This Chapter is brought to you from the present day.

Anaiah Logan District 8 Victor of the 99th Hunger Games

"Oh seriously?" A voice spoke from above her head.

It sounded foggy and far away. Then again, everything sounded like that when Anaiah was high. It was like being trapped inside a glass jar. The outside world had a strange echo to it.

"Not again Anaiah," The same voice said.

The voice, Anaiah couldn't locate. Even when the dark form reached down to her, Anaiah did nothing. She didn't really care what the voice was going to do to her. For eight years, she'd lived in an endless recurring hellish loop. There didn't seem to be a way to escape the pain and suffering that her life had become. The memories hung like a shadow just behind her, shrouding step she took.

"Let's get you home," The voice said.

Anaiah felt a pair of strong arms reach underneath her and lift her into the air. Her head lolled back. She had no muscular control, no ability to comprehend her surroundings. That heroin was really something.

She barely registered her own bodily motion as the voice carried her along. Anaiah was too wrapped up in her own mind. Those shadows of the ninety-ninth Hunger Games lingered over her. She couldn't escape them.

Anaiah remembered her first moment in the arena, a craggy mountainous place. There weren't many trees at all, but there were plenty of caves. The only problem was you had to be brave enough to climb down the side of a cliff to reach them. That climb, depending on where you started from, could be hundreds of feet long. The distance to the ground below the giant cliffs the tributes fought on must've been a mile or more. There was no way to get away.

The gamemakers that year had definitely made full use of whatever drugs were available in the Capitol. It was the most challenging arena Anaiah had ever seen. The small amount of open-air space on top of the cliffs made it one of the deadliest bloodbaths in the history of the Games. Fourteen of the twenty-four tributes were killed.

Anaiah, only fourteen at the time, had set up an alliance with two other girls, a sixteen-year-old and another fourteen-year-old. She couldn't even remember their names anymore. Both had been killed in the bloodbath.

By the skin of her teeth, Anaiah managed to escape. She'd been lucky and found a cave within only fifty or so feet of the top of the cliff. One of the career boys had fallen off when he'd climbed down after her.

Anaiah found that inside the caves in the cliff, it was maybe even more dangerous. The arena itself probably had roughly the same amount of flat ground as most other games, only there were sections of it stacked on top of each other like the floors of a tall building.

In those caves, it was dark. Anaiah had gotten used to navigating her way around in the dark after a few days. During those days, the Capitol obviously got bored. No one had died, so they released a great quantity of mutts.

Inside the mountain, Anaiah encountered small green gremlins intent on cooking her alive and eating her. With no supplies to use, she'd barely managed to escape the first time she'd ran into them. From there she grew adept at fighting the gremlins. They weren't particularly difficult to kill, but there were so many of them that Anaiah barely had time to rest.

As the numbers dwindled down, Anaiah found herself growing accustomed to the darkness and the sounds of the gremlins. She had started walking around on all fours to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling and eating the gremlins she killed. Anaiah, by the circumstances forced upon her, was becoming just like the gremlins she was fighting.

After ten days' worth of running and fighting gremlins, there were only five tributes left. Anaiah had no plans to leave her little tunnels and attend the feast. Unfortunately, though, the boy from five had managed to construct some serious explosives. Anaiah's floor of the mountain had caved in, leaving her in a section of tunnels with two other tributes, both older boys.

Using her experience of fighting and hiding in the tunnels, she managed to kill both of them. On top of the mountain, there were two remaining careers, a girl and a boy. The girl had managed to kill the boy. It wasn't until after she watched the replays of the games with that big shot TV guy, whatever his name was, that Anaiah found out that the girl had actually been the only one of them to survive an attack from some giant hawk-like mutts.

Then, the gamemakers forced Anaiah to leave her caves. Lava began rising through the mountain and Anaiah climbed out to escape. Apparently, the gamemakers had set a similar natural attack on the girl career. The top of the mountain had collapsed on one side, sending her tumbling down the cliff. The career managed to stop her fall, catching her arm on a ledge just next to Anaiah where she was climbing up.

The only reason Anaiah had won those games was because she was lighter than the career girl and therefore able to hang onto the cliffside for longer. Anaiah could still remember the blonde girl's screaming as she fell into the mist below.

They'd taken Anaiah home, but to this day she felt the effects of the Games on her. She still struggled to be outside or under a bright light of any sort. She could still hear the cackling of the gremlins and their long claws scraping against the rocks. To this day, Anaiah slept lightly, concerned that she would be attacked by an enemy lurking in the shadows.

Unable to cope with her pain she'd turned to drink and to drugs. Those things when combined in large enough amounts, left Anaiah unable to feel, unable to think, but nonetheless the memories came back to her. She'd been trying greater and greater amounts of drugs to keep control of her memories, but it never worked.

"Just relax now," Anaiah heard the voice again from above her. "Go to sleep."

Anaiah was already asleep, only she was somehow simultaneously conscious. That was the problem with her condition. She couldn't turn off her conscious mind. The Games had changed her irreversibly.

She didn't know how long it was until the fog began to clear from her senses somewhat. The first thing that returned to her was her ability to feel the bedsheets beneath her. Next was hearing, she could hear when she rolled over to adjust her position. Then came her sense of taste. Anaiah had cottonmouth, sticking her tongue to the roof of her mouth and her lips together. Smell was next, she was definitely in her room and dripping in sweat. Last came her sight, a blurry vision of the wall of her bedroom came into view.

Anaiah struggled to push herself up. Her muscles felt so weak, as if there was nothing left inside her to fight. There was no will.

She flopped back down on the bed. Her mouth was so dry. Anaiah needed something to drink, preferably strong whiskey.

She tried again to push herself up, but once again failed.

"Finally awake I see," The same voice from last night spoke in the door of her room.

Anaiah turned her gaze to that spot of the room, seeing her younger brother Max Logan.

Max looked just like Anaiah. He had dark hair and green eyes with a slight frame. He was twenty years old and already was looking far more successful in life than Anaiah could ever hope to be. He had started his own business as a tailor, designing fine clothes for the upper classes. Max was the definition of a success story. He even had a cute girlfriend.

Where was Anaiah? Her brother had found her for what must've been the four hundredth time face down in the gutter and high out of her mind. She couldn't defeat her own demons. Not that her brother had any idea what that was like.

"Get me a bottle of whiskey," Anaiah grumbled.

"No way," Max responded. "You're having water."

He approached with a small cup full of the clear liquid. Anaiah eyed it distastefully. There were only two good clear liquids, vodka and gin.

"I'm not drinking this," Anaiah said.

"It'll help," Max insisted.

Anaiah finally managed to push herself to a seated position, but she didn't take the water from Max. Instead, Anaiah threw her feet over the side of the bed and tried to stand.

She accomplished that, only wobbling slightly as she straightened. Max watched her disapprovingly as Anaiah wobbled toward the door.

It was like being inside one of those carnival mirrors that made you look fat. Anaiah couldn't see anything clearly. Spots danced across her vision and she had no depth perception whatsoever.

Anaiah reached out for the door frame to support herself. She stumbled and fell forwards as her hand brushed through thin air.

"Careful," Max said softly as he caught her under her arms.

"Get off me," Anaiah said ungratefully as she shoved Max away.

She collapsed against the wall next to her, leaning on it as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. Anaiah left her shoulder on the wall, keeping herself somewhat balanced.

Her left foot slipped, and Anaiah reached forward desperately trying to catch herself before she fell. She hit the wood floor hard.

"Shit!" Anaiah swore explosively, her hands going to her head.

As if things weren't bad enough, now Anaiah had to deal with an even worse headache than before.

"Slow down," Max crouched down next to her. "Drink the water."

Her brother smiled as he held the small cup out to her.

With a vicious look, Anaiah took the cup from Max. She eyed the liquid again like it might be poisoned. Then, she took a small sip.

Anaiah gagged as the water hit her tongue. It was disgusting. She was used to pain though. Anaiah swallowed the water feeling like shit.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Max asked kindly.

"Fuck off," Anaiah complained. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I'm just trying to help," Max answered softly as he laid Anaiah back against the wall.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Anaiah hissed. "I don't want your help. I'm fine on my own."

Max smiled at her sadly. He shook his head, unsure of what to say.

"It's only two weeks until reaping day," Max said, ignoring Anaiah's harsh words. "You need to be sober by then. There are only two living District 8 victors. You're one of them."

"Why do they need me to do this anyways?" Anaiah asked. "I've never brought a tribute back before. What's the point?"

"Could you imagine if Laurel had said that when you were going through the Games?" Max questioned.

"Not like Laurel helped me at all," Anaiah said belligerently. "I didn't get a single sponsorship the whole Games. She didn't do jack shit."

"So you're just going to leave some kid all alone?" Max asked pointedly. "You're going to leave someone in the dark by themselves with no help from anyone?"

Anaiah didn't like where this was going at all. She was convinced that Max had used those words deliberately to reference her own experience in the Hunger Games.

"One of those two tributes will be alone and in pain without you," Max said.

"What good can I do?" Anaiah asked.

"You've been through the Games," Max answered. "You could help them survive. It's better to know as much as possible about your situation right?"

"I'd tell that tribute to jump onto the landmines as soon as possible," Anaiah said coldly. "Save them the pain later."

"They have a chance of winning," Max said. "They could come home to their family and the people they love."

"It's bad to die in the Games," Anaiah said. "It probably hurts. If you win though, you're just stuck. You're an empty vessel, a soulless animal, just a plaything for the Capitol to parade around then discard."

"This is about more than you," Max said.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to not know if you're awake or sleeping?" Anaiah asked harshly. "Do you know how it feels to experience the worst two weeks of your life over and over again?"

Max opened his mouth to speak, but Anaiah cut him off.

"No," She spat. "No you don't. You haven't been there. You don't know what it's like to live in hell on Earth."

Max sighed deeply, his green eyes portraying his sympathy for her.

"You're right," Max said after a moment. "I don't know what it's like. But you're home now. You aren't in the Games anymore."

"I wasn't talking about the Games," Anaiah said. "Every moment of existence is hell."

Max remained silent for a long moment, seemingly unable to speak. His face was unreadable.

"Maybe I'll just end it," Anaiah commented idly, her head lolling to the side.

"What?" Max asked incredulously. "There are people here who care about you. Think about how mom would feel."

"Not my problem," Anaiah said.

"Damn you!" Max shouted as he jumped to his feet. "Your family loves you Anaiah!"

Anaiah just stared at Max passively. His words had no effect on her. He wouldn't understand the pain she felt.

Max breathed heavily, trying to regain control of himself. It took a few minutes, then he spoke.

"I'm moving in with you until the reapings," Max said.

"What?" Anaiah asked. "You can't do that."

"Just try and stop me," Max returned.

If Max moved in, then her supply of alcohol and drugs was gone. She wouldn't have anything to make the pain go away.

"I will," Anaiah came to her feet unsteadily, trying to face off against Max.

She took a swing at her brother, which he dodged easily. Max had always been the more athletic one, plus he didn't have a raging hangover.

He shoved her shoulders, sending Anaiah stumbling towards the bed. She landed face first on the mattress.

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Anaiah started crying. She was so broken, unable to do anything good. She didn't want to be here anymore.

"Just go," Anaiah whimpered.

Max didn't go, however. Instead, he came to her side and sat on the mattress next to her. Anaiah just kept crying, soaking her bedsheets in tears.

"Tell you what," Max said. "If you can stay sober until Reaping Day. I'll leave you alone. I won't even come by to check on you."

Anaiah turned her head slightly so she could see her brother's face. He looked on her with sad eyes. Anaiah wasn't sure what to think about this.

"But you have to promise me you're going to try to stay off the drugs and alcohol until then okay?" Max requested gently.

Anaiah slowly nodded her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Hey," Max placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her up to give her a hug. "I love you sis."

"I love you too," Anaiah sobbed.

There we go, you got to meet Anaiah, one of only two District 8 victors alive. That's a pretty heavy chapter.

In other news, I have gotten a few submissions, but there are still so many slots to fill. I really need your help guys. This story can't happen without your tributes, so please submit.

Here's the form for that submission.

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
District:

Face Claim:
Appearance (Any edits to the face claim?):
Personality:
MBTI:
History:
Strengths (No more than 4):
Weaknesses (No less than 3):
Weapon of choice:
Other weapons:
Family (Include significant others):
Friends:
Special Skills (These are things that they do well that might make them stand out from the other tributes):
Alliances?:
Open to Romance in Games?:
Volunteer/Chosen?:
Reaction to reaping:
Token:
Chariot Outfit (I will probably use these since I'm shit at outfits):
Interview Outfit:
Interview Angle (i.e. aloof, flirty, dangerous, mysterious, etc.) :
Reaping Outfit:
Training room strategy:
What skill did they show to gamemakers?:
Score estimate(10-8 for careers. 7-8 for strong outer districts. 4-6 for average outer districts. 4 for rare cases.):
Interview Quote:
Victor material?:
Creative Liberties? (Is it okay if I change some things about your tribute to fit him or her into the story better? Things like district, age, weapons. Nothing major like personality.):
Other (Anything else you want to add?):

Remember you can submit as many times as you want. Please send your tributes!