Let the games commence...

Tyr Fore (District 10)

I step on to my launch pad and start to feel a nervous sweat break out above my brow. What will this arena entail? Whether it's a barren wasteland or icy tundra, one thing's for sure; it'll be cold. The thick pants and coal-gray, insulated jacket I received just minutes ago confirm this. I remember how it never got to be any worse than "warm" back home in 10. The livestock most people helped to raise were more suited to high temperatures, so I've never really experienced actual freezing temperatures. I think about the rolling warm air and then remember where I am, or rather, where I was about to be. Reminiscing about home was preferable to the death zone only yards above my now moving platform, I guess. My head breeches the hard ground and I swear.

I was right. The instant my thin body reached the surface, the wire frames of my glasses nearly froze to my spindly nose. I rub my nose and ignore the unfamiliar shiver that rolls through my spine and take in my surroundings. We tributes stand on a small clearing in a cold, bleak wood. Over my shoulder, I see the tell-tale peak of a mountain and a thinner section of pines and evergreens leading to it. The woods are thick and daunting in every other direction. The ground is covered in early morning frost, but I wouldn't bet a home-grown, roasted pig ear that the Gamemakers didn't have a monstrous snow machine already cranked up to "high" somewhere in the sky. The gong rings out and I run into the bloodbath, straight for the only thing that could give me a chance to survive here: a jacket.

I take off and my sluggish feet work their way towards a crisp, blue back pack, twenty yards from where I stood.

There's probably some choice stuff in there, I think.

A fast girl career, from 4 I think, zooms by me and dives straight into the twenty-foot high mouth of the cornucopia before I even reach my chosen supplies. The fighting begins right as I reach the bag and I look up to see the girl from 2 and the boy from 5 clang swords with one another, as well as a pair of smaller boys fighting near the mouth of the horn. All around me people are running and yelling and crying already.

Time to go. I slip on my prize and turn to run back to my mountain, spying a jacket on the outer rim. I only manage a few steps before someone sets me in their sights; the girl from District 1. More specifically, the blonde haired vixen clutching a handful of knives from District 1- but that's a mouthful. I turn and feel an incredible searing pain as one of her blades meets me calf. I call out and fall, but she's there before I hit the ground. I can see her playful smile when she pulls my head back. Then I feel her knife in my throat and I know I'll never feel the warm winds of home blow again...

Morgan Aida (District 2)

The boy from 5 falls, clutching his bloody stomach and I turn my attention elsewhere. Our fight has taken up a few minutes, a significant chunk of time in the cornucopia bloodbath, and I survey the scene. Harkon from 4 trots just beyond the edge of the clearing, in pursuit of a dark shadow of tributes, Caero of 1 is retrieving a pair of arrows from a still moaning boy nearly twice his size and I hear a small voice's scream cut off under Paroque's, the boy from the same district as me, spear. I don't see Rosella but I know she must be nearby. We're doing well for just five of us (the girl from 4 made it clear that she was not interested in joining us), but only a handful lay slain around me. We have a long night ahead of us.

"Damn Dist-er-rict 2," a high soprano called from behind me. Rosella. She was horrible and annoying and currently surveying the large boy shaking whilst clutching the lethal gash severing his stomach in two. The only reason Rose (she insisted everyone call her that) wasn't lying right next to him was her knife skills, but even still, I loathed the extra syllable she added in between "diss" and "tricked," making my home land sound just as childish and stupid as she was. "We should call you Morg, with an extra U-E. You know, 'cause…" she gestured to the now dead boy.

I grimaced, which she took for a smile.

I left Rosella to straighten her freshly trimmed bangs in the reflection of her knife and circled the cornucopia in search of other victims. There were none to be found. Coming around the opposite side, Rosella, Caero and Paroque were talking about coats when Harkon came back into sight. He carried a bloody spear in one arm and a red soaked sleeve on the other.

"Stupid little…" he snarled, kicking over a crate and searching for a medical kit. "I caught up to the pair from 11 and that witch did this-" he pulls up his sleeve and reveals a long cut across his forearm. It probably looks worse than it actually is, but I don't say anything. I catch Caero rolling his eyes. "-the second I caught up to her and her friend." Paroque picks up the roll of gauze and roughly wraps it around the wound. Harkon tells us that she ran off before he could finish her, but her District partner "wasn't so lucky" with a spine-chilling smile. Harkon stalks off, muttering something unintelligible and Rosella throws her arm around me saying she cannot wait to comb through our bounty in search of some dry shampoo…

Night has just fallen in the arena, snow has begun to sweep through the chilly air and Panem's Anthem begins to play. The faces of the eight dead roll in as the remaining sixteen living tributes watch in fear and apprehension. First is the boy from District 3, followed by both the male and female tributes from District 5. Next is the girl from 7, the boys from Districts 9, 10 and 11 and, finally, the girl tribute from 12.

Who are you guys rooting for? Who do you hate? Feel free to start earning points and sponsoring tributes! Also, feel free to make POV/alliance suggestions (you get points guiseeee). I'll probably do at least two perspectives per chapter, seeing as there's so many living tributes.