Samura Nightshade, District 2.

I make sure to deliberately barge into Zack's shoulder as I stomp out of the elevator towards the training centre. It must be some kind of sick joke that Dahla's kid has ended up in the Games with me. Ever since we stepped onto the train together, I've been watching him closely; trying to assess what kind of a person he is. I have reached the conclusion that he's arrogant and despises receiving any kind of criticism. But he's also fairly strong – I have to make good use of this training time if I want a chance of being able to take him down in the arena.

He glances at me with confused eyes as we enter the training room together; he still has no idea what my problem with him is, but I haven't spoken a single word to him. So he'll just have to keep on wondering.

I sigh as I enter the room; maybe I should feel somewhat afraid of the other tributes. After all, they're the people who stand between me and getting out of this thing alive, but I can't really bring myself to find the emotions to care. I feel perfectly comfortable in this kind of surrounding though, because it vaguely resembles the building back in District 2 where I had been training to be a peacekeeper. Of course, we didn't have all of the different stations that I can see dotted around the room, all offering to teach a different skill; camouflage, wresting, sword fighting, or knot tying.

I glance around at the other tributes that are already assembled; there aren't many seeing as our mentors pushed us to come down early to give us more of a chance to get to know who the other tributes are. I recognise the tall blonde-haired girl in the corner as being from District 1, but her district partner is nowhere to be seen. She amazes me by suddenly bounding towards us and every instinct in my body is telling me to get away from her. I've never been good at talking to strangers and she's advancing with her hand held out as though she actually expects me to shake it.

"I'm Salima," she tells us, with this huge artificial smile on her face, "I can't believe how late everyone else. I made sure to wake up especially early so that I'd be down here on time."

She's still holding her hand out and I just glance up at her in confusion, not sure what to say to this strange, enthusiastic girl. Zack, on the other hand, approaches her with a smirk on his face and I try hard to stop myself rolling my eyes. She's beautiful, and he's a guy. What more is there to say?

They start up a conversation about the showers, I think. I decide it's easier to blank them out – we used to do this in peacekeeper training as an exercise against distractions. It was important to stay calm and focused.

My whole body stiffens suddenly as I think of my peacekeeper training, because now that I've found out the truth about the way in which they operate I need to try and forget them. Suddenly the comparisons between this room and the training area back home don't seem as calming anymore, and I have to force myself to ignore the similarities and focus on the other tributes.

The pair from District 4 are there, standing as far away from each other as it's possible to get in this small circle of tributes. The girl, dark haired and pale faced is surveying the other tributes, especially the male ones and I have to suppress a smirk as the boy from District 6 does a double take as he notices her.

My eyes keep roaming, because it's an easy way to distract myself from thinking about what I'm actually doing here. It doesn't quite work though, because my eyes land on the barely healed scabs on my knuckles. Both my mentors and my prep team last night were absolutely horrified when they caught sight of them, but I want to keep them as a memento from a time when I was actually able to evoke some emotions. At the moment I feel like I'm hanging in limbo – waiting to get into the arena so that I can take my revenge on Zack. But after that? I don't know if I even plan to make it back out after that's taken care of.

Eventually all of the other tributes have arrived, and I can see everyone glancing around edgily, trying to suss each other out. Well, everyone apart from the girl from District 7. She's staring absently over at the fire-starting station while a broad shouldered Capitol assistant, who announces himself as Tyrol, explains the process of the training. Apparently we get two and a half days to train, and then we'll have to show off our skills in front of the Gamemakers (this is the group of people who will be in charge of making our lives hell once we get into the arena) and then we'll receive a score which will be broadcast across the whole of Panem, and will likely affect how many sponsors we get.

A couple of the other tributes, particularly the smaller, weaker looking ones, begin biting their lips anxiously as Tyrol explains this to us. I keep a neutral expression on my face because honestly, I'm not feeling all that worried about this. Because honestly, what's the point?

Finally he releases us, and tells us we're free to us any stations we please until we get called for lunch. I stare around the room uncertainly for a moment though; I don't want to pick a station that will be flooded with other tributes, because I'm hopeless at engaging in small talk. Besides, I didn't come here to make friends. I just wanted to escape from everything that reminds me of my mum back home. So I wait as the others head off to various stations around the room.

The little girl from District 9 skips off to follow the hulky male tribute from District 4, while the pair from District 12 share a determined glance with one another before heading off to the edible plants station. Zack is sticking with Salima from District 1, I notice with dull amusement, while the awkward looking girl from District 3 claps a hand onto the shoulder of the little boy from her district.

Why is everyone already teaming up? Don't they understand what's going to happen once they get into the arena?

Once everyone else has made their selection, I head over to one of the free stations without even checking what it's offering. Turns out to be traps and snares. This could be useful, I suppose, glancing up at the intricate wires that have been carefully crafted by the instructor, who seems thrilled to have someone interested in his station.

I've been there for almost an hour when I feel someone standing behind me, and I instantly paste my coldest glare onto my face, hoping that whoever it is won't want to stay. It's the boy from District 9; he runs a hand through his already tousled dark hair, his green eyes sparkling with amusement for some reason. I narrow my eyes at him, and twist my head back round to examine the snare I've been working on for the past ten minutes. I just can't get the hang of it.

"I've used snares a couple of times before," the boy tells the instructor, who face lights up instantly and I bristle in annoyance. Of course, he's District 9 – hunting.

The instructor immediately starts talking the boy through some more complicated snares and I sigh, returning to my own feeble effort. I promised myself that I wouldn't care about the Games – that it was just an escape route from my past and win or lose – it didn't matter. But as I watch his nimble hands crafting a snare he's never made before almost perfectly, I feel the flare of competition grow within my stomach. At peacekeeper training, I'd hated it when anyone was better than me, and it's certainly no different now. I grit my teeth and try and copy the snare.

"Let me help," I jump slightly as I realise that he's talking to me and I keep my eyes focused on my work, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation with any of these people. But he doesn't give up that easily and tries to take the snare out of my hands.

I yank it back away from him, "I'm fine, thanks," I mutter in a low voice, still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm Griffin, by the way," What do you want from me? He's still standing there with his hands outstretched, waiting for me to hand over my pitiful attempt at the snare. I'm still trying to ignore him and concentrate on what I'm doing, but I can't stand it when someone is watching me, and my hands are shaking for some reason.

I jerk my head upwards impatiently, "Can I help you with something?" I demand furiously.

His lips turn upwards, and I realise that he's laughing at me. Was he just trying to provoke me by hovering over me like that? "I thought I was the one helping you?"

I watch him incredulously. No one ever talks to me like; makes jokes with me and laughs at me. I've made sure that everyone back home feels intimidated by me – I had a goal that I was going to achieve, and everyone had known that I hadn't cared what I'd had to do to make that happen. I guess that goal's obsolete now, but I didn't think that my persona was. I never engage in conversation with anyone, and all I ask is that no one tries to start one up with me. Griffin clearly needs to be made aware of my rules.

"I said I was fine, thank you. I don't need your help."

"Really?" the smile is back on his face, "because that's completely wrong you know." I stare at him suspiciously, not understanding why he keeps trying to talk to me.

I dump the snare down onto the table, and turn away from the station. This encounter has set my blood boiling in a way that I haven't experienced for a while.

I force my eyes back to the grazes on my knuckles, and hold a picture of mum in my mind. I can't let myself forget her – I'm worried that once I do, I really will have nothing left to live for. After all; my mind keeps telling me that it doesn't care whether I win or lose this thing. I twist my hand through my hair, almost wrenching it from the roots. As long as I can feel pain, then I'll still feel alive. I just don't know how to make myself care anymore.

I spend the rest of the time before lunch swinging a mace against the practice dummies; I'm aware that it's a complete waste of time because I already know perfectly well how to use a mace, but I need to do something that's mindless and mechanical, because I don't want to start exploring my own thoughts again.

The bell goes for lunch, and I'm reminded of school back home. I never had anyone to sit with then either, and the way that most people already seem to have settled into groups and alliances makes me realise that I probably won't have a lunch companion today either. Not that I want one anyway; everyone's joking and laughing, and trying to pretend like they're not really scared about what's going to happen to them.

I grab a plate from the buffet, and pile my plate high; it can't hurt to put on a little bit of weight now because, judging by my snares, I won't be catching much food once I actually get into the arena.

I've just sat down and am staring despondently at my plate when there's a thump opposite me. It takes me several moments to register that someone has just chosen to sit at my table. I raise my head, fully intending to glare at whoever it is until they leave, but then I see who it is, and I stiffen.

"Me again," he says, with a shrug of his shoulder, "hope you don't mind, but I didn't think that I would be welcome at anyone else's table."

I ignore him again; hoping that he'll get the message and stop trying to talk to me.

"So, made any alliances yet?" I sigh; he's obviously not planning on giving up any time soon.

"Nope," I tell him, popping my lips on the "p" which makes him laugh for some reason. Although, from what I've seen of him today, everything seems to make him laugh so I don't know if he actually needs much of a reason. I never understand people like this, and since what happened to my mum, I'm finding it even harder to like jokers. It's a surprisingly difficult to make yourself smile when you don't really feel like it.

"Lien seems to have made plenty of friends already," he says, sounding vaguely amused (as always). I glance round despite myself, and find that he's looking at the little dark haired girl from his district. He's right; she's sitting with the blonde haired rock from District 4, and the boy from District 8 who fights like he's desperate. There are several other groups of people; some who I noticed earlier; Salima and Zack for example. But the pair from District 12 seem to have joined up with the tributes from District 3.

"There's plenty of space," I point out suddenly, my voice sounding dull even to my own ears. I'm actually quite annoyed with the fact that he sat at my table when there's so much space everywhere else, but I can't seem to express it.

"Fine," he says, "maybe I wanted to apologise for earlier. I realise that I was getting on your nerves, and I'm sorry."

I glance up at him in surprise; no one ever says sorry to me, and I never really expect it either. I never accept apologies anyway – and there's certainly no point in him apologising to me now; we'll be facing each other in the arena in just a few days. What's the point in niceties now?

He's watching me, as though he expects something from me and I just stare back blankly. What does this boy want with me?

Yari Meadows, District 11.

I sigh heavily, leaning my hand onto my hands. I clearly picked the wrong table to sit at; I've been shadowing Flint all day, merely because I thought she'd be the most entertaining.

Turns out that I was wrong. The girl is completely unfocused. The only time she ever listens is when you call her Ceylon rather than Flint. She snaps into reality, yells for a few minutes, and then her eyes glaze over again.

I can't prank someone who wouldn't even notice.

My eyes scan the room, trying to decide who I should prank instead. Then my eyes land on the small girl from District 3. There's something about her pale skin which suggests that she blushes easily. I can't help feeling that she'd make quite a good victim.

Hmm, but what should I do? It's need to be something epic, something that will make me stick in the heads of the other tributes and let them know that I'm a serious threat after all. They've been given me pitying looks all throughout the morning, especially the girls.

I mean, I know that I look quite short and I'm not exactly a muscle machine like some of these other guys, but it doesn't matter. Because in the end, brains are going to win this thing, rather than brawn, and that works in my favour.

I'm still watching the girl from District 3 as we wander back into the training room as lunch ends. She's fairly plain looking; in fact, none of these girls are worth a second glance, apart from District 4. Sasha.

I've never really been that interested in girls – they just get all freaked out by anything gross, and it must be exhausting to actually date one of them. My mum's such a downer – why would I wish that upon myself?

But she really is something else. She had all the guys, apart from me, twisted around her little finger before she even said a word.

I shake my head, and think back over my plan. I need something good...

I head over to the knife station, and watch as the guy from District 10 flings knives effortlessly into the target. I wince slightly at each one that imbeds itself into the practice dummy. After all; once we get into the arena that could easily be me.

I huff in annoyance as I watch him; he's tall and muscled just like the other male tributes. Handsome too, I guess, and I can't help wondering if anyone will actually want to sponsor me. After all, I think the female vote will be spread thinly enough amongst the other guys as it is, without adding me into the mix.

I shrug to myself; it doesn't matter. I don't need sponsors to get me back home. I just need to think of Kean and Harry's faces when I win. Losers.

"What are you looking at, elf-boy?" the hulking tribute suddenly demands, angering flaring in his eyes as he surveys me.

I feel a slight thrill of terror rush through me, but I quickly suppress it. I live for fear and adrenaline; it's what makes the time pass by. I narrow my eyes at him, "Don't call me elf-boy," I tell him in a low voice, "I'm not a fucking elf."

He drops the knife to the floor, and I can feel the eyes of every single other tribute in the room flick over towards us. I'm determined not to lose face. I need to prove to the rest of them that I'm capable of doing this.

"Really?" he asks lightly, "because you're about the size of one."

You've gone one too far now.

I shove him as I hard I can; my anger bubbling over and fuelling my limbs as I remember all the times people have called me "elf," and teased my because of my height. Wasn't this the reason that I had volunteered?

I've obviously chosen the wrong tribute to pick a fight with though, because something within this boy snaps and he launches himself at me, causing a muted yelp to escape from me as his fist collides with my stomach.

I start falling to the ground, but I am a quick kick at his shins to ensure that at least he'll fall down with me.

A growl wrenches itself from between his teeth and I scrabble to my feet desperately, determined that he's not going to beat me in this.

I can hear the attendants yelling at us – the fact that this is against the rules only makes me smirk. Rules have never really bothered me.

As he clambers to his own feet, I feel his fist ram into my face.

Damn, that hurt.

I only remember jumping towards him, and swinging my fists in his direction before everything goes black.

When my eyes snap open again I'm lying flat on my back; there's complete silence in the training hall, and I suppress a groan of humiliation when I realise that everyone must be focused on me.

Rough breathing comes from one side of me, and I realise that the boy from District 10 is on the floor beside me. I'm betting I didn't actually knock him unconscious, but still – I knocked him down! That's good enough for me!

I spring to my feet – I'll look like I'm the winner if I'm the first one to stand back up – and glance back down at him.

"Idiot," he mutters before standing back up and stretching his limbs.

The attendants are watching us with furious expressions on their faces, but I couldn't care less. After a morning of behaving just averagely on the stations, I have finally gained my reputation as a fighter. Maybe this will teach the others not to pity me.

I glance around the hall, but most of the others have gone back to their various training stations. Still, I doubt they can deny that they're impressed.

In this environment, you have to do something big to get noticed. This, coupled with the magnificent prank that I'm planning, will certainly get me lodged in their heads as someone not to mess with. As someone strong.

I head back over to the knife station, which the boy has now abandoned – so, looks like I won the territory as well – and absently chuck a knife in the direction of the dummy.

It sticks! Haha.

The time drags slowly on as I continue to throw knives at the targets, and I try to think up the prank to end all pranks.

We only have an hour left when inspiration suddenly strikes me, and I scan the room to make sure I'll actually be able to carry it out, and my eyes light up as I see which station the girl from District 3 is currently occupied with.

There are a couple of chairs sitting at various places around the room, and I take the one nearest to the station. With a surreptitious glance around me to make sure that no one's watching me, I bend down and my fingers quickly find the bolt that joins the leg to the chair. I do this kind of thing all the time at home, so it doesn't take me very long, with the help of the knife which I forgot to give back and my nimble fingers, to loosen off the bolts on the two back legs of the chair.

I return the knife as easily as I managed to steal it. These Capitol folk are so easy to fool.

I shunt the chair over to the camouflage station, under the pretext that I'm simply moving it out of harm's way. I even get a grateful smile off the instructor. Wow, it's even easier to trick them than it is to fool mum.

The girl shoots a shy smile in my direction, and carries on drawing patterns onto her arm. I watch her for a moment – she's surprisingly good at it, but I don't know how useful camouflage will really be once we get into the arena.

Ok, time to initiate Mission Epic Humiliation.

I reach over to the paint trays, dipping my fingers idly into some of them and swirl some colours onto to my wrists. Then, I lean over oh-so casually, and just accidentally knock one of the trays onto the floor. But not just onto the floor, onto the girl's shoes.

She jumps as the paint splatters over her feet and she glances up at me in clear annoyance, "Ugh, it's gone everywhere."

Cue innocent little boy mode. The only time my face ever comes in useful.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim loudly; I need to catch the attention of the other tributes if this plan is really going to live up to its potential, "I'm so clumsy."

"It doesn't matter," she says with a sigh.

I lean towards the instructor, "do you have a cloth or something?"

He hands one over with a wide smile. Yep that's right, I'm just so helpful...

"Why don't you sit down and clean your feet up?" I tell her, pressing the cloth into her hands with a smile to show how sorry I am.

She shoots me a grateful glance and sits down on the chair.

The few moments before the chair finally gives way are quite possibly the best moments of my entire life. Filled with suspense and anticipation. I placed the chair extra carefully, and I know exactly what's going to happen when it finally collapses.

The moments after the legs begin to buckle seem to move comically slowly. The girl's face suddenly twists in terror as she realises that she's falling.

Her arms and legs start flailing wildly and chair starts to fall backwards.

There's a resounding SMASH that echoes through the training hall, silencing everyone else, who then all turn in the direction of the noise.

And then they all spot the girl from District 3 who's lying at the centre of what looks like a massive explosion of colour. Her face is covered in yellow paint – which is kind of a shame because it's harder to read her expression that way – and her hair is coated in a horrible greasy substance.

I have to work hard to keep myself from laughing because this is, without a doubt, the best prank that I have ever pulled. If only my friends had been here to see this one; they'll never believe it when I tell them about it.

The girl from District 12, District 3's ally comes rushing over amidst the shocked silence of the other tributes and helps the girl to her feet. I smirk aa the attendants start to rush over, brandishing all kinds of cleaning supplies. The paint is dripping down her body, and she's shaking.

A vague feeling of remorse tries to push its way to the surface of my mind, but I quickly suppress it. I need any advantage over the other tributes that I can get, and her confidence should hopefully be knocked by this.

Unfortunately, this plan of mine doesn't really seem to have worked. The other tributes just cast sympathetic glances in her direction and then go back to their training. Not even one single titter – surely it merits that? I mean, the girl looks absolutely ridiculous!

"You did that, didn't you?" a gruff voice from behind me suddenly demands, and I spin around to find myself staring into the blue eyes of the guy from District 12. He might not be as tall as the others, but his broad shoulders make me feel threatened.

"You can't prove anything," I say lightly, not wanting to meet his eyes in case he reads the lie in mine.

"Well, you seem to be the kind of boy who is at the centre of any kind of trouble."

That's exactly what I am, I think, feeling somewhat proud that perhaps I have gained the reputation that I wanted after all.

"I certainly wouldn't want to be you – after all, I don't think that quality is going to come in all that helpful once we get into the arena."

He turns away, and leaves me watching his retreating back, wondering if he actually might have a point. What have I opened myself up for?

I probably won't be able to update again until next weekend, because I have a busy weekend/week ahead of me.

Question: What song are these lyrics from - I heard the sad sound of words, spoken from a beak of a wise old bird?

You can still answer the question from the last chapter, because it hasn't been up very long. So remember to keep voting.