The tears stain my dirty face as I watch the games. The other girl from my district is still alive, and she cannot die. She was my neighbor and my best friend. Her name is JK Notrowling, and she is the fiercest one out there. During one of the Gamemakers laughs, I saw her slow down, and almost stop trying. She needs to keep going, for district four.

They said we could send a parachute to them, to give them hope. JK does not need hope she needs to know that she will win. I will send her a box, her mother’s jewelry box that we gawked at when we were younger. In the box I will include her fishing line that she used, leaves from our favorite fishing spot, a bottle of perfume that her mother wore every day, and finally a letter. The letter shall read…

Dear JK,

As Shakespeare said, “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.” This represents your situation perfect. Even though you have to kill you will have love in your heart. Even though you want to survive, choose your allies thoughtfully and once again even though you have to kill, make the capitol know that it is wrong to do. When you are thinking that you cannot do this anymore, climb out of the ditch and keep going. You can do this you are one of the few left, and you are going to win! We have so much more to do, go fishing on devil’s rock, climb the tree that leads you to the clouds, and we have to live. You haven’t lived yet; you are only a seed in the hands of the wind. The wind keeps going that even these games cannot stop it. The games can’t stop you.

From everyone in district four,

Love you and win this thing!

They will be like little tiny minions, ready to kill ten tributes at once. I’ll hide them in the trees they climb, in the leaves they place their heads on to sleep, in their backpacks. I‘ll have fun with these little buggers. No one will notice them, they are so small they will camouflage with anything, the tributes will only realize what they are when they are falling into a world of darkness and death. Poison dart frogs will conquer the souls of the living in the arena until one lone victor survives.  I shall call them my ferocious froggies. One tribute from district four is getting on my nerves, with her long eyelashes and odd name “J.K Notrowling”; I hope the frogs get her.

The redness of the juicy blood from the first victim mixes with the electric blue of the frog, such a pretty purple. I love this part when I get to sound the cannon. BOOM! Oh I love that sound! I sound of pure death and entertainment. My plan is working; the people in the Capitol are going nuts for my frogs. They are flamboyant and they kill like it’s no one’s business. I might get a promotion to the head Gamemaker!

Time to spice things up a little more; I am going to make these little murderers supersized. Palm sized, melon sized, and finally human sized. But to make it fair, I only let loose around three to four of the mutated frogs. The people start dropping like flies; one, two, three, okay that’s enough. POOF! They are gone. Bye, bye my ferocious froggies. You can see the terrorizing look on the tributes faces. Well, that was fun, what will be next, no one knows.

CRASH!

I look over and see the wall of water crash against the sandy shore. The water recedes, it’s a warning. Seek higher ground because things are about to change. The Gamemakers are playing. If they want to play so much come out here and die with the rest of us! I quickly scrap my hands down the course bark and jump to the soft ground. CRASH! Another wave, run! My feet fly. I feel the wind from the salty killers on my neck as I fly across the ground. The feet start to sink into the forest floor, the water has reached me! I stand in the shallows sprinting as wave after wave crashes down and swallow the land beneath my feet, I start to slow down.  I look up to see a mountain just ahead. Higher ground, that’s the only thing that will keep me alive.

My feet burst out of water and fall onto the dry sand. KEEP RUNNING!! My feet reach the grasslands of the mountain I climb. I look over to see other tributes scrambling up the hill as well. I hide in the brush of the leaves as I run through the path. I finally reach I high enough point that I want live in. I start to climb another tree. This one is higher; this one will protect me more.

I look at the island, half under water and still being abused by persistent waves. The Gamemakers are sick. They want us to drown, out of all the deaths imaginable, they pick drowning. Very classy of them, I guess they don’t want to see bloodshed.  but, of course they do. They want to see us die, KIDS, of all people! Well, I am going to be more human than they will ever be, I will not kill one soul that comes through my path, even if they force me.

            I feel like I was thrown into a bag to be captured. The icy cool water engulfs my body. I kick toward the surface with all my might. I see other tributes, fighting and shooting bows. Don’t die. Don’t die. My shoulders are being ripped apart by the current, as I dive back into the cold abyss. I’m blind underwater. I am completely defenseless. The waves are a one way mirror, one side is reflecting yourself and the other unveils your secrets that you never wanted anyone to know. I bang my knee against the course graining sand. Don’t die. Don’t die. My feet are burning through the soles of my shoes. My head is pounding as I run away from the Cornucopia. I run straight to a tall palm tree that I see in the distance. Don’t die. Don’t die. The humidity smacks me in the face as I run into the sandy forest.

My callused hands grab onto the thick bark that clings to a tree. I climb until I can’t remember when I started climbing. For a while, I sit in a branch and think. I’m not dead. I survived the bloodbath.  I grab a stick that is a little longer than my arm. I fashion the end to a point with the sharp edge of a coconut I harvested from the same tree. I grabbed the rope from my bag and tied it to the end of my new spear, this way I would fish and still have my spear.  I look at the arena. It is beautiful, too beautiful to be a place for killing, too beautiful for a place of innocence.

            The sound of the haunting cannons echo in my ears, tell me that four are dead. I did not have to kill one. I shall not kill any. I shall survive in a world of hiding that even the Gamemaker can’t find me.  I shall stay up in this tree until they burn it down or kill me. I shall find a new hiding place, a cave or heaven. But, I will not kill one person.

Why did it have to be me? As I stand underground, sitting on a couch, all I can think about is home. All i can think about is my family. All I can think about is love. When I am going to fight for my life, I shall think about my family. I will think about the good times, because that will keep me sane and in the fight for my life. Suddenly all my thoughts go blank. I can’t think, I can’t speak. I start to pace back and forth, back and forth.  I can’t hear, I can’t feel.  I start to breathe heavily in and out, in and out. Why did it have to be me?

A powerful voice comes on the speaker, as if he is in my head. He announces the honor that we will be participating in, the moment when a tribute becomes a victor, He announces the lies that we are to be made truths. He starts to count down as if he was counting down the clock to the moment I die.

20

Why did it have to be me?

19

My hands are shaking and I enter a narrow tube.

18

The tube starts to move. I whisper my parents name to myself.

17

The tube surfaces. The humidity smacks me in the face. I am surrounded by water, I see land fifty yards away.

16

Other tributes start to rise. Bubbling sweat thickens on my neck and hair.

15

Why did it have to be me?

14

The other tributes looked as terrified as me, except one odd fellow who looked like he was excited to kill someone.

13

My knees start to shake. My heart goes numb with sorrow.

12

The Cornucopia is in front of us all, filled with necessities of life, mocking us all.

11

My heart is going faster than light.

10

Why me?

9

I get ready, spread my legs to a running stance.

8

I don’t wanna die.

7

My mouth goes as dry as a desert from dehydration.

6

I wanna go home, I don’t wanna kill someone.

5

Why me?

4

This is really happening, I am going to die.

3

why me?

2

I can’t think anymore.

1

Why me?

0

The worn out softness of the cotton I hold in between my fore finger and my thumb brings rivers to my eyes. The cologne of my father, and the times we would play. The broad shoulders that he carried me on. The callused fingers that I held when we walked along the streets. The booming sound of his laughter. His warm and engulfing hugs. But, with all the good there is the bad; the sound of the fights he had with mother. The smells of alcohol that drifted through the house when I went to bed, but he just got home. The black and blue spots on my mom after they jut had a fight. The thinness of the paper that we received when he died. The slimy, salty years that rolled down my cheeks. But, I try to remember the good.
I held a palm size price of tattered, brown cloth; this used to be his t-shirt. The rest of his clothes were given away. A truck came early in the morning, I barely was awake when the truck was leaving, this would be the last thing of him now. I quickly grabbed on to the shirt with my small, fragile hands and pulled. I pulled and pulled, but nothing came out of the pile. Rrriiippp I fell back and caught myself before I hit the concrete slab. In my hand, I held a piece of his shirt; i held a piece of him. I carried it with me where ever I went. I pinned it underneath my shirts an my skirts. That’s why I’m bringing it into the arena.
So today when I pick my tribute token, I picked a piece of my past, that I hope to help me in the future.

“Gwendolyn Tennet,” Harper Hayes speaks my name as if I am the only one important at that time. I stand up and look around; I look at the screen which shows my nervous face. What should I do, wave, smile? It doesn’t seem right to smile. For smiling implies happiness, which is a lie to all seeing the expression I display on my face.  It was embarrassing to be honest, to have to stand up. I never do this, I barely even talk. People start to fill the corners of the room with the sound of applause. What did I do to deserve the applause? I was chosen from a career district, but maybe I wasn’t meant for this, for the standing, for the fake smile and wave. I feel the salty, sting of tears on my dry, pale face. I blink the worry away from my sight fast enough to see the look on my families face as they take me away.

As I stand, I look at my sister. I will worry for her. She is starting to have violent burst of anger. She broke a plate last week. She told me that I’m the only one to calm her when she gets like that. Hopefully she will understand that I won’t be there, and hopefully she will not have an outburst. I sometimes thought that if I got picked then she would lose it. I hope that will not be true and she will be fine. My mother is a strong woman and will be able to manage her, I hope. For my sister is a hard one to handle.

Before the reaping everything was fine. Before the reaping my family lived well. Before the reaping I had a life. I could do what I want, climb trees, shoot arrows, just live. After the reaping I am a tool. I am a piece of scrap medal that they throw aside to have an example. After the reaping I am an object, inanimate, unable to think on its own. After the reaping I am not a human anymore. What did I do to deserve this?