Max Silvers, Capitol Woods
I really don't care for this. The Hunger Games are stupid. What's the point? It's no fun watching people die.
While everyone's sitting here feeling sorry for themselves, excluding the cocky Michael Webber, I'm feeling sorry for the people that had their lives taken away from them for seventy-five years.
I understand Emily Jacob's motive. She's risking her life for someone else. That's exactly what I would do.
Sent away to four different rooms, I know no one's going to see me. I have no family, no friends, just nobody. No one really cares about me. And obviously no one in the Capitol cares about us anymore, either. The Hunger Games are still just a show to them.
I gaze out the window, watching other tributes pass bye, escorted by the new Peacekeepers. There is a blonde haired girl, somewhat short, and I can tell she has decent upper body strength. Even though she had the characteristics of a contender, she's obviously nervous.
The tribute behind her is also noticeably short, with buzz-cut brown hair. He's laughing as he passes, to hide fear. Or I assume he is, at least.
The next two tributes are probably twins – both are tan, average height, and have blond curly hair. They would obviously pair up in the arena, making them stronger. Pairs can go a long way in the arena.
It takes a few minutes for the next group to pass by, and the guards have to hold this girl securely, to assure she doesn't escape, or put up a fight. She's tall, pale, and has an extremely frustrated expression on her face. I can tell it's sincere. Behind her is a scrawny boy, that's probably twelve years old. He's being dragged by the guards while he's crying his eyes out. His glasses fall off, yet the guards don't stop. I know right now that this is the kid I want to take to the end and then commit suicide so that he can survive. Besides, I have nothing, so I might as well keep someone else alive.
That was the last group I saw before I fell asleep.
