A/N- Okay, I know that by the time you get to the end of this, you'll probably be mad at me for glossing over so much stuff, but there really was very little I could've stuck in there. I do apologize, but I didn't want to stick a bunch of unnecessary filler chapters in there. Please understand, and just by what's coming up next, you have got to know that the next chapter is going to be so much more exciting. Thank you. Please read and review.

"Why would whoever made us just throw a bunch of people onto the Earth and watch us eat each others guts out? Sure, everyone's happy sometime, but does that really ever last? Seriously, people spend too much time trying to get power, when it's pointless in the end. You could close your eyes one day, and never open them again, and then what could would power do?"

"When you die, people are going to forget you. Everyone that you've ever touched is going to eventually pass away, and then if you're lucky, you'll just be a name in history books, or maybe written down in someone's family tree. So why would that power that everyone truly wants even matter? If you're going to be forgotten anyway, wouldn't it be better to just live your life piece by piece, second by second, and enjoy every moment as much as you can?"

"Wow, you've got yourself a decent sized brain, don't you Kid?" I ask Doc. That's not his actual name. His name is Xavier Doctor. I don't call him Doc because of his last name, but rather because if he'd be able to live to adulthood, he'd end up as one of those guys that helped Annie, a doctor that focuses on what's going on in your head. Speeches like that, that'll make you think for a very long time, flow out of this kid's mouth every other second. He was an orphan, I think, but winded up living with this rich family after prowling the streets for six years after his parents died in a fishing accident.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asks, shaking his head to get his shaggy black hair out of his face, his huge brown eyes begging me to pay attention.

"Yeah, I'm listening," I assure him, fighting to keep my eyes open. It's not that listening to Doc isn't interesting, but I'm starting to like him, and that is the last thing that I want to do. He's smart, I'm not going to question that, but he also looks like the type of person who spent six years living off of scraps. He doesn't have a shred of meat on his bones, and he's deaf in one ear from an infection he never got treated. He won't win the Games, but he knows it too, which is more impressive than if he thought that he would win.

"You know, I don't even think that I'm going to try," he continues, fiddling with a rubber band that he had around his wrist. I glance at him in surprise.

"Are you stupid?" I ask, even though he obviously isn't.

"If I fight in these Games, I'll be changing myself, turning into a savage, and for what? I'm going to die eventually anyway, so why should I turn my back on everything I stand for, just to live for another day, or even just another hour?" I sigh and look at him.

"You're making me feel like shit, you know that, right?" His dark eyes get wide, and he holds up his hands.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. You were favored to win, you had something to fight for. I have no chance."

"You don't know that," I say, even though it's sort of obvious. The kid has the brain to be lethal, but he doesn't have the skills or ruthlessness to actually do what his brain tells him.

"I know I'm going to die," he says, then squeezes his eyes shut.

"You're brave," I tell him, "you actually have the guts to die the right way." He opens his eyes slowly.

"Who ever thought that someone like you would be calling me brave." I lean back in my chair, looking out the window at the land that's zooming past us. I think that we're going through District 2. We have to be close to the Capitol. In a minute, Alva is going to poke her head in this room to announce that there's a half hour left.

"I'm not brave, I'm just not smart enough to be afraid," I say. He laughs, a small smile making it's way onto his face. He has an amazing smile, one that I know will be hard to forget. It touches his eyes, and it's so amazingly sincere that you have to smile back. This year is going to be harder than last year, I can feel that already. This kid is so purely good that I can't imagine watching him die.

"You're actually decent, Finnick," he says.

"And you're so much more than that," I mutter, then I leave before he can say something else that'll just hurt me later.

As soon as an Avox comes by to take Doc and Kauna, the girl tribute, to the Remake Center, I rush Mags to the floor where most of the mentors are already talking and laughing. I crane my neck to see if I can find Johanna through the crowds of people. I haven't seen her since that one night, and I want to talk to her again, to get to know her better.

"Looking for me Pretty Boy?" someone asks. Just so you know, it's not Johanna. I don't even have to look to know that it's Haymitch.

"Of course. You have no idea how much I missed you," I say. He snorts.

"That's convincing. So, how're your tributes looking this year?"

"A twelve year old girl and a fourteen year old boy with legs as thick as my arms."

"Shit, your district hasn't been that out of it for at least ten years," he says, then he takes a swig of whatever he's got in the bottle he's holding. "But Twelve, lord, I don't think there's a competent child in the whole District. We got a Twelve year old too, and then a girl who's got enough extra pounds to feed half the Seam. I don't know where her parents scrounged up enough food to feed that lard ass."

"Gees, you're sure friendly."

"Hell yeah, I am." Just then, Chaff comes strutting over, and snatches the bottle out of Haymitch's hands. I decide that now would be a good time to find Johanna.

"I know that you're scintillating company, but I'm looking for someone else."

"He wants to go find another girlfriend," Chaff chortles. I give him a playful shove.

"You know, business is business," I joke with a half smile.

"Just stay away from my niece," he calls, breaking into laughter.

"I got enough of her last time," I shout back, and both him and Haymitch start chortling.

I find Johanna a minute later. She's sitting in a corner, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, her eyes darting back and forth nervously.

"If I didn't know better, I'd almost say that you looked afraid," I say from behind her. She turns around quickly, no doubt ready to bitch at whatever overly obnoxious and/or drunk victor was acting like such an ass. Then she sees it's me, and I can almost see her words come to a screeching halt at the end of her tongue.

"Miss me?" I ask, flashing a hopeful smile. I see her struggle not to smile back, but she just has to.

"You wish," she fires at me. Then she jerks her head at Haymitch and Chaff, who are now onto another bottle of some other alcoholic beverage. "I didn't expect that you'd get along so nicely with the drunkards," she says.

"Aw, they're the nicest ones," I say.

"Yeah," she snorts, "because they aren't sober enough to really know what's going on."

"Do you blame them?" I ask her.

"Hell no. I'm thinking about going over there and asking for a bottle of my own," she says.

"You'll want it even more before you're done with the first week in these Games. Well, unless my tributes die. Then I'll come and keep you company," I tell her, even tacking on the Capitol's favorite smile. She shakes her head.

"You try to come in, and I'll contact the Peacekeepers, tell them that you're bothering us."

"They love me too much," I tell her. "They wouldn't believe a word you say." She grins up at me.

"Really? Because you know, you're getting old. You won what, seven years ago? They've probably all but forgotten about you." I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, we're all ushered to our luxury box for the opening ceremonies.

In no time the chariots are rolling, district after district rolling out of the remake center. I close my eyes, doing my best not to imagine that twenty three of those kids will be dead.

Yet, just under three weeks later, that's a reality. A boy from District Two won, which isn't surprising. In all reality, it's about time.

He's the one that killed Doc, the boy from Two. It was quick, at least. He snuck up behind him, and with his deaf ear, Doc never even heard him. One second he was standing there, his intelligent brown eyes almost seeming to smile, and the next, his throat was slit.

It was the fifth day, though, which was a lot longer than I thought he'd make it. He didn't kill anyone, though. He didn't even try. At the start, he started running, and he basically did nothing other than just try to get away. Like he said, he never let himself change for the Games. He died, and he died exactly like he wanted to, like a decent human being.

I probably would've cried if it was three years ago. Now, though, I know that very little would manage to get tears in my eyes. I've seen everything that I could possibly see, I've hit rock bottom and come back. Watching a boy that I've known for a week die wasn't hard. It wasn't as hard as getting my mother's head in the mail, or watching Eliza die one of the slowest, most drug out deaths I've ever seen. I think that I've got the hang of this watching people die thing.

So, as I was saying, this guy from Two wins the 72nd Hunger Games. That's basically the end of the story. If I'm being completely honest, I'd say that it's the end of anything worth saying for a very long time.

The next year is repetitive. A boy from One wins the 73rd Games. I keep up my work for the President. Annie doesn't get better, but she doesn't get worse either. Rafe dumps his girlfriend about three months after the 72nd Games, and our friendship slowly heals.

There are no more epidemics, no major killing sprees, no more deaths, not of people that I truly care about anyway. Daisy and I grow closer, until she starts sneaking out to see me. Every day, I tell myself that I'm going to confront my father, but I never get the guts to. It doesn't matter. He doesn't pay very close attention to her anyway. She's just a child, and what's that compared to money and his job.

I guess that I could mention that Mags doesn't mentor the 73rd Games. She's too old, and her health is declining. So instead of her, Felix volunteers to go, so that Annie doesn't have to. It didn't feel right with no Mags there, but because Annie was safely at home, I dealt with it.

Oh, and you remember that rebellion that we've been discussing the last nine years? Well, from what Plutarch has been telling me, everything is in place in District 13. He'd found out more about them, and not only are they willing to help us, but they'll also have weapons and supplies that'll give us an advantage. What we need now, then, is basically a plan, and someone to set that plan into action. So far, that person hasn't come around, and I'm not so sure that they ever well. Even Plutarch is growing desperate. He basically said that we'll give it another two years, and if someone doesn't magically appear, then we'll give Johanna the job.

I personally don't think that's a good idea for multiple reasons. The main one is that people won't trust her. They know she's an actor. Another big thing, though, is her personality. As I've gotten to know her, I've figured out one huge thing, and that is that she has a temper. You won't know that she's mad, she'll seem perfectly fine and happy, but as soon as you look away, they'll be a knife in your back. She's never done that to me, but I've seen it done to many others, and I know that the districts wouldn't appreciate that. That means that I start praying like crazy for someone to come along and start the rebellion. A victor, of course, and preferably not one from one of the Capitol's pet districts.

Now, the 74th Games are rolling around, and this is one of the last chances for those prayers to get answered. Two more years, and it'll be Johanna, and we'll be screwed.

I take a deep breath as I walk out to that stage for the Reaping, and throw up one more quick prayer to any random heavenly being that happens to be listening. Then I plop down in my seat, and listen to Alva do the same introduction that she's done since I was old enough to have my name in those balls.

"This has got to be the year," I think. God, please let it be the year.