Our cottage seems to have gotten larger somehow. The cot and knitted wool quilt, the black iron stove that doubles as a furnace during winter, the bookshelf by the front door that holds what few books Mom managed to obtain. I seem to have also shrunken in height. I glance down at myself to see miniature versions of my hands, arms, legs, feet. I run to the small bathroom to stare at the reflection of myself in the crack riddled mirror. I look the same way I do when I was eleven years old, from the bang covering my brown eyes and two braids hanging over my shoulders to the holey overalls with one strap left undone.

This could only mean one of two things; I was either sent back into the past somehow which is highly unlikely, or I am having a dream. "Sweetie come on. We have to get to the market square," The dream then, or more appropriate, my reoccurring nightmare. We all had been heading to a smaller market place near the edge of District 10 trading off some of the cattle for whatever fresh produce was available and breed the horses. Lena had gone with Dad and me and Marko with Mom. As she made out a business deal with one of the many vendors in hopes of getting four bundles of greens and a few potatoes for one of our few cows, Marko and I had ventured off to explore the square. After some wandering aimlessly about, we decided to play hide and seek. We had not been paying attention to the change of weather, to the dark thick storm clouds gathering in the sky. I had hidden in a stack of hay. Mom had been calling our names. She found Marko, but I stayed hidden when she shouted my name. She eventually spotted my overall strap, pulled me from the hay, and headed to one of the three bunkers used for shelter against the hostile weather that occurred frequently during the summer.

"I wonder where your father and sister are. You two stay here while I go back out. Do not leave the bunker." I should have said something, held onto her leg until I heard the wind howling, done anything to stop her. I didn't and she left and it was the last time I ever saw her alive. I eventually asked Lena about Dad. She said he'd left her too to come looking for us. A funnel of wind had come down from the sky, destroying the stands and picking up whatever was in its path. Among the debris were the occasional carcasses of livestock. Those who scavenged the area eventually found our parents' and a few others' bodies, mangled and broken, beneath the collapsed roof of the horse stable. They had found each other and died holding hands.

The part I dread most is about to begin. I am standing in front of the group who found my parents. Lena, Marko, and I walk forward to say our final goodbyes. Lena turns on me and starts to cry, telling me that their death is my fault.

"You killed them. If you hadn't hidden in that hay stack, Mom wouldn't have left us to find you. We wouldn't have been separated and they wouldn't have left the bunkers to be killed by the funnel. It's your entire fault."

I try to say that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't know that this would happen, but I can't. Her words hit home because I do feel that because of my childish game, my parents paid the price. Marko on the other hand tries to console me, telling me that I couldn't have known, that he was just as much in fault as I was, even more so, because he was the one that suggested we play.

"Elaine you can't blame yourself for this. We had no way of knowing that they-"Lena lets out a blood curdling scream. We turn to see her being grabbed by our parent's corpses. She tries to shake them off, but with every grab she avoids and knocks aside, other lands, taking away bits of flesh. I try to run to her aid but Marko stops me. He pulls me back and tries to run away from the cries behind us but we are stopped by the mass behind us. They push us back, stopping our attempts to shove by their resistance. Seeing no hope of getting past we turn around to face our fate.

They have broken Lena's body, bone protruding from certain areas; her eyes have been gouged out, blood flowing freely form her eye sockets. Between the emptiness of her sightless gaze and the rotten whitening of my parents eyes, my stomach rolls and I empty its contents in violent waves.

"It's your fault that we're dead, you couldn't stay put and you couldn't even save me. You're worthless." They all repeat this and similar negative thoughts over and over, converging in on us ever so slowly. Those behind us began pushing us towards them. We fought as hard as we could to no avail; I was held down and made to watch as they tore Marko apart, limb from limb, him yelling and flailing around. Ultimately, he falls silent signaling his death. Then they come for me. I scream, beg, cry, and do anything to get free. They claw at me, scraping tissue, snapping bone. 'It's just a dream. I'm sleeping, that's all.' I say this again and again.

"You must join us now. The only way is for you to-""Wake Up!."

I shoot up into an upright position, bumping heads against whoever is above me. "Ouch," says a familiar voice irritably. Opening my eyes, I see that my vision is blurred. After a few moments of blinking away the haziness, I take a look at my surroundings. I am in very posh looking bedroom. The walls are a light blue, with the rest of the room following its color scheme. On one wall was a large panel filled with buttons of every shape, size and color and near it was the imprint of two doors spaced six feet apart. A built in cabinet was on the wall adjacent to it with a solid wooden door that probably led outside, wherever that was. On the wall opposite the exit was a large window. The drapes in front of it were pulled open showing – were we moving? Where are we?

I vaguely remember banging foreheads with someone not a second ago, so I look to my left to see Marko still rubbing his forehead. I practically hop over to him, straddling his hips, and wrap my arms around his waist. Burying my face into the crook of his neck, I feel the last bits of fear and unease from the nightmare slip away.

"Good to see you too, Mi chava." I can hear the smile and worry in his voice. I lift my head and kiss his lips softly, moaning when he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around my waist. When we pull apart, I begin to question him.

"How long have I been out?"

"For at least three and a half hours," says Marko. "After the peacekeepers shot you with the tranquilizer dart, the ones still conscious converged on me. I tried to fight them off, but they had me outnumbered. They tried to get the cameramen to take you back and to send reinforcements. They refused. I think they knew what would happen if they did leave."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes glazed over remembering today's earlier events. "The cameramen had a distress button built into their suits. Within ten minutes a car was out to pick us up and a carrier for Milo. They threw us into the back and drove us back to the Market Place. They pulled me out and dragged me up the platform. They were going to hang me, like you guessed, but Leon and another Victor- Billie, I think- stopped them. They persuaded them to make me a tribute, saying that "I was more than likely going to be killed in the arena." The peacekeepers reluctantly agreed. The guy with the scratchy voice said, and I quote, "Good ridden. Hopefully you both will die a painful death." It took everything I had not to spit in his face."

I was so pissed at the comment that I couldn't stop the admission of "cutting off whatever bit of manhood he had between his legs." This caused Marko to snort. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. You fucked his face up pretty good, Mi chava. Besides, Billie didn't take the comment to well either. She kneed him hard in the nuts and when he was on his knees, punched him in the face. He let out a high pitched shriek. She got down on his level and said, "Watch what you say in front of me. Let your balls remaining in your gut be a reminder."

We both laugh. When we gain our breath back, Marko then goes on to tell that they release the handcuffs binding him. He then goes and retrieves me from the backseat of the car and carries me into the Justice Building.

"They allowed us to share one room because you were unconscious and I wouldn't let you go." His hold on me tightens and I snuggle closer to him. "They placed three peacekeepers in the room with us. They kept shooting us dirty looks. After maybe three minutes Lena, my mom, and Jacob came rushing through the doors. Lena about lost it when she saw you weren't moving. It took most of the forty-five minutes to convince her that you weren't dead. She made me promise some things and then they were taken away to the train station. We've been on the train for an hour."

Something seems off. He says the last bit a little too fast, as if he doesn't want me to guess at something he's said. I think about it for a second, and then the light bulb goes off in my head. "What did Lena make you promise?" He tenses a little and I swear I hear a muttered 'fuck'. What was it that she wanted you to do?" I am trying to keep it contained, but I can hear the anxiety rising in my voice. "Calm down, Elaine. It wasn't anything I wouldn't have done anyway."

"So, what is it? You can tell me if it's not that serious."

"She wanted me to protect you in the arena," says Marko finally. He stares intently in my eyes. "She wanted me to fight to get you back home." It takes no time for me to realize what he is saying. "Do you really expect me to allow you to sacrifice yourself trying to defend me?"

"No, I don't. You are to damn stubborn. I hoping on getting us to the final two- don't look at me like that, we can make it- and if it goes to plan," I cut him off. "You know that the odds of us even making it past the bloodbath are slim to none," I say, referring to initially the beginning of the Games. Most kills (made by the Careers, of course) occur in the first few minutes that the Games start. Very few make it out of the killings, either being too slow or their attention is caught by some spectacle: the Arena's environment itself, the killings happening around them, or something of interest within the confines of the Cornucopia. "Besides if anyone is coming back home, its going to be you."

Marko continues on as if I never uttered a word. "If everything goes to plan, we'll be the final two. I will kill myself then, slit my throat or stab myself in the chest."

"No you won't. I won't allow you to," I say horrified by his admission. "That won't be a problem. I'll just have to knock you unconscious first." He says this so nonchalantly that I almost don't believe him. But when I look into his eyes I can tell that his dead serious.

"How can you say something like that, be so laid-back about discussing killing yourself?"

"Because I'll be fine with facing death knowing that you'll still be here, alive and breathing."

"Do you honestly believe that I'll be fine with living on while you are dead, cold and stiff underground. I wouldn't be able to move on; I'd still be stuck in the arena, reliving losing you over and over. It would be unbearable, especially since I just got you." I grab the sides of his face, memorizing every small feature; the slight curve to his nose, his thick eye lashes and soft but calculating hazel eyes, his faintly chapped-lips, the small birthmark right where his jaw line meets his neck. I couldn't lose him. I wouldn't allow it. Now just the matter of how because no matter what I decide, he's going to give me hell, make me fight for it every step of the way.

He seemed to be able to read my mind, for his eyes narrowed in pain and suspicion. He makes to say something, but I never hear it because at the same time, the wooden door opens, revealing Leon and a blond woman in her mid twenties (Billie I guess), both wearing looks of relief.

"Sorry to interrupt, um, whatever was going on but we thought you two might want to see the Reaping recaps," says Leon with a knowing sad smile. 'Oh joy' I think sullenly. I look back to Marko, who nods his head silently. I climb from his lap and grab his hand once he stands. After the others leave, I pull his head down to whisper in his ear, "This is not over", before pulling him out of the room.