District 2

Juliana Ingram

I am here to fight to the death. Not my own death, but the deaths of my fellow tributes. Twenty-three of us will soon be dead and I have no intention of being one of them. As a citizen of District 2, the odds are in my favour; our tributes almost always make it at least as far as the final eight. We're raised with a military mindset; children in all the Career districts begin training for the Games almost as soon as they can walk, but we're especially serious about it in 2. In fact, we've produced most of the toughest tributes who've appeared in the Games over the years.

Officially, District 2 is the home of Panem's stone quarries. Unofficially, we're responsible for maintaining the Capitol's military might, but I can't go into too much detail about that. But it explains why we take the Games so seriously, why so many of our tributes are volunteers, why they almost always make it to the latter stages. And it also explains the costumes my district partner, Orion, and I are wearing.

I'm wearing a long dress made from a material which has been designed to resemble marble, with a cloak made from the same material draped over my shoulders. On my left arm, I'm wearing a round shield which also looks like it's made of marble, as do the breastplate I'm wearing over my dress, the sandals on my feet and the helmet on my head. And my hair is pinned up under a "marble" wig. Finally, all my exposed skin has been painted to look like marble. I am a statue. Or, to be more precise, I am a statue of the goddess Minerva.

We don't have gods and goddesses in Panem, but my stylist explained that Minerva was the goddess of war and wisdom in a place called Ancient Rome. She said it was in a country they used to call Italy in the old days, but she couldn't tell me any more than that. No-one knows what (if anything) is left of the world beyond Panem; for all we know, we're the last people on Earth. But we've no way of finding out for sure.

Anyway, I'm a statue of Minerva and Orion is a statue of Mars, the Roman god of war. Our stylists chose that theme because they felt it reflected both District 2's official status as the masonry district and our unofficial status as a military stronghold. Of course, the other districts aren't supposed to know about the military thing, but I suspect some of them may have worked it out by now, given our tendency to produce tough tributes. Tributes like Orion and myself. We both volunteered for these Games in the hope of joining the list of District 2 victors; our district has won the Hunger Games more times than any of the other eleven.

Of course, only one of us can win. And, like I said before, I mean to make sure it's me. I've known Orion since we were five years old (we're now seventeen) but I must forget all that once we're in the arena. From that point on, he (and the tributes from Districts 1 and 4) will be my allies for as long as it takes to eliminate everyone else. After that, any Career tributes left alive will begin to turn on each other. Put simply, allies will become enemies. And, as a District 2 tribute, I am determined to win even if it means killing a childhood friend.

It may sound hard to believe that anyone could betray twelve years of friendship like that, but that's how we're brought up in 2. We see being a tribute as an honour, being a victor even more so. Our tributes are traditionally prepared to kill whoever needs to be killed in order to win, including their own district partners. So, if it comes down to Orion or me, I won't hesitate to kill him. Unless he kills me first.

The doors to the Remake Centre are opening and the chariots are starting to roll out. I stand up straight and, following my stylist's instructions, adopt a stern expression, the expression of a goddess of war.

Orion Cross

While waiting for the tribute parade to begin, I have plenty of time to come up with a preliminary strategy for the Games. Form an alliance with my district partner, Juliana. Team up with the kids from Districts 1 and 4. Maybe recruit a couple of tributes from the other districts if they have any skills that could be useful. That's the strategy Career tributes traditionally adopt and it's been pretty effective over the years; I've seen many tributes taken down by the entire Career pack. That, plus the fact that we've trained for the Games all our lives, is what gives us such an advantage in the arena.

In the meantime, though, we've got to be paraded through the streets of the Capitol, dressed up to represent our districts' industries. Since Juliana and I are from District 2, we are supposed to represent masonry, our district's official industry. But District 2 is also a military stronghold and both industries are reflected in the costumes we are wearing. My costume consists of a tunic with a breastplate over the top, sandals with straps around my calves, a helmet and a shield, all of which look as though they are made out of marble; any parts of me that aren't covered by my costume have been painted to match. Juliana's costume is similar, only she is wearing a long dress instead of a short tunic. We are statues of Mars and Minerva, the Roman god and goddess of war.

I think back to the reaping yesterday, when I lined up with the other kids in District 2 to await the drawing of the names. Not that it matters whose name is drawn because whoever it is will almost invariably be replaced by a volunteer. This year was no exception. Juliana ran forward to volunteer before the girl whose name was originally drawn had even started to make her way to the stage. The boy I replaced had made it as far as the steps before I stepped in and volunteered as tribute in his place.

In fact, I can't remember a time when District 2 had a tribute who hadn't volunteered. And, short of the next Quarter Quell banning people from volunteering, I can't see that changing any time soon.

This is because of the way we're raised to see being a tribute as an honour. Most of the kids in 2 are eager to take part in the Games, even though we know victory isn't guaranteed for any tribute. Some even make special requests that, should their names be drawn at a reaping, they don't want anyone to volunteer for them. But I've never seen anyone who's made such a request have their name drawn, though my father says it has been known to happen.

Mostly, however, our tributes go into the arena as volunteers and, because they tend to be the best fighters, they almost always make it to the latter stages. The lowest placing for a District 2 tribute since the first Career pack was formed is fourteenth, achieved (if that's the right word) by a girl named Tyler who was the victim of a Gamemakers' trap. I remember watching it on TV. Tyler was quite literally alive and well one minute, choking to death from a cloud of poisonous gas the next; the rest of the Career pack managed to get clear, but it took them about three days to recover. And it happened right after the first death recap, very early for a District 2 tribute to get taken out.

But I don't plan to follow in Tyler's footsteps. If I have to die in these Games, I want to die in battle, not because I triggered one of the traps rigged by the Gamemakers. And I know they will rig traps because they always do; it livens up those dull moments when there haven't been any deaths for a while. Not to mention that it also reminds the tributes that only one of them will get out of the arena alive.

Right now, however, the tribute parade is starting. The District 1 chariot has already left and the one bearing Juliana and myself is getting ready to follow.