Hello, here's a little reprieve before the next reuploaded Pre-reapings/Train Rides chapters~

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I would appreciate it if you told me if your penname has changed since the original story was uploaded – that would help me pair any reviewing submitters (if any of you are still around) with their tribute.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.

"Making a comeback is one of the most difficult things to do with dignity." ~Greg Lake

Luke Coloss, Sixteen, Victor of the 80th Hunger Games

My pen glides across paper, practised and purposeful.

Over the past year, I've easily written a letter to someone every day. Sometimes it's the same person, and sometimes it's someone different. Vella, Mariel and Franz, my old allies, have the most letters. But there are letters I've hidden away…some to the Capitol for their cruelty, and even some to my acting mentor, Isaac, who left me with nothing but some parting words and a book filled with advice.

I appreciate the thought, but the advice isn't exactly page-turning.

I smirk at my pun. Even after all of this time, I can still make light of things. The little things like that have kept me sane – if you could call me sane.

I was briefly warned about the nightmares and the visions that we victors have to endure, but I was never ready for how horrible they are. They really suck. I hate waking up in my bed, screaming or crying, and having Thomas run in to check if I'm okay. Part of me hates waking Thomas up. There's a certain fear in his eyes when he sees me like that; it's as if he's afraid of becoming something like that himself if he was ever chosen for the Games, let alone if he won them.

But these letters ground me. I use them as journal entries, like a daily log that follows each pun I make and each prank I play.

Today is no different. My eyes are fixated on the repetitive movement of my pen as it traces the letters of my words. My writing's always been messy, but a year of writing letters has made it more legible. My writing is smoother than it used to be, and my pen is lighter on the paper. Writing these letters after I've won has been a form of therapy for me. It keeps me going.

Probably the hardest part about winning wasn't the killing or even the nightmares. It was the Victory Tour. Every family I spoke to opened a new wound in my heart, unravelling layers of guilt I didn't even know were there. Every District brought new waves of guilt before I found myself submerged in it. I only killed two people – Derek and Nicolo - and yet every District family looked up at me with eyes of wonder and fierceness.

I'm their newest distraction.

Sometimes I think about how things might have been if Vella had won. If Mariel had won. If Franz had won. Their families were difficult to face. Vella didn't even have family left; there were just a couple of children who were stood up on the stand, clutching each other and crying silently. But then I have to think about myself as well. Thomas is my greatest priority now, and as his older brother and only guardian, I have to be there for him. Aruma, a family friend, has helped both of us out quite a lot, but she has more to worry about than an underage victor and his younger brother.

I'm getting there, I know it. I've begun to learn to cook, preparing meals and expanding my culinary skills. My parents always made us food and before the Games, Thomas and I either stole our food or lived off edible berries. I used my pranks to hunt in the Games and I also learnt how to cook a little. Still, ever since becoming a victor, my free time has been spent poring over basic cooking books and learning to cook food for Thomas and me. It's been nice to really take the time to appreciate something like that. The time I spent making bread or cooking meals is something I've found that I like. I still play pranks on the Peacekeepers when they're not looking. I can still make puns around Thomas and his friends. However, cooking and writing these letters has let me grow into myself more than I realised I ever could.

Making sure Thomas' needs are met has become some kind of grounding obsession for me. Now that we have money to buy food, I've also made some plans to make sure that Thomas is as safe as he possibly can be. I've taught Thomas what's good to buy, and what's better to trade since District Twelve's black market is still up and running. Thomas is far more well-fed, his body filling out a little, both from the food and the training schedule I've given him.

I can't risk Thomas being reaped or taken away from me, so I decided to make sure that he's learnt to defend himself. Snares, swords, and survival skills…I taught Thomas everything I knew, and I even bought books that allowed me to learn and perfect new techniques. We've both gotten much stronger. Sure, I haven't mastered everything yet, and I know I'm only sixteen, but I have to be the parent that Thomas never had. He's thirteen, and he's still got a lot of growing up to do.

"C'mon, Luke, don't tell me you're still writing!"

Speaking of the devil, my younger brother Thomas watches me, his head poked through the door to my study, a cheeky little grin playing across his lips. The sunlight dances across his young face, highlighting his olive-green eyes and blonde hair; attributes we both share.

"Sorry Thomas, I was booking it," I smirk, holding up my book of letters, now worn and dog-eared from use. "I couldn't face going back."

Thomas shakes his head but opens the door a little wider.

"It's time for you to go," he tells me sadly. "The Peacekeepers are waiting outside. It's time to go to the reapings..."

Despite being thirteen, Thomas is still young. His face is scrunched up in fear of what might befall him while I'm away. I'm not afraid for his safety – Aruma the baker and the people of Twelve will hopefully look after him. If not, Thomas knows enough of the basics to survive on his own for a couple of weeks. What I am afraid of, however, is meeting the tributes that I'm going to have to mentor. It's likely that they might even be older than I am, and giving instructions to a grumpy eighteen-year-old seam kid, or a crying twelve-year-old doesn't make me feel confident or comfortable. Meeting the other mentors is a daunting feeling as well. How am I supposed to talk to them, to bond with them? Isaac has only ever given me basic advice in this book he left me. How could I ever succeed at this?

It has to be done anyway. I remind myself.

I don't really want to do this, but I know that I have no choice. I never asked for this life but in some ways the rewards, the money, my life; it all comes with a price. I have to fulfil my duties as a mentor or face the consequences.

I stand up and walk over to Thomas, giving him a strong hug.

"I'm going to miss you," I tell him. "Remember, Aruma will be there for you. Lock the door every time you come in. No sleepovers, but you can have as much cranberry pie as you want. I stocked up on a few of them since I know you like it so much."

Thomas grins widely and hungrily. Cranberry pie has always been a fond meal that the two of us have shared together as brothers. The sweet tartness of the pie reminds me of the relief I felt when I found out I was the victor of the 80th Hunger Games. Not only that, it's Thomas' favourite dish. Thinking about being there for Thomas got me through the Games and my Victory Tour, so I know that remembering him will keep me staying strong when I meet with the other mentors and this year's tributes for the first time. His love for cranberry pie is a happy memory to keep in mind.

Picking up my jacket and sliding my bok and pen into a small bag, I make my way downstairs, opening the door to the Victors Village of District Twelve. I'm about to exit through the bright green door of my house when I'm greeted by the blonde hair and emotionless face of someone I once knew.

"Hello Luke," Isaac Lander says to me. "It seems our paths have crossed again. It looks like my days as an escort aren't over."

My mouth drops open a little in surprise. Isaac was never the most expressive person, but he helped me with advice before he attempted to leave the escorting business for good. It looks like he wasn't successful in leaving.

"Yes Luke, I'm back," Isaac sighs, taking in my expression with sorrow in his eyes. "Now, come on. We've got work to do."

Beckoning me to follow him, my feet begin to move towards the train station that will take me away from home and into the jaws of the unknown.

Since this is a verse, there's a subplot. You don't have to know or understand the story to read my SYOT's but you should expect some Capitol scenes or reoccurring characters throughout the story. The victor's blog, which is linked on my profile, also tells you a bit about each of the mentors as well, so you can see the dynamics between the group, and you can catch on to a little bit of the story if you'd like. A story containing the summary of what's happened so far should be up by now, but if I've forgotten to put it up then please let me know.

Speaking of mentors, they're now up for the Picking Up The Pieces blog! Be aware that most tributes will probably be advised by the same mentor as their District partner (unless they're a career or District Seven) since there's not enough to go around. Other than that, enjoy looking at both blogs and seeing what's there! :D

So what did you think of my writing? Luke, our victor from Seeping Wounds is back and he's going to have to mentor some tributes. What do you think about his outlook on this? After this chapter we'll be back on the train rides, focusing on how our tributes might feel!

Will update soon :)

Over and out!

~Mental