There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away from us?

- Queen

Conifer King, District 7, 14

Our escort, Edoire, was a pretty dumb and oblivious guy. After we were escorted into District Seven's barren train station he led us towards a sleek train which seemed larger than my house. My District partner stood beside me, looking on almost indifferently at Edoire pressed his hand against a pad and sleek doors slid open.

"Wow," I said, not usually one to talk but being taken aback by Capitolian technology.

"You're impressed by that?" Edoire smiled. "Dear Panem, you District children are technologically deprived!"

He was right when he said that was nothing compared to other Capitolian goods, stepping into the train was like stepping into a future heaven I had been unaware of my whole life. I had never imagined a train to possess rich décor, such as paintings, statues, carvings and well organised bouquets lying dormant in their vase. There was something grandiose on every corner.

I pinched my arm lightly to test if I was dreaming – we all knew that the Capitol was well stocked, but not with showers of champagne or starlets of diamonds glittering amongst lights that snaked through the ceiling, making the train much more well-lit than the shacks for houses we'd have in District Seven. And my family were considered moderately well off.

But I wasn't dreaming, I felt the mild twist of pain in my arm, but I had forgotten in the midst of the glamour and technology that this wasn't a dream in the first place. And I saw Hadley's expression beside me – he wasn't impressed by Capitolian art, science or life, which is why he looked so numb when he followed Edoire down the lush corridor that seemed to serve no purpose other than look pretty. I was going into the Hunger Games. This was a nightmare.

I guess the Capitol enjoyed playing with your emotions. They weren't even kind enough to treat you like a soon-to-be murder victim; after the tears followed after my Reaping, after feeling my heart be crushed into bloody rubble, the Capitol's plan was to drown me in their gluttony and pamper me so that I felt like the most secure person in the world. Entertainment wasn't always seeing kids screaming – the Capitol wanted me to smile, to laugh, to fall in love and feel whatever positive feelings there were, they wanted the country to witness that. But that was only a mirage, they'd push me up in order for me to experience the biggest down possible.

Maybe Hadley looked so miserable because no amount of prettiness or luxury would remind him that this was a fight to the death. And that was the wise decision, so as Edoire led us past a sundry assortment of expensive art pieces, lush furniture and rooms that would probably never be occupied, I made sure that the same indifferent scowl crossed my face.

Soon we reached the room we were designated in. It was a mirror-reflection of previous rooms, though there were four sleek chairs, all red and squishy and facing a large holographic projection that came out of the television. It was currently just projecting the Capitol logo, and I wondered what its purpose even was.

Edoire turned to us and clapped his hands together, smiling. "So-"

He looked disappointed.

"Hadley, you look like you're going to cry, sponsors don't like that," he patted Hadley's short, neat hair with a sigh and looked at me. "And Conifer, I thought that you were better than this, you seemed so bedazzled prior to us coming into this room! Now you're scowling, well, I've got a little secret, scowling is illegal in the Capitol."

I kept my stubborn glance fixed upon him.

"Capitolian artwork is pretty," I said. "But nothing can be beautiful under a thick layer of blood."

Hadley glanced at me, just once, with a shyness in his eyes. But in that glance there was also some admiration.

"Oh dear," Edoire picked up a pre-prepared cocktail which lay close, taking a sip from it before setting it down again. "You're one of those tributes, aren't you? We have one every year and I just happen to have it." Edoire looked at me very seriously. "Do you want to know something serious? What you say can get you killed. And the Gamemakers will target you if they hear it again, and you will die. So I'm going to leave the room for five minutes to powder my nose before the Reaping replays are on and when I come back you'll be fine and happy. Okay?"

"She'll be okay," Hadley said next to me. It was the first time he had spoke. Edoire glanced at Hadley, then at me. "I'll make sure of it."

"See, the boy besides you is sensible," Edoire smiled and picked up the cocktail. "Now I need to just pop out very quickly. Feel free to call an Avox if you want anything – biscuits, fatty foots, cake, alcohol, morphine and titanine," he shrugged and headed for the door, which slid open automatically as we approached, but turned to face me. "And remember Conifer, you're famous now. Watch what you say."

After the sound of the doors sliding tightly closed again I slumped into the comfortable chair, which let me take my weight perfectly and sink into soft sponge. Hadley sat beside me quietly, watching some violet fire crackle around the fireplace lightly. Hadley didn't really seem like he wanted to talk, and I didn't want to talk either.

I stared into the fire contemplatively, holding back tears when I thought of my family back home. A quick glance at the window and the flash of green trees and fields passing by had told me that we were moving, though it felt as if we were completely still. I wondered how many miles away I were from my family and friends. One hundred? Two hundred, perhaps?

My family and I had never really gotten on. Not that there were personality clashes or I hated them – that was far from the truth. I was just a hormonal girl going through puberty who was too stubborn and easily angered. And now when I looked back on everything I really regretted lashing out at my humble father, or insulting my kind, smiling mother. My brother, Sequoia, was also a sweet boy. I wondered if I'd ever see them again.

"What you did was kind of brave," Hadley finally said.

"Thanks."

"It was also kind of stupid."

"I guess it was."

Hadley was kind of different to me. The fires of boldness didn't burn bright in like they did me and he was much more introverted. Still, at least he was attempting to bestir some kind of conversation. Desperately clutching for words, I managed to strike up some kind of conversation.

"So, I haven't seen you in school before."

"I don't really go anymore," Hadley frowned. "I kind of lost the motivation. When you get to a certain age situations change, and so do people," Hadley frowned. "Haven't really had the opportunity to get a job, to make new friends. I think I'm just too shy," he laughed lightly. "It's a bad thought, but sometimes I think maybe it's better I was Reaped-"

"Better?" I instinctively pulled a face. "How can this be better?"

"When I go no-one will miss me," Hadley glanced at me. "You remembered the last few people who died? Violet was popular, and the Sperren guy was just kind of forgotten as quickly as he was remembered because... well, he was reserved like me, but at least he was tough," Hadley sighed. "And the year before that there was Vivienne? I think that was her name, and Falrey, and the District collectively mourned her. But some people are kind of bound to be forgotten. Hell, we're all going to be forgotten at some point."

"Don't say that," I frowned, feeling a little depressed. "You can complain about growing up, losing your friends, living off your parents, but at least you had the opportunity to grow up. I'm fourteen years old."

Hadley looked at me intensely for a second, only just realising the contents of his words.

"I'm sorry," he stumbled and stuttered over his words. "Th-that was inappropriate."

I wanted to still be angry at him, and thus slumped back and turned the opposite direction, admiring a particularly dull cabinet.

"It's okay," I sighed after five minutes of silence. "I guess you're not exactly sixty years old with a fruitful life. We're both too young."

Before Hadley could reply the blank projection that came out of the television slowly shifted; the pixels reassembled themselves in a blink of an eye to reveal television footage of soldiers marching to the death, of wasteland and explosions before slowly shifting to reveal a typical female Capitolian news reporter with slicked up blue hair. Her eyes were boring into me seriously and her thin lips slowly began to talk:

"More updates on the Panemian-District Thirteen war," she announced. "Though many brave troops have fallen, District Thirteen are at the losing end of the battle. They have fortified their territory well, though with heavy artillery and advanced technology we, the forces of Panem, are slowly moving closer to the city. There have been many questions poised from citizens such as: What do we do once we take over? Annihilate District Thirteen like we had two-hundred years ago? Take it as our own territory and use their natural resources efficiently? Though we're definitely set to win the war, there are still uncertainties," the news reporter gave the camera one last serious look before announcing: "That's all there is with the evening news, I'll take you to Caecilius Norton."

Caecilius Norton, an attractive and charismatic figure took up the screen, various news bulletins hovered alongside him, all boasting the Capitol's many successes and showing statistics on various production increases.

"You'd think the Capitol would be smarter than that," Hadley said calmly. "Than going to war. It's barbaric."

"It happens. It's kind of natural, animals fighting all over their territory."

Hadley paused for a second and then sighed. "Sometimes the things are natural aren't always righteous. That's what my mother told me."

Hadley quietened immediately after mentioning his family. I had seen him at the Reaping, stumbling to the stage and trying his best to fight back the abundance of tears seeping behind his eyes. Mentioning his family had almost set him off again. It was always seen as a weak thing to cry during the Reapings, but I knew that everybody had probably cried.

During the Reapings I had held back tears. I had managed to keep the cool, confident façade. Maybe the Capitol would even see me as sponsorable despite my age due to the stoicism I had imitated. But that didn't mean deep inside I was holding back all that pain of knowing I was in danger, and despite the comfort and gold surrounding me I acknowledged that I was in danger, every move had to be calculated and not doing so would end in my death.

The television immediately kicked into action again, the flash of bright colours belonging to each individual dyed braid possessed by Leein Malpin was in sight. Leein was in charge of making commentaries through the Hunger Games events and would later be the one to announce feasts, twists etcetera. He gave us his best smile, holding sheets of paper in his hands.

"You've all seen the wonderful Reaping," he told us matter of factly. "That was three hours ago. Now it's time to look at a recap with wonderful commentary provided from me. Here we go!"

A glittering emblem from District One filled the screen and the well polished streets, wooden floor and grand, glittering town centre came into view. The Reaping began with a shocking start, one I wasn't used too – there wasn't a volunteer. Everybody merely watches as a girl was called on stage – she had a pretty face, black hair and a lot of innocent to her. She was originally calm when she made her way to the escort, but upon realising that she was Reaped she descended into a state of shell shock. My gut twisted, and I felt bad for her.

District One's boy didn't disappoint (or in my case it was disappointing) quite as much. A boy volunteered. I even noticed Hadley lean up a little when the confident boy stroke onto the stage with a sly grin on his face. Hadley was short – I mean, I was around his height and was the same size as him, but this guy was even shorter. And he wasn't a mass of muscle either. He wasn't your typical Career, but something in his grin disturbed me deeply.

As the tributes' names were announced – Lexie and Pullox respectively – the District Two's stony emblem flashed onto the screen and dissolved to reveal the more bland streets belonging to the famous, tough District. Banners supporting the Hunger Games were strewn high, and there were even balloons and confetti. Immediately when the escort plucked out the girl's name three girls volunteered. A dizzy blonde girl knocked out one of the competition with a strong punch and managed to get to the stage first, though she was quickly intercepted by a darker haired girl who was surprisingly unglamorous for a Career; just jeans and t-shirt. She grabbed the girl's blonde mane and launched her into the dirt, storming onto the stage victorious.

So she was the competition. And she seemed tough too, looking out at her audience triumphantly. The Mayor who announced her looked shocked, and I knew it was a relative or family friend, which could be an advantage for her. Then a tall, hulking piece of muscle that more than compensated for the small, thin District One boy made his way onto the stage almost nonchalantly. There was a kindness to his face, though I didn't let it deceive me.

The sound of the door sliding closed came up behind me and Hadley and I both turned to see Edoire stroking a brush through his hair, forcing himself onto the couch with a glazed expression.

"Powdering your nose?" I frowned. "Was that some kind of euphemism?"

"Just keep watching the TV," Edoire said defensively, wiping his nostrils quickly. "Now, how are they all so far?"

"The Careers look like they can rip me apart," Hadley said. On the television District Three's grimy surroundings could be seen, and though she remained strong she was still visibly trembling. The boy was called up, though he was so unremarkable I almost ignored him. As comments were made about the District Three tributes, whether they were promising, and they weren't considered it, I turned to Edoire and Hadley.

"Well there are the Three tributes," I said rosily. "And the One girl wasn't a volunteer. She didn't look too fierce."

At the most ironic moment the emblem of District Four was projected before us, slowly descending into establishing shots of the District's pure, rolling waters as they hungrily lapped across the golden sand of the District's beaches. When the camera finished rolling across attractive palm trees and villas, the shot was turned to the pure District's stage, and the crowd waiting for it.

The volunteer was a guy, hulking, somewhat attractive and with muscles. And he was a volunteer. He kind of ticked every box of the victor's checklist, and gave the audience a dazzling smile after making his way onto the stage with a self-assured swagger. My tower of optimism immediately came crumbling down, and I noticed Hadley's jaw clench beside me. His mouth opened and closed aimlessly like a goldfish, though any words he tried to communicate didn't come out.

It got even worse when it was the female's turn to volunteer. The chubby, blonde hair escort had called out the name of an innocent pipsqueak of a girl, though someone stormed out and with the simple push of her hand sent the poor thing screaming and flying through the air. I couldn't forget her face and the way her blue eyes lit with malice. Her matted, curly blonde hair seemed to bounce with her enthusiastically as she made her way to the stage. The guy on the stage was an impressive Career with his impressive muscles and great height, but her muscles were more impressive and her height even greater. She even managed to make him look small and thin.

"I'm Honora," she said to the escort happily. "But please, call me by my full name. Honora Cashmere Floyd."

I don't think I could have forgotten her name if I tried.

"And you were saying about the weak tributes?" Hadley said, giving a slight, nervous chuckle.

"Well..." I paused, struggling to swallow. My throat had become incredibly dry and the reality of competition had given me a light tremble. "At least we can trust her to kill off the weak tributes..."

To kill off the weak tributes. Hadley and I weren't exactly action heroes; I didn't know about him, but I could just about handle an axe, and I knew I wouldn't bury it into her. Even if one of us survived, someone in this room would be dying during the Games. I wondered who my killer was, and prayed that if I were to have a killer at all I wouldn't be put at the mercy of the hulking girl who stood on the stage and waved to a cheering audience.

I was almost relieved when it cut away to District Five; District Five's emblem cackled amidst a wave of electricity before there were generic shots of the District's factories in action, throwing out steam as they produced energy, muttations and whatever else the place was responsible for spawning out. The camera slowly rolled through the District before finding its mark on a crowd full of terrified children.

The girl who was called up was pretty unusual – I mean, I know I didn't laugh when my name was called out by my escort. However, the laughter was still nervous, and the pale girl looked around desperately as if looking for a means to escape. A called out tribute had never escaped Reaping before, so she was merely intercepted by Peacekeepers and dragged out onto the stage, where she looked on dejectedly.

Relieved that the competition wasn't as tough as I expected, I reached for some Capitolian chocolate and grabbed it, though I found myself dropping it as soon as I saw the boy be called up. He was strong, as tall as a Career and made his way onto the stage without a care in the world. To boost he was dressed up in familiar dirty, orange garments. The garments that belonged to a convict. It was terrifying to know they weren't exempt from the Hunger Games.

Then District Six made its way onto our television screens – generic emblem, generic opening shots, and then the camera made its way onto the screen. Like District Three, District Six just didn't seem too remarkable. The girl who was called up cried and pleaded with the escort. A Bloodbath for sure. As for the District Six guy, he seemed pretty average too, though at least he had managed to retain any tears.

But something about his Reaping disturbed me. The way his family's cries pierced the air, reminding me of my own. In every Reaping a tribute (that didn't volunteer) always had their family cry, scream and beg for their life helplessly from the sidelines, but the boy's family were louder than ever. All those cries continued reverberating in my mind when the Reaping recap ended and the television plunged straight into useless advertisements.

"We'll switch that off now until the next Reaping recaps in..." Edoire switched the television off and checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes." His head perked up and his smile was so wide it could have touched his hairline. "So, what did you think?"

"The Careers are impressive," I admitted. "More impressive than ever – I mean, they're always impressive. Last year we had a typical One girl, a District Two boy that wasn't the most formidable combat-wise, a girl who didn't even volunteer and the Fours were wiped out as soon as they took centre stage. Similar situation the year before that, and the year before that the Careers were stupid enough to let themselves get poisoned."

"Yes," Edoire nodded.

"This year the Careers – well, apart from the girl – all the guys looked tough. The one boy short and stuff, but he looked pretty cunning and ready. The Two girl looked strong and need I say anything about the District Four girl?"

Hadley stood up, looking a little breathless. "I think I need water..."

"Okay," Edoire grabbed Hadley and forced him back down on his seat. He forced another smile, moving his hands through his short afro. "I'll get you your water. That's enough about the big scary Careers, Connie," I wanted to correct him, but Edoire continued lecturing me: "We want some more optimistic input now, you know, input that makes it sound like you or Hadley have a real shot at this."

I shrugged. "I don't know. The Three tributes seemed pretty unremarkable. So did the Five girl, and the Sixes."

Hadley looked at me defiantly for the first time. There was a strength in his voice, a confidence I had never heard before:

"Don't be too sure of that..." I looked at him questioningly, demanding more of an answer. He cupped his forehead, trying to retain his morning breakfast. After regaining some breath, the paling boy continued. "It's stupid to underestimate tributes. They may seem unremarkable, but the most scary thing about these Games is we just don't know. We don't know how strong a tribute is, or how smart they are. The people we dismiss could very well be a potential ally – a potential victim – or a potential..."

"Killer," I finished, pausing.

Hadley wasn't victim material, but his speech had reminded me that I wasn't to underestimate him either. He turned and nodded at me, prompting Edoire to smile falsely again.

"And with that, Hadley, I will get your water," Edoire moved out of the doors, which automatically slid open for him. He was obviously avoiding any negative aspects of the Games, and I wish I could too, but when I was the one being sent into the arena that was impossible.

I was always a realist. Now it was time to put that to use.

Mirane Saffell, District 8, 17

My District partner, Darius, was still in the train carriage with the television on when I returned. Out of a distinct curiosity I decided to investigate the bedroom I'd been given before we would be carted off into the Capitol to be trimmed and styled. It was pretty amazing – showers with thousands of buttons lining the walls, beds bigger than my rooms and a closet filled with dresses that had been adjusted to my measurements perfectly.

I think Darius noticed the dress I was now wearing, it was white and seemed to glitter with diamonds that had been sewn in. When I walked it flowed behind me like glittering air, making me feel a lot more regal and impressive than I actually was. The whiteness of the dress complimented my ebony skin and brought out the features of my face. It was definitely a step up from the white shirt and velvet pants I had been given to wear at the Reapings. I wasn't particularly vain, but I knew I had to look good and wear impressive dresses everyday to get the attention of sponsors. I wasn't interested in romance, but I knew how to flirt to get attention

"Y-You look nice," Darius smiled weakly. He was an awkward kid who would avoid conversation, which was good because I'm pretty asocial myself. He was about a year younger and the same height as me. I had pretty good gut instinct and knew he was generally harmless, the fact he kept stumbling over his words told me that well enough. I kind of trusted him.

"Thanks," I said, looking at the basic, slightly dirty clothes he had been given. "You look-"

"Not too good," he smiled weakly. "I know."

While I had been silent and aloof Darius had remained the same, I looked at him tentatively. It seemed the more outgoing and confident I appeared, the more prepared he was to be outgoing, though there was still an uneasiness about him.

"You can't be prepared to be like that," I said.

"Like what?"

"To put yourself down like that," I stood up, sweeping over to a tray of drinks. There were jugs on the tray filled with sundry juices that seemed to fill the whole colour spectrum, some containing the juices of fruits I'd probably never even heard of. I poured out a purple cup and took a sip, turning back to an intimidated Darius. "In the Hunger Games, you really can't afford to doubt yourself."

I took a sip of the drink only to find my taste buds attacked by an inferno of sweetness. I didn't know if I liked it or not, but found the juice was actually quite delicious after a second sip. After lowering my cup I noticed Darius wasn't talking to me and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. I wished I could socialise better, and often when I tried to genuinely socialise it seemed as if I was merely brushing someone off.

"How long do we have before the second half of the Reaping recaps start?"

"Five minutes," Darius instinctively looked for a watch, though found himself disappointed. If someone wanted to bring a watch in the train it would have to be as a token. "I think five minutes, anyway."

"Cool," I poured Darius a glass of the purple substance, holding it in my hand and smiling. "We can have a brief talk," the word talk tasted bad on my tongue. It was something I didn't want to do, and something Darius didn't want to do either, but when it came to the Hunger Games you couldn't afford to sit there and be silent. "About ourselves."

"Why not," Darius said with a brief smile, accepting my drink though being reluctant to actually take it. He gratefully took a small sip. "My name is Darius Cortez-"

"I got your name from the Reaping," I lingered over the uncomfortable memory and I could see Darius' features sink too. There was an awkward silence, but I continued: "Mind if I call you Cortez?" I asked.

"Uh... Yeah, go ahead," he permitted. "I forgot your name-"

"Mirane," I paused, not wanting to give away too much information. "Mirane Saffell."

"Saffell," Darius' eyes scrunched in concentration. "Like Deputy Mayor Saffell? You're related?"

I laughed and took a sip of my drink, nodding lightly, trying to keep a light and perhaps even flirtatious air even if it filled me with discomfort. "Yeah, you got that right. He's my dad. He's... Alright," I lied. Even though I'd miss him terribly, I would be lying if I said I was close to him. "Always busy." And conceited, arrogant and stupidly pro-Capitol.

"I can imagine that's pretty..." Darius thought about his words. "I don't know, crappy? I couldn't imagine not being close to my family."

"Oh," I made sure my usually quiet laugh was loud and tinkling. I gave him an almost sly look over my cup of juice, taking a sip. "You're a family man?"

"Man – boy – yeah, something like that," he chuckled nervously, not liking my approach. I immediately adjusted my body language so that it felt more casual, hoping Darius would relax a little. I think he trusted me, but he wouldn't let loose. "My mother is always there for me, my father can be more tough but he's honest... and... I appreciate that I guess. And I'm close to my sister too, I mean even if we fight..." His lip trembled and he forced himself to take a sip of his drink. "I'll miss her..."

"Do you have many friends?"

"Me?" Darius looked alarmed. "Well – I – I have one friend. She's been my friend for two years now, and we've been pretty inseparable." I remembered hearing a girl cry out Darius' name from the crowd. "She's one of the most amazing people I've ever met, and... I don't know," he sighed. "Being Reaped is just... hard... knowing I'll never see my family again, or her again."

"Sounds like a crush."

"It's not like that."

I nodded understandingly. Darius trusted me to open up, so I guess I'd open up a little bit more. "I have a mother too. And then a twin sister whose my opposite, she's bubbly, fun, always doing something," I smiled, taking another sip of my drink. I noticed Darius conformed, drinking exactly after I did. "I honestly spend more time than with my baby brother. He's ten months old."

Tentatively I took the locket from my neck and handed it over to Darius. Knowing what it was, he slowly opened it and peered at the picture. It was a family photo of mine, showing my father with his charismatic smile, holding my mother as me and my twin sister, Lace, held our baby brother together. He was ten months old now, but in that picture he was just newborn.

"That's adorable," Darius smiled. "He's so cute. I wish I had that as a token, mine is just a writing pen. But I do consider it lucky."

"Hm? You enjoy writing?"

"Yeah," Darius smiled. "And do you know what bugs me? Bad grammar, I'm pretty glad you're well spoken."

"The perks of being middle class," I laughed, Darius laughed with me. In that moment it wasn't really awkward, though it was interrupted by our escort, Robinetro, coming into the room and switching the television on. The District Seven emblem blazed as we watched our escort come in, holding an earpod to his ear:

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Portia," she said. "I mean, it's only an Avox, who cared if she stabbed into its hand?"

Darius and I stopped talking, only to watch Robinetro pause and watch us contemplatively. He listened to the girl down the phone and sighed.

"She pinned her to the table with a knife? That's unfortunate, is she to be punished?" He sighed. "Well, at least she won't face consequences – you have a brutal fighter on your hands Portia, it's a valuable tribute to have, I don't see why you're complaining."

As our escort talked through opening shots of forests and lumber mills I watched the television screen, watching as the two District Seven tributes were Reaped. One of them was a freckle faced girl who tried to hold back tears as she made her way onto the stage, though there was a strength in her I couldn't identify. After she was reaped, a short, unremarkable looking boy with dark hair followed. I turned away from the television screen.

"Who was that?" I said, as Robinetro terminated the call and ended the conversation.

"Oh... You know," my escort cleared his throat. "Portia, the District Four escort."

Darius tried to stop his jaw from dropping. "So her tribute just pinned an Avox to a table with a knife?"

"She didn't kill it, she just stabbed it," Robinetro paused. "Look at the television, you're on!"

I didn't even cast a glance to the television. I didn't care if I was on TV, and I didn't want to see my shocked face on the screen as I walked onto the stage in a disillusioned manner. I remember Darius when he had been Reaped too, the way he trembled as he made his way onto the stage. I glanced at the footage, brief curiosity hitting me. What would sponsors have thought about us? How would I have appeared? Probably pretty unremarkable like most of the other District kids.

"She didn't kill," I reasoned, watching me standing there on the stage. "But she did hurt someone. She sounds pretty brutal."

"I wouldn't worry-"

"Well I would," I stood up angrily, glaring at Robinetro. "What happened to your tributes last year, hey? Do you remember Tarren, the girl from last year? She was in my chemistry class, I was older so she shouldn't have been but she was so advanced she was elevated there. She's in a grave now. I see her parents walk to it miserably every day. My dad is the Vice-Mayor and he's constantly sending compensation to them and the many other parents of kids who have died." I paused. "Instead of burying your head in the sand, you need to make us aware of who is a threat and who isn't. Admit it: the District Four girl is dangerous. She has to be stopped."

After my monologue I forced myself to sit down, feeling colour creep into my cheeks. Darius remained silent and took a sip of the juice I had poured him earlier, though every time he glanced at me his somewhat-interested eyes gave me their own little round of applause. Robinetro's makeup-clad face didn't move for a few seconds – perhaps it was botox.

"Yes," he said. "She's a threat. But I can't do anything about that. We don't have any victors to mentor you. But we do have Capitol-hired survival experts who will do everything in their power to ensure you get given sufficient information."

My father was a politician, so I knew a politician's answer when I saw one. Luckily there was no confrontation, and only silence as the District Nine Reapings flickered onto the television screen. At first it began peacefully for a Reaping – the escort decided to break tradition and pick from the bowl of a boy at first.

"Holton Downing-"

"I volunteer!"

Everybody leant up, watching the television with interest now that District Nine had a batch of volunteers. That was rare, and automatically made the volunteer seem interesting and more of a threat. I expected a bloodthirsty grin and mounds of muscles – the Districts did occasionally produce psychos who volunteered to fulfil their twisted, lifelong dream of killing. Hell, the District Nine boy last year was a psycho, and a District that revolved around hunting and packaging animals in nearby forests often produced children with an indifference for blood.

But the kid who made his way onto the stage wasn't a mound of muscle. He was below average height and somewhat skinny, his formal attire hanging over him as it was way too big. Despite the stubble that clung to him jaw, there wasn't anything masculine about him. He didn't even look happy – he looked miserable as he stood on the stage, looking out at the audience with an indifferent air as I could hear a female family member cry out his name.

The male escort picked from the female Reaping bowl. The modest looking man unfolded the slip of paper in his hand, looking out at the audience and announcing the girl's name:

"Rita Boulder!"

I analysed the next girl carefully. A bright faced, blonde haired girl miserably made her way onto the stage. I didn't think much for her until someone screamed out her name:

"Rita!"

It was always uncomfortable when you heard someone's families crying in the background (and you always did), it made you see the humanity behind the person. Rita continued to make her way towards the stage, wiping back tears as someone tore through the audience and shoved them aside.

"Rita! No! D-Don't!" The girl screamed. The audience slowly forced themselves away from the frantic girl, who had managed to make herself more prominent than the girl who had been volunteered. I looked at the girl – she was tall, dark haired and somewhat well built. When the Peacekeepers had flocked around her and seized her she still struggled, managing to hold them off. "Rita don't go up there! Please!"

Rita paused, took in a shudder breath and put one foot on the step, ready to ascend before the piercing shouts of the girl screamed: "I volunteer! I volunteer, okay?!"

The whole District gasped. The boy on the stage, who had been staring at the floor, managed to gaze up at the girl who made her way to the stage, wiping her tear strained face. As she passed the girl she had volunteered for, I saw one longing look between them, and then Rita reluctantly ran back into the crowd while choking on sobs.

"So, um," the escort wasn't very dramatic, especially for an escort. "Who was that?"

Rita looked up at him briefly. "That was my girlfriend."

And then the intense Reaping ended, making my anxiety of the competition turn into guilt too. I wanted to return, but at what cost? There were people out there who had volunteered in place of loved ones. There were people out there who would give literally anything to go back home, and that suddenly made me feel relatively unimportant.

I was relieved that the District Ten tributes seemed a little more down to earth. The girl called up was a girl-next-door kind of girl, and the boy that followed – while physically impressive – didn't seem anymore eyestriking. Still, I kept a note of the boy, who seemed like he could put up a pretty could fight. But did fists mean anything if I learnt how to use a knife?

District Eleven was interesting too. In the past few years, it had always managed to produce its fair share of good tributes, though this year it was much more of a disappointment. The girl was some short, puppy fat covered tomboy who made her way onto the stage without crying, though still seemed like an inevitable bloodbath. The boy, while older, was somehow shorter and weaker. He almost collapsed as he made his way onto the stage, and burst into a fit of wheezes. I noticed Darius and Robinetro looking at the embarrassed boy awkwardly, feeling some kind of sympathy and humiliation.

I should have felt the same, I did feel the same. It was unfair that a boy who couldn't even walk up the stage was expected to compete in a fight to the death. But there were children going in too, and people who were physically weak and had no chance. With the Hunger Games there was no fouls or fairness. All I had to do was count my blessings and be grateful that there was one less person I didn't need to kill myself; I only had to let nature take its course.

That negative thought was pushed aside after the black-coal like emblem of District Twelve took the screen, dissolving to show opening footage of the inhumane coal mines, factories chugging out soot and the grimy seats of the District Twelve seam. Even the town square – which the Capitol went at lengths to make look nice in all the other District – was filled with grimy streets, children with flies resting on them and corpses randomly assorted in the street. It was an extremely disturbing sight, but one the Capitol wanted us to see as a warning. Well over a hundred years ago District Twelve was the centre point of potential rebellion, and the Capitol would never forget that.

The unpretentious, dark haired District Twelve escort managed to pick out the girl's name. The girl called up held the typical dark hair and grey eyes seen in District Twelve, though there was something difference and threatening about her. She made sure to show off her long legs as she made her way onto the stage with a feigned look of confidence, smiling and waving at everybody. When she was up there, she was waving kisses before answering the escort's questions.

"She's a prostitute," Darius said, out of the blue. Robinetro and I turned to him.

"How do you-"

"You don't live in the poor areas of the Districts," Darius looked at the girl on the television screen who was still smiling and waving. "Only a prostitute can manage to look euphoric while they want to cry inside. Only a prostitute would manage to keep their hair well-maintained in District Twelve. Reason A is because they have to for the job, reason B is because they make more money than your average low-wage worker."

Darius was observant, I'll give him that. Even Robinetro looked impressed. Nobody paid much attention to the boy who made his way onto the stage; he was quiet, but otherwise I'd remain pretty unassuming about him or his talents.

Leein Malpin, the commentator, was back on the screen:

"And news just in – the most popular tribute, from initial glance, is-"

Robinetro clapped and the television immediately shut down, the commentator's powdered face and multicoloured dreadlocks evaporating into nothingness before our very eyes. I knew why Robinetro had done that, and I knew that Darius knew it too: Robinetro knew we weren't the most popular initially. When there had been District volunteers with emotional backstories, promising underdogs and hulking Careers could a normal District kid expect anything different?

"We could discuss which ones are dangerous," Robinetro retrieved a strawberry from the fruitbowl on the arm of the chair, taking a bite out of the succulent looking fruit. "But I want positivity, people. Who do we see at potential allies?"

"Allies?" I asked, affronted. "I hate to disappoint y'all, but I'm going in there alone."

Robinetro looked at me parentally. "Firstly, do not use strange District Eight slang," I felt like telling him that a lot of girls in a lot of Districts used said slang. "Secondly, if you want a chance in hell of getting out there alive you need someone else with another arsenal of strengths to make you somewhat competent."

"He's right," Darius admitted meekly. "I-I don't know what I'm good at, but if I survive the Bloodbath I'm going to need someone to survive with."

My lips pursed. "If I had to be in an alliance, it would be with the more promising looking ones – the Careers, the Ten boy, I'd want someone strong."

"Someone stronger than you who could take you down?" Darius frowned. "I'd want someone loyal."

"And who do you propose?"

"I don't know," Darius looked at the floor, his hands toying together nervously, clicking and unclicking at a concealed writing pen underneath his pocket. "The Twelve boy looks reliable. Maybe one of the Nine tributes? They could be strong too... Maybe the Seven tributes..."

"You're picking out Bloodbaths," I said matter of factly.

"... Maybe you."

I paused again. I wanted to get in Darius' good books, but he was already contemplating an alliance with me? I suddenly felt jailed and restricted. Darius was a nice kid, probably nicer than anyone else I could expect to meet in the Hunger Games, but would I want him to be in an alliance with me? Would I want to throw my chance of survival in his hands? Maybe not.

"I'll think on it," I said, standing up. "Anyway, I want to dress into something more comfortable. I can only stand looking nice in a designer dress for so long."

"Remember to be back in time for the survival mentor," Robinetro chirped a reminder as I went out of the room, leaving Darius looking incredibly crestfallen while guiltiness cooked inside of me. I entered my room, throwing myself onto the bed and letting out a sigh. I wasn't even in the Capitol and there were already choices to make, people to talk to, routes to consider and feelings I didn't want to feel.

Darius went with his heart. I got that, and I often go with my heart too, but this was the Hunger Games. Loyalty didn't exist in the Hunger Games, so Darius was strange for looking for it. But could I consider him as an ally? He was loyal, but I didn't know what if strengths were if he even had any. I wanted to go in alone or with a strong ally. But at the same time, a part of me just wanted nothing more than a friend in with me to make things easier. And Darius had been so kind to me, how could I just casually reject him with the excuse of 'I want better than you?'

I rolled over on the bed so I looked out of the window. Hedges and fields blurred by like buzzing, green fairies, the rush of the outside like the rush that was happening inside my mind. The Hunger Games was a lot worse than I expected, because not just was I battling with other tributes, but I was battling with myself too.

Unedited chapter that's bound to be riddled with grammar mistakes. I'm sorry for that.

Thanks everyone for all your reviews, and I'm sorry I failed to respond to them. I've planned to respond to around 50% of peoples reviews. I'm also trying to sketch a way to reward reviewers – not in a vague 'if you review, your tribute's chances of dying decreases' way, but a way similar to a sponsor system.

I won't, however, have a sponsor system as intricate as other SYOT's do. But I'll find a way to reward you guys :)

So yeah, continue to review. And to all those people who rank tributes out of 10 – keep doing that, it's a pretty reliable way of telling me how much you like a tribute, because just saying you 'like' or 'dislike them' is more vague.

~Toxic