stupid mistake at the start. And the girl – Bliss – was a loyalist who got herself targeted by the rebels by joining up with a trained soldier despite having no experience of her own. Hopefully this year's tributes will have more sense.

I slowly stand up as the train comes to a stop. It's not about having sense. If they don't have the sense to avoid making targets of themselves, it's my job to keep them from making stupid mistakes like that. General Tyrone did his best to help both Districts Seven and Four last year after Sylvia was killed, but he had his hands full. I only have one district to worry about.

But first I have to worry about not getting myself killed.

The Capitol stepped up security, of course, after Sylvia's death. There are two Peacekeepers beside me as I make my way through the district's streets and towards the square. But, even more importantly, Memphis was a rebel soldier. There are … fewer of those these days. The more dangerous or influential ones have been executed. The rest – surely they wouldn't try anything like that again. Not after what happened to Memphis.

Because it can't have been an accident – the fact that he was the one who stepped off his pedestal and exploded that mine. If he hadn't, the Capitol would have found some other way to make sure that he never made it out of that arena alive. Killing an escort – that would mean certain death.

The truth is, though, that there are rebels who don't care about that. Who don't care if they die, as long as they take some of us with them. Who are willing to sacrifice their own lives if it means killing more of us. And those – those are the most dangerous of all, because it makes them unpredictable. They can't be trusted to act in their own best interests, like most people can. They can't be anticipated. Can't really be prepared for.

I can't help glancing around at the crowd that's gathering in the square. I'm being paranoid. But not being paranoid got Sylvia killed. She trusted her tributes. She tried to help Memphis – even after it was clear that he didn't want to be helped.

I can't afford to make the same mistake. If the tributes want my help, that's fine. I'm more than willing to give it to them, to try to keep them alive. But if they don't want my help, there are no second chances. They're on their own.

Submissions are still open, and there's plenty of room. We have 22 submissions, but quite a few people have submitted multiple tributes. (We'll probably end up taking more than one per submitter in some cases, but the point is don't be scared away by the higher numbers - the more, the merrier.) We're in particular need of some younger (12-15) tributes and could use a little more racial diversity.