Come Away To The Water.

Come away little light come away to the darkness, in the shade of the night we will come looking for you.

Astor Sheen, District One Female.

The dress itself seems almost foreign to me. My hands idly trace up and down the soft material, burning a fiery red, perfect to match my hair like my stylist mentioned. I'm not used to such pretty, astounding things. Back in Blackdamp, the almost customary tradition is to pass clothes to other families, since poverty is pretty normal. All my skirts, blouses, shirts. Sometimes, when I'm walking the streets, I'll see a girl wearing something of mine, and deep down, in makes me smile.

"You know, you look rather yummy in that dress."

I turn around to look at Garnet, not exactly taking him seriously. "Yummy? What are you, a toddler wanting food?"

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing. "I thought it would sound rather seductive. See, I can use better words."

"Well done to you."

Suddenly, I feel the pressure against my side, knowing Garnet is practically groping me. Anger burns inside, much like Gloss questioning about Marvel, and I push his hand away rather angrily. He holds his hands in mock defense, winks, and stalks away. Down the line, I watch him stop by Lorelei and whisper something, and not very subtle, she rolls her eyes.

I wonder if Caesar will ask about Blackdamp, if he even knows?

A part of me wants him too. I feel pride, honor, when it comes to Blackdamp and the culture. They're so used to seeing pretty girls, rich boys, kids from the higher society of One and what they can bring to the table, if anything else but looks. I managed to pull a decent number for a Career, despite the only training being right here in the Capitol, looks aren't important to me and, well, I'm doing this for Blackdamp, so it's only natural I try and bring it up.

And of course, doing this for Marvel so he would never volunteer in the future.

I feel a little sick, because really, I know he would do it if he wanted too and nothing I do would really change that. Me winning might only encourage him. We've never seen eye to eye, I'm proud of Blackdamp whereas he is almost appalled by our traditions and blue-collared living.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a man appears, silently pushing me towards the stage. I stumble a little, not used to such fancy shoes, and make my way out into the bright light, flashing cameras and cheering of the multi-coloured crowd. The sickness is soon replaced by distaste for the Capitol and what they are.

Caesar smiles at me, gesturing for me to sit down, and politely, I do.

"Astor Sheen," Caesar smiles, his hair this year in a yellow, golden hue. "Now, over the years, we've had many striking girls, haven't we folks?"

The crowd cheers in response.

"But this year, well, I must say that we've topped ourselves," Caesar's smile is kind, soft, and the crowd simply roar. "Clearly Cashmere has been showing you the ropes."

I fight back the blush, hands running through my dress. "Actually, Cashmere is Garnet's mentor. Gloss is mentoring me."

"Ah, the other half of the wonderful Arvoy family," Caesar leans a little closer. "How is Gloss treating you?"

The mention of Gloss' name, spoken like that, sends a shiver down my spine. This time, the blush is unavoidable. "H-He's doing great."

Somewhere in the audience, I can imagine Gloss smirking with pride. And somehow, that settles me at ease.

Theo Cassius, District Two Male.

I watch as Delaney swishes her hips, shaking every single body part that would jiggle attractively, as she walks on over to Caesar. You can partially see his smile become slightly predatory, but Delaney seems to have the same effect on every single man she's ever encountered.

Tibius, her personal trainer at the Training Centre, was her first notch on the bedpost, so to speak.

Since then, she made it her mission to sleep and pull every single guy within the whole Training Centre, except me. Her charms, lustful eyes and cunning smile did nothing to me, and in a twisted sense, was how our odd friendship was formed. Before then, she had no friends, just conquests begging for more. Me? I had plenty, more than you could count, but Delaney came and stuck and took the coveted role of best friend.

The day I was told I was the chosen volunteer for the 66th games, Delaney was the first I told.

My heart even sunk a little when she said she was the chosen female.

Kind of like star-crossed lovers, except friends, and when you're 18 and at the Training Centre in Two, you have no choice to regret the idea. You get told you're the volunteer, you swallow it down and accept that fate.

If you don't, well, death would seem like an easy option.

I come around, just in time to see Caesar, awful close to Delaney, ask something that seems almost too juicy to miss.

"What is your relationship with your district partner, Theo?" Caesar's face paints a smile.

She blushes a tad, smiling beautifully back and forth between the audience and Caesar himself. "Well... There isn't anything between me and Theo. We grew up together, so to speak, and he's more like a brother to me."

Caesar places a hand to his breast pocket, no doubt finding his heart. "That is touching. And tragic. Did you both plan on volunteering together?"

It's almost like he's oblivious to the Training Centre and trainees. Surely, a bunch of kids in leather jackets walking out together should look suspicious. Yet, over the years, they've turned their blind eye and ignored what we do. Delaney beams at Caesar, but then looks to the crowd of cheering idiots.

"That was the plan. If you thought the last few years were good, you are going to be blinded by what this year will provide. And, guaranteed, me and Theo will provide the blood lusting fun."

Again, her smile appears and it just seems to send everyone into a frenzy. Slowly, after a buzzer goes off, Delaney saunters from the stage, still swishing her hips and constantly flipping her hair, her dress like a second skin to her, considering how tight it really is.

She stops by me and winks. "Good luck. Remember, joint angle makes it more fun."

Gage Anton, District Three Male.

"Gage... Firstly, your reaping was probably one of the most... Curious, we've ever seen come from District Three," Caesar smirks, looking to the crowd. "What was going through your mind right there and then?"

I can't stop the smile forming on my face, and slowly, I turn to the idiotic audience, gawking at me with bird-like faces. "What can I say? I honestly believe I have the potential to walk away the Victor. You should never count yourself out before the fun has even started."

"That's very true," Caesar nods knowingly. "I like your attitude towards it. Are we going to get a sneak into your strategy?"

My strategy is rather simple; get into the Careers, already accomplished, stay with them, earn their trust and let them pick each and every tribute off for me. Then, along the way, I'll be in their ears, whispering and playing them against each other, until bit by bit, they destroy themselves from the inside out. Wait to night, sleep, slice their throat and claim victory for myself. It's rather simple, and with everything moving fluently, it shall work properly.

And without even knowing, Waverly is helping me out every step of the way.

"Afraid not," I smile toothily at the audience. "Otherwise, I'd be an open book!"

Caesar claps. "Again, very true. Very wise for your age, Gage."

"I grew up like this," I admit with a smile. "To always pursue knowledge, learning more and more, because sometime in the future, you'll come to a point where you'll need that information to pass. Kinda drilled into my brain."

The audience laps this up, like a cat drinking milk, each clapping and almost looking teary-eyed at the possibility of such a young, bright boy, stepping into the world like this. Addilyn will never be able to compare to me.

After a while, Caesar questions me on my family and life, and politely but with a hidden edge, I answer each one, until the buzzer sounds and I walk off stage. I watch Addilyn freeze, body tense as the arrival of her interview has come. Her dress, short and pixie-like with a flare, fanning out from her knees, shows her pale legs, almost blending to the bright silver material. The escort comes to take her up, and from the screen, I watch her interview begin.

"Addilyn Helix, well firstly, congratulations on your impressive score." Caesar smiles.

Addilyn smiles softly, her voice timid. "Thank you."

"Can you tell us what you actually did to gain that great, unexpected score?"

She looks a little scared, eyes wide and strained, but she shakes her head. "I'm not allowed too."

"Such a shame!" Caesar plays it up to the crowd, getting them to groan in response. "But, we can expect great things from you, correct?"

I smile forms on my face. Yes, you can expect great things from her. And it shall start and end with her creative death at the Careers, as they peel the blood from her veins and the life from her body.

Lorelei Avalon, District Four Female.

"So, mysterious Lorelei," Caesar smiles wickedly. "Because, that's what you've been dubbed by the audience. Nobody knows what to work of you yet."

I smile at that. That has been my angle all along. To throw them all off their game by a female Career whose silence is her biggest weapon.

"Well, if it works for them." I shrug playfully, gaining a laugh.

Caesar even joins in, until he leans closer, letting the golden hue of his hair fall near my eyes.

"Do you feel like telling us why you're so mysterious?"

My eyebrows raise, but I keep my smile turning smirk in tact. "That I can't, I'm afraid. All part of my master plan."

"Master plan?" Caesar gasps. "You must share this with us."

I tap my nose with my finger, winking at him. "As I said, it's all a secret. You'll all see tomorrow, that much is certain. The Games will unfold and so will Lorelei Avalon."

He accepts my answer, and when he goes to ask another question, the buzzer rings. He spent so much time dancing around my mysteriousness and evasive attitude, he forget to get down to the nitty gritty of it all. Mags told me to play with my strengths, and being allusive has always been the main strength of mine. I stand up, raise the hem of my dress to bow appropriately, and walk over stage.

I meet Waverly's gawking eyes, and offer a smile.

"Good luck," I simply say.

He nods quickly in response. "Y-You did great."

"Be like Finnick." I grin, knowing that should either throw him off or encourage. Either way, I don't care too much.

He nods hurriedly again, being led up the steps. I turn around to see Garnet, smirking at me, and it takes a lot to not slap him. Telling me I looked fine in this dress isn't something you should say to a girl. Then again, I'm pretty sure Garnet doesn't know about how to act properly or like a normal human being.

Either way, like with Waverly, I don't care.

I might be a part of this alliance, but that doesn't mean I'm going to play fair. Or even play at all.

Because Lorelei Avalon will unravel in the arena. And people will either like me or hate me for it.

Cameron Flinch, District Five Female.

I wait by the elevators, nervous. I don't even know why I'm nervous, to be honest. All I know is, my palms are sweating like crazy, my blood feel cold, this dress is ridiculously tight around the wrong areas, and right now, I feel nothing but a cow, dressed up and paraded before being sent to the slaughter house. Jack notices me, and slowly, he walks over.

"You did good in your interview," Jack says nonchalantly. "Really held your own."

I smirk at the image of my brutal honesty towards Caesar's questions. I wasn't going to lie about anything. So when he asked about other tributes, I told him what I thought, though, he did dance around a lot of the tributes who got higher scores. Really, that's all my interview was based around, compared to Jack, where he cared more for his strategy and feelings about being stripped away from Five.

"You done... Okay, I suppose." I shrug, jabbing my finger into the button.

"This is like deja vu."

I spin around, glaring at Jack. "What did you say to me?"

He frowns, holding his hands up. "Deja vu. Nothing mean, Cam. Just saying. We were here, before, you stabbing a button because you can't wait to get out of your clothes."

He's right, actually, and instinctively, I start scratching at the blood orange dress. "It's these Capitol clothes. They're awful. You'd think, having a whole district dedicated to textiles and fabrics and all that, they'd be able to create something a lot better for us to wear."

The doors open and we slide in, this time, Jack by my side.

"Gavan and Mirana did okay, don't you agree?"

I shrug. "Gavan was okay, but when the crowd kept laughing, you could tell he was getting jittery."

"Paranoia works wonders, really." Jack smiles and laughs a little, a lot more relaxed than I've ever seen Jack.

"Mirana was so cute and ditsy Caesar looked like he had a real bad time trying to keep up with her tales about dragons and that," I laugh at the memory of Mirana handing her pocket watch over to the man, and his poor, confused face when he accepted it and Mirana semi freaked out. "Well, at least they made impressions. That's important for sponsors, I suppose, and if they benefit, we do as well."

The elevator dings, yet somehow, I don't want Jack to go.

"Guess it has finally arrived," Jack sighs. "Tomorrow, the arena."

I nod. "Yeah."

"I'll see you there then." Jack offers a smile as he steps out, and instantly, I can feel his presence gone. If I get this attached to everyone, I'm so screwed.

Gavan Dior, District Six Male.

"Gavan, please, open up!"

I ignore Fabriola's pleading cries, coupled with the odd laughter from Karli, finding amusement out of it all. I don't even know what went wrong, why I ended up shutting myself in here. All I know is, being out there in the open with all those eyes on you, I was an easy target and Caesar exploited that. He made fun of me, got the crowd to jeer.

"Let me try," I hear Karli's muffled voice. "Gavan, can you open up?"

"No!" I shout back.

And instantly, I hear Karli break out into another muffled chuckle, before there's shuffling and soon enough, the shadow underneath the door has disappeared. I need to be alone. Right now, this is my last time before it all goes down the drain soon enough.

My eyelids flutter open and closed, and to calm myself down, I count.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Si-

A knock cuts my thoughts off. But this time, the knock is a lot harsher and meaner. I know it isn't Fabriola, nor Karli, Track wouldn't bother so that basically leaves one choice open. The one person who doesn't help, no matter what.

"Gavan Dior, you open this door if you wish to live before you go into the arena!"

I struggle to my feet, puttering over quietly to the door and unlocking it. It opens at a haunting, slow pace, revealing Polo and her stocky form. She glares, before sighing heavily.

"Don't do this to yourself," Polo states simply. "I'm serious. It will make your time in there a lot harder than it should."

I almost don't understand how she can be cruel, mocking, only telling me yesterday that I was basically dead before I even got the chance to try it out. Now, she's standing here, illuminated by the darkness, telling me that I shouldn't be so paranoid.

"Why are you saying this?" I choke out.

Polo rolls her eyes. "I don't think you have a good chance, I'll admit that, but I was in your position a long time ago. I've seen kids come and go, a bare minimum ever returning. I was like you before I went in there and it changed me, it made me into what I am now. Don't let them take you before you get in there, okay?"

I know this is probably the most kindness I'd ever receive from Polo, so I nod, accepting it.

"Good," Polo begins to walk out. "So stop being an idiot and man up. If Karli can do it, and she's just as useless, then you can too."

Timber Murdock, District Seven Male.

No. No. I won't let you out again, Mason. This isn't fair.

Somewhere deep in my mind, I hear a growl, like an animal, except I know that it isn't. It's Mason, waiting for me to give in, to concede defeat, and he'll take over and do what he wants, like always, like it's always been since a young age.

Once, he was my brother.

We were never the same. He was snarky, arrogant, cocksure and confident with everything and everyone. But underneath that, Mason always had a darker side. A side that enjoyed watching people in pain, suffering, anything that wasn't happy, he loved it. I was his opposite, his younger, shy and mousy in comparison. He bullied me often, but at the time, I thought it was something all siblings tend to do to each other.

It grew worse.

Then, one day, he took it too far.

Blackmailing me, I ended up travelling to the local lumberyard, owned by an old, frail man that struggled to look after it. It was one of many, but that wasn't the point. If you lived locally, you used that over others. He jeered, poked and pushed me. Then, before I knew it, I was shoving him, so hard, he fell back onto the conveyor belt.

His jacket, worn and ragged, got snagged on the machine.

That was when we changed personalities. He was mousy and weak, begging me to help. I was scared, hurt, wondering why he hated me so much with my hand on the lever for the machine. I didn't want to push it down, and I didn't.

I tore him away from the machine, and instantly, he pushed me into a block of wood out of anger.

This time, I fought back, and we tussled. We knocked into that lever and turned it on, but no-one was attached. Then with a final push, Mason fell backwards, circular blade cutting him deep. Accidental. I tried to save him, I really did. I pressed my hands down on the wound to try and stop the blood. But he died, breathing his last words into my ear.

"You killed me."

Guilt took over, and shaking, I cleaned it all up, burying his body. My parents assumed Mason ran away. No-one ever found out.

The price?

Him taking over when he wants. I squint, the pain becoming too much, before everything goes dark. I rise, smiling, enjoying the fact that Timber remembers the memory so much. Tomorrow, I will kill. Tomorrow, Timber will be gone forever, through the trauma I'll cause, and I'll be back.

For good this time.

Mirana Capulet, District Eight Female.

Stitch walks slowly by my side, up the flight of stairs we've decided to take. Behind us, Cecelia trails, because Woof was too sick to make it out of bed this morning. Fervis wished us luck, giving us tiny kisses to the cheek before we left the apartment floor. Her kisses remind me of the ones my mom used to give me when I went to sleep. It was soft, tight, and I repeat the actions every time I go to my pocket watch.

"When you get into the hovercraft, they'll inject you with your tracker. At the Launch Room, your stylist will be waiting for you," Cecelia calls from behind. "Don't worry, Mirana, it's only a small pinch to the arm. Don't too hurtful. When you're on board, try to eat something. You'll only be offered food here and when you're in the Launch Room already dressed. But by then, nerves might be there and it might be hard to keep it down."

I just nod, too trapped in my mind to answer.

This all reminds me of a fairy tale my mom told me. When this guy, I don't remember his name, was trapped in a labyrinth and there was this creature he had to face. I'm going to be that guy, and the rest of the tributes are going to be the monster. Except Jack, Cameron and Gavan. They're too kind for that.

"How are you feeling Stitch?" I mindlessly ask.

He shrugs his shoulders, not taken too much attention of me. "Fine I suppose."

"Same," I smile, which turns into a beam naturally. "You know, this reminds me of something my mom used to tell m-"

"I know," Stitch cuts in, looking at me as we climb. He frowns, as if feeling guilty. "You've mentioned it before. Sorry, I'm stressed."

"I understand," I smile it all away, like I'm used too. "I feel the same as you, you know."

He forces a small smile that quickly disappears, and for a little bit, I can't quite remember where I stand with Stitch. Some people get on with their district partner, like Jack and Cameron though they bicker, and some make enemies. With Stitch, he seems nice one minute, and standoffish the next, like he can't quite decide whether to like me or not.

Stitch pushes the door open, revealing the roof.

It doesn't take me long to find Jack and Cameron, splitting up to head to one of the two hovercrafts.

"Stitch, you go to the left," Cecelia points to one of the heavy machines. "Mirana, to the right."

I'm going to be in the same hovercraft as Cameron. Stitch doesn't say anything, but forces another smile, and begins to walk away. Cecelia doesn't let me go so easily, though.

"Mirana, I just... I want to tell you how brave you are being right now."

I smile at the compliment. "Thank you. My pocket watch is making me feel safe. It reminds me of home."

"That's always good," Cecelia smiles again. "Take care, 'Rana. You've been one of my favourite tributes to mentor."

Tears begin to brim in the corners of Cecelia's eyes, but she looks away, holding them back. And silently, she leaves, my last connection severed. I make my way towards the vehicle, smiling at the boy from Ten as he lines up near me. This is it. Everything is about to happen.

And deep down, I'm probably not ready for this. But I have no choice. I want to go home so bad.

Fern Bracken, District Nine Female.

"This should only hurt a little bit," the lady with a rather large nose says, injecting me with my tracker. I hiss as she completes it and dabs at my arm with a piece of cotton. "There we go, all done."

She moves on to the next person, the little girl Ten, and repeats the action. My arm stings a little, and mentally, I add the lady with the large nose to my list. The machine makes no noise, but the silence is comforting. I'm ready for this. Course I am. If I can deal with a bratty child like Koel, an idiot like Castor and ridiculous mentors like Auckland and Victory, then I can easily drag a knife across someone's throat.

Piece of cake, actually.

The Ten girl squeaks when big nose is finished, and I do everything not to roll my eyes.

She has no chance.

Like Koel.

Two little kids, killed at the very beginning. I wonder how their stomachs are handling it? Twisting into tight knots, almost suffocating. Burning nerves, whittling away.

The ride takes a while, around an hour, and during that time, I add more and more names to my list. The Ten Girl, Samia I've learned, goes straight on. The boy from Eleven, girl from Twelve, boy from Eight who shifts his eyes wickedly and many, many more. By the time I've even realised the journey is over, I've add eleven tributes down, knowing their names. Piece of cake, as I said.

It stops, the doors open, and one by one we're escorted out by a pair of Peacekeepers, taken to our Launch Rooms. When I walk in, I smile at the coldness of the concrete, my stylist waiting ahead, her bubblegum pink hair twirling down in curls across her shoulders.

"I can't wait to get you into this outfit," she sings, and bam, another added to my list simply for her voice. "It is spectacular!"

"Is it really?"

"Indeed," she beams wildly. "It is truly a piece of art."

Right now, dealing with Castor might be more interesting. At least I can openly mock him. This woman right here, I can't, simply because I don't even know her name. If I did then I'd leave her in a blubbering mess. But it's fine. I have a huge list to start with anyway.

First thing first, Koel goes down.

And from there, one by one, the eleven tributes in my hovercraft will fall.

At the end of the day, I will win, and when I return, I'll make sure to rub it all in Castor's face.

Chord Wickers, District Ten Male.

My stylist, Ula, hands me the clothes to get into, the clothes I'm either going to die in or walk away wearing. And if things go right, I should die in this so Sami can go back home to her family. They're nothing special this year, but that doesn't surprise me. I've spent many years watching the Games. My family was completely against it, yet somehow, they still watched it in the fear that either me or my sister, Asha, would be chosen. Tips and all that, I guess.

The uniform this year is nothing but a tight, black top that clings to my skin and a pair of tan, cargo shorts that stop just halfway over my knees, revealing my legs. The black boots, however, are surprisingly comfortable and squishy. Usually they want to make us suffer, and this year, everything seems completely not... Which makes me worry more about the actual arena.

"The last little bit is this," Ula says quietly, handing me a thin, forest green belt. "Everyone is required to wear one. Green is to 'represent' District Ten."

"So Sami will have the same?"

Ula nods. "One have a royal blue colour. Two in red. Three in yellow and so forth. Ten pulled the short straw of green, to represent the pastures and grass of the farms."

I tune her out for a moment as I strap it around my waist, the divide between the black top and tan cargo shorts.

"Does it have any use?"

"Not exactly," Ula presses forward, looking confused at the belt. "It's nothing special, I can tell you that. No hidden utilities or devices. Just a plain, leather belt."

I'm a little confused. Everything seems so normal, so completely, strangely normal. I can almost imagine the fear in Sami's heart as she tries her hardest to understand what is happening with the uniform. Ula doesn't have a clue, though, and when I look at her for more advice, she sighs.

"I don't know anything Chord," she admits. "This is it. The uniform expels water, but of course, the shorts themselves might even expel them, but I'm not too sure. If it's cold in there, you'll need something to warm up. These won't keep you warm. Likewise for when it might be hot. If it is, I suggest you strip. The belt? Nothing at all. Simple an accessory to divide you all and make you stand out."

"Nothing at all."

"Nothing at all," Ula repeats. "Don't worry."

"How long do we have until launch?"

Ula checks the clock. "Five minutes. Sit, rest for a bit, it might be all too much when it arrives."

So, I sit down on the concrete bench, still trying to work everything out. The only plus side is, when I look in the mirror, I know that I don't look ridiculously out of place. Though, the nagging feeling of what is about to come bugs me. Anything can happen. It can be anything.

And that's what scares me more than anything.

Alto Boulevard, District Eleven Male.

My knees jerk up and down, my foot tapping the ground. Somewhere in my mind, it begins to swirl, nerves building and building. I'm used to hard labor. God dammit, I'm used to the constant fear of what hunting brings.

"Eat something," my stylist suggests harshly. "You'll need it."

Slowly, I begin to sip the soup handed to me.

All day, all night, I walk about a field, taking my job as Scarecrow seriously. Bow and arrow poised in hand, I'd shoot anything predatory that steps onto the land and threatens to harm the crops. I'm not a perfect shot, no-one really is, but I always caught them somewhere. Legs. Paws. Head sometimes. Sometimes, they'd run away, sometimes they'd just die there, bleeding out on the land. And each time, I'd silently say sorry for taking their life.

And then you'd repeat the action, Alto.

I know that. I had no choice, though. If I wanted to eat, I needed to protect the crops.

So being in here shouldn't be any different for you. Shoot like your life depended on it. Shoot like you need to put food on the table for your siblings.

I sigh, looking to the clock. Three minutes.

It'll rise, I'll be terrified, I'll run and grab something and go explore with my allies, on the hope that they survive. First thing is first, find Addilyn and get her out. Koel will make his own way towards us, he's fine, whereas I'm not too bothered as to if Ashton will get to us. Something about him really bugs me too much.

My fingers on one hand toy with the belt strapped to my pants, a hideous dark brown colour, apparently to highlight the majority of darker skinned people from my district. Yet, as my stylist said it, I can tell she was careful because of me being Caucasian. Truthfully, in Eleven, white-skinned people are the minority, forced to become the Scarecrows. Poverty is the norm, but for the Scarecrows? There's a step below poverty and that's where we lie.

My eyes find the clock again. Two minutes.

Bit by bit, it's dragging along.

I want it to all be over, really.

Be more positive. Negativity will only drag you down, Alto, and that won't be fair on you or the others.

Even though I promised myself to not get attached?

Still not fair. And no matter what, you've always been fair.

I place the space down carefully, sighing as I straighten my back. I'm right. Positivism. I can do this.

Don't rush it, because no doubt, I'll regret it.

Anastasia Burne, District Twelve Female.

I'll run in and grab something. Haymitch, in a drunken state, told me to avoid the Cornucopia at all cost and run out, finding a water source of something. Ashton just scoffed, called him crazy, and walked out. Haymitch got a tad more serious, telling me that I should listen to him to avoid being killed, but I just can't do that.

I need to actually do what I want to do, not what someone tells me too.

Then, Karli should meet me at the golden horn, and we'll run out and explore together.

That's the plan. I just hope that Karli will stick to it and not abandon me.

"It's time," Enzo squeaks in his totally non-masculine voice. "Don't forget what your mentor and Pashmina said."

"I'll try not too."

I stand, my legs knocking, and move to the plate. I stand inside, placing my hand against the cool glass as it begins to slide down. I look to Enzo, wanting some sort of sympathy, but he turns his back and walks out coldly. My stomach twists into a knot as the plate begins to rise upwards, and if it wasn't for the plate beneath my feet, I would probably collapse. Sunlight begins to stream from the top of the tube, and squinting my eyes, I brace myself for what could possibly be my death.

When the sunlight fades, my breath hitches in my throat.

I blink a few times, trying to understand it all.

To my right is the girl from Eleven, who looks a little confused, but besides that, not as scared as I thought. On my left, however, is the girl from Eight, who, with amazed eyes, mutters something to herself as she plays with a strand of red hair idly.

At first, it takes a while to even notice the fact that there is nothing, not a single item, between me and the Cornucopia. The concrete, cracked and jarred, is open, not littered by anything all the way around. The mouth of the Cornucopia is facing me, and when I finally stare inside, I see nothing but backpacks.

Eight sighs in amazement again. I look up curiously to see nothing but a reflective, shimmering surface skimming straight up like a curved wall, at the top, a glass sphere that streams the bright light in. It's almost like the tube I just rose up in. But behind some of the tributes, I see concrete stairs and what looks like broken escalators disappearing upwards.

Whatever is up there is hidden by the reflective surface.

It could mean anything.

That's why, rather than weapons, they filled the Cornucopia with backpacks. Survival rather than fighting.

Panic rises in me at the possibility of struggling without food or water.

Then, it's replaced by how brutal the bloodbath is going to be. No weapons means everybody fighting hand-to-hand over the dying amount of orange backpacks.

This year is sure to be horrible indeed.

Come Away To The Water by Maroon 5.

The blog for this story is - glasshousehungergames . blogspot. com - just take out the spaces.

I need to keep track of the votes, who votes and who didn't. To do that, it needs to be in one place. Deaths will be notified there.

I still choose the victor myself. Points don't decide it, but simply help in knowing what the tributes final place should be in the Games and how things play out for them in the terms of relationship, death, friendship and camera time!

I would love to hear some feedback, rather then just your votes. I take pride in my work, and anything you say about it, I'll appreciate it more than just your votes!

WE'RE HERE!

Get ready to say goodbye to some tributes. Voting is crucial. The weakest tributes, as well as created bloodbaths, will be gone next chapter. You may now start mentioning who your tribute is!

Again, let me know who stands out to you, who doesn't, general information, anything!