Seraphina Madrid, District 7

My stylist hates me.

She hated me from the moment we locked eyes. It's probably jealousy. I'm not anything special, but I know for a fact that anyone looks better than that old fish. I have a clear face, long dark hair, and cerulean blue eyes. Classic, simple beauty. I'm not vain, but I can recognize inner beauty when I see it. I'm not insecure, unlike my stylist.

Can someone please explain to me why these Capitol people feel the need to change their natural features so drastically and horrifyingly?

They disgust me, plain and simple.

At least my district partner, Oakley, looks as terrible as I do. I don't know why I care, but it really irritates me that these stylists make us dress up like trees every single year. Just because we are from District 7, the lumber industry, doesn't mean we should be trees EVERY SINGLE YEAR. I wish I could unleash my truckload district profanity of them. That'll show them to show a little more respect.

You mess with 7, you mess with me. So you best not mess with my district.

Oakley and I are hurried from the prep area to our waiting chariot. Two large horses whinny and snort impatiently. We climb aboard and wait for our cue to go. In the distance, I see District 1's chariot sparkling and shining like gems. Go figure.

The audience grows louder and louder with each pair of tributes. A plastic leaf from my headdress falls into my face. I angrily tear it off. As soon as District 6 trots off, our horses spring to life and leisurely ride behind.

The Capitol crowd is astonishing. I feel like I'm trapped in a rainbow. Colors are everywhere. Glittering, glistening, and shimmering away like stars in the sky. My hand shyly waves to the few spectators paying attention to us boring old trees. I see Oakley in my peripheral vision, rapt in awe and stunned speechless. Just like me.

At the end of the parade, the horses circle around to face where the president stands at his grand balcony. He stands and steps forward. He's a new president. Real new. President Snow, they call him. He came into power only about a year ago. I chuckle inwardly. If he only knew how we spoke of him and his magnificent city back home in the deepest parts of the District 7 forest…

But he doesn't know. And he may never know or care. I'm just a skinny seventeen-year-old girl doomed to her death. Who cares what she thinks?

"Welcome, tributes," he begins, his youthful face looking as arrogant as ever. He continues to welcome us, acting as if he enjoys our company. In reality, he's itching for the days to come when we will be thrown into the arena to die for his entertainment. This fact doesn't exactly warm him to me.

Keep calm, Seraphina, I remind myself. He will meet his ugly fate someday.

That day has yet to come. I know it will. I may be dead. I may not be. That doesn't matter. All that matters is that someone who is brave enough and someone who has sacrificed enough will come along and ignite the spark that will be set.

I am determined to do that one thing. Panem's districts have the potential. I know it and I want to prove it.

I will set the spark. The spark that, when ignited, will quickly catch fire and spread revolts throughout this poor, ugly country of slaves. Someday, the districts will be free. Someday, the Capitol will fall. The Capitol relies too heavily on the districts for it to thrive for long.

When that someday comes, you best be prepared.

Keep calm and carry on.