This story will mostly likely be on hiatus for the whole month of November. NaNoWriMo is fast approaching.

Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Escorts Got Their Names, Part III. Octavia Bubbles, the unintentionally discouraging District Three escort, comes from 1) Octavia, Katniss's prep team member, and 2) Bubbles, because she's, well, bubbly.

…..

Teagan Stratus, District Five

Now that the Games are so close, panic is starting to rise inside of me. I try to tell myself to be calm, to learn as much as I can so that I can make a good impression on the Gamemakers and be prepared for the arena, but today I end up just numbly staring at the bow and arrows that the instructor has placed in my hands.

"Go ahead, try it," he says. His voice isn't gruff, but it's not exactly encouraging, either.

I aim at the target and release my hand from the string, glad to be rid of all that tension in my arm. The arrow flies through the air and lands maybe a foot away from the target.

The instructor shakes his head. "If it had gone farther, it would have lodged near the center of the target."

I know what that means. Thanks, but no thanks. You're showing promise, but it'll take weeks before you're even close to using that as a weapon. Shooting a bow and arrow takes practice, muscle memory.

Well, how else is a person like me supposed to survive? Just running and hiding? I don't want to run anymore, I want to take control. I want to be able to defend myself, like... like Katniss Everdeen or something. I'm tired of hiding. Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life in fear?

Judging from the fact that I'm in the Hunger Games, the odds of anything other than that seem practically impossible.

…..

Cameron Ray, District Eleven

I want an alliance, but it seems everyone has already made their choices and excluded me. Caprice is working with two other confident girl, a group I doubt I'd be welcomed into. The blind boy from Ten is sticking with his district partner, and the Threes are a pair. Everyone else looks either weak or intimidating.

So I'm on my own. That's not exactly a problem—I'm used to doing things by myself, back on the farm. I've got some useful skills. I might make it.

The consequences for if I don't are too hard to think about.

My mind wanders back to Mom and Delilah. How are they holding up? The rest of our sector are supporting them, right? Delilah can do some of the simpler jobs on the farm, from watching me. It's not like I'm the only supporter of the family.

This would be so much easier if my dad were here. Or rather, there. In District Eleven, with my mom and my little sister. I don't know where he is now or even if he's alive, but somehow, I think everything would be okay if he were there to help us through.

Before I die, I wish I would get to meet him just once, if only for a moment.

…..

Eadem Ordinaria, District Six

"I always wanted a garden."

The edible plants instructor looks at me strangely. What, are we not supposed to talk about our wishes and dreams before we get shipped off to our deaths? Because I was just about to share my entire life story.

I continue, mostly to annoy him. "Back in Six. I always wanted a garden, but there was never enough room, and my mom didn't think it was normal."

He nods, and then picks up another berry. "Edible or poisonous?"

"Oh, that one looks nice. I like the blue color, it really stands out." Just as he is about to object, I cut him off. "Too bad it's poisonous."

People always say that, no matter what, you're not supposed to tick off the people in charge when you go into the Hunger Games. Bad things will happen to you in the arena, and you will die.

Well, that's what happens to normal people. I'm not normal. I'll play by my own rules in these Games, or better yet, no one's rules at all. I'll defy every possible rule, and I'll live to tell the tale, because I'm just that crazy.

And when I get back to District Six, I'll plant myself a garden full of nightlock.

…..

Veras Valdez, District Five

The lines have been drawn, the alliances finalized. I plan on going it solo, of course. Allies would just hinder my plans, bringing me back to that fragile, emotional plane of existence. I'm above that. I can think.

I've managed to hit all of the worthwhile stations—edible plants, knives, fire-starting, water-purifying—and found them all far too easy. The real challenge will be putting them into practice in the arena, and keeping my head while I'm being chased by mutts or fighting other tributes. Practical applicability, the downfall of many a brilliant soul. Just not me.

I made a pledge to survive, so survive I will. Maybe I'll even live in the process, though that's statistically unlikely. I don't need much, just common sense, intelligence, swiftness, basic skills, and a way to sustain myself. And luck.

It's luck that's the unpredictable part. And even accounting for unpredictability still isn't enough.

I suppose I should add "instinct" to the list.