The wind whipped carelessly around her pruney ankles, the coldness of it digging into her tender flesh. The old woman wobbled a bit, not yet used to her new footing. Her heels clacked endlessly on the paved sidewalk, her presence known to street dwellers. She quickened her pace at the sound of garbage bins rustling, fear over coming her.

'I should have gone home earlier,' She thought to herself. 'Helene, when will you learn?'

She had stayed late at the office. Her job was her only source of income, since she was the only one residing at her house. The one thing she thought was how ridiculous her employer was. She had worked hard on it, even giving it it's name! Yet he just threw it away.

'This is stupid! Nobody appreciates hard work anymore.'

The twitter of lone birds filled her ears as she continued down the windy path. The streets were desolate, the complete opposite of daytime. In the day children were running around, clanking fake swords, yearning to participate in the Hunger Games. Woman with skin of a moldy peas stampeding around on nine-inch heels, just to see how much attention they could get. Their friends trying the same. It was there own little game, Helene had joined in a few times. Though she hated the effects of colored skin you got afterwords. It always seemed to depend on the color though.

As well, several little shoppes were packed full of cats and mutants, all talking about President Cornelia's next move. There were several rumors that went around about the arena, about the mutts and such. Helene knew which were true and which were false, you could tell by the way they sounded.

Then there was the night. Hardly any signs of life in the streets, only useless beggars falling asleep on perfect sidewalks. Papers and trash littered the ground, awaiting the sweeper's and machines to come and pick them up a few hours into the light. The lingering scent of cleaner tainting the air.

As well as several nightkeepers watching the streets.

Helene passed a poster advestising the 2000th games with a picture of the president's face on it.

'Stay Tuned for the 80th quell!'

Helene felt the urge to rip down the poster but decided against it. The nightkeeper's were watching, and besides! It had a picture of the president on it!

When Helene finally reached her fish-bowl shaped house a sense of relief washed over her. Quickly she retrieved her key, and inserted it into the doorknob. She then hastily opened the door, immediately welcomed with warm, fruity air.

"Aman?" she starts, inhaling it a bit more. "Did you make strudel for your poor, old mother?" she smiles a bit, giving a mental chuckle at their little joke.

Aman was her one and only son. He was in his 30s and still lived with his mother.

No reply.

"Aman?" she asks again, taking off the wretched high heels. She slowly starts into her living room.

"Aman? Honey, you know how I dislike it when you don't answer!" she calls, her brow crinkling in frustration. When she found that boy...

She gave a slight gasp when she reached her living room.

"Ah! Helene! I was looking for you!" the voice says, all too familiar. The person clasped their hands together and shifted slightly in the armchair.

Helene looked around. "Where's Aman?" she asks, a little quiver of worry entering her voice.

"Why don't you take a seat? It would be nice to rest your feet for a bit, eh?" the voice practically states, running their fingers through their hair.

Helene nods, and wobbles over to the chair opposite of the intruder.

"Well," the say, leaning forward anxiously. "How are you? Feeling well?" they ask, a hungry gaze setting it's sights on her fingers.

"Oh, I feel great!" she says sarcastically, gulping slightly.

"That's good. Don't you have a question for me?" the person asks, pouting their lip slightly.

"Where's Aman?" she asks.

"Aww." he says, adding fake sorrow into his voice. "I was looking more along the lines of 'how are you head gamemaker?'" he says.

"How are you?" she asks grumpily, a small senser of fear overtaking her.

"I'm well." he says, a chesire grin forming on his delicate face.

"Well, Where's Aman?" she asks again.

He scowls. "Aman? You mean that mentally incompentent fool? That ridiculous man-child? What about him?"

"Where is he?" she asks, unable to keep panic from entering his voice.

"Where is he?" he mocks, his face then returning to a smirk. "Well, he'll be away for awhile, on a little...trip." he says maliciously.

"What do you mean?!" she cries out. "What the hell did you do?!"

"Ah.. that's where you're mistaken, it was not I. But we."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean? Tell me, dammit!"

"Well, I have a little propisiton for you.." he trails off, twirling the end of his mustache slightly.

"What?" she asks rather coldly, her heart beat quickening.

"That's no way to talk to a friend! Anyways, I was wondering if you could help me with something. From your profile you seem rather intelligent and we could use someone like you..."

"Someone like me for what?" she asks cautiously, eyeing the man.

He sighs as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Become a gamemaker. Assisstiant gamemaker."

She scowls. "Are you serious?"

"Seriously serious. As serious as you are about your retarded sons safety."

She opens her mouth as if to say something yet quickly closes it. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"I mean if you become assisstiant gamemaker for these games at least... your son will return to you safely. If not..." he trails off yet again.

Helene pinches her brow and takes a deep breath. "Fine." she says. "I'll do it. But don't you dare-"

"Oh don't worry Helene," he cuts her off. "Just have faith." his creepy grin returns as a beep fills the house.

"I think the strudel's done, Helene. Better get it out." and with that he got up, throwing a manilla folder onto her lap as he exited the door.

Well... Update! Helene will have a good part in these games, and I'm excited to develop her! Please review and tell me what you think!

-Olive