High Hopes.

Running before time took our dreams away.


Lakyn Vale, District Four Female.


"Odyessa," I say, walking into the room. "I don't suppose I can borrow your curling iron, can I?"

Odyessa smirks, her black, wavy hair being something I've always envied. "I suppose you can," she smiles. "Since you're not River, I don't mind too much. I'd rather scorch her than allow her to use my stuff."

I take the item from the table and smile sweetly. "What if your brother ever asked you to use it?"

"I'd let him..." she decides. "But I'd watch him like a hawk because Octavian is a piece of shit whom I don't trust."

"I quite like Octavian." I think back to how... adorable, he is, when he eats his cereal and drinks his coffee.

"That's because you see one side of him," she rolls her eyes. "Everything likes him. I know all of him, and trust me, it's not all that likable."

I've always liked Odyessa. Her attitude combined with her looks have made quite the lethal woman. I admire that, I desire that. It's one of the few reasons why I do what I do. I do it for a thrill and to see how easily people can be shaped and mended, all with a bit of drama, flirtation and manipulation. I smile once more and leave the room, satisfied. I literally skip down the hall past Austal's bedroom - where I can hear him mumbling to himself, standing in front of the mirror - before entering my own.

I plan to look my best today. Not only will I show my skills, but my other... assets. I'm sure there's an elderly Gamemaker who finds lust in younger females.

I plug the iron in and warm it up. Come to think of it, I should know the Gamemakers this year. I remember hearing about them through the grapevine. One of my friends, higher up, she said she took a visit to the Capitol and got money from them for her deeds. She told me, but it slipped my mind; I just remember the jealousy I had for her getting what I always have wanted.

Warmed up, I wrap my hair around the piping hot metal.

"Laky-"

"Ouch!" I shout, recoiling from the hot metal that just touched my skin. Anger flushes my face as I stare through the mirror at Austal. "What do you want?"

"I just," he mutters, tilting his head with curiosity. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to walk down with each other, that's all. It's your choice."

Putting steady fingers to the growing welt, I hold back the scream in my throat. "You're okay, Austal," I hold back as much as possible. "I have... much, much more to do before I'm ready."

"But you wanted to be down there ea-"

"Walk away now, Austal," I glare. "Before I put this hot iron somewhere on you and see how you'd react."

"But Lak-"

"Now." I demand.

Austal scurries away like a lost pet. He's weird, too weird, and I don't like that. I tolerate him but nothing more. I won't go out of my way to talk to him, nor will I to kill him. He's just there, all the time, on the outskirts of my perfect group, marring the complexion of us all. When I know he's gone, I gaze into the mirror, pushing away my hair to see the mark. Anger flares in me again and I slam the object down onto the table.

In my job, one bruise or cut can ruin you. This... this could end my career. But, I guess that's the price to pay for the Hunger Games. If I win, at least the Capitol can fix me of any blemishes and make me even more beautiful than I already am. I rise, quickly checking over everything before I walk to the elevator. I push the button, ignoring Octavian or Dorfin's presence on the couches, before entering.

The others better be there early like I told them to. I take my job as leader very seriously, despite everyone assuming I'm playing around. If needs be, I'll show them I'm capable of ruling with an iron fist. Of course, I want to be friends, but we'll see how that turns out eventually.


Cres Rhodes, District Two Male.


We're all gathered at the table quickly, being the first tributes in. Not only did Andora want to make a point - despite not having spent any time with us - but Lakyn was clear that she wanted to sit right by the door, just to intimidate every single tribute that walked through. It was her way of cementing her authority upon others. I play idly with my thumbs, the silence speaking volumes of how broken this Career alliance actually is.

No-one is speaking. Of course, that's because we don't really work. Lakyn tries her best, and I admit, whilst it's hard to swallow, at least she's trying, whilst everyone keeps to themselves. Austal just stares at people awkwardly and after training with him, I know that he's... bitter, about being bested. I trained for a while with Gloria, and despite her rough around the edges attitude, I know that she's probably the most normal of us.

The girl from District Eleven walks in next, head held high. Lakyn instantly sneers.

"Hey girl," she says, causing the girl to turn around. I lower my head, not wanting to see this. It's cruel and unnecessary. "Have you thought about how you want to die yet?"

I peek through my arms and watch her hold strong. "Actually, I was wondering how you wanted me to shove my sword up your ass," she retaliates. "But I guess we're at a stalemate now."

She carries on walking and Lakyn blinks. I notice Austal smirking, whilst Gloria and Andora are indifferent. Oh, no. Being open, she looks at me. "How dare she," Lakyn gasps. "You need to sort her out, Cres."

I gulp. "Why me?"

"Because you're the muscle of the team, duh," she grins. "I'm the beauty, you're the muscles, Andora plays the black sheep, Gloria is the cute little addition who stands on the sidelines and Austal is like the pet dog."

"Okay," I shrug. "I'll handle it."

Gloria's name is called. She rises - barely growing any taller - before walking off without a second look at us. She'll do good, I just know it. Everyone will do good, I just don't know about me. I don't mind pressure, but this... I can't explain the sudden nerves.

Yet, the thought of being soon makes my skin crawl. I'm not prepared, I never have been. I tap my foot against the floor and Andora watches me, disgust clear in her eyes despite never saying it. Oh god, I'm not ready. I close my eyes and try to focus on everything Father taught me and everything I learned here. I'm so scared and I hate that. Soon enough, Lancel the loser, as Lakyn dubbed him, is called.

So close. So close. I'm not ready, but I am, but I'm not. I feel sick. It's even worse knowing, just knowing, that you can't speak to your allies because they are the most anti-social teenagers to walk in Panem. I've only ever wanted to have some friends, and the one year I volunteer, I have allies that hate it.

Andora is called. She stands, looking directly at me. "Don't screw it." she says, before walking away.

"So she speaks," Lakyn chirps after she's gone. "I was beginning to think she was mute. But oh, she's so cute and sweet the way she doesn't speak to people because she's shy."

She doesn't speak because she doesn't trust anyone. I wish I knew that feeling, but I'm putting too much hope on the others changing and opening up.

Minutes feel like hours until the guy walks back in.

"Cres Rhodes, District Two." he calls.

I stand up, surprised by my shaking hands. Lakyn nods knowingly, but the thought makes me even more queasy. My fate is quite literally held on someone's decision; a decision that I can't influence much.


Ellery Haynes, District Five Female.


"Ellery Haynes, District Five."

"About time," I say to no-one in particular, though Caritta glances upwards. The Careers and the District Three pair have taken their time. I mean, the rest of us have better things to show and frankly, I'm surprised they could do anything but stab or gut the cotton dummies a bit. Caritta looks at me, eyes in awe. "What?" I stop.

"Just going to wish you luck, that's all." she says defensively.

"Luck isn't needed. Luck is for people who have no chance and want to shield themselves from the obvious." and, with that, I walk away, leaving Caritta no doubt speechless but it isn't that hard.

The man leads me down a hallway and then towards the door. He holds it open and I enter, keeping my lips pressed into a line. I glance up at the Gamemakers booth, lined with the varied, colourful Capitolites. They watch me, expecting me to say something, but I simply move across the room towards the mechanical station.

It was something I never showed off, but I thought the idea behind it was ingenious. I remember someone at my school designing something similar, although mine will surely be put to better use. I collect the scraps of metal, before moving over towards the electronics. Everything will piece together and I can feel the burning eyes. Good, have a look, because this is something you've never, ever seen before. I move into the middle of the room and sit down.

"What is she doing?" I hear one mumble in a high-pitched, girly voice but definitely a male's.

"Oh shut up you little worm," a stronger, woman voice replies. "Leave the girl be."

I smirk, continuing to piece the metal together with the bulb as the centre core. I attach the button, fiddling around hastily.

I check my time, realising the numbers is ticking down. I move faster and faster, fingers ghosting over as I move it together. I'm intelligent, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Standing up, I take the now cutting orb and move over towards the knives, collecting a large, serrated one.

Turning around, I hold them in the air. "Watch," I say, gaining their attention. "I'm sure you'll be astounded."

I press the button and throw the orb into the air. The bright, blue light flashes constantly, and I can hear their moans of displeasure. The light is disorienting, I admit that, but that's the point and if they can't see that, I can't work out how they made their climb to power. I move across the floor swiftly and begin carving into soft, white flesh of the dummy. The knife slides across graciously, when suddenly, the light stops.

Their sounds of awe bring a knowing smile to my face.

"I told you that you'd be astounded," I smirk. I look over at the picture drawn carefully into the dummy's chest, showing the keen detail on dissecting someone, showing off their weaker, vital points. I turn back again and bow. "I believe I've finished early."

"indeed you have," one of the identical men smile. "You're free to leave, Miss Haynes."

I walk towards the elevator quickly, feeling proud. As I rise up, I can only think of telling Nebula and warranting her reaction. Sure, I'm provoking her, but Nebula has done nothing but deem me inferior when, really, I am above her by miles. She's just delusional.

The doors open, but rather than Nebula, it's Elesa. "Oh, you."

"Yes," she replies quietly. "Did it go well?"

"I'd rather not share explicit details," I trail off. "But, if you must know for Cliff's sake, then understand that I gave it my all and I plan to win. He should look over his shoulder more often."


Jericho Castillo, District Seven Male.


Arietta's name is called. She stands up from her table with her district partner and his allies, smiling away with care. I watch with intent from closer to the door, having sat on my own. Me and Arietta... I don't think we're allies. I mean, we could be, I wouldn't know, but I don't want to ask. Yet, I need to know. I guess that some higher power could take its course, but what if it doesn't work?

She moves fluently through the crowds. Her eyes lock with mine and I suddenly feel uplifted. Come on, Jericho, take a brave step.

"Arietta." I say as she stops next to me.

"What is it, Jericho?" she says dreamily. "I don't think they'd like me if I waited too long." she laughs lightly.

"I just..." the words have died on my tongue. Panic seizes me and I gulp, desperate to regain my confidence. Arietta studies me for a while before frowning, beginning to walk away. It's now or never. "Are we allies are or not?"

She stops again, turning around. "Pardon?"

"Allies. You and me. Are we...?" I scratch my neck. For the last three days, I've done nothing but paint with Arietta, spend my time watching her and then attempting the tomahawks for a little, before getting distracted and looking back at her. "I just... I need to know."

"Okay!" she beams. "But I really, really have to go now," she moves a strand of light brown hair from her eyes. "I'll speak to you soon, okay? But yes, yes, it's a yes."

She soon glides away and I'm left happy, feeling sick but definitely happy. I took a step and it worked. Arietta... she has an ally now, and so do I. Even better, it's not a trust founded upon worth, but friendship and kinship, and it's instantly stronger and more stable in my mind.

I watch with diluted eyes as Arietta's district partner is called, and not long after that, Rotem is as well.

I can do this, I know I can. I do okay under pressure, but really, the only thing that'll make or break me is whether or not they want more than one thing from me. When I do something, I like it to be extreme. I want to go the extra mile to ensure that it's done right. Will they understand that? I'm sure most tributes have shown a multitude of things. The frantic thoughts race through my mind when suddenly, my name is called.

I rise, alone, many eyes locking on me. I'm a threat, according to Spruce. He said it with conflicted, angered eyes, but he was right - my looks might make me a threat, but that doesn't necessarily mean I am one. I hurriedly move through the canteen and down the hall, entering the door and trying to take a deep breath that feels lodged in my throat.

I'm too jittery to wait for them to guide me, so I begin. I rush over towards the large tomahawk, grasping it and feeling more content and secure. I awkwardly take a slash to the white skin. When white cotton floats down, I begin to methodically slice until nothing but red feathers spill out. I keep going, my mind thinking of the worst possible thoughts. I don't sugar-coat it either; I imagine the Careers torturing Arietta, Rotem being dragged away by a Mutt, the little girl from District Nine being split open. By thinking of the extreme, it gives me more motive.

When I step back, I smile. The dummy has been ripped to shreds. Good, it shows potential. Maple said I needed to show them that I'm not only strong and confident, but that I'm not expendable; I'm someone who everyone will want to watch. Of course, denying the confidence, I feel like I did okay. I step back and turn around, trying to make eye contact with them.

"You may leave now, Mr Castillo. Please leave the weapon by the door."

"Well he isn't going to try and sneak it away with him, is he?" another voice counters.

Ignoring them both, I hand the weapon to a stand-by trainer and enter the elevator. I hope I'm not in the middle for scoring. I either want to stand-out or be hidden in the shadows. One extreme or the other, it's the better option.

Not to mention that it gives myself and Arietta a better chance for gaining sponsors.


Asya Novik, District Ten Female.


I stand in front of the door, shaking violently. I've never felt so scared before in my life. The attendant pushes the door open, revealing the lights, but I'm hesitant. As much as I want to will myself to move forward, I just can't do it. I don't want to go in there... I'm afraid of what might happen.

"Miss, you need to go in there," he points in the door, as if he's talking to some little child. I nod, but he doesn't stop. "Right there, right through that door. All you have to do is walk through."

"I understand that." I reply quietly, forcing my first step. When the next one won't move, the attendant roughly shoves me through and slams the door behind me.

I stand wide-eyed for a moment, just blinking at the enormous room. It feels much bigger without all the tributes and trainers. Instead, up in a booth, a group of Gamemakers are watching me with sickening, judgemental eyes. I move forward slowly, unsure of what to do. Rafe gave me some encouragement - in the form of a rhyme - whilst Bryony just chirped how cute I looked and how my looks will be enough. Safe to say, it didn't make it seem less daunting.

Where to go? I glance around until I see the knife station. Yes, that's simply enough. I motion across the room and take the smallest dagger I can see. Gripped in my hand, I take to the dummy and push it inwards. I recoil and repeat, taking several stabs. Satisfied, I leave the knife in there, implanted in the chest.

I look at the clock. Only a couple more minutes. I bite on my lip, still looking around until the fire station comes to mind. My heart stops, but at the same time, my mind races. I know how to make a fire; I knew that before coming here after years of being independent. It's a safe bet, but so many things could go wrong... I need the score. I need to get sponsors, otherwise I might not be able to do it so easily.

I have no choice.

I hurry across the room and take the flint, sticks and leaves. Settling down on the mat, I place the leaves in a pile and aim the flint and sticks over it. I grind them against each other, blowing carefully to encourage the flickering embers. The fire suddenly sparks to life and I grin in delight, lowering it downwards... that's when a breeze moves through the room.

It happens in slow motion. The wind gently carries a single ember, floating across the room until it lands at the base of the rope course.

It won't happen... of course it won't happen...

The fire roars to life at the base of the rope. I shriek, standing up hastily. The Gamemakers behind me are in a panic, and from either sides, trainers rush across the room in their padded uniforms. I watch in horror as the fire eats away at the thread, going upwards and upwards. It meets the joints, spreading out like a fiery spider web above me. Someone grabs my wrist, but my eyes are locked on the disaster I caused. Smoke fills the air as I'm dragged across the room. Tears lean heavily on my eyelashes as I see a piece of burnt rope fall onto the mat, instantly igniting it in the same golden tendrils.

I'm pushed into the elevator as chaos and screams erupt. Behind the man's head, I see the metal net, once pressed into the ceiling, crash onto the floor, knocking away a woman attendant like she is nothing more than a doll or insistent fly.

The man runs away and I'm compelled to follow out of guilt, but the metal doors shut, taking away the scene. For a moment, I just stand there, shocked. I don't know what to think, say or do. I bang against the metal door, but the elevator only responds by rising.

I really am bad luck. Everyone was right about me; I can't do anything without causing some harm. Because of me, the Training Centre has burned. The doors open again, this time on our floor. Serena is there in a hurry, hands on my shoulder and guiding me into the room. Does she know? Have they told her? She sits me down on the couch opposite Macaulay, but I can't stop shaking. She goes to wrap her arms around me, but I recoil, standing up and fleeing from her.

I'll only ever cause more harm. I tried to tell Bryony that on the last training day, but she didn't listen. By the time she understands, it could be too late.


Micah Amaro, District Twelve Male.


The District Ten girl has been ages. I can't help but expect the worse, rubbing my hands over and over in my lap. Lucia is sat opposite me, as are District Eleven and the boy from District Ten. Why haven't they called him? Why haven't they continued?

It's something bad, I just know it. Oh god, they've killed her, executed her for not being good enough. They're like that, they're monsters who only like entertainment. Why if I'm not good enough? Will they kill me too? Oh no, oh no, I just can't let that happen. I want to live!

"Are you talking to me yet?" Lucia asks.

I look at her, my eyes obviously frantic seeing as she frowns and Lucia is far too peppy to frown. "I haven't decided," I spill. "I don't know what to think of Cliff."

"He's really nice, Micah, just give him a chance."

He isn't all that bad, I admit. He asked me some questions, took notice of my life, but that was it. He was nosy, if anything, prying his way into how I work and how my brain connects things together so he can find a weak point and then murder me when Lucia isn't looking. I know his game, I can see it in his dead eyes. I struggle to stay composed and resort to bringing forth my handkerchief once more.

"Micah... it'll be fine, I'm sure they'll call him soon." she attempts to comfort me, but she doesn't know that, she doesn't know anything because they won't let us know. They hide it from us, bringing about paranoia until we can't even recognise ourselves.

"I wonder what's taking them so long," the boy from District Eleven says thoughtfully, looking at his district partner. She shrugs it off, looking at the table. "I think something bad has happened, though, you know? I'm almost sure of it. Either that, or she done really, really well."

"It's obvious she's dead." I speak up, and all eyes are on me.

"Micah!" Lucia berates. "Don't go around saying those kind of things, not here," she leans across the table, her voice but a harsh whisper. "You don't have any evidence."

"I don't need none," I speak louder. "It's clear they've killed her and are now trying to burn her body so that we won't find out!"

"If they did kill her, who will take her spot, genius?" the girl from District Eleven deadpans. "Exactly, the public know her, it's too risky."

I think for a moment. The Capitol are intelligent... what if they've cloned us? We're expendable, after all. I bite down on my tongue when Lucia cuts in, though.

"Precisely," she confirms. "Micah is just... feeling the pressure. He doesn't mean anything really."

That spurs me on. "I can speak for myself, thank you," I glare. "And no, I do mean it. She's probably dead and if we don't do good enough in there, we're probably next. I wouldn't be surprised if... if there's a machine gun in the ceiling, aiming for us when we don't dance good enough!"

I can see the others reacting now. They needed to know, they needed to understand how we're all puppets. The boy from District Ten stands up, face sullen and drawn. He sighs but walks out into the corridor, disappearing towards the Training Centre. He doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's... he's... going to spy on them for us! Oh no, he's as good as dead. He's too reckless. I run my hands over and over in my lap, Lucia's once bright smile now etched into a dark frown.

"They needed to know," I whisper across the gap. "Besides, you didn't tell me about Cliff so we're even now."

She snaps her head towards me. "It's not a game, Micah. Cliff will be good for us... but this, this was ridiculous. You have no proof that she's dead. Maybe she broke something and they're cleaning up? Look, try and be more positive, don't be so glum," she breaks out into a smile. "We'll know when they tell us what happened."

A few minutes pass before the boy returns. His face is still the same, no change. Well, he hasn't seen the blood and dead body then, or he just didn't care about her enough. I thought district partners had a bond? Will Lucia care? I look at her accusingly.

"Tributes," I look over her head at the man as relief floods my system. "We had a slight problem with faulty equipment. No need to panic. If you would be so kind, follow me to the makeshift Training Centre we have planned. There, you can conduct your private sessions."

"What about the girl?" the District Eleven boy asks. "The girl from District Ten. Wacko over there said she's probably dead. Is she?"

The man smiles. She's dead, I knew it! "Of course not. Now, please, follow me."


Kristopher Midden, District Three Male.


"Did you hear what happened?" Mackenzie says to Mercury. She shakes her head without looking up from her book, and he giggles. "I heard that a particular little girl from District Ten actually burned down the Training Centre!" I look at him, wide eyes. Wayne's district partner? "Rumor has it that she went feral and took a torch to the rope structure!"

No-one responds but Ampry's sudden arrival is welcoming. I smile, but she simply glares, notepad tucked under her arm as she sits at the table. This is like the laser all over again, hiding things from me so I won't question her obvious methods. I mean, Ampry is a smart girl, but sharing is caring and everything. I get up, moving across the room and pulling out a chair next to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" I smirk.

"You can do whatever you like." she retaliates, flipping the page open and clicking her pen.

"Like magnets, we attract, you see." I tease, looking over her shoulder. Is she going to note down the scores? That's pretty clever. Damn, I should of thought of something similar.

"They also tend to repel, like you do me." she mumbles, but the television roars to life, so I keep quiet.

This is the part that can make or break a person, according to Mercury. People win with low scores still, but a high score could mean not going hungry or having a useful weapon in a dire situation. My goal, however, was to be average. Average means holding up the front that I'm clueless and in this for a laugh, when in reality, I'm in this to win.

Hermes Abbatone comes on the screen. He's been doing this for thirty years, but still looks like a lecherous, living porcelain doll with curly, wurly hair. This year, it's blood red, and I briefly remember my flashing suit from the chariots, highlighting my hidden, darker side. He speaks for a few moments, putting each of us down for being weak or ugly.

The first picture is of the boy from District One, the ex-Career, according to whispers on the wind. He's still probably trained and just as deadly, just with a better moral compass. Underneath his picture is a blood 9, proving my theory that he is, indeed, a true monster at heart. From the corner of my eye, I see Ampry swiftly scribble the details down.

His district partner is next, short and spunky. She's wicked at throwing things; me and Wayne watched her throw a spear, a knife and then a shuriken star, all aiming near the centre of the target. A precise aim means a deadly one, and because of her size, she probably puts more control on it. Underneath her radiant picture, however, is one better. A 10, dripping with killing instinct and intent. Again, Ampry writes it down.

"I want to look at that after," I mumble, eyes focused on the screen as the Career boy from District Two is next. She looks at me, incredulous. "Only for memory sake, Amp. Oh come on, do me a solid. You know, besides attract and repel, magnets also work together."

She grumbles, not saying anything, as she writes down the boy's matching 10. Then, she slides it in the middle of us. She doesn't say anything still, but the action is appreciated.

His district partner, however, falls flat with just a 7, lower than a Career's expectation should be. I hum as the screen shifts to me. I did all I could, I just need it to be in my favor and be middle. Dead in the middle with a 5 or 6, and I could cry with happiness. Then, I almost do, as a 6 flashes bright.

"Yes!" I fist-pump the air as if shifts to Ampry. I hold my breath on her behalf, but she's unnerving and calm as she matches me with a 6.

Yet, I can only think of how everything is falling into place perfectly. The next two Careers fly by so quickly, I have to look at Ampry's notepad to clarify. I was so absorbed in happiness that everything was working, I wasn't paying attention. The boy from District Four claimed a spirited 8, whilst his district partner had only gathered up a 7, mediocre in everyone's eyes.

It's working. I'm still in the game, Dad.


Arietta Fenton, District Six Female.


I'm so nervous. Constance expects us to have done well, whereas Lorcan doesn't care too much. It makes me feel conflicted, one ear being whispered that scores mean life or death, whilst the other is being told that it all depends on the arena. Who do I listen to, my mentor or the person whose been at this the longest of the two? I don't want to be sad or confused, but they're making it worse.

"I don't know whether my score will be good or not," I admit to Rafe next to me. He looks at me, eyebrows knitted. "I mean, all I did was paint. I didn't learn anything else..."

"Why didn't you try something else?" Rafe asks. "You had everything at your dispense, Ari."

I didn't want to use anything because I didn't want to be violent. My father, who used to be a Peacekeeper, was surrounded by it. When he got the job, he told me his title and I was only young and naive - Peacekeeper should mean peace, right? - but it didn't, and he often came home with weathered eyes. "I don't know," I lie. "What did you try?" I deflect quickly and Rafe brightens up.

"Some weapons, some music," he laughs. "I thought I'd entertain them with a little melody I wrote up," he smirks now, devilish. "I doubt they were that impressed."

"What?" Constance perks up. Oh no. I look to Rafe, his face slightly draining from her unnerving glare. "Did you purposely set yourself up for failure?" I keep my eyes locked on Rafe. "What about you, Arietta? No weapons at all?"

The screen suddenly flashes with Cliff Harlaw's picture, and underneath, his score is a 6. It's impressive. I avoid Constance's eyes at all cost, still looking at me and Rafe with obvious anger. Lorcan, on the other hand, sits idly by her side, watching the screen with a soft smile.

"No, I wanted to stand out," Rafe defends. "Isn't that the point of it all? To stand out?"

"By being impressive, not singing them a lullaby." she counters.

Cliff's district partner is next. My skin begins to crawl and I know Constance is looking at me again, eyes piercing and judgemental. Her score, however, breaks the tension as the blood 7 flashes repeatedly. I shift awkwardly, attempting to subtlety turn away from her. We're next and I feel the pressure as it is, I don't need Constance's added fury.

Rafe's picture appears. I hear him hum casually, as if it isn't bothering him. It shouldn't be bothering me, but it does. I don't know whether I should lean on Constance or Lorcan more. Being torn, right in the middle... it magnifies everything. My eyes narrow in on the empty space underneath his picture, willing it to move. It bursts onto the screen. 5. I don't think the Gamemakers were that impressed with his song.

"That'll do," Rafe grins, and then, he slips his hand into mine. "Your turn."

"You both deserve low scores after your stunts." Constance sneers, but finally, she looks away.

I sigh in relief as my picture comes up. Please be good. Please be good. 5.

It could be worse, I suppose. I take it on the chin and grin from ear to ear, satisfied. Jericho will do better, I just know it. His picture materializes and I can't help but smile softly. I let out a little squeak when it shows his impressive 8. Rafe grips tighter, and when I look, he grins. "Congratulations." he whispers.

Jericho's district partner manages to bring a 7 to the table, keeping on par with her Career ally. Again, just as impressive. I'm sure Jericho's happy for her; he's always said that he cares about her, like me with Rafe.

Rafe's allies are next. His grip becomes shaky, nerves for his allies taking over. The boy from District Eight pulls a decent 6, whilst the girl only gets a 4, the lowest score so far. It's only one smaller than Rafe, but it's still the weakest. Rafe lets go, sadness glossing over his eyes.

"It'll be okay," I swallow. "Lorcan said the scores don't matter," even though I'm still undecided myself. "I'm sure she'll still do good. So will you, Rafe."

"I hope so," he smiles weakly. "I really do hope so."


Thorn Revan, District Eleven Male.


Lancel did well. Rotem did well.

I gulp heavily, feeling the pressure. I need to do as good, if not better. I need to have done the best I could, despite the circumstances. They never told us what happened properly, but the Training Centre burned. We completed our private sessions with minimal weapons and the Gamemakers much, much closer, just inches from us. When Kane's eyes graze over me and Caritta, sat close despite our bitter relationship, I feel like the whole of Panem has fallen on my shoulders.

It was like this before. They used to put me down, tell me I wasn't good enough, and when I finally proved it, they bowed. I need the tributes to bow, otherwise... otherwise I'm nothing once more.

The District Nine male is next. I wonder how he done? He's older, broader. He looks wise beyond his years too. I suspect it'll be good. We should have asked him to join us. Underneath, in blood red, his score is simply a 6.

"I thought he'd do well," Caritta speaks up. "Of course, he has that whole homeless person look to him. Probably not the greatest of starts."

"Looks don't matter to the Gamemakers, Caritta," Kane smirks. "Okay, actually, they do," he turns around. "But they care more about a show then what the cast looks like, otherwise, they would've fed the rest of Panem a lot better so they didn't look so hollow."

The face of the little girl from District Nine appears. For the first time ever, I see her without the doll. It's strange. It almost feels like the Capitol has ripped away her identity. I gulp again, feeling almost guilty for her. She gathers a 2, the lowest score for the youngest tribute.

District Ten is next, and they start with the boy, hair spilling into his eyes. He manages a 5, an average score. I want to do better, I need to do better. At one point or another - even with Lancel and then Rotem by my side - I used them all as example. I wanted to be better than them all at something. When the girl from District Twelve butchered a dummy, I made sure to do it quicker. When the boy from District Six built a trap, I made sure to make a more complex one.

Each time, I had to do it. I had to be better. I needed to continue to prove them all wrong.

The other young tribute is next, the girl from District Ten. The fire-starter, Delorean had so rudely dubbed her. Will her score be impressive, having damaged the entire room in the process?

In blood red, a 4 pops up. Again, pretty average for her age, but they should've gave her more compensation for possibly scarring her. Unless, of course, she's a psychopath.

I bit the inside of my mouth when I see my picture. They'll be watching at home, Mona and Briar, staring with wet eyes but secretly judging their little brother and his poor excuse of a private score. I need it to be good, for them, for Rotem and Lancel, for myself.

I manage to pull a 7. My eyes widen in surprise, the number taunting me with a mocking flash. It doesn't feel real, but then Mako is turning around and smiling, and it all rushes into me. I jump up, shouting out loud.

"Yeah!" I cheer, the screen faintly turning into Caritta.

What will she get? A 6 is the answer. It's good, it's a brilliant score. Caritta clicks her tongue with amused eyes. "I did better than I imagined," she says truthfully. "But everyone else still sucks in comparison. You're all going down once we're in there."

In my mind, I accept the challenge as District Twelve is next. The boy - his crazed accusations repeating in my mind - as his score is revealed to be a simple 4. His partner, much more stable, gains two higher with a 6.

Hermes comes back, taunting us some more with wicked eyes and a lecherous smile. The screen suddenly goes black. We all sit there, dazed in a good sense. Caritta rises and leaves without another word, before Mako retires to bed. Kane lingers, his eyes gazing over my form.

"Well done, kid," he congratulates me, but not patronizing like Briar would do when I actually failed. "I can tell you'll be something else."

I hope so. That's my aim, after all, with my life coming in second.


Lyra Chambray, District Nine Female.


"Hannah, I don't know what to do," I mumble, placing her on the bed. I pull at her straw hair mindlessly, thumbing the ends. "My score wasn't good enough. I don't know what that means... but Nicolet said that I won't gain sponsors now."

Her silence makes me nervous. I look up at her, feeling the tears.

"It's okay Lyra," she echoes, her stitched mouth eager to speak. "I'll be by your side all the time. I was before, when it happened, and I'll do it again."

"How can you be so sure?" I plea with her quietly.

"I'm sure of everything," I pull her close, smoothing out her tartan dress. "I told you that everything would be fine and it was... eventually."

"Eventually," I mumble. "It took them ages before people looked at me normally again."

It's true. After it all happened, people acted differently. They would avoid me in the streets, calling me a murderer. Someone threw a rock through my window, scaring my father... he grew distant with me when the rumors grew vast. I couldn't find evidence. There was none. I was deemed a murderer over an accident. But, Hannah was there, her sweet, button eyes being the only sense of comfort and love I could find. I was beyond happy when the nice lady told me that Hannah could stay, seeing as she was my token.

Silence fills the air again. "I promise to protect you," she suddenly replies. "I'll always protect you."

I climb up from the floor, sweeping Hannah into my arms. I lift the covers back and sink in, Hannah still pressed against my chest. Tears spring to my eyes, and I can no longer try and be strong. With Hannah, I don't need to be. She's able to look after me.

I soon drift off into sleep, my cheeks wet and chest tight.

When I wake up, Hannah hasn't moved. I smile tiredly, but then it hits me. I only have one day in the Capitol, before I'm sent away. Hannah will be with me, though, and that's all I need. I get up, leaving Hannah on the pillow as I go and shower. Under the spray, everything feels harder and more heavy. I don't know what to say or think. I turn the tap off, getting out and drying off. It's easier with Hannah by my side.

I move swiftly from the room, when I see it. The Avox kindly handles Hannah, placing her on the bedside table. I blink a few times, shocked by the young lady. My lip quivers and I move across the room, pushing pass the woman and scooping Hannah into my arms once more.

She looks at me but doesn't say anything, then I remember she can't. "She's my token," I mumble into her wispy hair. "I need to keep her safe."

The Avox bows. She goes to walk away, but something compels me to grip her hand. She looks taken aback, as if I'm broken some code, yet, she doesn't try and move. I whimper slightly and pull her closer, urging her to the bed. She falls onto the blankets she just recently made, before I wrap my arms around her waist, pinning Hannah between us.

I want to cry. I want to cry until I have nothing left.

Everything is so real. Everything is so terrifying. As Remy said, I couldn't gain an ally, not when I can't trust them. I have to do it by myself, but I'm only twelve. How can I win against Careers who gain double-digit scores, and tributes much taller, wider and older? I can't. I can't win.

In the end, I don't fight it. I cry again, tears soaking into her black and white uniform.

I pull back slightly, sniffing. "You're suppose to do as I say, right?" she nods meekly. "Then I want you to comfort me... p-please."

She does as she's told, placing steady hands on my back and rubbing them in circles. It's something my parents never did for me, something Hannah never could of.

It's not that comforting, but it's better than just me and Hannah. She can only look after me for so long, before it'll overwhelm her too.


Joshua Kersey, District Eight Male.


"Where's Bryony?" I ask when I enter the main room. They both look up, Pippin's face tight and worried. I instantly think of the worst, my own face falling.

"She's still having a shower," Velvet supplies for Pippin. "She hasn't come out yet."

I remember, briefly, a conversation me and Bryony had about the interviews. Hermes Abbatone was known for being cruel and picking out faults, and I did wonder as to whether or not Bryony would feel comfortable, him poking at her obviously different looks. She hid it all behind a smile, but I know, I just know that she must secretly be worried about what he's going to throw at her.

"I think I'm going to check on her," I tell them, walking away before either replies. I scurry down the room until I'm stood opposite her door. Carefully, I give it three knocks, a little code that we had developed over the last few days. She doesn't respond, so I repeat it. "Bryony? Are you out of the shower yet?"

The bad thoughts return. I knock again and again, frantic, before the door swings open and Bryony pokes her head through. "Oh... hi Josh," she mumbles. "I was just getting changed."

She's never, ever called me Josh. From the reaping to now, it's always been Joshua, since she finds my name cute. I worries me even more. I care a great deal about Bryony, whether she knows that or not. I feel obliged to look after her and worry about her feelings as much as my own.

"It's just they - Velvet and Pippin - said you've been in here ages," I awkwardly reply, my eyes drifting down to the light, bare skin on show. She truly is as white as now. "I thought... I mean, are you nervous, about tonight?"

She shrugs again. Then, like a defense mechanism I know all too well, a grin plasters across her face. "I'm super!" she chirps. "Honestly, I just need to get changed really quickly and then I'll be out, I promise!"

The door closes. I faintly hear the lock being clasped back on. Whatever is up with her, she won't spill.

Defeated, I go back into the main room. Pippin slowly eats his toast, staring absently at the wall as I sit down next to him. He doesn't even notice me; he's that screwed up from last year, that he'd rather trap himself in his own mind. Not to mention Velvet's obsessive behaviour has come to light, constantly washing her hands or eating her meals methodically.

It's a cruel joke, a bad line, a fated love. It will always end in disaster, one way or the other.

It doesn't bring me confidence. I mean, Pippin won last year, and never, ever has two consecutive places won straight after the other. If the District Eight boy won last year, then it means my chances are basically zero. Nobody likes a knock-off and that's what I'll be, as long as Pippin is still alive and barely kicking. Bryony has a good chance, though, so does Rafe. Asya could do well... she's lucky to have us, in all honesty.

My heart hiccups again. I don't feel like eating, so I push the bowl of corn away from me. Every part of me aches and feels numb. I am numb, I'm numb to it all. Why bother? I'm basically a dead man walking. We are all, in retrospect, but I'd like to believe that, under different circumstances, some of us could've been close friends or that, if the tribute pool was different, our chances at victory would've been great.

You never know, with the Quarter Quell coming about fast, a twist might be the push they need for a young tribute to win.

Bryony soon skips out, head-to-toe in black. It contrasts well with her pale skin, but Spring instantly gasps. "Bryony! You look... wonderful!"

She does a twirl on the spot. "Really?" she blushes. "I didn't think black would be my colour, considering everything."

"Oh no no no, I'll have to change everything now," Spring continues. Pistach, however, doesn't look invested. "You'll look great in a black ballerina dress, topped with ribbons and sashes and oh, we need to move fast!"

Spring stands and Pistach begrudgingly follows. Taking Bryony's hand, Spring leads her to the elevator and I follow quietly. No matter what she wears, Bryony will still be a target tonight. Me? I highly doubt he'll find a weak point.

Except, you know, the odds for me practically being zero.


Gloria Lavelle, District One Female.


Mesmer eyes me up as I sit on the chair. I don't like Mesmer all that much; she's tall, beautiful and very brash. She's basically Inspire but in a more... colourful form.

"I told Pallas that we needed to use heels on you," she comments. Not for me, but rather about me. I'm suppose to sit quietly and just nod along, like I'm a brainless stereotype. "Stilettos. Five... no, six, six inch stilettos. You're perfect apart from your height."

"Thanks," I roll my eyes, the anger make my skin burn. "I've always loved being told that."

Compared to Aphrodite - but much like Lakyn - I don't have respect for Mesmer. She's talented, there's no denying that, but she's selfish and conceited. I might be slightly arrogant, but I have a backbone and years worth of skill up my sleeve. According to Mesmer, she's done this for three years now. Not nearly as long as me. That, and she's taller and lithe. It always feels like she's looking down at me, towering over my smaller frame with a wicked smile.

She continues to circle me like a vulture, carefully eyeing me up. "If you wear heels, they need to be seen. You'll look stupid if we try and hide the fact that you're rather dumpy."

Dumpy? I grit my teeth at that comment, willing to let it slide. Short is one thing, but now she's basically saying I'm disproportionate. Is my head too big? Waist too wide? She better not say, otherwise I don't know what will happen. I glance around the room aimlessly, spotting her bag and equipment, but more important, a pair of tiny scissors. Those, yeah those. They'll find her eyes if she calls out more flaws of mine, just like Inspire and Grace would do.

One time, even Chalice did it, completely by accident. She learned not to again.

"Red would look unflattering on you," she determines. "So would any bright colour. You're too pale; they'd make you look almost alien. We'll have to go with peach, I believe."

Peach, sure, that's great. I don't really care what I'm dressed in because it won't save me. It's trivial and mindless entertainment; the arena is where a person truly unfolds. The interview beforehand simply shows a lie, tributes all acting kind and polite, just to be favoured. I don't plan on being false or using my looks, so when Mesmer suggests a dress that is far too high, I put my foot down.

"I want just above my knees," I command. "You say that a fall gown would look stupid, well, making me look like a slutty seven-year-old will do the same," I watch her expression twist into that of horror and anger. "Just here, right above the knee please."

Her face continues to shift between the emotions before she sneers. "With your figure, though, it will look ridiculous."

Something Inspire would totally say. "Well, it is my body and I think I know what suits it better," I hold off the glare. "So I want a dress just above my knee. I want to be known for being powerful, not being a slut."

"Fine," Mesmer sulks. "But don't come crying to me when people mock you for being prude," she moves behind me, but I know the sneer is there. "Now, do you want peach, your highness, or is that too below you?"

I don't bother to retort. Just like with my sisters, arguing will only lead to annoyance and frankly, they were never worth it either. They got under my skin... but I always had to bite my tongue, just because Inspire and Grace were the favourite children. I was the one who tried too hard to stand out, or was too idealistic, or in Inspire's word, was delusional for believing I could do something. Being dressed up and flaunting what I have, that will only reinforce what they all think. I need to change that, otherwise volunteering to spite Inspire was pointless.

"Now, let me dress you up." Mesmer continues.

"Of course."

"Don't get smart with me," she hisses in my ear, pushing my blonde hair down one side. "Otherwise I'll make you look like a clown, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

I think she'd prefer that, but her reputation is on the line and clearly, that's more important. Not my life, but her reputation.

So when she pushes me down into my seat properly, running her fingers through my hair, I allow her. I need to save my energy and wrath for the arena, where I can kill and prove them all wrong that short, dumpy little Gloria is capable of more than they think.


High Hopes by Pink Floyd.


The blog for this story is lost hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!

All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.


I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!

Thoughts on the scores?

Favourite POVs?

And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!


Nothing to say really, but the scores are on the blog if you forget them.

I wanted to try some different things, which led to poor Asya and her incident... and then Micah's outburst. That was fun to write. Yeah, I feel better about this one. This is early because, with Claustrophobia nearing, I'm working out that as fast and fluent as possible, which means that this is second to that. The next update might be a little longer than my planned week.

Yeah. Okay. One more chapter, and then the bloodbath! The arena is totally hidden, but you're more than welcome to guess ;)

Oh! The poll is up to look at too :)