Part 1

My eyes shoot open as the broken T.V. screen across the floor flares up in an array of bright colors. Just resurfacing from consciousness it is difficult to make out what the television is depicting. A familiar voice speaks to me through the T.V.,

“Welcome, Welcome. This is likely the most exciting announcement I may ever speak upon. As most of you know, we are coming upon our 50th anniversary of the hunger games, and our second quarter quell.”

My vision focuses and I identify the voice with the face; President Coriolanus Snow.

“As a recap- every twenty-five years we host a hunger games like no other. These games have a twist that reminds the districts of their defeat against the capitol and to never rebel against the people of Panem. Twenty-five years ago, the districts elected who they would like to participate in the games as a reminder to the rebels that it is their fault that their kids are being killed.”

I shudder at the thought of your fellow friends, neighbors, and family voting you in to participate in an arena of death.

“This year, the twist is quite special and like no other. This twist is to remind the districts that for each Panem capitol citizen killed, two rebels were killed,”

My eyes widen already fearing the twist,

“Instead of the usual two contestants being reaped from each district, this quarter quell will have twice as many contestants. From each district, two males and two females shall be reaped. This will be the most brutal games to date. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The T.V. flickers off and I’m left alone in the dark.

Part 2

   I head towards the mirror to check if I am presentable for the reaping. I would usually say my odds are pretty slim on being reaped so it doesn’t really matter how I look, but my odds just doubled. I part my curly brown hair down the middle and put up a fake smile showcasing my surprisingly white teeth, in case the cameras land on me,

“I always loved that smile of yours.” my mother interrupts me.

I jump and turn to her, stumbling backwards and falling onto the mirror. The mirror hits the floor and shatters into a million pieces.

“I hate when you do that!” I yell at her,

She giggles to herself,

“I know.”

I glance down at my palms- bloody and scarred from the jagged mirror pieces, what a great time to get 8 years of bad luck.

“Let's get that cleaned up real quick,” she tells me

I head to the rusty sink and let the water rinse out my palms, it stings and I wince in pain. I roll my eyes at her, annoyed that I’m gonna have to deal with this for a while.

Part 3

   I file into the crowd, my face drowning out upon the hundreds of other kids, mortified. Usually, people are pretty quiet while waiting for the reaping but this year people are whispering, groups of girls are holding on to each other, almost in tears. There are extra peacekeepers surrounding us, there are double, if not triple, the amount of camera crew filming us. This reaping is different.

   A woman struts on stage in a bright pink wig, and a silver jumpsuit that is almost blinding. She is tall and smiles widely at us,

“Hello, Everyonnne!” she slurs, with her gross capital accent.

No response.

“I can tell everyonnnne is suppper excited about this year’sssss hunger gammmesss!”

Silence.

“Okay! So as a recap! This is the second quarter quell and as such- we have a very fun twist this year! Instead of the usual two tributes being selected, there will be four tributes selected from each district!” Immediately switching to a proper accent.

She looks at the audience expecting some type of reaction, but… nothing.

“So exhilarating! Twice the odds you will all be reaped!”

After too long of an awkward silence she begins to get to the reaping. She twirls her hand over the male bowl 50 times to symbolize the 50th hunger games. She digs her hand into the bowl, I can see everyone around me has tensed up. She plays around with every little card inside the bowl as if she is truly undecided on which one she wants. She snatches a card out, and approaches the microphone, she clears her throat and smiles brightly

“The male tribute from District 12 is Anthony Sniffgipp.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, see, I had nothing to worry about. The odds of me being chosen are astronomically slim. She approaches the male bowl again and picks much quicker than before. She almost trots back to the microphone, this is probably the most fun she’s had in her life… I wish I could say the same. She clears her throat once more,

“The second male tribute from District 12 is…” She unravels the paper slowly,

“Haymitch Abernathy!”

I go numb, and the world starts to spin around me. I stand for a moment, in shock, until the people around me pat me on the back, motioning me to go. I approach the steps, climbing onto the stage and looking out into the crowd. I look to the men, they are sorry but very obviously relieved they weren’t chosen. I look to the girls, they look more scared than me… The woman approaches the female bowl now, she reaches in, grabs a name and reads it aloud but it’s muffled and I can’t even hear it because the world around me is spinning and I feel myself wanting to pass out. The woman approaches the bowl once more, reaches in, and calls out a name, my attention refocuses when I hear a loud sob from the crowd. A group of girls hold on to each other, one of them being pushed forward. I didn’t catch her name, but one of the girls scream out,

“You can do it, Maysilee! If anybody can… You can!” Which sounds nice, sure, but she’s basically telling her to kill us.

The woman closes out the reaping,

“These are your female and male tributes from district 12! May the odds be ever in your favorrrr…”

Part 4

I sit in my designated room on the train, alone. I peer out the window watching my District, my home, fade into the distance. I curl underneath the covers of the bed, and close my eyes, letting sleep consume me.

I dream about the fields in District 12. Beyond the fences. The flowers scattered around the grass, under the trees where the light just barely hits. I dream about the sleeping rabbits that bathe in the sun’s warmth. I dream about the birds chirping in the sky as they fly. I dream of being happy.

Part 5

The train stops at the center of the capitol. Me and the other tributes from my district look out the window and stare at the glory of it all; the buildings, the cars, the people, and everything in between. We are ushered out where we are swarmed by Capitol citizens and cameras. People are asking us questions and trying to give us high-fives. We don’t have much time to react to anything because we are immediately put into a large building. It is quite luxurious, better than anything I’ve ever seen. The tile on the floor is platinum white, the ceiling stretches up to at least 20 feet, the walls are embedded with little crystals and gems, and the furniture is oak wood traced with a gold outlining.

Our escort checks in at the front desk,

“Tributes, A, B, C, & D; 12: Arrived.” Appears in big letters across the screen above our heads. Immediately a bunch of peacekeepers swarm into the room and grab us, our escort waves us goodbye as the peacekeepers take us away into another section of the facility, segregated away from everybody that isn’t directly associated to the games.

We are shoved into this huge training room where we all get our first look at the other tributes. Everyone is doing something. The district 4 tributes are primarily focusing on tying knots and throwing spears. The district 2 tributes are wrestling and lifting weights. The district 6 tributes are mastering the art of camouflage by playing around with the paints. And then there’s us, the district 12 tributes. Standing around. Doing nothing. This is gonna be fun…

Part 6

   As I walk down the hallway with my fellow tributes to the hotel room, I wince in pain from my palms stinging. One of the escorts notice my discomfort and worriedly speaks down to me,

   “Oh my god! What happened to your palm?! That looks like you recently cut it! That’s not gonna be good for you in the arena! We can fix that up immediately! We have this powerful ointment that will fix you up within 24-hours!”

   My initial reaction is excitement, I would love to fix my palm up; but then a second thought crowds my mind. My mom caused this. This is the only connection I have left of her. In a weird way, I almost feel comforted by the pain. The pain reminds me of my mom.

Part 7

   I slip on sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. I will be meeting my stylist soon to get in the outfit for the arena. I take a deep breath and head for the door, there’s a small slip of paper in front of the door, I grab it and read it:

   I roll my eyes and drop the note on the floor, continuing forward.

Part 8

   I enter a small little room. On the opposite side of the room is a glass incubator-looking cylinder. I am ushered in by a random guy. He studies his clipboard before directing me into the tube. I enter the cylinder and he presses a few buttons on the side of the wall. He looks up at me and we make eye contact, he mouths to me,

“Good luck.”

I roll my eyes at him and he pushes the button sending me up.

As the tub hits the air I am blinded by the sun’s rays. The first thing I notice before my vision returns is the smell. The arena smells wonderful, almost fruity-like. As my vision returns, I notice the birds chirping, it all seems very serene. As my vision refocuses the first thing I notice is the greenery, all around us are valleys and meadows, full of flowers and… happiness. The next thing that I notice is how many tributes there actually are. It’s terrifying, in fact. I gulp and the countdown begins,

“Five.”

Twice as much death.

“Four.”

My odds of surviving are minimal to none.

“Three.”

I might have to end someone’s life.

“Two.”

This is do or die.

“One.”

My heart stops for a moment,

“May the 50th Hunger Games, and second quarter quell, begin and may the odds... Be ever… In your favor.” And the bell rings.

Part 9

   I sprint towards a backpack, knowing the cornucopia is a bloodbath. I latch onto a backpack at the same time another girl does. We lock eyes, I can see the terror in her eyes. I throw her to the ground and then toss her the backpack.

I sprint to another backpack a couple of yards away, I’m already out of breath by the time I reach it. I look up and a guy from district 2 sprints at me, knife in hand. I try to stand back up but stumble backwards and fall hard on my butt. The boy chucks a knife at me and I throw the backpack in front of my face. The knife lands on the backpack. I quickly try to grab the knife from the bag but it’s stuck on something from the inside. As he approaches I look away hoping for a quick and painless death.

My quick and painless death is interrupted by a small girl tackling the boy from district 2. The girl smashes her backpack into the boys face, not doing much but definitely keeping him down. Stunned, I stay frozen in place. She looks back at me for a moment and I recognize her; she’s the girl I gave the backpack to.

She smiles at me but then coughs. And coughs again. And again. Until blood begins to seep out of her mouth and onto her clothing, she smiles one last time before falling lifelessly on the ground,

“Thank you.”

I grab my backpack, stand up and sprint in the opposite direction, not looking back. Not wanting to look back.

Part 10

   I find myself a tall tree to hide under. This arena is very difficult to hide in, with its open meadows and valleys. There are a few spots where the valleys end and the forests begin, which gives me a good place to hide but probably isn’t the best place because most tributes are likely hiding out there. Nonetheless, it’s a good place to hide out for at least the night.

   I wait for the cannons to go off to signal the deaths of the tributes. During the games, when someone dies the cannon immediately goes off but due to the death count in the first day being so high, they usually signal the deaths at the end of the day. The usual death count is around twelve people on the first day but with double as many players… The death count also likely doubles during the bloodbath.

The sun begins to set, and the cannons go off.

BOOM.

One death.

BOOM.

Two deaths.

And the cannons continue on. It feels like they never end. I count how many go off, one, two, three, four,... eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Twenty-one deaths. Twenty-one people were just murdered. On the bright side, my odds of surviving just increased.

The names begin to get broadcasted on the artificial sky, I see the backpack girl. She was from District 8. I study to see if anybody from my district was killed.

I see someone… Anthony Sniffgipp. I sigh and lie my head against the tree and let sleep consume me.

Part 11

   I wander the forest, trying to find a source of water. It has been three days since the blood bath on day one and only two tributes have died since then. My odds of surviving surely aren’t improving much. My backpack was pretty much useless, just a bag full of rope and an empty container.

   After walking for a few hours, I take a break and settle down in the shade. The heat of the sun is much worse than I had initially anticipated. I rest my eyes for a moment but am interrupted by a loud,

“BOOM.”

   A bunch of birds chirp and fly away from an area about half a mile away from me. Thankfully I can see it due to the hills all around me. Everything in my body is telling me to stay away from the source of the potential death but I find myself heading towards it.

   As I approach the sound, my feet fall into a puddle of water. A smile creeps across my face. I finally have a source of water! I continue forward for a moment before taking a sip of the water and see a tall, red-headed, skinny girl lying in it. I hesitantly approach her and tap her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. I roll her over and she is motionless. I try to feel for a pulse;

nothing.

She is very obviously dead. I check her body for any signs of physical affliction;

nothing.

There’s no way she would just collapse all of a sudden. I look down at the water and realize this is what poisoned her, which means I can’t drink the water. I sigh until I hear a rustling in the distance, and then movement in my peripheral vision. I can’t identify what it is but then I see her. The girl from my district. It’s Maysilee Donner, and she’s coming to kill me.