Author's Note (Dec. 27, 2013) - This story is the 72nd Hunger Games. Yes, it used to be the 71st, until I realized Johanna won the 71st, which I'm surprised no one ever pointed out. So, wherever you see it mention the 71st, it's actually the 72nd. Thanks a lot! PS, if you're reading this, I'm still here. Reviews are always appreciated, just keep in mind, this was my first story ever, so be gentle!

God blessed me, I'm a free man
With no place free to go
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear
This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight

Phoebe Kemp

Is it terrible that I would rather be in the arena? I'm so tired of all these Capitol people. I'm tired of my stylist, my escort, my prep team. I'm tired of Caesar Flickerman and his pink hair and mindless questions. I'm tired of the heavy gowns and toxic amounts of makeup. I'm even tired of the food. I don't want it anymore, I don't want any of it. I feel like I am trapped inside a glass bubble, no one can hear me screaming. I am out of synch with the other tributes. Every part of my body is protesting. This is wrong. This is murder. They are dehumanizing us. They are turning us into monsters.

Never have I seen a group of tributes like this one. The strong ones are monstrous, ruthless killers and they will not let anyone forget it. Everyone else seems like they have given up.

I'm torn. I don't think I can win, and I don't know if I want to. I've seen what has happened to Johanna and Blight, Annie and Finnick. Aphrodite's mentor, Track, is always shooting up morphling. Haymitch Abernathy is never sober. Johanna has lost everyone she love's. Finnick never lets go of Annie's hand, for fear of someone taking her away from him.

Doesn't anyone understand? The Capitol always wins. From the moment you deemed a tribute you are the Capitol's prisoner. You will die for your entertainment, or they exploit you for it.

Noah Cooley

I can't sleep. For some reason this surprises me, I know it shouldn't. How could I think I would be able to relax on what may possibly be my last night on earth?

It seems there is a con to every pro when thinking of what to do when I get in there. I have allies, I need knives. Riah can hunt, but what if there is nothing edible? Phoebe can run fast, can I keep up with my limp? Eliot is strong, but some of our enemies are stronger.

It is psychologically damaging to thing of all the things that can go wrong, yet I haven't allowed myself to consider what will happen if we don't get away. What if we all die in the bloodbath. What if I die? Will I even care?

I squeeze my eyes closed and rub my temples. Of course I will care. I promised. I promised them I would come home.

I think of Joan, and realize that if nothing else, she will be my reason to return home. The thought of never seeing her again is foreign and uncomfortable, and I realize that until this point it is not something I ever considered. It is a possibility. A probability, even.

Noah, shut up! Stop thinking like that, you have to believe you can win this thing. You have to go back to your family. You can't let the Capitol win. You can't let One or Two win. It has to be you.

The conflicting arguments in my head are maddening. I roll over and burry my head into my pillow, willing them to end. I imagine an arena. It is a forrest surrounded by a lake, with tall trees and woodland creatures. It is home.

I imagine the other tributes. I imagine that I got the best set of knives from the Cornucopia. I imagine throwing every last one of those knives into each of the tributes.

Don't think about it. End their lives. Win. Beat the Capitol. Go home.

Eventually I drift to sleep.

Celeste DeWynter

I won over the tributes, I have allies. I won over the Capitol, I am sure to have sponsors. I won over the Gamemakers, they gave me a 10. Somehow I can't shake the feeling that something horrible is waiting to happen.

Wait. I laugh bitterly, dragging a comb through my long, wet hair.

Something horrible is waiting to happen. I am about to be thrown into a death match with twenty three other kids, some of whom are salivating at the idea of finally getting to rip my throat out.

Children. Twenty three children. We're being forced to murder each other. It's heartbreaking.

I think of little Lucy and Hero, Harbor and Electron. They will never grow up. They will never fall in love. Their bodies will be sent home in boxes to their parents who may have already began planning their funerals.

I think of my own family, and I hope they haven't given up on me yet. Maybe after they saw my score it gave them some hope. I pray that it did.

I think of the Careers, who want me dead simply for scoring higher than Ariadne.

I think of the arena, and wonder what perils it holds.

I think of my allies, and hope they are loyal, if not only for the beginning.

All of these thoughts crossing my mind, horrid images of Hero being torn apart by muttations, of Lucy being murdered by Audrina, of Daniel betraying me to Bravo and teaming up with him to end my life. At some point I fall asleep, but the horrors do not cease.

Daniel Kerwick

I wake up in a start, sounds of blood curdling screams filling my mind before I'm even fully conscious.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes and tossing my sheets aside before I even realize what I'm doing. I stand up and head for the door, glancing at the clock on the way out, it's only just after 11 pm. I must have fallen asleep right after interviews.

Once I'm in the hallway I realize that the screams are coming from Celeste's room. I run across the hall and fling open her door hurriedly, making my way across her room to her bed. She's sobbing and thrashing about, a mess of tangled sheets and limbs. She is screaming out names; Lucy, Hero, Audrina, Bravo, Acacia. It isn't until I hear my own name that I climb on top the large bed and grab her shoulders, shaking her awake. Her panic-filled blue eyes fly open and her tiny hands grab my wrists. She starts to scream again, but I clamp my hand over her mouth.

"Shhh, you're okay. I'm not going to to hurt you, alright?"

She breathes deeply, her chest heaving, until she finally calms down and nods, I remove my hand from her mouth and help her sit up. We sit there awkwardly for a few seconds until she flings herself into my arms and begins to cry. I'm reminded of that first day on the train. This time, however, I know what to do.

I rub her back soothingly, letting her sob. I don't speak, I don't press her for answers. With Celeste, I've found that while she is such a strong, fearless person, she is also fragile. She needs someone to hold her. She needs someone to care about her. She needs someone to be strong for her when she can't, someone to pick up the pieces when she falls apart, someone to assure her that everything will be okay.

I just never would have thought that I, the criminal, would be that person.

Eventually her crying stops and her breathing becomes even and peaceful. I lay her back down on the bed, gently lowering her head to the pillow. Her golden hair fans out around her head. I look over her face, realizing for what feels like the first time, how beautiful she is. I smile as I realize that it is her that I want to win. I know it cannot be me, nor do I want it to be. I want it to be Celeste, it has to be Celeste. She deserves it, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that she comes out of this alive.

I brush her hair away from her face gently and turn to go, but she grabs onto my wrist again, pulling me back.

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't.", I say, shocked by the words leaving my mouth. "I promise."

Roman Caulder

It's after midnight and I still haven't gotten any sleep. It's okay. I don't need it.

Clicking noises coming from my mouth comfort me in the darkness of the night. One dim light it on. Shadows bounce off of every corner. I sit on the floor. Paper surrounds me. Hundreds of paintings.

I started painting bunnies. Then squirrels, deer, bears. Then people. Bravo. Phoebe. Celeste. Audrina.

Them first. They were dangerous.

Lucy. Electron. Harbor. Aria. Hero. Aurora.

They would be entertaining.

Hana. Riah. Aphrodite. Ariadne.

They would be hard to catch.

Lex. Daniel. Noah. Crisis.

They would want revenge.

Fruman. Corbin. Holden. Acacia. Eliot.

They would be easy.

Then me. I would be the only one left. Such joy.

It would be so simple. So effortless.

I dip my paintbrush into the bowl once more. I frown. It is almost gone.

I sit back and marvel in the beauty of my scarlet paintings.

I touch the most recent cut on my wrist.

How pretty blood is.

Fruman Bane.

It's been a week since Reaping day and I still can't get over the fact that I know it was rigged.

No matter how insane Roman is, she doesn't deserve this fate. I remember seeing her playing in the fields every day. She was a strange girl, talking to herself, making clicking noises, her brief fits when her eyes would roll back in her head. A friend of mine lived in the orphanage with her. She would bring home dead animals and leave their entrails in front of people's bedroom doors. She would paint pictures using her own blood. She would have screaming tantrums and throw things, she would ravenously fling herself at people and bite them when she was angry. There were an innumerable amount of things people said about her, names they would call her. No matter how many issues the girl had, she did not deserve this. And yet I would bet my life on the fact that every slip of paper in the Reaping ball said her name on it.

As for myself, I set the Peacekeeper's headquarters on fire. Not that anyone was ever able to prove it, but it was me. No one in Nine ever liked either of us. We were outcasts, psychopaths, loners, freaks. Every one in Nine was calm and simple-minded. They wanted us punished for being different, and since they couldn't do it themselves, they turned to the Capitol for help.

Acacia Woodley

I'm trying so hard to be optimistic, but my efforts are in vain. How can you be optimistic about the Hunger Games? No matter my beliefs about making the best of everything, it doesn't change the fact that I could be dead tomorrow. It doesn't change the fact that even if I survive, several others will not.

It's not so much that I'm afraid of the other tributes. They're just kids. They're just like me, I can handle them.

I'm terrified of the Gamemakers. I'm scared of what's in this unknown arena, muttations, natural disasters, ploys to drive us toward each other for bloody battles.

It bewilders me how excited the Capitol citizens get about the Games. It's like they don't even realize we're children.

Upset with myself, I push these forbidden thoughts from my mind for the final time.

I will not wonder about the Capitol. I will not hesitate to kill. I will not let my emotions get in the way. I will not lose sight of my goals. I will remember who my enemies are.

It is a mantra that has been repeated many a time. It is a mantra that I know I will have to repeat in the arena if I want to win. It is the only thing that will save me from insanity in there.

But, no. I will not think of these things tonight. I lay down in my oversized Capitol bed and close my eyes.

My name is Acacia. I'm from District Ten. I have allies. But I will be the victor.

Holden Rancocas

It's my final night in the Capitol, possibly my final night on Earth. Yet, here I am, laying in bed fighting this internal battle with myself. To trust them, or not to trust them. We have a good thing going. Our alliance is strong. Celeste says we rival the Careers, and we have an advantage on them in that they don't know what we're capable of, and we know all of their strengths and weaknesses.

I know that I need to trust them. Sage told me that they were my best chance.

They will turn on you. People will always turn on you.

"No!", I shout, hurling a the nearest pillow across the room.

Why? Why has this always been so hard for me? Why is there this little voice telling me that I am better off alone, when alone is the last thing I want to be.

I hate myself, yet I think I am better than everyone else.

I have no faith in my own abilities, and I do not trust those of others.

We are a powerful bunch. None of us scored below an eight. We trained in all areas, including the survival strategies. We helped each other train and we strengthened our weaknesses. We observed the competition. We know more about our enemies than they do about us.

We are stronger than most of the tributes. We stand a chance. One of us might actually come out of this thing alive.

But not you, Holden. Because they will turn on you. You are the weakest link.

I slam my face down into the bed and scream into my pillow. It is exasperating to constantly battle your own psyche.

Lucy Wells

Vaguely, I wonder if anyone is actually asleep. I doubt it. After hours of tossing and turning I finally gave into the insomnia.

I'm sitting in the bay window of my room, staring out into the night. It reminds me of the window in my bedroom back in Eleven. This is the one little piece of home for me here in the Capitol. I hold it close, for in mere hours, it too will be taken from me.

In the city below, the Capitol citizens' party is still raging. There are beautiful fireworks in the night sky, confetti and streamers raining down into the streets, people are dancing and singing. They are celebrating the thing that will kill us in the morning. They cannot wait another moment, and we wish to stop time.

I avert my eyes from the party and look up at the moon. There are few stars visible tonight, but the moon still stands. I take comfort in the fact that I am looking at the same moon that my family is looking at. I wonder if my sister is still awake. She must be, I would still be awake, sick with worry if our positions were flipped.

She has to know that we will never see each other again. She must be aware that it is humanly impossible for me to win the Games. She saw me on the Opening Ceremonies. She knows I have given up.

Hero de Lacroix

Lucy has no faith. She has no hope. I wish I could change her mind, but I know it will take time. Lucy is different than all of us, except for maybe the tributes from One. None of us have ever known a life without poverty, hunger, death and pain. Lucy has never experienced such a hopeless situation that seems impossible to overcome, and consequently, has never felt the satisfaction of triumph over adversity.

She thinks we are weak because we are small and young. I think we are strong because we are different and we are smart. We are quick and we are intelligent. People underestimate our abilities, and we fly under the radar. She reads this as a disadvantage, but I disagree.

She thinks we will get no sponsors because we are forgettable, but we are not forgettable to the Capitol, only to the tributes, who are so blinded by their true enemies, that they will not notice us.

The Capitol admires Corbin for his optimism and confidence. They admire Aria for her selflessness in volunteering for her friend. They pity Lucy, and do not wish to see harm come to her. They are charmed by me.

We are not a lost cause, not yet. And in time, Lucy will realize it as well.

Riah Hutchinson

"Riah, it's time to go." I open my eyes slightly and find myself staring into the faces of my stylist, Karmen, and a very hungover Haymitch.

I yawn, stretch and reluctantly climb out of my warm bed. Karmen hands me a pair of soft boots to put on and helps me into a warm jacket over my pajamas.

"Come on, we'll get you changed in the Launch Center."

I nod sleepily as Karmen guides me through the hallway and to the door, where we stop.

I look to Haymitch, "Any last advice?"

Haymitch rolls his eyes, "Just try to stay alive for once."

He storms off in the direction of Eliot's room and I glare at his retreating figure until Karmen pulls me out onto the roof.

We stand on the cold roof watching the sunrise as we wait for the hovercraft.

"What does he mean, for once?", I ask in an almost inaudible whisper.

"He says it every year. He gave up a long time ago. None of his tributes ever come out alive."

"I know."

The silence is uncomfortable after that. Not even Karmen has faith that I will win the Games.

Suddenly a hovercraft materializes out of nowhere and a metal ladder descends from it. Karmen leads me toward the ladder and helps me onto it before stepping on herself. I am paralyzed as we are lifted up, and even though I have been warned about this, it still takes me by surprise and I don't like it.

I am still paralyzed when we get inside and a doctor sticks a needle into my arm.

"He's inserting your tracker.", Karmen says in a monotonous voice.

It sounds ridiculous, but in that moment I saw fragments of my life flash before my eyes. My childhood in Twelve. Going to Hob. Greasy Sae's soup. The Mellark Bakery. Mockingjays in the woods. My mother's last words. My twin brothers. Dancing to my mother's favorite song.

It's real. The Games have begun.

Eliot Jay

I'm uncomfortable. Nervous. Terrified.

Any second the hovercraft will land and we will be taken to the Launch Room. And then it is only a matter of minutes. Haymitch has no faith in Riah or me. He doesn't care about our strategies. He doesn't want to hear about our alliances. I imagine he just wants us to be killed fast so he can head back to Twelve and drink himself into a stupor.

I think of our plan again, to run. We have decided that the two big alliances will probably fight it out at the Cornucopia, and figure that we stand a chance of running away while they are both distracted.

God, I hope it works. All I want is to make it past the Cornucopia and prove Haymitch wrong. I don't want to have to kill anyone. Not today, and not ever. Not that I would ever tell that to my allies. Phoebe, Noah, Riah and I, we are not weak. Not the strongest by any means, but definitely not the weakest. We stand a chance. It's the same thing that I have been repeating in my head since the first day of training.

I know that now is not the time to be afraid, but I can't help it. I played the Capitol. I made them fear me and love me. I won the attention of countless Capitol teenagers, who's rich parents will sponsor me.

It crosses my mind how drastically my attitude has changed since the Reaping. First, fear. Then, forfeit. Then, hope. And now, back to fear.

Fear and uncertainty. I do not know what will be in the arena. I do not wish to know what horrors the Gamemakers will bring upon us. I shiver at the thought of being lifted into the arena with the bloodthirsty, demonic Careers.

As much hard as I fight to push the thoughts from my mind, they keep spilling back. Suddenly, they are interrupted by my stylist's voice.

"Get your things together.", Olivera says. "We should be landing soon. I don't know why we've been at a standstill for so long. We'd have usually been in the Launch Room by n-"

She is cut off by a loud sound filling the hovercraft. A phone ringing. Her eyebrows furrow and she looks confused, but she brings her pale hand to her ear, pushing a button on the small earpiece.

"Hello?"

Almost to the arena! Are you guys excited to find out what it is? The next chapter will go up shortly after this one so don't go anywhere.

Same thing goes for voting this time around!

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Also, make sure to go to www . seventyoneyears . blogspot . com (with no spaces of course!) to see pictures and bios of all the tributes! I updated and changed some since writing this!

Message me if you have any questions, and may the odds be ever in your favor!

And guys, I really appreciate it more than you know when you leave comments or give me feedback on the chapters rather than just writing your votes and telling me to update. I'm not going to beg and grovel for reviews, but please remember that I am a person, not a machine. I take a lot of pride in my writing and I spend a lot of time on it, so I absolutely love when you tell me what you liked or didn't like, or any feedback whatsoever, it makes my day! :)

-Becca