I simply don't care. I've stared into the eyes of the other tributes, I've see their fear, their anticipation. They all want to live.  

I wait in line for my turn to impress the gamemaker, and fellow puppets. I'm sure the careers put on a good show, and the other tributes are trying their hardest.  

Finally the time comes. Collectively I walk into the room. It's empty besides for weapons, and a few props. The Capitol members sit higher than me. They feast, and drink, and laugh.

I watch them, I don't go for a weapon, I don't paint a picture, I just watch. I examine. I read.  

“You in the green wig.” I speak out. They don't acknowledge me. I say it again louder.

They laugh and joke. I throw a sword at their protective shield. They turn at the ruckus.  

“You with the green wig.” I say again. “You feel such pity for us. I can see it in your side glances and your almost masked frown.”

I point at a man with a bright orange suit. “You're having an affair.” His eyes squint, and a woman turns him towards her and smacks him.  

“But, that's okay, she is too.” Her cheeks turned redder than the paint on her lips, and she stormed out of the room.  

“You in the stripes, you're dying. You may think the makeup covers up your hollowing cheeks,  and your wig covers up your balding head, but I see it. I see your pain, I see your suffering.”

She whips a tear away, careful not to mess up her makeup, and gives me a quick smile.

“You with the–” I'm cutoff by peacekeepers coming into the room. I take that as my que, and I walk towards the exit, and then stop.  

Without looking back I continue.  

“You, the one that's putting the games together. You're having troubles, with what, I'm not sure, but double check who your friends are before it's too late.”

The peacekeepers excort me out.  

I look at the remaining tributes. The fear radiating around them is blindingly noticeable.

Straight faced and head up, I get into the elevator, and head to my room.