not my best work, but its probably better then the last, at the very lest i hope its not a compleat waste of your time. I love you, and also Pretty please reveiw. Thanks for reading!

Love, Pigeon

My world of dark, empty sleep was rattled when Linli knocked loudly on the door. "Milles? Are you awake?" Her voice too, is groggy. As if she herself had woken moments earlier, somehow this notion surprised me. Though I couldn't tell you why.

"I'm awake." Milles says to the door, sitting in a chair colored blood red. Something that could have been more subtitle, it was designed to implant a subconscious need to see or create the flow of blood I suppose. Altogether I found the chair unpleasant, some spots even I would swear were splotches of actual blood. Something, no matter how grotesque, I had to admit didn't surprise me much. Not from the Capital.

I wondered dimly if they realized how morbid the games are. Maybe they don't, maybe, possibly there just lost demented children. Confused and distant children without an understanding of their actions, only knowing what their spoiling, lying father has told them. Playing with dolls he gave to them as gifts he did not own to give. For a moment I even pity them.

They are simple, dull minded, numb to their actions. They don't understand. But my pity vanishes as quietly as it came. As though it never existed in the first place. But its ghost loomed over my shoulder, whispering in my ear. "This is what you believe. You pity the killers who rejoice in the blood of our kin's blood. You pity them even though they, not the other tributes, are your killers. They will murder you in cold blood and celebrate your death as though it were holiday. They will stand in your blood and laugh. And yet, you pity them."

I feel as though I'd betray all of the districts; even those that betray all of us long ago, with my thoughts of pity I betray all of us that struggle together in the Capitals grasp. I betray us all.

Milles shakes my shoulder slightly, "Time to wake up and meet the competition." He smiles falteringly . In some strange way, the first day of training was almost like the first day of Kindergarten. I entered the room apprehensively; the careers had staked their claim on anything useful in terms of fighting. Slowly I wonder after Milles. Feeling childish but unsure of where to go without another to tell me, but mostly feeling afraid. The world seemed to be suffocating in this large room and me with it. Though no one watched me I felt insufferably watched. Lightly I touch his arm to catch his attention, "Did I tell you I can't fight?" I whisper, feeling more doomed then usual watching the careers fling knives at dummies as though it where a boring child's game, one far too easy for them.

"Are you fast?" He continues walking, though to where I've not the slightest. I nod in confirmation. "Then you won't need to fight, you'll just need to run." My head pivots slightly to the side.

"And you?" He smiles, picking up a knife of his own. It flies off his finger tips and buries itself in the dead center of a dummies face before I have time to blink.

"I'll fight."

His grin only widens when I am openly impressed with his throwing. He picks up another knife, letting it fly further this time. He ignores the attention he's gained, just as he ignores my whispers when I tell him to stop because of it.