Austin Hexson, 18 ~ District 5 Male

MCPBN

I sit on the long bench that extends across the cafeteria. (All the tables have been cleared, so I notice that the bench on the wall extends—something I missed earlier.) My whole body aches. Yesterday, I ran the Gauntlet and ended up on my gluteus maximus with a fresh batch of bruises crisscrossing my mid–section, and Careers snickering over me; I was overzealous, and didn't think through the moves I had to do to accomplish the course unscathed.

Today's the day of private sessions. I've been trying all morning to keep my tics to a low. I can't have them backtracking me even further.

The girl from 4 is called. Ampere grabs my hand, and I smile at her, feeling anxious. We've been getting along better as of late. I don't get annoyed as much when she becomes curious, and she seems to have gotten past my peculiarities as well. We've broken a barrier, that's for sure.

"So, what are you going to do?" Ampere asks.

I shrug. I'm not brushing her off, I just don't have anything to say. And I'm glad that she understands.

It seems like the next fifteen minutes are over before they start. "Austin Hexson," the humanoid voice says.

I stand, and hear a snicker from down the bench. It's the boy from 9. I give him a steely glare.

Now I am determined to show what I'm capable of. I walk out of the cafeteria as confidently as I can. The doors shut behind me. Now all I can hear are my soft footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor.

I walk to the center of the room, and turn toward the balcony that the Gamemakers are seated at. They act exasperated, as though someone they hate is about to talk to them. It's because all the Careers are finished, and they believe everyone else is going to be a drag. I can't let them think this.

One says, with a hint of annoyance, that I may begin. I'm at a loss for what to show them. I turn one hundred eighty degrees…and I'm still at a loss.

I reluctantly walk to the spears. They've already seen me with them.

At that moment, I see a familiar bronze wire rolled up in a far corner of the room. On further inspection, I confirm that it's the one Beetee created after his Hunger Games. Beetee is a District 3 victor, so the only reason I know about the wire is because it can harness any type of electrical energy. It was a great advancement for District 5.

Immediately, I know what I'm going to do.

I get a rubber glove from the ropes course and the section where you climb bars, slit open the lining with a knife, then grab thin wires and a roll of paper towels from the cleaning supplies. I ask a trainer for a bottle of water, salt tablets, and six coins. The Gamemakers look on curiously.

I dissolve the salt tablets into the water, shaking the bottle vigorously. I dip small pieces of paper in the water, lay them between the coins, and place five wires on the coins. Then I stick the whole thing inside the lining, tucking it in the palm.

I poke a inch of each wire out of the glove's fingers, re–seal the lining using tape, and put the glove on.

I smile, seeing I still have ten minutes' worth of action.

I cut three feet off of the big roll of Beetee's wire, then switch it to my gloved hand and feel electricity start to crack. It worked. I created a battery. It's something I learned in school, and I got really good at making them. I know for a fact that it will last about an hour or two before going out.

I swing the wire around, loosening it. Then I slap it onto the floor. Sparks fly when it comes in contact, and a loud crack thunders.

I walk to a dummy, and swing and flip around with precise accuracy. I'm a blur of bronze and spark. The wire wraps around the dummy's head, cracking and fizzling as both parts collide. To my surprise, and the Gamemakers', the dummy catches fire. I feel a surge of triumph; I have them. Now I just can't lose them.

I wrap the wire around another dummy's waist and pull it to the floor. I swing the wire high over my head and drop to one knee—it sails down, smashing into the dummy, making small lightning lines shoot out. It also bursts into flames.

I walk to the spears, throwing away the pretty much spent wire and taking off my glove. I wrap another three feet around a metal spear, tie it so it won't fall off, and put the glove back on.

Soon, the spear is an electric pole. I walk to the dummies that light up, showing where you're supposed to throw. I look at the clock. I have thirty seconds left.

I take position, then practice my aim.

Five. I pull back.

Four. I take aim.

Three. I throw.

Two. The spear sails.

One. The spear hits the target's center, and as the bell goes off, the dummy explodes in smoke and fire.

I hear muffled screams of astonishment behind me, then walk to the Gamemakers, nod, and go to the elevator. It's not till the doors close and I start to rise that I smile. All in all, I think I did fantastic!

Clarily Montane, 14 ~ District 8 Female

Revolution Mockingjay

"Ramie Ortega," an automated voice says.

Ramie stands and starts walking.

"Good luck," I call. He doesn't reply.

I try to be patient, but it's hard. I'll do archery first, I think. Then if that fails after a few tries, I'll go to the knife station. I'm more comfortable with archery. There's something about a bow in my hand and arrows soaring that I love.

After about twenty minutes, my name is called. I look at the other tributes and stand, shakily making my way through the door.

A few Capitol people sit above me, watching. Some are drinking and eating. All sort of different foods, from soups to proteins—it's all there. I didn't eat very much because I was worried, and now I'm starving.

A man nods at me, and I walk toward the archery station. I pick up a silver bow, nock an arrow, place my feet slightly apart, and pull back on the string.

My fingers suddenly slip, and the arrow flies past the target. My face grows red. How could I do that?

I turn slightly. I've already lost the attention of multiple Gamemakers.

I grab another arrow, fury inside me. I can't believe I messed the first one up. I'm shaking from worry and humiliation.

My stomach growls unexpectedly, and I let go of the string before I'm ready—the arrow hits the very edge of the target. I whip my head around.

Calm down, I tell myself.

I grab another arrow, pull the string back, and aim down. I take three deep, long breaths. My arrow hits closer to the target's center.

I shoot three more, two hitting near the center, and the last hitting dead center.

"You may leave," one of the Capitol men says suddenly, as if he's just noticing me.

I put the bow back, my heart thudding. They weren't paying attention. They most likely didn't even see the one bull's–eye I made.

But maybe they did.

Ramie Ortega, 12 ~ District 8 Male

YazminDominguez

"Ramie Ortega," I heard a woman's distant voice call.

I was shaking, and my knees were also.

"Good luck," someone said.

I entered the enormous gym, slowly and shyly making my way to the center. I didn't know if I had to introduce myself, or what. So I stood there until a man with a bald orange head nodded.

Okay, what to do…?

I began making a mental list of things.

Camouflage. Good, now how to put it to work? I scanned the room until I saw dummies against a far wall. Perfect.

I placed one in the center of the room so the Gamemakers could have a good view, and started. Half of its torso was disguised as bark. I eyed the brown grooves with a smile.

Next thing: Knots. I could hang a dummy with a noose, but unfortunately I didn't have the skill to craft such a knot.

Knives. I started toward the knife–throwing station, but stopped midway because I wanted my session to stand out to the spectators. So I hastily gathered a good assortment of weapons, and brought them over.

I glanced at the Gamemakers, and noticed I had a couple pairs of eyes trained on me. What now? It made me kind of edgy to know they were watching my every move, but I mustn't bore them.

I began to course very fast around the dummy, throwing knives as I went. Most hit where the brains, heart, and stomach would be…but others flew right beside it and landed out of reach. I ran out of knives, switched to daggers, and soon let the last dagger soar—hitting close to the center of the chest.

I paused and took deep breaths, needing more air in my lungs. I had proved my speed, agility, and capability of handling knives; I wanted to laugh I was so glad.

Next thing on my list…fire. I assembled small logs and sticks into the correct formation, and roaring fire blazed a trail to the dummy. I smelled burning plastic and other materials, and watched specks of dried burnt mud fluttering in the air as my creation burned to ashes.

Last thing on my list: Show I'm a fighter. Just as Woof had said. I turned around to the Gamemakers, and stared at them.

Nothing. The flames stroked my back, giving me a pleasant warm feeling. After standing there with nothing else to show or do, they finally dismissed me. I left the room pretty shaken.

If I was capable of doing that to a dummy…could I do it to a human? How much of a difference was there, really? To these people, none—none at all.

But I know I could never take anybody's life. I don't have such a ruthless outlook. I disfavor all this killing.

Jodi Quinnell, 13 ~ District 10 Female

I've got cookies

Today, Farro and I discussed some strategies. Like run away from the Cornucopia. Or grab only the nearest thing, and then run. Nothing much.

Now, most of the time I sit in silence. Actually, the only ones really talking and laughing were the Careers. They're all done with their sessions, probably earning 9's and 10's. Again—not fair!

I will probably fall on my face and black out, a show worthy of a 1. I have almost no idea what to do. I'll be lucky to earn a 5. . .though I wouldn't mind a 6. '7' is just a dream. Hope, hope, hope. . .

"Jodi Quinnell." A weird robotic voice announces my name.

I step into the lonely gym. Suddenly, it's filled with the Gamemakers' laughter; I am not sure if they are laughing at me, or some good joke. They shouldn't laugh at all.

I clear my throat. The murmurs slowly stop. At least half of them are looking at me.

I make my way to knife combat. The trainer gives me a dagger, and gets into a fighting pose. His feet are far from each other—that's enough space for me to get through. I nod slightly and run at him, as he waits for the moment he'll be able to grab me.

When I'm almost there, I fall smoothly onto my back and slide between his legs. He's stunned, so I use the moment to get up and jump on his back, putting my dagger to his neck before he can shake me off.

"Thanks!" I say, and head to fire–starting.

I kneel in front of a small pile of wood. One of the pieces is more plank–like, so I use it as basis. Another is straight, more branch–like. Good. I need a knife.

I remember how I failed at knife–throwing yesterday. It almost made me cry. It still makes me cry! Still!

I pick up a knife and head back, kneeling again and making a small hole in the plank–like wood. Then I put dry grass in and around the hole. I take the 'branch', and start rubbing.

After around five minutes of intense rubbing and blowing, a small fire sparks. It grows a little bigger. Then I extinguish and put some dirt onto it; I can't let smoke come out of the ash.

The whip is next to the Gauntlet. (I am so not gonna' go through that thing. Not another failure.) I pick it up, and walk to the sword–fighting dummies.

I swing back and hit the first dummy, in the arms and stomach. After a few times, there's a wound in its left arm.

I should be out of time. I stand there for a few seconds.

When nothing happens, I decide if I'm at sword–fighting, why not do it? I mean, so far I've been great.

I choose one of the smallest swords, not wanting to look silly. The blade is shiny and sharp, deadly.

I have no idea what to do. Why did I even think of this?

But no backing away; that will look weak.

My hand flies left and right. Suddenly, it stops. My hand stops, as the sword is stuck in the dummy's chest. I try to get it out, only to fail. It's seriously stuck there.

"Okay, time's up!" A Capitol accent disturbs me from my 'sword–fighting'.