My body reacts before my mind does and I'm running out the door, across the lawns of the Victor's Village, into the dark beyond. Moisture from the sodden ground soaks my socks and I'm aware of the sharp bite of the wind, but I don't stop. Where? Where to go? The woods, of course. I'm at the fence before the hum makes me remember how very trapped I am. I back away, panting, turn on my heel, and take off again.

The next thing I know I'm on my hands and knees in the cellar of one of the empty houses in the Victor's Village. Faint shafts of moonlight come in through the window well above my head. I'm cold and wet and winded, but my escape attempt has done nothing to subdue the hysteria rising up inside me. It will drown me unless it's released. I ball up the front of my shirt, stuff it into my mouth, and begin to scream. How long this continues, I dont' know. But when I stop, my voice is almost gone.

I curl up on my side and stare at the patches of moonlight on the cement floor. Back in the arena. Back in the place of nightmares. That's where I am going. I have to admit I didn't see it coming. I saw a mulitude of other things. Being publicly humiliated, tortured, and executed. Fleeing through the wilderness, pursed by Peacekeepers and hovercafts. But never that I myself would have to be a player in the Games again. Why? Because there's no precedent for it. Victors are out of the reaping for life. That's the deal if you win. Until now.

There's some kind of sheeting, the kind they put down when they paint. I pull it over me like a blanket. In the distance, someone is calling my name. But at the moment, I excuse myself from thinking about even those I love most. I think only of me. And what lies ahead.

The sheeting's stiff but holds warmth. My muscles relax, my heart rate slows. I see the wooden box in the little boy's hands, President Snow drawing out the yellowed envelope. Is it possible that this was really the Quarter Quell written down sevety five years ago? It seems unlikely. It's just too perfect an answer for the troubles that face the Capitol today. Getting rid of me and subduing the districts all in one neat little package.

I hear President Snow's voice in my head. "On the seventy fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strogest among the strong cannot overcome the power of the Captiol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Yes, the victors are out strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that stangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty three of us will be killed to show how even that hope is an illusion.

I fear for Finnick's safety. I know it shouldn't but the thought of him going back in the arena and me along with him terrifies me. He's been the grestest friend to me ever since I won eight years ago. He helped me through so much, from being a desirable to helping me cope after my mother was killed.

And then there's Johanna, another friend I met over the years. She's from district seven, and maybe I clung to her when I first met her because of Calyputs, the friend I made in the arena from her district.

But here in district nine, there's just me, Nolan, and Willow. And I hate that Nolan has to go back, but I won't let Willow go. She won her Games during the twentyith one, when she was sixteen, which was almost 55 years ago.

I stumble around the cellar, looking for an exit. How did I even get into this place? I feel my way up the steps to the kitchen and see the glass window in the door has been shattered. Must be why my hand seems to be bleeding. I hurry back into the night and head striaght to Willow's house. She's sitting alone at the kitchen table, a half eaten cookie sits in front of her as she stares at it not making any attempt to eat it.

When she sees me she gives me a sad smile. I can see the tears build up in her eyes as she thinks of the possiblity of me going back into the arena. She knows how I spent years screaming myself awake in the middle of the night, how they got better but won't ever go away. She fears for my safety just as I fear for her. The two of us have gotten close over the years that we have known each other. In a way, she is like a mother to me, or maybe a grandmother. She was there for me after my own mother was murdered and she helped me through it.

I take a seat down at the table beside her before I say anything. "I won't let you go back," I say as I lift my head up to look at her.

"Ember, I'll be fine if they call my name. You on the other hand have your whole life ahead of you." She tries to reason with me.

I shake my head as tears begin to form in my eyes, "No, you can't." My voice cracks as I speak. "It's bad enough that I can't do anything to save Nolan, I can't lose you too. You guys are the only family I have left." The tears are now falling down my cheeks so I quickly wipe them away.

Willow wipes away her own tears and sits there for a long time staring at her uneaten cookie. I know she wants to try and save me but I might have a better chance if I go instead of her. As that thought enters my mind I remember the countless times I almost died in my Games. Stravation, falling down a cliff, almost falling into a death trap, wolf mutts, birds, and those were just from the envionment, it doesn't even count the other tributes.

I see her nod her head, her gray hair falls down her shoulders as she turns to face me. She places her hand on my shoulder, "Ember, please be safe. I'll do whatever I can to help from the outside, but I would like to see you again in one piece."

I leave her house shortly after and head stright to bed. When I wake up, I barely get to the toilet before the nerves overcome me. I'm trembling and sweaty when I finish vomiting, but at least it is out of my system.

I turn on the shower and stand under the warm rain for a minute before I realize I'm still in my underclothes. I throw the wet undergarments into the sink and pour shampoo on my head. My hands sting, and that's when I notice the cut, small across my palmand up the side of the other hand. Vaguely I remember breaking that glass window last night. I scrub myself from head to toe, only stopping to throw up again right in the shower. It's mostly just bile and goes down the drain with the sweet-smelling bubbles.

Finally clean, I pull on my robe and head back to bed, ignoring my dripping hair. I climb under the blankets, sure this is what is must feel like to be poisoned. The footsteps on the stairs renew my panic from last night. I'm not ready to see anyone. I have to pull myself together to be calm and reasuurring, the way I was when in the Capitol during my Games. I have to be strong. I struggle into an upright position, push my wet hair off my throbbing temples, and brace myself for this meeting. They appear in the doorway, holding tea and toast, their faces filled with concern. I open my mouth, planning to start off with some kind of joke, and burst into tears.

So much for being strong.

Willow sits on the side of the bed and Nolan stands beside the bed and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I am mostly cried out. Then Willow gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots, while Nolan coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets on me and I drift off again.

I can tell by the lights it's late afternoon when I come around again. There's a glass of water on my bedside table and I gulp it down thristily. My stomach and head still feel rocky, but much better than they did earlier. I rise, dress, and braid back my hair. Before I go down, I pause at the top of the stairs, feeling slightly embarrassed about the way I've handled the news of the Quarter Quell. My erratic flight, and weeping. Given the circumstances, I guess I deserve one day of indulgence. I'm glad the cameras weren't here for it, though.

Downstairs Nolan and Willow embrace me again, but they're not overly emotional. I know they're holding things in to make it easier on me. Looking at Willow's face, it's hard to imagine she's the same woman who I barely knew that mentored me eight years ago. The combination of that ordeal and all that has followed the cruelty in the districts, watching out for me, and I know that she knows what goes on in the Capitol when I have to go these things have aged her years.

Nolan ladles out a mug of broth for me, and I ask for a second mug. Nolan informs me that Mica has sent over the tapes of all the living victors. Every night we watch the old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won. I realize I never even met some of them, which is odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Nolan says the last thing Preisdent Snow would've wanted was to show me bonding with other victors in potentially rebellious districts. Victors have a special status, and if they appeared to be supporting the difiance of the Capitol, it would've been dangerous politically. But that didn't change the fact that my best friends are victors, aside from Nolan and Willow. I first met Finnick at the Capitol, both of us are foreced to suffer the same fate. He introduced me to Johanna at the next year's games after I met him. The three of us quickly became friends.

I realize some of our opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring. I take a quick glance at Willow, who is getting up there in age with her white hair and wrinkled skin. I won't let her go back, but I also think of another elderly woman, older than Willow. Mags, the victor from the 11th Games, Finnick's mentor. I can only hope that she doesn't get chosen, but that would leave Annie, a sweet girl who went crazy after her fellow tribute was beheaded.

Every morning we do excerises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch out muscles. Everynight afternook we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees, but no one tries to stop is. Even in regular years, the tributes from District 1, 2, and 4 show up able to wield spears and swords. This is nothing by comparison.

I excel under the new regime, though. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. Willow puts us on a special diet to gain weight. Nolan treats out sore muscles. Predictions on who will be victors of the victors show us among the favorites.

The day of the reaping's hot and sultry. The population of District 9 wiats, sweating and silent, in the square with machine guns trained on them. I stand beside Willow in a small roped off area with Nolan by himself in a similar pen to the right of me. The reaping takes a minute. Mica shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls' ball for quite a while to snag one of the two pieces of paper. She reads off Willow's name and before Willow could even make a move towards the center of the stage I step forward and take her place.

Then Mica fishes around in the other bowl pulling out the only card who we all know has Nolan's name on it. We are immediately marched into the Justice Building to find the Head Peackeeper waiting for us. "New procedure," he says with a smile. We're ushered out the back door, into a car, and taken to the train station. There are no cameras on the platform, no crowd to send us on our way. Willow and Mica appear, escorted by guards. Peacekeeper hurry us all onto the train and slam the door. The wheels begin to trun.

And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 9 disappear, with all the goodbyes, I have no one to tell to hanging on my lips.