Serena Melenese, District 4 Female

Orange-gold sunset paint drips from the bristles of my brush. Lovingly, I sweep the brush over the canvas, reveling in the looping, lazy line of copper following it. Gently, I pull my brush away and swirl it in the water. Drizzles of wetness fly out as I lift the brush and coat it in peach-pink paint. I ready the brush-

"Up and at 'em, my little volunteer!"

I groan and shift in the silky sheets. A dream. Of course it was a dream. I haven't been allowed to paint since I turned twelve years old and entered Four's equivalent to Two's academy- The Weaponry and Strategy Intellect Center, aka WSIC. I begged, I pleaded, I cried- but to no avail. My own thirst for blood bit me in the butt. And ever since my parents forced me to give up the thing I love most, that bloodlust has left me.

I'm 18 years old. I'm going into the Hunger Games. I have no say in the matter.

Elvira's nails bit into my shoulder. I groan, pushing her off easily. Anyone who doesn't know Elvira would wonder why I let her boss me around. I'm not easily bossed, and Elvira is half my size. I wonder, sometimes, how such a tiny woman could have given birth to huge, muscular me. But that's beyond the point. Elvira is fierce, heavily intimidating, and won't take no for an answer. I've given up trying to refuse her.

Our different sizes are not the only thing that leads outsiders to believe we're not related. Her face is narrow and sharp, cheekbones high. Thick black eyebrows arch smoothly over coal-black eyes. She's a far cry from the blue-green eyes and brown hair that run rampant in our district. I, however, fit right in, with the exception of my size; Four citizens are usually tall, but willowy and slender. I'm not fat- the pounds are pure muscle- but nobody would look at me and call me willowy. I am far from the dryads and nymphs of Four's lore. But my wavy brown hair and oceanic eyes match the stereotype perfectly.

The aforementioned hair is currently tangled beyond belief. I can feel Elvira's gaze scorching my roots, even though I can't see her pitch-colored eyes. "We better take a brush to that." She snorts. "I'm not letting you present yourself to the escort with hair like a knotted fishing net."

I simply nod. Elvira's comments about my appearance have no staying power. But Elvira does. She has never felt like my real mother, and never will, but she is a consistent presence in my life, whether I like it or not.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I can see nods from the crowd. It was decided long ago that I was to be four's volunteer this year. Four knows I'm their best shot. I'm the only one who doesn't want me to be onstage.

I'm hardly watching as the boy volunteers, though I know him. Maximus Vulcan. That boy has a one-track mind. The only important thing in his life is training. He always needs to be the strongest, the best. Having only one aspiration in life has developed him into a boring asshole. I pity him.

"The tributes for Four, everyone- Maximus Vulcan and Serena Melenese!"

Maximus Vulcan, District 4 Male

Every muscle in my body sings with anticipation as I watch Aaron and Oceanus cross swords. The shriek of steel scraping steel fills the air. Everyone covers their ears but me, as I believe it to be the best sound in Panem. Bread and Circuses.

When I fight and win against the winner of this match- which will probably be Aaron- I will give Panem their bread and circuses they so desire. I will play their games.

As I predicted he would, Aaron disarms Oceanus and the latter boy drops to his knees. A surge of cheers raises up from the collection of boys surrounding me. Just boys. The ladies are having their competition in a different building.

I alone do not cheer, for even Oceanus is emitting a mortifying, reedy noise that my be a signal of congratulations. Aaron locks eyes with me. Two blazing gazes, one gray and one ocean blue collide. After a few seconds, Aaron looks away and I grin.

The instructor waves me up onto the tattered red mat, worn through by hundreds of boys wrestling atop it, years and even decades before my birth. I step atop it, and I feel my heartbeat race as the victors of those matches lend me their strength.

The deciding round is to be played with tridents. My best weapon. But even if we were to be beating each other with knobbly clubs, I would have won. My victory is sealed, sealed by the silent submission of Aaron breaking the gaze. My fingers curve around the bronze handle, and we fly at each other.

I bring my trident down on his, so quick it blurs into a single flash of bronze. Aaron twists, pulling his trident away and his body out of my reach. Liquid runs down his startled face, but I haven't broke a sweat.

Aaron lunges for me, face contorted in desperation. This fight is his to lose, and we both know it. I parry his clumsy strike easily and poke his chest lightly with my trident. He freezes, eyes wide. I smile.

"I win."