District 1 female – Phoenix Valentine, 18

Since my private training session was one of the first ones, I got to spend most of the day just on the first floor of the training centre, sleeping. I'd barely slept at all since arriving in the Capitol, so I was exhausted.

I was woken up around four that afternoon, and I assumed it was time for dinner, but was surprised to see not my escort, mentor, or stylist at the door, but the head game maker.

I sat up quickly, surprised and confused. What was the head game maker doing here? But perhaps he was going around assessing everyone again, so I quickly let my performer's instincts kick in and smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, sir, is there anything I can do for you?" I asked, keeping my tone smooth.

"Come out to the dining table now," he said, and I nodded, smiling still despite my nervousness.

I followed him out and to the dining table, where Mark and our mentors were already seated, waiting for me. I was invited to sit, and I did, sitting in a spare seat across from Mark. The head game maker took a seat at the head of the table.

"I'm cutting the pleasantries, and let's get to the point," the head game maker said dryly. "Mark, Phoenix, I can't help noticing that there is some... tension between the two of you. From violence on the chariots to violence in the training room..."

I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling a rush of nervousness come over me. We were so screwed. But I kept a composed and neutral expression. I didn't want to dramatize this any further, but of course, Mark spoke up about it.

"Yeah, well if she wasn't such a bitch maybe none of this would've happened," he snapped. I breathed in deeply, refusing to look at him.

"Alright, I'm sorry, this won't happen again before the arena," I said.

"Where I'll slaughter you," Mark said through gritted teeth, but no one responded to him.

"Actually, I wanted to take a different approach," said the game makers. "Phoenix, your interview is first. You're going to bad mouth Mark in that interview."

"What?" Mark said sharply.

"I want chaos. This is the first quarter quell, and it's going to be brutal," the head game maker said. "Phoenix is going to bad mouth you during her interview, and then, you will walk onto the stage and fight her."

And just like that, my calm demeanour dropped. I spoke, in a trembling voice, "No way. That is unacceptable. We may be participants in the Hunger Games, but there must be some boundaries and principles we can uphold. I won't participate in a staged conflict designed solely for entertainment."

"Don't do this Phoenix, don't ruin the reputation of your lovely Career district. But if you want to, we have plenty of peacekeepers in District One. Could go after... Calliope... Sivan..."

"How do you..." I started, but he was already standing up.

"Enjoy the score reveals," he said, and just like that, walked out to the elevator.

"Well, the interviews will be fun," Mark grinned, turning to face the television just as the score reveal started. I was fuming. I was going to be physically weakened the night before the bloodbath, all for entertainment purposes! How was this fair!?

The scores began flashing on the screen, and I looked towards it, containing the tears forming in my eyes so I could see.

Mark Simeon - Eight

Phoenix Valentine – Nine

Dania Khatib – Nine

Quintus Grimm – Nine

I could laugh a little at the fact that Mark got the lowest scores out of the Careers before my eyes were pooled with tears and I couldn't see anything anymore.

District 7 male – Arnold Pryor, 15

I took the elevator back to the third floor after my private training session and went straight to the kitchen, where an Avox was ready to prepare some food for me.

"I make my own food," I scoffed. I didn't trust anyone else to make food for me, other than my parents. No one else could make food as well as I could, especially not avoxes.

I wasn't overly hungry since I'd just had lunch before the private session, but the kitchen was my happy place, the place where I could relax and take my mind off of the horror that was the arena.

I was confident, yes, but I knew that these games weren't going to be easy. But for now, it was just me and the kitchen, and the endless supply of food kept in the cupboards of the seventh floor of the training centre, ready for me to make whatever I wanted.

I decided on a large pasta dish that I could give to the mentor, the escort, our stylists, Asiza, and the avoxes. Making food for them could help get them all on my side in the arena, plus it was just a nice thing to do.

When I was finished cooking, I approached Asiza with a plate of the large pasta dish, extending it toward her. But as I offered it, I couldn't help but notice the apprehension in her eyes. Memories of the past, when her last taste of my cooking ended in sickness, cast a shadow over her trust.

I held out the plate, my voice earnest, "Asiza, try this. I promise it's different now." My green eyes locked onto hers, desperately hoping she would give me a chance to redeem myself.

But Asiza hesitated, her gaze shifting between the plate and me. She shook her head, her expression filled with doubt. "I... I can't, Arnold. You know what happened last time."

My patience, already frayed from the stress of the Games, wore thin. I had worked so hard to improve my culinary skills, and I believed this dish was a testament to my growth. The rejection stung, and frustration bubbled within me. "That was a long time ago, Asiza," I retorted, my voice taking on an edge of annoyance. "This is different. You have to trust me."

Asiza remained resolute, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry, but I just can't."

My anger flared, a surge of resentment at her refusal. I couldn't understand why she couldn't see that I had changed, that I had poured my heart and soul into perfecting this dish. "You're making a mistake," I snapped, withdrawing the plate and turning away, my face flushed with a mix of anger and hurt.

I handed out the remaining servings to the mentor, the escort, the stylists, and the avoxes, but the bitterness of Asiza's refusal lingered in my mind. The kitchen, my sanctuary, had briefly become a battlefield of emotions, and I couldn't shake the frustration that had erupted within me.

Not long after I'd given out the bowls of pasta, the escort was calling me to come to the massive living room where we could watch the score reveals. I was still mad at Asiza, so it took me a second to actually pay attention to the scores.

Jonas Unix – One

Thia Vernata – Six

Luderick Bellamy – Seven

Hazel Mayfly – Six

Ezekiel Cunningham – Eight

Carmilla Wilkes – Ten

George Caron – Eight

Cindy Trimmers - Nine

Arnold Pryor – Six

A six. It wasn't bad, I supposed. But it wasn't incredible. Nothing too amazing that would make me stand out to sponsors. But it didn't matter, I could easily find poisonous plants in the arena and slowly kill off every single other tribute until I found victory.

District 8 male – Patch Corvin, 18

I'd done fairly well at my private session and while I knew my score wouldn't be as high as say the Careers, I felt confident that my score would be good enough to get a few sponsors. Even if I didn't, I could be aggressive, I usually was with people who tried to scam me when I sold them drugs.

The scores weren't going to be announced until the evening, so I had the whole afternoon after I'd finished my private session to do whatever I wanted on the eighth floor of the training centre. I sat on my bed for a few minutes before the best idea I'd had in a while hit me like a brick.

I stood up and walked out of my bedroom and out to the fancy kitchen. There was an avox standing there, who immediately moved behind the counter to make food for me when she saw me.

"It's OK," I said. "I was just wondering... I have a really really bad pain in my back, and I know the interviews are just in a few days... I need some medicine, do you have any painkillers or anything?"

The avox nodded and opened up a cupboard full of medical supplies, gesturing to it as a sign that I could help myself. I gave her a small smile walked to the cupboard, and was pleasantly surprised when I saw exactly what I needed. The Capitol was a little stupid to leave morphine pills in the training centre for any tribute to grab, but I supposed no one in the Capitol would have a problem with drugs. God, if some of the tributes knew, they'd probably overdose on it and escape the arena entirely.

But, checking that no one was watching, I stuffed several mini bottles of the tablets into the pockets of my jacket, then began to quickly make my way back to my room, when I bumped into Gabriella.

She eyed my jacket, which was obviously stuffed with something because I'd been intending to get to my room as quickly as possible. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just going for a quick nap before dinner and the announcement," I said.

"You know I work in the black market too, I'm not stupid," she said.

"What are you going to do then?" I asked through gritted teeth. "Snitch on me? Get me executed? Is that going to help you in the future? Oh wait, you don't have one, do you. Dying at fourteen's gotta be rough."

She went quiet after that, and I headed to my room so I could hide all the morphine. Little did she or anyone else know that I was going to fancy these pills up and then tomorrow instead of doing the training for interviews crap, I'd go around and give the Capolites a taste of what I did best, and hopefully get some sponsors myself.

That evening, after dinner, Gabriella, our escort, our mentor, our stylists, and I sat in the living room of the eighth floor to watch the televised announcement of the training scores. The Careers all did well, of course, the boy from three ended up with some crazy low score, but I only began paying attention from District 5 through to District 8 to see my allies and my score.

Ezekiel Cunningham – Eight

Carmilla Wilkes - Ten

George Caron – Eight

Cindy Trimmers - Nine

Arnold Pryor – Six

Asiza Sekewael - Six

Patch Corvin – Eight

Alright, I'd take that. Anything above a Five or a Six was considered sponsor-worthy, and my score was probably just scraping being considered a threat.

Gabriella Buiton – Six

That was kind of surprising, I'd assumed she was a lot weaker than that.

Overall, I wasn't too surprised or unsurprised by any of the scores, simply because I didn't really know any of them other than my allies, who had all been earlier and I hadn't paid much attention to.

Anyway, I intended to use my own methods to find sponsorship, so inevitably my score, while I was happy with it, didn't matter all that much.

District 9 female – Bulga Conroy, 14

For some odd reason, my district partner, nor my mentor, the escort, or the stylists, wanted to hurt me. And they were all older than me. Was it just because they couldn't let me be injured before the games, or were they genuinely nice people?

Cal especially seemed to be a fairly kind person, especially considering he got voted into the Hunger Games, and elected by the district as the person they wanted to get rid of the most. But I was sure it was all just an act. It had to be.

It was strange when I came off the elevator when I reached the ninth floor, I came face to face with him, and I was sure he'd shout at me or hit me, but he did neither. He simply smiled and stepped aside so I could go past him.

I stared at him for a second, then walked past him. He walked into the elevator, and I couldn't help but wonder where he was going. But of course, I couldn't ask him, he was older than me and had more power than me. But then... if he was so nice, perhaps he'd be nice enough to converse with me.

I turned around to face him. "Where are you going?"

"To the seventh floor," he said.

"The seventh floor?" I repeated. "Why?"

"To see my... girlfriend," he said.

"Your girlfriend?" I repeated, staring at him blankly. "You mean, you're dating another tribute? The girl from seven?"

Cal grimaced. "Yes. We're allies, and I've fallen quite in love with her. We made it official when she was waiting for me after my training session, and confessed her feelings to me. I told her that the feelings were mutual, and now we're together. I want to see her."

"You fell in love with her after knowing her for three days? And now you're going to be a 'couple' or whatever before you both die in the arena?" I began laughing out loud, but when I noticed he wasn't laughing back and instead just watching me, I stopped immediately, my heart beginning to race. I'd gotten too comfortable. I was making fun of him... he was bigger... older... he was going to... going to...

"Uh, Bulga, what are you doing? Can you stop breathing like that it's kind of concerning..." I heard Cal say, his voice. "Bulga, are you OK? Uh, Evelyn! Lysander!"

As he was calling for our mentor and escort, I felt my chest tightening, and my pulse pounding in my ears. Panic gripped me like a vice, and I couldn't move.

Images of what could happen raced through my mind. I imagined him grabbing me, hurting me, and my breath quickened even more. My palms started to sweat, and I could feel myself shaking.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I tried to apologise, to explain that I didn't mean to hurt him, but the words wouldn't come out. I felt so small and vulnerable.

I wanted to run away and go back home, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. It wasn't like I even had a home to run to anyway.

But before I knew it, my vision came back and I could see my mentor, Evelyn, standing in front of me gripping my shoulders tightly and telling me to breathe. Both the escort and Cal were standing behind her, looking as confused as each other.

"What just happened to her?" Cal blurted out.

"Bulga, are you feeling alright?" Evelyn asked me, and I just swallowed. Why had that happened to me, in front of all of them? They probably thought I was even weaker and smaller than they'd thought before.

"I'm fine..." I said, my voice quavering. So I said, more firmly, "I'm fine."

Only a few hours later, we were watching the score reveals, and thankfully, I'd almost completely managed to calm down to watch it. But I still couldn't believe that had happened in front of people who were older than me, who all already probably thought I was weak. I hated my life.

Nevertheless, as soon as the District Nine scores began popping up, I cast my eyes on the screen.

Calvus Logg – Seven

Bulga Conroy – Five

Janusz Kurczak – Nine

Fllora Hanzell – Eight

Buster Melrose – Five

May Vickford – Six

Zevran Karras – Ten

Fox Harlow – Six

I'd received a five. It was one of the lowest scores out of everyone. Great. Now they thought I was even weaker.

I hated my life.