"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains"

~Arthur Golden, Memoirs Of A Geisha

My tributes are terrified out of their minds, standing backstage. Marta picks at her red and white dress, despite Lucille's constant snapping at her. Oliver stares at his feet, his hands balled into fists though I can still see them tremble. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead examine the rest of the competition.

The Careers are huddled together, talking like they've known each other all their lives. Facing me is the girl from one, her bouncy blonde curls swaying every time she moves. The amount of skin she's showing is dramatic, and though I try to look away, my eyes keep returning. Obviously she's going for the sexy and irresistible look.

I spot Katniss, dressed differently than before. But as much as she intrigues me, it isn't her that holds my attention. The twelve-year-old, the one from 11, stands in front of her, her face surprisingly calm. A part of me wants to go to her, to comfort her through her strength. She shouldn't have to be this brave. She should be crying and shaking like my tributes, but instead she stands with her head held tall. Even though I'll never even speak to her, I know the thought of her will haunt me for years.

I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from approaching her. She's too young to be here. If I could save her, I would. Even with dark skin and hair in tight curls, I can't help but see Lily in her face. Someone will be losing her soon, and it isn't fair.

I can almost imagine taking her small hand and running my fingers over her hair, like I used to do with Lily. It hurts that I can't do anything for her. If Katniss is to win, then this innocent little girl has to die.

There's a white flower clip in her hair, keeping her face free of stray strands. It's comically childish. Maybe that's what they're going for in 11, remind everyone of her youth and maybe get some sympathy.

I straighten my spine, forcing my gaze away from her. There's no point to it, it'll only make it harder to watch her die. My stomach constricts at the thought. Already, I know it's going to hurt like a punch in the gut. It's as good as sending my own sister to die.

Finally, we're called to our seats and the tributes are led onto stage. I sit close to Derek, who seems to be having similar thoughts, as he grabs my hand and squeezes it just once before setting it back in his lap. I could never deserve someone like him to care about me.

I don't start paying attention until both District 1 tributes are gone and the small girl from 2 is in the white seat beside Caesar. She's confident, and feline in her movements. Despite her stature, she might be the real threat of the Career pack.

Cato, her district partner, sets me on edge. I dig my fingernails into my seat. He's so damn stereotypical – a brute with insatiable bloodlust. The crowd goes crazy for him, but if I could pick someone to kill first, he would be my first choice. He actually seems excited to get into the arena. He fully expects to win, and I wish I could disagree with him

The tributes from 3 leave a faint impression, but nothing significant. Finnick told me enough about his tributes that I'm not surprised when they're not particularly flashy for Careers. The boy is young, younger than most Careers. While District 4 is a Career district, they're not nearly as trained as 1 and 2.

5 and 6 pass without an impression. When Marta makes her appearance she's quiet but at least manages to hold her head high and keep from crying. Caesar asks her what she thinks about coming from a district with a disproportionate amount of male Victors.

"That's no reason to be ignored" she says, "we both know who the most impressive Victor from 7 is."

The crowd claps for her. I'm sure the cameras are on me so I keep my face set in stone, if not in a scowl.

Oliver is pathetic. He answers plainly and makes no comment worth a sponsor's dollar. Along with 8, 9, and 10, I'm about ready to fall asleep. I tense when Rue's on stage. It's too difficult to listen to her for long. Hearing her mention her siblings makes my heart break. Listening to her is near unbearable. I stare down at my fingernails, trying to forget everything she says as she says it. Her bravery is heartbreaking. She must know she's going to die, and yet she can at least keep her chin held high while others are visibly quivering in their chairs.

Thresh, on the other hand is furious, which only makes me like him even more. I've never cared before about the competition, but they're so much more likeable this year now that I'm hoping for their deaths.

Then it's Katniss's turn. Immediately the audience is screeching and cheering, their volume ear splittingly loud. She's mesmerizing, even as she crosses the stage. There's an aura about her that just keeps the attention.

The last thing I expect out of her is humor. She even manages to bring a smile to my face, which annoys me endlessly. She's hesitant at first, and I think I can see fear in her eyes, but the more she talks and the more Caesar pushes, the more relaxed she gets. I can tell the audience and, more importantly, the sponsors, adore her.

When she stands, my jaw drops. Her dress bursts into flames right before my eyes, growing as she twirls, making her looks like she's being engulfed while simultaneously looking like a goddess. The Capitol cheers for the beauty, but all I can see is the symbolism. She can withstand the inferno without being burned.

Caesar gets her sitting back down and the audience quiet before leaning forward like they're sharing a secret. Of course it's the sister, it's his favorite question to ask. And yet, I find myself leaning forward to hear what she says.

There's more to her than being on fire. She is the flame. There's so much passion as she talks about her sister; Prim she calls her. It's empowering and invigorating but some small part of me hates it. Why does she get this chance? I never had the opportunity to save my sister. I've never been kind or selfless or giggled on stage. She's perfect. And it isn't fair.

Caesar dismisses her and the audience screams for a long time. Peeta is up next and while I've been braced for his confession, I still find myself tense. The whole time he plays around the idea of love and lost chances, it has everyone on the edge of their seat.

Then, he drops the bombshell. The gasp that spreads through the room is contagious. People jump to their feet, screaming their excitement at the possibility of a love story. I watch Peeta, impressed by his bravery and calmness. It's a shame that he has to die, but, if for whatever reason Katniss doesn't make it, he wouldn't be a bad alternative.

Quickly the show is ended. Derek pulls me to my feet, leading me gently by the elbow through the crowds of screeching patrons.

We collect Oliver and Marta and head back up to our floor. The silence in the elevator is thick enough to cut through. Between all the others, neither of them made any impression. I don't have to tell them that they don't have nearly enough sponsors to make any kind of impact on their chances. Marta even has tears in her eyes as we ride up the elevator and her bottom lip is trembling violently.

Derek looks at them sadly as they walk in front of us into the living room. "Why don't you two head to bed" he tells them gently. I know he agrees with me that they'll be dead soon, but he still cares.

Marta hesitates but nods. "Thank you, both of you" she murmurs. Her face is red and already her eyes are puffy with unshed tears. She won't be sleeping tonight.

"Of course" Derek nods, putting his hand on her shoulder before sending her off.

She disappears and we're left alone with Oliver. He's starring down the hall after her, ready to follow. Before he goes through, I stop him. "You'll be alright" I say.

He looks at me, surprise in his face "really?"

"I won't promise you anything but… I'll be watching the whole time" I smile at him weakly. "I promise."

"Thank you" he whispers, his voice suddenly full of emotion. "I don't want to die" he confesses. He looks so innocent, so much like how I felt the day before my Games.

"Don't give up yet" I say. I said I'd let him die, wouldn't coach him, and I won't, but looking at him now I can't crush him. As much as he tries, he won't win anyway.

He looks at me for a long time, coming to some realization in his mind. "Any advice?" he looks between me and Derek desperately.

I almost don't say anything. Derek gives him the comforting, "you know what you need to do. Stick to the plan" and all that bullshit. But when they both look at me, I let out a breath. "Run fast" I say before waving him off.

I stare after him, looking at the dark hallway until my legs ache with the stillness. Derek bids me goodnight, but I remain rooted to the spot. I can't help but see them, all of them, in the darkness. Cam, Lily, Jonathan, and the tributes, each one of them: Marcus, Milena, Jillian, Ivan, and Marta and Oliver. I'll never unsee them, waiting just out of reach.

I can't take a step. I can't move towards their ghosts. So, instead of forward, I turn around and slam my fist into the elevator button. I ball my fists together to keep them from shaking. The doors slide open on the fourth floor and I'm greeted with darkness. Finnick must have gone to bed already. This is his first night of freedom until his tributes are dead, so I know he's here somewhere.

I knock on the door to his room but don't wait before pushing it open. He sits up, starring at me sleepily. The tears are in my eyes against my control but I refuse to let them fall. Finnick pulls back the blankets, welcoming me in as I walk towards him. I tuck myself in beside him, feeling the comfort of his warmth and presence. Even now, a week away from the ocean, he still smells like salt. It stays with me as I fall asleep, keeping me calm and the terror at bay, plunging me into dreams of District 7, instead of the nightmares I'm so accustomed to.

Jonathan's laugh is contagious, making me smile despite my determination to be mad at him. He kneels in front of where I sit on the forest floor, my arm bleeding against my shirt. He wanted to teach me how to throw knives but I had more of a knack for hurting myself than any of the targets he gave me.

"Stop trying to teach me" I grumble. He's my big brother, my idol. I want nothing more than to be like him, but the humiliation of failure makes me want to run and hide.

"Never" he says, smiling. He must see the disappointment in my eyes because he taps my chin, making me look up at him. "You can do anything, Jo."

"I can't be as good as you. I can't figure it out" I cross my arms. I dab at the slice across my elbow, not wanting to look at Jonathan to see the compassion there.

"Don't say that. You are so much smarter than I am, you'll get there." He pulls my hand away, taking some water out of the small pouch and running it over the cut.

"Yeah?" I ask, watching him work.

"Of course" he smiles at me, putting the water back on the ground. "You're my sister, Jo, which means you're my favorite person in the whole District, okay? Don't give up on yourself" he kisses me on the forehead before pulling me to my feet.

It's a dream, but it's also a memory. He died only a few weeks after that.

"Jo?" Finnick asks, his mouth against my hair "what are you thinking about?"

"My brother" I whisper, feeling the weight of his loss.

"You never talk about him; you know" he shifts so he can see my face. "You don't have to be so quiet all the time."

"Neither do you" I say. It's isn't mean, the way I say it, but it's a point. He mentioned once that he had a brother. Had, as in past tense, but he never elaborated and I never asked. I knew exactly what that was like.

"His name was Flynn" he sighs. "He was fifteen, but he was better at me in everything – looks, fishing, women. Everything. It was Peacekeepers. They pushed a girl off the docks and he dove in after her. They wouldn't let him back up. It was winter, and cold. He didn't last very long."

I wrap my arm around him, pulling him close to me. My neck is tight but I force myself to speak. "Johnathan was his name. Logging accident. They happen all the time but… this time it was him and my mother standing in the wrong spot. It was horrible. They didn't die immediately either, just suffered for hours before they died. Compared to my mom, he went fast."

I pause, feeling the constriction in my throat. There's nothing more I can say so I just shake my head. I remember when he died like it happened only minutes ago. The worst part was that I couldn't even go to my mother. We didn't tell her. She was in so much pain and we knew she wasn't going to survive, so why burden her with the knowledge that her son was dead. But I think she knew. All I wanted was to curl up by her side and share my grief with her, but I couldn't. Instead all I could do was sit by her feet and watch her die.

"I'm so sorry" he says, his own arms tight around me. A single tear slips from his eyes down his cheek.

"It's isn't your fault. None of this is" I whisper to him.

"It isn't yours either" he points out. I nod, but I don't believe him. It feels like just about everything is my fault.