DISTRICT 3 FEMALE - GINGER HAYS

Her stylist rushed her into a room, all white with intense lighting, and pushed her into a seat. A grand table filled with makeup of every color, even things that weren't meant to be used on humans, scattered about. Ginger eyed a small bottle of nailpolish labeled 'TOXIC' but suspected what was inside wasn't nailpolish at all.

The stylist introduced herself as Millina right as three girls burst into the room. "Ah is this the girl? Fresh meat." The girls were identical only being told apart by their hair. A vibrant purple, a starlet blonde, and a dying orange. Millina smiled, "Your prep team."

The blonde approached her without any warning and started touching her face. "Smooth cheeks, wrinkles that need to fade, oh look at those dark circles, just terrible." Ginger swatted her hand away and she frowned stepping back. "Probably from the scowl she wears." she muttered. Millina glared at the blonde who looked away. "Clean her up." Millina left her alone with the monstrous rainbow triplets.

She found out there names quick easily. Vicky, Star and Tigerlily. Ginger could tell them apart by their hair color. Vicky and Tiger grabbed her and started pulling her to the bathroom and stripped her. She felt insecure as soon as they tugged off her shirt. "I can do this myself thanks." she said awkwardly moving away from the prep team. They all looked at her confused, "But...we have to get you ready and-"

"I think I know how to bathe myself." she pushed the trio out of the bathroom but Star suddenly had a surprising match of energy and slammed the door back her way. She gave a starlet laugh as bright and high as her hair. "Darling you can't do that. This is our job. Come on girls!" she called back to her sisters who raced back in.

Ginger was dosed in bubbles that smelt of lily of the valley and she was waxed in every place imaginable. Her skin felt raw and burned. They massaged her scalp and shampooed and conditioned her hair. By the time her prep team finished she smelt like a flower and felt like a baby lamb. But her skin was slightly red from all the attacks and the lotion made her sticky.

"You have great skin, such a shame you need to fix these dark spots." Tiger whined to her. Her bright orange hair was an eye sore and Ginger couldn't look up past her nose. They tried to keep her makeup neutral and minimal while dressing her up slightly. "You don't have to look as young as you are. But we want them to know that you are still a fresh picked apple." They curled her hair softly and put it up high. A strand here and there framing her face.

Ginger didn't know how to respond to anything they told her so she kept quiet. Once they finished her makeup and hair Millina barged into the room. She held a dress behind her back and had a glint of excitement in her ruby red contacted eyes. Then she held it out to her. It looked plain to be honest. The dress was nearly see through, only a light cloth covering her private parts. Wisps of fabric draped down all around the dress from the top and trained on the back. But it was see through enough for her to see the wires that ran up and down the dress, in every inch of the fabric she could see blue wires.

"So what do you think?" Millina asked as she handed the dress over to Star who stroked the fabric lovingly. "It's...interesting." she spoke honestly. Millina didn't seem to hear the weariness in her voice as her face glowed with happiness. Ginger was then taken out of her robe and put into the dress. The material was soft like butter. It didn't hug her body in an uncomfortable way as it draped down and squeezed above her breasts since it didn't have straps. She shivered at the new feeling of being dressed in such fine clothing. She was used to the old trousers and grey cotton shirt she had always worn.

She looked down at her body and froze. Her stomach was visible but wires lined up and down. The dress ended above her knees but the train added on extra weight. Vicky made her sit down so she could strap on a pair of heels. "Oh no I don't think I could ever walk in those!" Ginger declined but Vicky shook her head, "Don't be silly. You're short as it is." When she stood up her legs wobbled and she braced the chair for support.

Millina clapped as she cheered, "Oh you're going to be the lighting girl. I just know it."

"Lightning?"

"Energy, lightning." she smiled. "Now it's time for you to head to the chariots. I will control the rest, but I need you to look...strong right at the start. Okay?" Ginger nodded looking at herself in the mirror. The dress washed out her skin with it's blue wires and the makeup made her look more like a little girl trying to play dress up.

Millina took her away from her prep team and towards where her chariot was waiting. A boy stood next to another stylist with simple dark hair and washed out cheeks. His name was Achmetha if Ginger remembered correctly. His freshly dyed blonde hair was pushed back to show off his bright blue eyes. They seemed charming at first but the longer she looked the more madness seemed to seep from underneath. His outfit was a dark blue with wires criss-crossing here and there.

There chariot was simple, glossy black pulled by pure white horses. "Go on tributes." Millina motioned towards the chariot. Achmetha winked at her and went first. He held out a hand to her and she took it. Not because she wanted his help but because she still wasn't steady in the heels.

She held the rim of the chariot as her knees shook but kept her back straight and shoulders back. The stadium was dark as she looked out but she could hear the people cheering, ready to see more tributes. To make bets on who would live longer than the other. That's when the horses ran forward, faster than she'd seen most chariots pulled, and even Achmetha seemed surprised. But they both composed themselves fast.

Suddenly her dress sparked and glowed a magnificent blue. It sparkled and spun and the drapes of fabric wizzed behind her. The lightning girl. That's what Millina was making the dress as. She was a streak of lightning in the dark arena. Her hair was pushed by the wind made by the running horses and the train of her dress flew behind her. Next to her Achmetha lit up like a circuit. The moving wires looked deadly. That's what they were. Energy, lighting and electricity was deadly and beautiful and powerful.

The arena chanted their names in the darkness as they rode by. Ginger stared straight ahead. She wanted to show them what she felt she was. Beautiful as lightning and just as dangerous.

The parade ended just as fast as it started. The next tributes loading into theirs. She took the moment to look behind her at the thousands of people. Who were they cheering for? Did they like her? Did she make an impression? Ginger was pulled off the chariot as soon as she got into her thoughts. Achmetha looked down at there now plain and sad outfits. She felt exposed now that the wires weren't shining with light. She looked just as naked as she felt. Ginger blushed to herself not liking the feeling. Achmetha grinned at her, "You did good."

She nodded to his compliment. Her mother had always told her to accept compliments without words. Achmetha scratched the back of his head looking her up and down, "So...you're only fourteen?" Ginger sent the best glare at him anchoring all her rage into the look. "Sorry-" he walked away quickly and she let out a sigh of relief. Alone. Just how she knew it to be.

Ginger brushed a curl of hair back. The games were only getting started.

~~~~

DISTRICT 9 FEMALE - ROXANNE ESTRADAS

I stand in the chariot as Orius, my stylist, spreads out the long train of my dress. It is the prettiest thing I have ever seen; it is the shade of the golden wheat that we grow in our fields back in nine. It shimmers and glitters in the sunlight, and I feel like the sun. Orius has made me feel like the most beautiful creature that has ever existed, from my glowing dress to my heavily made up face. The wind tugs at my curls, and I absentmindedly pat the mass of curls that have been pinned up on my head. Some curls have escaped and are now bouncing around my face like springs, framing it like a picture. Orius has dressed me in the most prettiest of dresses and made up my young face to look deadly and stunning. I look far older than my mere thirteen years.

I am powerful. I am ruthless. I am deadly.

Marly taps my arm and I look up at him. He is a lot taller than me, and beside him I feel tiny. He is dressed in a suit that glimmers golden much like mine. His slim frame and outfit makes me think of a tall stalk of grain, easily blown around in the wind. His curls are lighter than mine, but we could almost pass for brother and sister if we truly wanted to.

"Look at twelve." he says, pointing across the room. I turn my head and look over to see the boy from twelve standing alone beside the coal black horses, petting them and talking softly to them. He's not dressed very fantastically, not like everyone around him. Just a black suit and a flower in the breast pocket. I snort. It must be because he's hardly any competition and his stylist knows it. My mouth curves in a smirk as I imagine his face to be the first to appear in the sky. Truthfully, it'd probably be one of the last, as it goes from first to thirteenth, but you get what I mean. There's no way the kid is lasting the bloodbath.

But then I realize that the boy is not who Marly is pointing out. I can feel my eyes widen as the girl from twelve climbs into the chariot. She is stunning, wearing... is that armor? It seems to glow in the sunlight, and even from several chariots away I can see how little makeup she wears, and yet how deadly and vicious it makes her look. I try to imagine the quiet, shy girl from twelve that I had seen earlier, but my imagination ceases to assist me. That girl is gone, replaced by some stunning creature prepared for war. She catches me watching her, and I narrow my eyes at her, giving her my best death glare. She looks away.

I am startled when the chariot lurches under me, and if Marly hadn't grabbed my arm I would have toppled off the chariot. I growl under my breath and brush his hand off my arm, seething as I think of the girl from twelve. No one else's outfits seem to compare to hers. Who does that girl think she is? I try to calm myself, reassuring myself that she is as dangerous as the little kid beside her, but somehow I can't seem to accept that.

I am sure that my face is twisted into an ugly grimace as we exit the building and follow behind the district eight chariot. The crowd roars and shrieks at our appearance, and I once again feel the sensation of being the most beautiful and deadliest creature there ever existed. I am deadly. I am powerful. I am ruthless. Nothing can stop me.

The wind ripples through my hair and lifts the train of my dress, sending it waving like a flag in the wind. The breeze kisses my cheeks, and I close my eyes and let a satisfied smile settle on my face. Images flash in my mind of me dressed in my glimmering dress, stained with blood, slitting the throat of my last enemy and being crowned the victor. The satisfied smile turns in to a crooked, vicious smirk. I was ready for this. I had never hesitated to get my hands dirty, and now I could do it without having the law on my tail. In fact, it would please the crowd. The messier, the better. I imagine what my glimmering dress would look like blood red. Too bad I can't take it into the arena and dye it myself. There will certainly be enough blood to do it. Red would be a good color for this dress.

The crowd suddenly roars the loudest it has the whole time, and I look over my shoulder to see which chariot has exited. My hands curl into fists as I see the district twelve girl looking deadly and beautiful in her armor. I'd like to wipe that excited smile off her face-with my dagger! The crazed crowd is throwing her kisses and shrieking like lovesick puppies, pointing her out and gasping. The boy beside her is obviously invisible to the crowd as they whistle and swoon over the girl. I imagine myself throwing a knife at her as we ride down the street. Imagine it sink into her pretty face. Imagine the reaction it would receive. She wouldn't be so smug then, now would she! I find myself craving the bloodbath. There, sinking a blade into her skull won't be so frowned upon.

The chariots pull into the City Circle, and I can't seem to see anything but her glowing armor. As the president gives his speech, I look around and admire the twinkling lights and ribbons and fancy décor that adorns the place. But every light, every flame of fire that shoots up into the sky after the speech is done-they all reflect off of her breastplate. I can't help but throw glances over my shoulder at her as the chariots pull into the training center. She looks relieved, happy even. All I can feel is burning hatred. I bite down so hard on my lip I can taste blood. Oh, that metallic taste-it's almost soothing to me. Soon that girl will taste it. It will be the last thing she tastes.

I jump off of my chariot and head straight over to where the ebony horses pulling the district twelve tributes stopped. Marly calls my name, but I ignore him. As I walk past, I can't help but catch glimpses of the other tributes around me. Achmetha from three looks exceptionally deadly in his shiny suit, I note. It definitely brings out the intense blue of his eyes. With or without makeup and costumes, he looks deadly.

The two tributes from twelve are quietly getting off their chariot, and I block their way as they try to walk past.

"Where'd you get the armor?" I ask in my best taunting voice. "Is it just another thing to hide behind?"

The girl can't seem to make eye contact with me, and I can see her shrinking back as I step closer. Good. She's afraid of me. That's exactly what I want.

"I bet you're feeling pretty good about yourself aren't you?" I snap. I step forward and give her a push. "Aren't you?"

"Hey!" The boy is in between us now, giving me a glare. "You can't fight her outside the arena."

I smirk. "Oh, I see. You have armor and a pipsqueak protecting you now!" I giggle childishly. "Well, that armor isn't going to be anywhere in the arena, so you can just forget about looking anything but worthless, and Romeo here won't even be alive an hour after the whole thing starts, so you might as well just forget his existence, too." As I say this, I can see the boy wilting slightly, though the burning anger in his eyes is unmistakable.

The girl steps forward, glaring at me with a vengeance that surprises me. The seething anger in her dark blue eyes is also unmistakable. "You're just scared."

I lunge at her, intending to give her some free dental work, or at least rake my perfectly manicured nails down her perfectly perfect face, but someone grabs me and holds me back. I shake off Marly's hands, shoot him a deadly glare, and give the twelve girl my best growl. "We'll see who's scared. You're going down, twelve."

"Come on, Roxi." Marly says as he tugs on my arm. I grit my teeth until they squeak and allow him to pull me away.

"I hope you like the color red!" I hiss at the two tributes standing quietly, watching as Marly guides me away. "I'll make sure your grave clothes are that color! I'll make sure you're drenched in it!" It occurs to me that I look and sound like a bloodthirsty animal, growling and hissing, but I don't care. Is it not what I am?

"Roxanne, come on." Orius is here now, urging me away and into the tribute center. He looks down at me and chuckles. "Making enemies already, are we?"

I don't bother answering him. All I can think about is my burning hatred. She outshone me. I take a deep breath and try to relax. Costumes are hardly comparable to the real thing. She isn't as skilled and deadly as me. She won't last. She won't. I'll make sure of it.

I truly hope those two enjoy the color red.

~~~~

DISTRICT 12 FEMALE - MELODY SHADES

My face is burning. Not from the need to release tears-no, not anymore-from the scalding hot cream they've applied to my face. The prep team I've been assigned are no peppy, uptown capital citizens. They're calm, and steady as they do their work. Frequently, I've found myself staring into their eyes, looking for any sign of their resentment towards me. Their possible sorrow for me, as they imagine the way my chest will bleed from only my first few moments in the arena. For me, that is only one scenario. In the few moments after the reaping, I had already conjured about a thousand thoughts as to how I would die. They all seem too possible.

But beneath the inches of fake lashes, and the pounds of makeup they've settled upon their unearthly faces, these capital people care nothing for me. Their betting slips are what matter. I can't help wanting to rake my fingers down their faces.

I'm starting to think that I have a pretty good shot of getting one of them by the cheek when they come back in, but it is not my prep team to enter the room next. The door parts to welcome a man, dressed in white dress pants and a pink sleeve length shirt. My midnight eyes are just finding his face, when I gasp.

If I thought the prep team looked freakish, that was only the beginning of an even greater horror. My stylist is covered in a white powder-it reminds me of the coal dust back home-from the top of his forehead, to the base of his chin. His eyes are coated with black liquid, and sea green eye shadow is piled along his lower lids. His lips are the only thing to lay untouched, though he licks them repeatedly, like he can't stand to have one part of his face, left bare.

"Anox Razorini, District Twelve stylist," He announces, and lays his hand out for me to shake. I study it for a moment, before accepting, and he catches my wrist in his hand and presses his lips to my knuckles. I scowl.

"Melody Shades," I reply coldly. Despite the rapid churning in my stomach, the words come out quiet, but full of loathing. He doesn't seem to notice.

"So, I'd like to get down to business right away. I'm not sure if you know it, but the capital has been talking about you quite a bit, Miss Shades," Anox starts, pulling out a chair to sit in front of the table I'm lying on. I don't like the way he's sitting over me, like he's ready to dive in, so I press my back to the wall. The fluorescent light above me flickers slightly.

Anox's voice suddenly turns dark. "And by that, I mean to describe what a beautiful little flower you are. You've got the whole look. They're expecting sparkly gowns, flawless makeup, everything. You wouldn't hurt a fly." He frowns at me, expecting me to connect the dots.

I understand him perfectly. They think I'm pretty. That I'm only pretty. At once, I clench my hands into fists. Are they the ones digging through trash bins every night? Are they the ones that had to watch their brother lying hopeless on the floor, as every last ray of life drained out of him? All of the years struggling in the Seam have hardened me. While this skin may break easily, this heart could take on anything now.

"I've had a plan for you, Miss Shades, from the moment your name came out of that bowl at the reaping. Which is why, I plan to do something...different this year. Not what you would expect." Anox is leaning in, so that I can see every artificial eyelash coating his lids. His lips are pursed and the raspy edge to his voice seems to soften. "But I should ask first, what do you want to be? How do you want them to see you?"

I'm not looking at him, though the powder on his face catches the light like pearls. I know what I want to be, but I don't expect him to follow up in my thoughts. However, I say it anyways. "Not a flower," I mumble.

·

Four hours later, I stand before the mirror in my dressing room, while Anox takes the time to admire his handy work. "An excellent job well done, if I do say so myself," he beams. "The capital is going to think twice about you now."

I so desperately want to agree with him, but my heart is pounding so hard, there isn't much room to think.

The chariots are going to pull out in a few minutes, so Anox leads me out of the dressing room and into the station, where the other tributes are waiting alongside their horses. Immediately, I can identify which one belongs to district twelve. Two charcoal horses, with white roses decorating their backs, connected to the black chariot, rimmed with glittery red trim. I wait next to the stallions, stroking their manes with my fingertips while I examine the other tributes.

The chariots are positioned in the order they are set to go out, by district, so of course, we're second to last. Three chariots ahead of us, I catch sight of the female tribute, complete in a skin tight yellow dress, with white gems along the torso and lace at the bottom. She's beautiful, and thin, with the dirty brown/blonde hair left undone. I keep my eye on her, as some of the capital attendants rush passed for final preparations. At one point, she catches me watching her, and though her eyes are a gorgeous emerald blue, they narrow at me, in a silent warning. I wish I would've held the eye contact, letting her know that I'm not intimidated, but I've glanced back immediately.

The boy tribute from district twelve has appeared behind me, when I turn around to begin loading into the chariot. He's small, with bushy brown hair and freckles lining both cheeks. He wears no makeup of any kind. In fact, the only thing that his stylist seemed to do was flatten down his hair with some hair gel. His outfit isn't that impressive either, black dress pants, dark shirt with buttons, and a red flower in the pocket.

While I get into the chariot, I can't help the way the hair on my neck begins to rise. How dare they give him any less than any of these other tributes, no matter the age. How dare they disregard him like this, like he has no shot of making it out. What are the odds he'll get a sponsor now, dressed like this?

I should feel glad for the opportunity, for more sponsors to team on my side instead, but all I feel is hollow, and sick over the whole thing. The boy-Wiley, they've called him-gets into the chariot too. There is a faint recognition there, of seeing me around the Seam on an occasion or two. I might have noticed him a few times myself. But that's district twelve for you. Everybody knows everybody.

The chariots pull out of the station a few moments later, and the line of stylists stand alongside the horses, seeing us off. Anox smiles at me as we begin our descent, but I can't meet his gaze.

The City Circle is bathed in light, in cheers, in the dazzling décor it is always in around this time of year. As soon as district one has appeared, the crowd goes nuts, hollering their opinions on each of the outfits this year. The reaction to the district nine girl is immediate. Whoops and wolf whistles fill the air. District eleven pulls out. Then, it's our turn.

The same reaction does not await our chariot, as it has the others. Instead, there are a series of gasps, as their eyes find me, in my costume. In my armor I should say.

Instead of any of the other female tributes, who are dressed in ankle long dresses of pure gold and silver, I'm prepared for war. With the silver breast plate, catching the hundreds of lights like the embers of a fire, and the matching arm and leg guards, I might be ready for these games after all. I dare anyone to come for me right this minute. I could take them down in a heartbeat. Apparently the crowd has realized my intentions as well because they start to chant unintelligible things in my direction. But they're smiling, so I know I must've done something right.

Aside from a bit of silver eye shadow and lip stick, I'm completely dry of any makeup. My hair falls lightly to my chest, brushed out and left in its natural waves. I can feel the lights radiating into my costume, alighting me with a hope I haven't felt since the reaping. A hope that maybe I can be sponsored. Maybe, someone will find that I'm worth putting their money towards.

Wiley's staring at me now, and he calculates my expression with just a quick sweep of the eyes. I close mine for a moment, letting the crowd size me up, and just like that, we're pausing in the circle as the president gives us his best wishes. As the crowd continues to cheer, booming out on every speaker in the city, I'm no longer thinking about how the odds are most certainly not in my favor.

I'm only thinking about how they are.

~~~~

DISTRICT 13 FEMALE - MERI YANAMARI

It almost hides the horrible truth about me. Meri thinks as she fidgets with the heavy brocade of her outfit's bodice. It's a smoky, shimmering black that fades down into grey and the brilliant hues of fire. Despite the seeming heaviness of it, Meri can still move easily. It's almost unbelievable, but the dress flows like liquid quicksilver over her hips and slender arms.

Gazing into the mirror, she struggles not to cry. This almost hides the painful thinness of years being starved into submission. It almost makes up for the bruises smattering her hidden back and stomach.

Meri's throat tightens as she spins. The full circle of the lower skirt spins out in a flowing arc. The sequins and brilliant reds, golds, and blues of the flames flash in the mirror beneath a flickering pattern of fire from the overskirt. The long, flowing sleeves of the dress also flutter with her movement, adding their own fiery inferno to the skirt.

A gold girdle is cinched around her slender waist, bringing a bit of brightness to the dark fabric. The darkness of the ensemble makes her skin look pale, and her rich brown hair only furthers the effect. The cold, distant light of the lamps flickers through the blue glass, casting shadows on her face and elongating it.

Her stylist rushes into the room. "Meri! There you are. Come on now. We've got to see if these lights work." She turns back towards the door and yanks Meri's fellow tribute from 13 into the room.

He's a chubby little kid with a sweet smile, but something animalistic lurks behind his innocent brown eyes. Meri has the feeling he isn't as nice as he seems. She doesn't think he'll hurt her as long as other people are around, but if they're not, she isn't sure what he'll do. I'll just have to be sure that doesn't happen.

He gives her a shy grin and steps further into the room. "Ready to be lit up?"

She looks away and shrugs.

Their stylists nod to each other and click a button on their tiny remotes.

The lights in the room go out and their costumes come alive with color. The lights bring out the colorful flames licking at the bottom of the gauzy layer covering the heavy fabric beneath.

Meri's hands fly up to cover her mouth as she stares at James's ensemble and her own. The lights from her sleeves illuminate her face, making it appear to glow with the embers of a growing fire. It's perfect for representing the bomb's explosion. Even her heels glow and flicker like a bed of hot coals.

"It's amazing, Wilhelmina," Meri whispers, hugging her stylist.

Wilhelmina laughs and gives the girl a light squeeze. "You look gorgeous, Meri. You're going to knock their feet out from under them. Everyone out there is going to love you. The guys will wish you'd marry them, and the girls will want to be you. Or at least, they'll wish they had the outfit."

Meri feels the familiar pain tugging at her. She pulls away from Wilhelmina and gives James a weak smile. She can't give in to this now. If she does, they'll all witness her breakdown, and her makeup will be destroyed. They spent too many hours on that, and it's too close to the parade to fix it if she starts crying.

But the ache remains, poignant and unbearable. It's only been a matter of weeks since he was killed. Only a matter of weeks since her one lifeline in the world was ripped from her by her furious guardian. The woman found out what Meri and Milan were planning and shot him for it. Meri had watched it, knowing she'd never be the same. He was going to take her away from her horrible situation. They were going to get married on her eighteenth. Instead, she spent the days before her eighteenth wishing desperately for a way to escape her life.

She'd found it when they Reaped her. She didn't care if she lived or died. Meri just wanted to show her guardian that she had finally won. If that meant surviving and winning, she'd do it. If it meant dying to protect her allies, she'd do that too.

"Meri?" James touches her arm. "Are you okay?"

She smiles down at him, but it's tight, and her eyes are watering. Still, for his sake, she forces a nod. "I'm good. Just amazed with this costume. You look good in yours."

James gives himself an unimpressed once over and shrugs. "Nah. But you look hot."

"Uh... I don't think that you're supposed to say that sort of thing at fourteen," Meri mumbles, biting her lip.

"We're all gonna die in there anyway. Except the one person who wins, of course. But that's not what I meant. Your face is red like you're too hot."

"Oh." Meri clears her throat and steps toward the door. "Well, we sort of need to leave..."

Wilhelmina gives her a quick look that says, we'll talk later. Meri just flashes her a brief smile and leaves. The lights flicker back on and her costume's lights wink out as she holds the door open for the others.

***

Meri stands in the chariot with James and plays with the cape that Wilhelmina put on her just before they climbed in. James is wearing a similar one, and each of them has a hidden string attached to a small device. As they come out into the arena, Wilhelmina wants them to yank the cord to activate the smoke machine.

Just before they pull them, Wilhelmina and Jared are supposed to turn on their costumes' lights. If all goes according to plan, they're going to make a red-hot entry.

The horses start into motion as the chariot from 12 enters the arena a few steps ahead. This year, 12 has been dressed in black, skin tight costumes with miners' hats and pickaxes. Not very original on the stylists' parts, but that's how it usually goes with the lower districts.

I'm so lucky that we didn't end up like that. Thank goodness, Wilhelmina didn't decide to send me in naked and covered in coal dust like 12's stylists have done before.

Fear sparks inside her as she and James listen to the roaring of the crowd as their horses' hooves stir up dust from the ground beneath the chariot's wheels. On either side of the chariot, a large symbol for radioactivity is flickering on to symbolize their district.

Then they're away. The horses' hooves clop against the dry sand, sending up plumes of dust as they prance into the arena. The crowd waits with bated breath to see the last of this year's tributes. Meri and James also wait, crossing their fingers with the hope that their costumes will work.

They do. The lights flicker into life a few at a time, spreading up Meri's skirt and over James's pants. The sleeves ignite with light then, and with a nod to James, Meri pulls her cord. The smoky fog filters out, billowing around their capes and flowing off the chariot in their wake as they circle the arena.

The crowd goes wild as the horses' manes also burst into a dazzling array of LED lights. It's a good thing the horses are used to both strange lights and loud noises.

One glance at the undulating, cheering crowd sends Meri's heart plummeting. She clenches her fist at her side, fear pulling at her and telling her to give up. That she can't do it.

An unexpected thing happens; James pulls her slender, cold hand into his warm, pudgy one. He holds on tightly, almost as though he too is afraid to let go. The two of them hold onto each other, facing the crowd shyly. Neither of them has the bold courage of the Careers or the gleeful attitudes of those in front. They don't even have the solid, unwavering strength of the tributes from 12. Instead, they have only their shyness to offer.

It's enough. The crowd goes wild, throwing roses, waving, and screaming their names. Confetti is tossed into the air, and everyone seems genuinely happy to see them.

The adrenaline pumps into her system, freeing her from the fear just long enough to think. She needs to keep the crowd on their side. If a little cheering and some smiles will do it, she can manage that. So she lifts her hand and waves at the crowd, pumping her fist in the air. Inside, fear and nausea roil in her belly, leaving no room for the ecstatic joy she's faking.

That's when it really hits her. These people cheering for their appearances today will be laughing at their feeble attempts to survive in just a day or two.

They will be gorging on food and sitting with their families to enjoy the terror of every tribute here. Every person in the crowd will revel in her pain and torment because they view it as a game. The Hunger Games.

I am a toy to them. I'm something to amuse them and to be thrown away when I've served my purpose. I'm done with that. I've lived through enough of it at home. No. Here, I will prove once and for all that I am my own person. I will be free, one way or another, Meri promises herself as their chariot pulls into place. With that, the ceremony begins.