ORION/DISTRICT 3/14

My fingers dance over the wires arrayed on the table. I finally select one. It is silver-coloured, but fine enough to be nearly invisible when laid flat. However, when I try to tie it into a snare, it snaps.

"This one might work better."

I look up, giving Beck, my District partner, a quick smile. We got to know each other a little by talking on the train - well, Beck talked. I, as a mute... Not so much. However, the real reason we've formed our alliance is our shared love of tinkering. Be it creating intricate gadgets back in District 3 or manipulating wires into traps in the Games, it is something we both have in common. That might keep us alive. Might. The odds are... Roughly 100 to 1, I'd say, but I might be overestimating due to nervousness.

I take a closer look at the wire and shake my head. The fine ridges on its surface would create friction, preventing the snare from working smoothly. I hand it back to Beck, who blushes. She is so very shy. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and point one out that I think will work.

She disentangles it from the other wires, nods, and deftly ties a series of intricate knots. She loops it around her finger and pulls. It tightens smoothly. She grins and holds up her ensnared finger.

I return the smile, then look tentatively towards the area that contains the weapons stations. Beck follows my line of sight.

"No," she says, hastily taking a step backwards. "Definitely not. They're over there."

By 'they' she means the Careers, all except for the pale boy from 2, who is sitting on the floor a ways away from the others, meticulously slicing a dummy into tiny little pieces. I shudder.

Instead of trying to drag my friend towards the weapons, I start towards them alone. After a shrill squeak and a quiet call of "Orion!" I hear footsteps hurrying to catch up. I knew she'd follow. The one thing she's more scared of than the Careers is being by herself.

Ignoring poorly disguised stares from the more formidable Tributes, I pick up a knife and take an experimental throw at one of the dummies. I miss entirely, and the blade clatters noisily to the floor.

I have a lot of work to do.

HESPER/DISTRICT 7/13

I am silent.

Peering down at those below me, I get a good idea of whose skills lie where. No one expects me to do well, as young as I am in comparison to those around me. But I will. They'll see. Because I have so much to live for. To win for.

The Careers are obvious: Their talents lie with their weapons, the bigger and deadlier the better. The two from 12 are surprisingly good with knives, but only the stabbing kind. They couldn't throw to save their lives. Which, really, is a distinct possibility. They aren't at that station anymore though. The Careers were evidently too intimidating for them to remain there any longer than they did.

I creep further down the rafter to get a better look at the girl from 5. With seemingly no effort, she coaxes a small flame to life in the fire-starting area. Then she adds more fuel, and more, and it soon grows to at least her own height. She gazes into it, seemingly mesmerized.

Quill, from my District, has spent nearly the whole time throwing axes of various sizes at a target. He's not bad at it really. It's nothing exciting though. Those of us from 5 are usually pretty handy with an axe.

Me? I'm sneaky. At least, in trees I am. Or rafters.

I make my way over to the nearby wall. Mounted below me is a black net. I leap off of the ceiling strut I'm crouched on and, after flying through the air for a moment, grab hold of it. I scamper down it, much like the squirrels we have back home. I've often wondered what it would be like to be a squirrel. To spend your whole life in the treetops, to not have to worry about Reapings or Hunger Games or being slaughtered by the people mere feet away from you.

Then again, I suppose it was some sick stroke of luck that got me here. There is no other way. No other way to get the money we need to keep my baby sister and younger twin brothers from having to take Tesserae when they're old enough. To save my mother from the disease that is slowly eating away her life.

23 lives for my mother's. For Riff's and Mako's and Terrin's. If that's what it takes, so be it.

SERAFINA/DISTRICT 6/15

Lunge, parry, stab. Repeat.

"You're getting it now," Tron says, giving me a winning smile. He's so set on my hooking up with the Careers. Poor boy. He'll be so disappointed when I betray them. Oh, no, wait, he won't. He'll be dead.

I actually quite like the sword - a rapier, I believe Tron said it was called. I really am grateful to him for teaching me, and I really am sorry for what I have to do, but only one can go home. And if you think it's going to be you, silly boy, you are sorely mistaken.

The District 2 girl trots over. And when I say trot, I really do mean it. Step, bounce, step, bounce. How does she stand walking like that all the time? Does she even know she's doing it? It's rather irritating, really. Ah, well. She won't be doing it much longer. Won't be alive to do it, I should say.

"So, this is the girl you've invited to the group without saying a word to your existing allies," she says, her voice dripping with sugar-coated venom. "You know, the important ones."

"I did tell you," Tron says, putting an arm about her shoulders. She glares at him, but he keeps it where it is. "How else would you know?"

"You told me at lunch, when she showed up at our table. That really doesn't count." She sticks her lower lip out in a pout.

"Oh, come on Indira," Tron coaxes, "just give her a chance. She's pretty good with that sword, you know." Indira nods, her perfectly groomed black locks bouncing. Her face seems to be stuck on 'pout' though. Does she think it makes her seem attractive?

I take my stance before the dummy. Without warning, I leap forward, stab it through the 'heart', twist the blade, pull it out, and leap back. All in a mere moment. I'm rather proud of that, of how fast I've learned. But there wouldn't be time for that in a real fight, and really, isn't this just as important? Failing to ally with the Careers could finalize my death just as thoroughly as a jab through my own heart.

After a few more repetitions, Indira stops me with a wave of her hand. I wait quietly as she examines her perfect fingernails. Finally, she gives us her verdict: : "She'll do, I guess."

And just like that, I am one of the Careers.