The gloves slide onto my fingers with practiced precision. They hide the veins in my frail hands, and they cover the sores from constant scratching. A flock of stylists flitter around me, respect in their manner, fear in their eyes. One places a purple flower upon the lapel of my suit; another brushes a translucent powder over my wrinkled skin.

"Ten seconds!" a voice calls from the broadcasting room, their high tones muffled through the door.

I push the brush from my face and walk slowly, in a dignified manner to the door, opening it slowly. I step in front of the cameras, lower myself into the golden chair, its embellishment giving me the aura of a king.

"Three… Two…" a bony finger points at me. The red beam flashes.

"Panem." My voice takes a while to lose the rust that has gathered in my throat. "Panem. It is with relief, joy, and pain, that I declare the end of this brutal war."

My first day as president, fifty years prior, I wore this same purple flower. I wonder vaguely if the one on my lapel came from the same plant.

"Thirteen districts, twelve remaining. You rose up against your creator, your protector, who only sought to love and care for you. You are my Adam, but I am afraid you have fallen from my grace."

Despite my greatest precautions, the lengths I took to achieve peace, war was inevitable. The black mark of death and rebellion burns me wherever I go, a hot iron permanently attached to my skin. Fury courses through my veins with poison. I watched myself give the orders to kill children, to rape women, to burn and pillage and murder, all in the name of power, in the name of utmost control.

I feel it was worth it, but the collateral damage hangs heavy on my failing heart.

"A reminder shall be henceforth instated, to remind the districts of who we have lost, and that the Capitol will never be defeated. Panem shall remain strong and together, for the rest of our history."

The film crew stands around me, staring, eyes like greedy animals, ready to pounce. That same feeling of filthy anticipation fills me, as I lick my lips, imagining the Districts, corralled in their town squares, smoke still rising from rubble, ashes still coating every being.

"A annual pageant of victory, triumph, and loss will serve as a reminder of the cost of war, and the loss of innocence it can inflict on lives, both young and old."

Breath in. Breath out.

"Each year, the districts shall each offer up one male and one female, to be enclosed in an arena of varying landscape. These tributes will fight to the death, until one lone victor remains. Remember the mercy of the Capitol. Remember the sacrifice of war. Remember the cost of rebellion. This shall be henceforth known as the Hunger Games."

The camera clicks, the red light dies. I remain rooted to the spot, that filthy, filthy power corrupting my near blind eyes. Children will be crying, parents shouting and fainting. I can only imagine the chaos that must be erupting. I smile.

I stumble across the floor, wheezing as I nearly fall to the ground. My nephew runs to help me, his youthful arms helping me into a chair. Power courses through me like a drug, making my body weak.

I am old. But this power is young.

I closed my eyes. "May it flourish." I murmur, and breathe my last.

Hey bbs!

So here's a quick fun filler chapter while I wait for more tributes. The president of Panem has just passed on, leaving his nephew as his successor, to run the first ever Hunger Games.

Please review! Tell me what you liked and didn't like, and feel free to give suggestions and critiques.

See you sooon!

xo ethereal