THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BY HUNGERGAMESLOVER10210, IT IS BY KOMPLETLYKRAZYKAY.

Dazzling colors swirl in my brain, bloody and tragic and heartbreakingly amusing. I sense my muse for my next story, the next joke to share with my friends.

How many times has this game turned to cannibalism? "Kay," Edward pulls my foot, pulling me under into consciousness and that weird thing called reality.

"Kay!" I try to ignore him, until I hear the tears. "Sissy . . ."

"What is it, Ed?" I roll over, brushing off my awe-inspiring dream. He curls up next to me innocently. "What's wrong?"

"It's the reaping today," he pouts. I smirk. "Why are you smiling?"

"Wanna go play in some toxic waste instead?"

"Kay!" I hear my mother snap. "What did you just tell your brother?"

I bite my lip, sitting up and popping a few random joints. "Oh, nothing, mother dear." Just wondering how much my proximity to the faulty nuclear reactor is affecting my brain."So today's the reaping, huh?"

She rolls her eyes at me and tells me to get my reaping clothes together. Disregarding her words, I toss on my preferred apparel of acid washed skinny jeans (I hear it was a fad half a millennium ago, along with the strange shoes that I've picked up with the star on the ankle, Chuck Taylor written in some old-fashioned script) and a light green long sleeved sequined top.

I squeeze out my window, expertly dashing over the cement buildings to the water tank above the west nuclear power plant.

Sometimes I entirely wish we lived in the wind sector instead of the nuclear. I guess we are smarter over here, but we don't live as long. The Capitol covers up the nuclear leaks that happen over here and the people who grow an extra limb are killed off before news gets to the solar sector. It's a lovely life, isn't it?

I climb to the highest point in the sector, the water tower. I sit on the catwalk, feet dangling, panting lightly. I feel slight vibrations in the metal and look over to see Kitty and Amiea coming up the ladder. I smile at them, my long light brown hair seeming to float in the updraft. I half watch my friends while still watching the tendrils of my hair float in a strange brown halo.

"Not mutated yet?" I ask jokingly. "Still alive? No cancer? No third eye? Wait . . . a third eye would be pretty cool . . ."

Kitty and Amiea sit to my left, their hair forming little halos as well. Kitty elbows me,

"Shut it, Kay. The Capitol probably has the entire sector bugged today, being the reaping day and all."

"Oh! Speaking of the games, I was wondering, how many times do you think it's turned to cannibalism?" I ignore her paranoia and ask anyways. "I was thinking of throwing a little joy-story together, you know?"

"Kay," Amiea says this time. "You need to stop it. There's a rumor going around saying that they're targeting those who aren't taking the games seriously anymore. You know how people don't have to put their names in as much anymore?"

"Yea," I nod, pursing my lips. "So? Are they going to tell me that I can't write my stories?"

"Not while the Capitol's pissed off," Kitty says softly. I look at her, slightly irritated at having this conversation again.

"Come on, it's bad enough sneaking off for a half hour the day of the reaping. I'm heading back."

"See you at the gallows!" I laugh as she throws me a look. Amiea slaps my leg, leaving a bit of a sting behind. "Ouch."

"Just . . . no . . ." Amiea gets up and leaves as well.

"Aw," I put theatrically. "I guess it's a short meeting today." I wait a few minutes so I don't run into them running back home. They both seemed to be in a bit of a mood.

I take my usual course again, leaping over alleys and exhaust pipes and any obstacle in the way. Running like this, over everything and over nothing, is the only thing that makes me feel sane.

I sneak back in the window to my small room, get out my nice, violet dress and take a lightening quick shower and am dressed with semi-dry hair before my mom starts pounding on the door again.

"KAY! COME ON!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I sigh, twisting my hair up in a bun and slide on my white boots.

"About time," she shakes her head, smiling sadly. Edward clings to my hand. My father, one of the sector officials, has been there all day.
We're all checked in, herded into our little death pens. I smile faintly at the thought. I see Amiea and Kitty standing together across the large stretch for the fifteen year old girls.

The process in the districts as large as ours, the ones that are divided into sectors, have a drawing of five from each age group in each sector, then are put into once big bowl in the center of the district. I've been put in that bunch every year, so it's no heart jerker when I hear my name called. So, just like every year since I was twelve, I go from the gallows to the execution yard for the final drawings that night.

"Kay," Edward holds onto my legs. "You won't get drawn this year, right?"

"Of course not," I shake my head. "Have I ever been put in the games?" I openly laugh and he looks up me. "Don't worry, bud."

He nods and runs back to our mother, leaving me to get there by myself, just like every year. I get in the bus for the girls and head there, watching the trembling twelve year old girls with amusement that I feel slightly guilty about. It's a strange feeling, guilt.

We get to the main square in the center of the district. There's only 280 kids here right now. It's a much more suspenseful atmosphere, with fear tangible on the air. I can taste it in my throat, and for the first time since I was twelve, I feel a bit nervous. I swallow it back and ignore it.

"Welcome to the final drawing of the District 5 tributes for the 197th annual Hunger Games," our Capitol rep, Floweray Delarouse says into a microphone. Everyone falls even quieter than they were before.

"Per usual, we will draw the female tribute first." Floweray takes a few echoing steps towards the glass bowl that holds the one hundred and forty girl's names. One of us is going to go off to our probable death. What if my name is finally drawn? What am I going to do? Would I be okay? Well, I might be, if I'm thrown on top of a city. I can run. Yeah, I can run, I can leap, I can jump. Would that keep me alive? Could I make it out of that first bloodbath? I think I could, but what about food?

What if they draw my –

"Kay Kompz." The crowd shuffles, the other kids from my sector looking towards me. I swallow thickly as I step out of the crowd, heading up to the Capitol rep. "Any volunteers?"

After a few moments of silence, they continue. "Welcome, Kay Kompz, to the 197th annual Hunger Games." I emotionlessly ignore the male drawing.

What had Kitty said just this morning? What is she saying now? What about Amiea? My mother, my father? What about Edward? Oh God, what about Edward? My heart throbs in my chest, my face perfectly stoic.

I'm marched into the square building, and am put into a fancy room to my own devises until they send me off to the games that I so enjoy writing about.
I wonder how many times these games have turned to cannibalism?