Acting, pretending to be someone you're not, behaving in a manner contrary to your own wants and needs for the wants and needs of those around you; out of love, out of fear, out of shame, everyone does it, even if they never take notice of it. Behaving one way at home around your parents, another when your off with your closest friends, or even more so when a Peace Keeper happens to walk past. It's like wearing different masks, I think. Everyone owns a few, slips into them from time to time based on the given situation at hand, only most people can take them off and be themselves when they want to be when they're alone, in times of weakness or intimacy.

The trouble is that I have so many of these masks, that most of the time I can't even tell when I'm hiding behind one. I don't like to think of myself as deceptive, or manipulative, really much of the time I'm just trying to be what people want from me, need from me. Is it my fault for gliding through life wearing a smile that isn't my own?

It probably began innocently enough, a few white lies to parents I would hate to disappoint, or maybe a few nervously embarked on adventures with Fawn, my sister whose wild streak calmed with age. Then there would be the trips to town, trips where I would learn to move, speak, and express myself only in tightly controlled motions and expressions so as not to bring unwanted attention to myself or my family. Our friends and neighbors were the same way, rigid, blank and above all fearful of the soldiers who could end your life without a second thought, and in most cases without the need for any paperwork either, for that was how little we were worth to anyone we didn't share blood with.

Repressed as we were, overworked, and starving while we gather food for the gluttonous elite of the Capitol it was no wonder that we, struggling at first found outlets for our souls which screamed in torment. Meetings secreted away in one squat hovel or another. It was rare to find sympathetic P-Ks more likely they were merely bored with their own station rather than truly caring for the people they guarded and would occasionally help to arrange a few gatherings with Old Thom.

Ancient, unable to work and kept alive by charity Old Thom was the only person amongst us who could read. It was an enchanting thing to watch as he could, with ease, discern meaning from inconspicuous black marks on paper. We would huddle around him and listen every man, woman, and child enthralled as our minds took to one journey or another that our bodies could not, while Kaleb a young red haired boy watching keenly from over his elder's shoulder learning the trait for a time when Thom was gone.

Fawn and I would play out the stories as we worked, it made the days go by faster, and it helped us forget our aches and pains, particularly those in our bellies. It wasn't long before others caught onto our games, listening to our dramatic take on the words and emotions expressed in the literature, giving it our own unique flair. Their work suffered as a result, and our pretend bouts came to an end, at least out in the fields. Now our small community in the heart of District Eleven had two forms of entertainment, the story-book reads, and our little plays.

Standing up in front of such a large expectant group was far different when you knew they were all watching than it was when the game was just between Fawn and I. It was difficult at first to get a feel for it, but everyone was graciously patient, they had nothing better to do besides, but then, once I slipped into a role, it became entierly my own. So we passed the hot sleepless summer nights when the gnats and flies were so many and so invasive that their buzzing could wake the dead, and kept the living from slumber or even the cold hollow winter months when one might freeze in their dreams. It was fun, the first real fun and sense of freedom I had ever felt in my life, and I was forever grateful for it.

Now though as I watched my competition spread themselves around the large training area I wondered, what role would serve me best in the Games?

Strolling through the displays I kept my expression neutral, disinterested even. Boys and girls from every District had rushed into the room and set to work as if their lives depended on it. While this fact remained true enough, there was a deeper game in the works, a game of subterfuge, cunning, and popular opinion. You had to first manipulate your adversarys, and then your audience, the only thing I couldn't quite decide was if I wanted the other Tributes to think I was more, or less capable than I really was?

I ambled past the climbing wall, and away from the night room. The animal tracks, and botanical displays held little interest for me as well. What was the point in trying to remember anything about a particular type of terrain when you could be studying the wrong one? Something that did catch my notice however was the pool. It was a large deep body of clear, crisp water. I'd never seen nor had the privilege to drink from something so clean, my thirst quenched by hazy water, the lingering taste of dirt that accompanied it insured that my throat never felt entirely soothed.

I was transfixed momentarily by the still, glossy surfaced until a rippled shattered it's flawless reflection. A boy stood talking to the man operating some sort of machinery that began making waves that grew in severity over time. Pulling myself away I continued my search, inner ponderings brimming just beneath the surface.

That was when I saw it, and a knew. The bow hung on the wall untouched, it's arrows gathering dust beside it, avoided as if diseased or cursed where all other weapons were tested readily and enthusiastically. A small half smile betrayed my plan but I quickly banished the look from my face and approached the device slowly, freeing it from it's hook with feigned reverence. Silence fell over the on-lookers Careers mostly as they watched me examine the woodgrain and test the drawstring as though I knew what I was doing. I could feel the despise coming off the crowd like heat from a fire as I seemed to confidently handle the bow they were all afraid to touch. When finally I retrieved an arrow and took aim I had quite the attendance.

Drawing, the muscles of my arms and back cried out while I held the position as perfectly and unwaveringly as I could. How much was it going to sting? I wondered as I purposefully adjusted my hands so that the string would snap my inner arm. I let go, giving a yelp of pain as the cord left an instantaneous welt on my wrist, blood following soon after. The laughter was loud as all around me jeers and insults were thrown, even spit found it's way to my cheek.

"Who do you think you are," the very cold female Tribute from One scoffed. Her tone harsh and unforgiving, though her gaze was wildly alight. "Everdeen? If you're not careful you'll burn just as brightly." she said, though as I tried to walk away the blue eyed beast grabbed my arm, "That is if I don't get to you before the Game Makers do." she hissed.

Pulling away I ran, tears streaming down my face until I had reached the other side of the room. There I sat crying inconsolably, my right hand looped protectively around my injury. It hurt more than I thought it would have, but the pain was nothing compared to the taskmaster's whip, and my back was lined with scars from his brutality, the tears and wailing all part of the show. For as much as someone who was unwilling to even try would be over looked there was nothing more pitiful than the overconfident fool.

Glancing up from beneath my curtain of hair I couldn't help but spare a smile. Now that they believe I was beaten, broken even, I posted less of a threat to the other Tributes. But oh, how they were wrong, and therein lie my advantage.

I lingered on the outskirts for the remainder of the day, avoiding conversation all together, and dodging the long tables piled high with food brought out for us at midday. Not one of the twenty-five seemed to notice or care, if they were trapped in their own heads or I merely was no longer deemed a threat, either way I was background noise, just as planned. I watched them come and go throughout the afternoon, and well into evening, learning everything I could about them, their skills, their weaknesses, alliances that had formed, or rivalries that were set. I absorbed everything, committed every detail to memory right down to the peculiar mannerisms they had.

By the time I'd been tracked down by a trainer and informed that it was time for the center to close for the night I felt that I had chosen my role well. Complying I returned to the apartments to find the dull boy who'd come with me sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth as he arranged a line of grapes from smallest to largest. I wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but I wasn't about to lose sleep over it either. Besides, I wasn't just fighting for my life, my father was back home in P-K custody depending on me to win so that he could live. I startled when the boy gave an enthusiastic laugh, and clapped his hands before eating his creation. Side stepping him, I went to my room.

Sleepless even as the night crept on I waited pensively in the dark, until I was sure that it was safe. If this worked it meant that I could maintain my feeble guise while training unimpeded. On light feet I hurried to the elevator and rode inside the metal box gliding down through the tower and into the basement arena.

Now, I thought approaching a treadmill, time to get to work.