GRAY DAWSON
DISTRICT 2 FEMALE
18

Not good enough. Not good enough. I'm not volunteering for the games to lose and die. I'm not volunteering to come home in a coffin. I have to win. I have to be good enough. I have to be perfect. My parents make that clear to me. They both work at the facility, as instructors. Youth Facility For The Development Of Combat Skills. UFDCS. Ages 2 to 18 accepted. I keep training. I can't make a single slip up. I have to make my parents proud. I have to have their approval. I know they love me, but I need them to be proud of me. I have to fulfil their dreams of a Victor in the family, and I am honoured to do so. I have to do this. I have to be the best. I have to kill the other tributes to reach my family's future. And I will. This is what I was born to do.

My mother shouts at me. "Not good enough. Do better."

I continue to slash at the dummy. My father frowns at me in silence across the room. No one else is here except the male volunteer, and the four back-ups. It's summer break for those who aren't volunteering.

I've been training for hours, since sunrise. I haven't eaten yet. I need to be able to function without food or water, I might not have access to them. Although I probably will. My parents have practiced dehydrating and starving with me, and I've grown used to it. I can go an extra day without water than most people. I don't need massive amounts of food to fuel myself.

Finally, my mother is satisfied. "Acceptable. Go and run."

Taking no time to breathe, although I'd rather do so – but I'm in for it if I do, that could be life and death – I start to run laps around the gym. My mother would be angry if I stopped anyway. I know it's for the best, she only wants me to survive a fight. Although that's pretty much guaranteed. My predicted score is a 10. Not absolutely solid, it's only UFDCS's estimate. But it's pretty good. Almost no one gets an eleven. Except a couple of the Victors. A recent one from 4, Cove something, and the other was Draco Gunner. From District 2. I'm proud to be from the same district as him. He's one of the mentors this year. I wish I had him, but the male volunteer does. I still don't know his name. My mentor is Amber Bellator. She's one of the other people in this room. She watches my progress carefully. I always thought her methods of training the students was a little soft. My mother frowns on her. But then again, Amber is a Victor and my mother is not. I want to like her. She seems a decent person. But my mother doesn't like her and I am loyal to her.

Amber jogs over, joining me. She won the 17th games, the first ever UFDCS student to volunteer, the first trained volunteer in fact! Alongside her district partner. Then District 1 started having their kids volunteer, and then 4.

"Gray, hi! You're doing a great job!"

"Thank you," I reply neutrally, eyes ahead as I run faster. It brings me some slight satisfaction to see her having to put in effort to keep up. Of course, I'm putting in effort. I've just been working with weapons for three hours straight. I don't really see fights that last that long in the games. Odd. But mother's orders are law and I must obey them. I love her. She's preparing me as well as she possibly can.

"I really do think that 2 might have another Victor with you. Panem knows it's been long enough…"

She's not wrong. The last Victor from 2 was Flint Champion, in the 22nd. 2 years after my idolised Draco Gunner.

"Are you planning on taking a break soon? You need food and water. And it's a week until the Reaping."

I stare at her as we run. Getting on for 500 metres now, I'm pretty pleased with myself. 2 laps around the gym. There is no way that she is serious. I hope that my eyes can convey how appalled I am. I certainly shan't.

Amber looks back at me. In her eyes, I see something that almost looks like pity. Why would she pity me? It doesn't make sense. I'm the luckiest girl in 2. I'm volunteering for the games. My parents want me to be the best I can. My parents want the best for me. I am the best. I am volunteering. What more could I possibly want!?

"Alright, I'll take that as a no."

I nod at her, and continue my run.

On the 7th lap, I start to feel dizzy. My stomach feels hollow, and there's a pounding in my head. I feel like someone cracked my skull open with a hammer. I need water. I just need to do a few more laps. Just a few more laps, then I can take a short break.

I don't think I looked at bright lights, did I? Why are there colours in my vision, blocking my sight. Why can't I see anymore? Why am I…

Why am I lying on the floor of the gym? Why is my mother yelling? She's yelling at me. I made a mistake. Someone else starts to shout back, arguing with her. I don't recognise the voice.

The dingy lighting of the gym doesn't hurt when I open my eyes slowly. Amber and my mother are arguing, a couple of metres away from me. I notice the other volunteer, and the back-ups, looking at me from the other side of the gym. More pity. I don't need pity.

I start to push myself up from the ground. My arm collapses from beneath me. Why am I so weak. I need to be better. I'm not good enough.

I try again, making it to my knees. I kneel for a little bit.

The yelling stops.

"Look at her." I hear Amber say quietly. "Just look at her."

I look at them both from where I kneel on the floor. My head still aches.

My mother scowls. "She should be able to cope. She's not good enough."

"She's good enough for the facility, and she's good enough for my standards. And I don't recall when you won your games. Oh that's right, you've never been a tribute. So shut up," Amber flares at my mother.

Mother stalks off, seething. Amber walks over to me.

"Let's get you some water, alright?" She offers me a hand to help me up. I don't take it.

"I need to finish the laps. I only have a little further to go."

Amber takes a deep breath. "No. Gray, you need water. You need to stop."

"But I'm not good enough! I need to be better. I need to finish this!"

"Gray. No."

There is such a tone of finality in Amber's voice that it brokers no argument. Resigned to my fate, I follow her to the canteen, and the pity of the back-ups and the other volunteer follows me.