Sometimes it's simple to see what has been changed and what hasn't. Some surfaces simply don't look perfect, and others appear to try to hard. Some smiles are fake, and others are real.

The essential part is knowing how to stay real yourself.

:~:

Some people change and others do not, while some people wished and other people fought. The rebellion is the cause its fighters part of the games, but the effect is greater though the outcome lies unremained.

Delray Tarri

To me, names have become something so blurred I can no longer tell the difference between one person and the next.

Name are what supposedly distinct you from everyone else.

Names are what show that you're different.

But if no one had a name, how would we refer to ourselves?

The Capitol believes that names are what set us apart; makes us different.

But when you've become so subject to names, seeing the same ones and new ones thrown in, what can you say about being different?

Different is the color of you clothes, or your hair, or your eyes.

Different is the way you act and think; no one is the same after all.

Different is the way one defends something; the way that someone fights.

Different is having the ability to truthfully stand apart from everyone else and think that you're not crazy for doing so.

The Capitol citizens find their names to be different.

The Capitol is wrong.

Every day for the last twenty years if my life, I have sat in a chair and done the same exact thing.

Write reaping names.

I sit before a table covered in slips; scrawling down names in careful handwriting, and making sure even the dumbest of escorts would be able to read and correctly pronounce the names written.

They cheat as well.

Some years, they fill the bowl with only the names of certain people; the people they want to get rid of.

It's no coincidence when they die.

I have never in my life completed a reaping bowl that wasn't rigged in some way or another. But for the first time in existence, my existence, I will create a clear bowl; a bowl containing honest votes and slips.

The citizens believe that the tessarea they take is what typically fills the reaping bowl; they believe that it's what fuels the Capitol's fire of tribute names.

They're wrong.

The Capitol simply throws everyone's name in there about thirty times. Every year, they simply add in five slips to someone's name. They use tessarea as a cover; something to shield the actual evil going on.

But for the first time in my life I am spared about four thousand slips.

Each citizen's name is only in the jar once.

Like choosing the rotten apple out of the baskets bunch.

"Del, how many slips are we coming up on?" Asks the lady of red, the president herself. Every year for the past ten of her term, she comes to check on me. I feel that I am the only one she is patient with. She wants to make sure that all the slips are done correctly, evenly, and to the most perfection a slip of paper can achieve.

"Well, I'm at the sixty-five thousand mark, all that's left now is the other half of Eleven and then Twelve." I tell her, and she nods slowly.

"There's been a change of plans." She says, tapping her silver nails against her pale chin.

"A change?" I ask her, doubt creeping into my voice.

What can I say? The woman can smell hesitation.

"Not bad; simply an unplanned rigging is in order." She says, comforting me. Not really. More like she's sucking up. I'm the only one who can do my job as good as I do, and she knows that.

"Which district?" I ask, and she looks around to make sure that no one is listening.

"Eleven. I want this girl to be reaped; she's been causing a lot of trouble there, rioting and attacking Peacekeepers. Some have started to join her, and I can't have her starting something like Everdeen did." She whispers, sliding me a piece of paper, and I nod understandingly.

I look down at the paper and read the name Aendra Grantley.

I sit back up, and realize that Revlon is gone. Gone with the wind; or better yet, with the promise of a clean game.

But she's not the only one who knows how to play dirty.

The girls name rings through my head throughout the day.

Aendra Grantley.

Aendra Grantley.

Aendra Grantley.

Who is Aendra Grantley; and better yet, what had she started?

Is she a new Everdeen?

Is there a new hope?

Is there a new face?

If there was, all chances are out, because this girl has been sentenced to die.

I wonder if she will actually be killed by us, or simply by weakness and lack of will to live.

I'm guessing the first choice.

How does someone stay safe from the evil that supposedly never happens? The Capitol tells the Districts that we are great and holy, something of godliness and joy.

And then we set up bloody arenas and let the children out to play.

As I sit at the table, completing the girls slips for Eleven, I can't help but wonder about this girl.

What has she done that is so bad? Attacking a Peacekeeper happens constantly, but what has she done that is so bad the Capitol finds it necessary to kill her off in front of the entire nation; showing her horrifying death as a stop to something that is destined to be started?

It's simply because the Capitol hides its fear and transmits it into power.

Power and control is what runs this nation; not the people and its prospects.

Something I've always wondered if where we would be without the Districts. If we are so much better than them, then why must we take from them?

Or are the Districts simply the shaky bottom to our bridge of necessities?

Why won't her name leave my head?

It's something completely new.

I never remember names; ever.

I simply check a paper, copy down, and paste.

I'm like a life computer, see, copy, paste; and once another one comes the old one is forgotten.

But not this one.

The girls name continues to ring through my head, picking and prodding at my mind.

I wonder if she's young, if she's still somewhat innocent.

But I won't know until her name is drawn from the bowl; and Peacekeepers force her to the stage.

What does one do to have something escape their mind?

Do they simply leave it be, or do they distract themselves?

I'll simply use distractions.

It's all the Capitol does anyways.

"Del, are they all ready?" Asks the Head Game Monitor, Fodeen Verse, as his green eyes bore into mine.

I stand back and take a look at all the sparkling glass bowls, filled with the names that ensure future blood to be spilled.

I nod quickly, and with the flick of his hand I see twenty-four men flood the room, each one taking a bowl and leaving the room.

Verse continues to look at me, and asks me something no one ever has.

"Did you rig this?"

I stare back, shocked, but I don't deny it. I simply look away, giving him all the answer he needs.

I see his fist clench into balls and then relax again.

"Revlon's orders." I quip, and I see his eyes widen in hatred.

The red spot has simply ruined his fun, a splotch on what he must have envisioned to be the perfect arena.

But the look in his eyes tells me he plans to wipe that splotch right off.

Aendra Grantley.

I hear her name again and one thought comes to mind, one I can't distract myself from.

Rebel.

The scary part is that I'm starting to see others who must be just like her.

A/N:

Hi hi!

Okay, sorry for the small update, but I only have an hour to type, previous engagements every Wednesday, sorry! XD

But oh well, I could have NOT updated, ya know.

But nah, I like you guys more than that. ;D

Still accepting, I need D2 careerers!

See the open spots on my profile. C;

Thanks for reading, and as always, please review!

Your reviews literately make my day.

I'm always so happy to read them. C:

UNTIL NEXT TIME READERS.

-Vix.