District 2 Female: Slate Welby 

I walked into the room where all tributes were waiting. They haven't even began killing each other and things were getting bad, it looked like some of the tributes wanted to kill each other right now and we're ready to rip their throats out. I Was not ready. I would kill, I had been trained to, but i hadn't been trained to live for days when I could be slaughtered any moment. How was I supposed to sleep knowing my sister was doomed the moment she curled up in the tree? I couldn't have screamed any louder. Didn't she understand? She had to be the best. My sister could have, yet she was hopeless. She thought she could take a break, then she was killed.

I can't see how I can forgive her. I volunteered because I thought I could beat her. I must. I thought. But the reason our family is bound to this heart wrenching game of war is my father. My father never cared about life. He would risk his whole life as a peace keeper if that means he would be praised like a hero. There is no glue in my family, we tear, break and never come back. I will always hear his voice, even when he is miles away;

You have to win your life.

The next moment will decide my future. Life or death. Win or lose. Pathetic or hero. Though I must put everything on the line I was incredibly undisturbed. I had been always under pressure with everyone having their own ideas about me, so I had to look unruffled.

"Slate Webly District 2 please come into your training," spoke the voice of one of the game makers.I walked with my hands by my side but my boots caused a hollow sound that rippled against the grey walls of the hallway. The hallway was short, and the door swung open when I stepped close to the transparent glass entryway.

Both head game makers had their eyes on me. There were others as well but they had no regard for me, all they seemed to care about was the meat on their plate and the ever refilling wine in their crystal glasses. Paella noded, then turned her head glaring at Pluto. They both seemed very disagreeable, impatient and cruel. Well they were in charge of setting up a game where children kill each other, so they play the part very well. I walked toward hoping to show off my spear throwing skills and bow and arrow. I had always been just okay at shooting, but since my mentor was helping me I really got the hang of it. The spear was hanging on one of the hooks, careful not to rattle anything else I preached my arm when a huge noise came up.

I twisted around, looking for the cause. Bookshelves lined the floor now, heading straight for the ceiling, and handles of weapons were dangling in between books. Book of many colors, genre and full of stories just sat there. We had books, but not this many, there must be thousands, millions of them. Great play game makers, but I will pass. I grabbed the handle of what looked like a spear, luckily it was. With the heavy metal silver spear in my right hand I examined the bookshelf more carefully. It went across the the whole room, so no way going around. But there were ways to go in, three infact, right, left and center.

I was conflicted by this. They could end up at the same place or it could lead some place else. What would the game makers want me to choose?

Left or right, not center. Even I had learned to not take what the gamemakers put in front of me. Why was I shaking? I couldn't get hurt before the games even started. There were no angry tributes here looking for revenge. I decided that I would choose center. Change their tactics because later I know they will change mine. I walked across the room, turning sideways when entering into the skinny tunnel that later I would meet my challenge in.

You have to earn your life. I heard my father's strongest words again. Though these strong words bring me pain every time, and cut me to pieces all the time.

I continued on, these hallways were so like the ones that I had crossed to get to the training center, dark, cold,uncertain. As I reached the end of the hallway I turned a corner. There a figure that couldn't be real; one of the gamemakers invitations. It's whole body was made with books, and it's whole body covering the exit in the maze. The figure looked sad but not enough to leave it's post."You must not pass," ushered the figure, "I will not let you."'

Even though the figure had the same tone, it had emotions. Showing them fully was another story but if I would make the person bound by books thought they had a chance... Yes that would work, then I could escape. But were they timing this? How long had it been? I can't waste time. I straightened my back and walked peacefully over, close to my opponent.

"Hello, how are you?" I said so foolishly, who would respond to that? As I expected right when the words came out of my mouth the figure kept looking down, like I was a bug it preferred not to look at. " I can have happy endings, if you let me." Yes! The figure was now staring at me, it's eyes a bit smaller, inching towards me.

This would work. This could work. I will get a good score. I just have to push the figure until it bends.

"Yes," I continued on my voice getting stronger and stronger as the words went on, "but not if you never let me go. There could be war, dying, heartache, just like the endings in your books. But you can fix that. You decide my ending, which I need to be good." The last words I slowed down unsure how it would seem that I was saying something that was meant to be whispered, loud and clear. Now it was up to the figure, I could say more but why when I already got my point across? Now it really needed to say something otherwise I would need another plan, probably run very fast. I raised my eyebrows hoping it got my subtle hint that it really needed to talk right now.

"If I decide you ending then how would I make it good or bad?" I had been expecting this, and if it was going to ask questions there had to me no flaws in my plan.

"Simple, a terrible, tragic, bad story is where you leave me here, hurt me, and don't let me go. I slump, trying to act very scared. I know I wouldn't be here forever but I would like it more than being in the games. The game makers would shut this thing down soon, and say "your time has concluded. I continued on, "a wonderful, happy story is where you let me go, where I can't be touched by all rows bad endings, and you feel better because you helped a poor child."

"You are no poor child, are you?"

"I can be mean and powerful, but I fear my life will never be the same without just one happy ending." True. But this still wouldn't be a happy ending.

"I don't know if I trust you but you may go."

It paused for a moment then preceded with instructed me with a pained look on it's face.

"Just don't tell Paella and Pluto, okay."

I simply nodded, not feeling bad, just understanding that they were watching this on a big screen while the others were getting drunk. It quickly moved aside letting me pass and I kept a hold on my spear, grateful that I didn't have to use it. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

District 3 Male: Conn Sephra  

Anticipation.

Anticipation would not break his smile.

Nothing will.

The morose world had come crashing the moment Conn arrived in the Capitol. Everything was different- the words he spoke, the derived thoughts, and the actions he intended to make. Conn was created anew, like somehow home caged him in, allowing the forsaken departure and death continue. Before stepping into the room where the Gamemakers would critique him, every last aspect of who he was diving under scrutiny, Conn widened his lips and let peaks of teeth show. Nerves griped at him, his heart clamping tight and groaning for more room. The door was daunting; whatever was past it was definitely a tribulation, but Conn smiled nonetheless.

He believed cracked statures were more durable than those of whole strength. When someone teeters on the edge of darkness, the bright lights are see more easily; when Conn closes his eyes, he is resilient to the black. It would not claim him. He'd not suppress or suffice to giving in.

"It's just taunting you," a voice said from behind. Conn did not turn around to see who, but he assumed it was Rosella. It did not matter; they were not friends, and he needed to draw from power that he created himself, not another. He appreciated her care, but it was unwavered, unwanted, unprecedented. His hair fell into his face in an annoying heap, slightly itching. It was present enough for his attention to slip, but too unapparent to be pushed back.

Conn walked through the open door, a hallway cascading blue walls over him. The color was horrific and distilled a feeling of depth into anyone who saw it, and Conn was no different; he found himself deep within metaphor and arising beyond simple similes. The light at the end of the hallway was dull, and he captured it with the sultriness of his eyes. And the illumination of his smile. Walking across the hallway had been less than trivial- he was confused.

Then, the room opened up to a wide array he did not expect. An aesthetic of paper swarmed his eyes, from thick, hard-covered books to strew pages in piles of torn shreds. It was neat and messy, an illusion that made the room indescribable. In some places, the novels were separated by color, some by author, and some by alphabetical juxtaposition; yet, across the organization, chaos ensured, whereas every book had no correlation to the one beside it. The shelves themselves were a cherry oak, seemingly bleeding into the plastic and paper covers. It was a man-made forest of butchered flora and Conn's intrigue soared, to fly to brand new heights. While the air felt thick and thin and musky and clean, Conn deciphered the contradictions as real, leaving the place to be unaffecting and beautifully impactful.

I don't really understand.

Where am I?

Conn let the room survey him, reiterating and rereading the adorned titles of books. The colors were so dull compared to real life- literature was not his thing, but stories were. The spoken word had always taken Conn's emotions for twisting turns, while the written had only calmed and stilled. The room was no different. Anticipation for the Gamemakers brought calamity and sensations of fear that shook him wildly, snapping him out of phased migraines and distracting, blank, sporadic pauses. Continuously, he smiled, watching the world like it did him: with indifference.

Conn did nothing.

Impatience.

Impatience would not break his smile.

Nothing will.

The shelves backed away; in reality, they did not move, but Conn stepped up to a small intersection that gave way to three routes. Left and right taunted his peripheral vision, each with different auras that bled feelings of something wrong. Incorrect. Disallowing himself to change his current path, he looked both ways, seeing the endlessness of the two sides, and hitched a breath. Withering the inside skin of his throat, his breaths became hearty and hoarse, like the earth underneath had lodged its tectonic plates inside his frail lungs. He was frail and he was weak; the breathing was just a cause.

Staring down the roads not traveled, a pulsation of frost overtook him as he walked forward. Going straight, his legs were tired in an unnatural way; he hadn't moved much, but they were strained. And the wooden core of the bookshelves strained as well, lightening in color as time and distance went on. From a rosy redwood to a tan to a brown that seeped to whiteness, the structure weakened as they elongated. Some titles were repeated in a valiant effort to fill the empty space, and the maze of olden trees kept on until Conn had to stop, bend over, and lean on the wood for aid. An oddity occurred and Conn forgot about breath and mind entirely; an amnesia of shock settled in and road-blocked the course of his brain, stopping crimson veins in their scurrying tracks.

Once his hand struck a page, its paper flitted and flew. The fluttering white then touched another, and another, stretching the bird-like paper into a string of flapping thinness. He watched it with curiosity, trying to break free of the mindlessness, attempting to scour the source of numbness and crack its ice. Conn's eyes were wide as the paper acted like it had cognizance, a mindful thought process of its own; and, seeing how it finalized pathways and collided purposely with unmoving books, the encrazed thought may have been true.

The pages were alive; silent stories were rising from the cement, melting solidity and reaching air. It hit him, then, that the papers were a test, a challenge set up by the Gamemakers. They were likely to be watching him, their ferrous eyes digging and clawing and harrowing the mere sight of a boy with no immediate movement, no action to counteract that of the paper. Because, Conn blinked slowly and searched for words- who would have thought the remnants of a long-gone tree would come to hurt him?

Conn snapped into movement. Slow and steadily, he reached the nearest corner in the maze and rounded it, letting his back and body hide from the floating white. Sounds of rustling and scratching arose as well, like an intimidation. He was not afraid.

Fear.

Fear would not break his smile.

Something will.

Peering around the shelf, the flurry of off-white strips combined into a figure. The way Conn's eyes convoluted and convalesced was wicked and dark, but his smile was the antonym of such dimness. The paper figure knew where he was; no amount of hiding would stop the thing from finding him. Its transparent eyes locked on to Conn's and each step passed a minute of time. Conn remained frozen in place, like icy bark to a dying tree, he was defrosting at a pace of flame, watching the paper like it was an enemy of machet, an enemy that could be out-won. The paper figure's legs were scraping the ground, begging for acceleration. So, with his smile at its largest, Conn stepped out to meet it in its path.

"What are you?" he asked immediately, trying to find the curvature of its undefined face. Words embodied every inch of the fragile humanoid, syllables of sporadic nothingness reaching Conn's mind. The phrases were incomplete, however, so no story could be formed. Only words of a hurricane, destructive in its chaos.

The paper thing watched him precariously. Careful and feeble eyes, blank spaces in the white, carried effervescence towards Conn, an essence of something foreign lodging like stone. It appeared so weak, but by the way balance towered upon its body, Conn could only predict it was sturdy. Weightless, but sturdy.

Behind him, a noise of wood against tile scraped. He jumped, flinching, and turned to see that two shelves backed up to him and closed off the path. In the maze, a new dead end was formed and it trapped Conn in his place. There was no way to go; he tried going past the paper tribute blocked his path with just the outstretch of limbs. Bursting like unstitched sockets reigned the paper flesh, arms elongated to reach each side of the row. In the end, Conn stepped back, with nowhere to go.

"Will you let me go?" he asked.

The paper shook its head.

Afterwards, it shrugged its shoulders in a stance of unknowing.

Then, it nodded.

Conn waited for a moment, just looking over the pages like the words would hold a clue. Its head was spinning like a migraine and its wrists were twisting like a torn bone. Everywhere that was still was blacked by scripted and printed letters, combined to form something greater than their individual selves.

He was suddenly afraid, for the words read of an inglorious tale.

Smile-

Your smile-

Smile and it will-

Come, smile, and-

Do not smile-

Smile more-

The words were vastly upon the paper's chest, and few allocated to the shoulders and legs. Some stray clauses even escaped the body altogether, floating around the live body like gravity was centered at its head. Conn grasped the word and let it swell his chest.

Smile.

"If I keep smiling, will you let me go?" he asked, crossing his arms because the obligation would be easy to keep up with. For once. fear trickled away in a stream. Maybe, the training would end okay.

The paper shook its head.

Conn's forehead wrinkled in worry. "Well, what do you want?" The questions continued like a battle of mentality; neither had weapons, so physicality seemed less than dauntless. Still, Conn was annoyed to welcome the fear like the stream had retracted, its flow reversing.

Afterwards, it shrugged its shoulders in a stance of unknowing.

It hit him like a gloomy and grey rainfall. Like the rainfall was not enough, and a storm began to brew to make up for what was lacking. And, as the lightning ignited the sky as a call to thunder, the earth quivered with a quake- that was what Conn felt in his hollow chest. He, also, felt nothing.

Which was the worst?

"If I...drop the smile? Will I go?" he asked, hesitating, because the falsity of such a smile was what kept him afloat. His hands reacted with the same quail as the ground; his eyes widened further with the bright white as lightning; his words confounded like thunder.

Then, it nodded.

Life.

Life would break his smile.

It already has.

His lips dropped and his teeth hid. As soon as breath was encased by a closed mouth, the paper body wisped and dropped, scattering to the floor in a heap of torn shreds. Behind him, the shelves opened back up to a final path, where he'd exit and the training would end. However, he entered the paper arena a different boy than he exited; how would the real killing be?

The first story was of Conn's breaking smile. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

District 3 Female: Rosella Van Carter

Fear has no place here.

A lump began to form in Rosella's throat and she swallowed, attempting to conceal her anxiety as she waitedoutside the training room, her district partner having just left for his private session moments ago. Glancing around now at the other tributes, whose eyes glinted with the slightest hint of confidence and boldness, she wondered if they too were trying to hide their true emotions, build and sustain the poker faced mask for everyone else to see. Who knew how everyone really felt, what thoughts prevailed in their seclusive minds? After all, today was the day in which the Gamemakers assess a tribute's likeliness to survive in the Games. The odds of everyone's survival all came down to this.

If the Hunger Games were nothing but a fairy tale, then she could wish herself back home, right then and there, without having to worry about going into the arena and survive the horrors that she witnessed on her large television screen back home every year. The whole idea of keeping the nation entertained simply by bringing a young girl and boy to the Capitol to fight to the death against other districts had always been such an abhorrent idea for Rosella to even imagine. Helpless she was, helpless her district was, as she and Conn were sent to the Capitol this year without any idea of how they could possibly bring their district the lifelong reputation they needed. And what could she do anyway, other than manipulate others with her words? Well, maybe that was a good skill, but what good would it do her once she entered the arena? She shut her eyes and clenched her fists tightly, trying not to let the soft murmurs of the other tributes get to her. The last thing she wanted was a distraction—at this stage, this is something she could not afford.

"Rosella Van Carter of District 3. Please report to the training room."

There it was, finally—her name, announced over the PA, beckoning her to her private session. Ignoring the cold glares from the rest of the tributes—and who in the right mind would bother reaping tributes from the Capitol itself, the place where everyone's nightmares came true?—she stood, her face wiped of any strong emotion that could give away how she truly felt, and walked off, heading into the training room where all the tributes worked relentlessly for the last three days. Upon entering, her eyes automatically swept across the entire room, scanning the area for the weapons and the survival stations that had always been present before, her heart pounding erratically against her chest in anxiety as she tried to devise a last-minute plan to please the Gamemakers; but to her surprise, the room was completely void of these stations. Instead, there were several tall bookshelves that surrounded her from all directions, and stacked within these shelves were the things that she thought she left behind forever, all neatly organized without a loose page sticking out from within the covers like a sore thumb.

"Oh wow," Rosella murmured, her doubt washing away as she carefully allowed her fingers to wander across the book spines, tears brimming in her eyes as she remembered the vast collection of books she had back home in which she loved to fantasize, travel beyond the four walls of her bedroom. Her fingers soon met with the black worn leather handle of a blade, wedged in between two thick books, and she frowned as she lightly grasped the handle and unsheathed it, revealing a beautiful silver dagger, the triangular blade about as long as her forearm, a sharp point glinting dangerously in the dim lights. It soon dawned on her that there were weapons stuck between the several thick volumes standing in these shelves—the long spear shafts and ends of wooden bows all poking out to her as if beckoning for someone to take them. Rosella chuckled softly at this observation, but she was wise enough to ignore their calls. A dagger was the only thing that suited her needs.

With the dagger tight in her grip, she wiped her tears and continued to walk through the bookshelf labyrinth, following the path set for her without a word until she approached a four-way intersection, with paths branching out to her left, right, or straight forward.

The crossroads, Rosella thought, faintly reminded of a book in which a strong female protagonist had to make the most difficult choice to save her friends and the world in which she lived in, with help from a Greek goddess. Everything that would happen all laid in this one choice that she had to make—so which way should she go? She glanced in every direction now, her brown hair secured in its elastic swishing slightly behind her; the only extraordinary thing that stood in each direction was a tall figure comprised of swirling loose leaf paper shreds all standing in the middle of the paths in her view.

Rosella pressed her lips tightly together; everything that the Gamemakers would see from her all came down to the direction she chose. Should she backtrack at any point, then she'd prove herself a coward. She couldn't back down from a fight now, with all the possibilities of engaging in full-out brawls against the other tributes increasing the longer she stayed in the Capitol. She narrowed her eyes as she carefully analyzed the paper figures again. The figure on her left seemed to be holding a glinting sword of some sort. The figure on the right was holding a sheet of paper. And the figure straight forward stood defenseless, holding nothing in its hands. So the figure on her left must test her physical strength, the figure on the right her intelligence. But what about the figure in the middle? What kind of obstacle did he have to offer?

Curiosity overcame her as she made the decision to move forward, ignoring the figures with sword and paper. She stopped just a few feet from her paper figure, sighing when she realized that he was blocking her path. The eventual goal seemed too simple—she just had to get him out of the way. But how? He offered no call to arms, or anything that demanded strong intellect. It was then when she realized that she might have to manipulate him with her words, using only her tongue as a weapon. In a typical situation, it proved to her no problem.

So she swallowed past the dry patchy lump in her throat and smiled faintly—a proper greeting, she thought, to any kind of stranger. "Hello there."

The figure said nothing as he focused his eyes on her—his large white eyes speckled with the blackness of the printed words staring right into her ice blue ones. She blinked once; this was not exactly what she was expecting.

"My name is Rosella," she continued with a futile attempt at a curtsy; the overbalance almost made her fall forward, but she caught herself in time as she straightened up with a light laugh, regaining her composure. "How are you faring on this fine day?"

"What makes you think you can try this princess-like behaviour on me?" the figure said in a rough voice. This shocked her greatly—she didn't expect him to talk—but she managed to hide her surprise. After all, every minute in the training room counted. Screw up, and her chances at survival would only diminish.

"Oh, I was just making some light conversation," she said airily with another laugh. "It's a great day for you to be challenging tributes, isn't it?"

The paper figure's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I...uh..." Rosella faltered as she glanced up to meet the figure's furrowing glare, trying desperately to come up with a witty answer.

"Is this really your business, miss? I didn't think so. Don't even try to probe," he barked.

Rosella nodded obediently, her expression unchanging. She was used to having people push her around before and boss her around—why, it happened at school all the time, and it happened whenever she was working in the factory with her parents. Everyone doubted her abilities, but eventually they all saw how amazing she was at anything she put her mind into. In her heart, she prayed that the Gamemakers would see the same.

"Oh, of course. Silly me," Rosella nodded, being very cautious with her word choice. "Anyway, I do have a request for you—"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're trying to make me move, aren't you?" The figure shook his head. "Sorry, miss. Not going to happen."

"Really? I didn't suppose that a paper figure like you could actually stand standing still," Rosella noted, pointing at his limbs. "Besides, at least one part of you would always be moving. Look at your limbs, for example."

"I can see them very well, thank you very much," the figure spat. "I'm not that blind. What do you take me for? A fool? No thank you, miss. Don't look at me as if I don't know anything--maybe you're the stupid one, thinking you can take me on."

If this wasn't her private training session, Rosella would probably grit her teeth and walk away from the person who dared ruin her vibe, or maybe even fly into a rage in an attempt to get what she wanted. But she knew better than to lose her temper here. The Gamemakers were not only testing her skill—they were also testing her control. The training was not broadcast live, but she still knew that every move and moment counted. And it was in that moment when Rosella realized just how difficult the path she chose had just become. Her mouth started to pervade with a foul taste, as it always did when she was angry, but she resisted the urge to spit, and instead just took a deep breath, shaking away the angry jitters that racked her body.

"Really?" Rosella frowned, cocking her head inquisitively. "Wow. What a shame. I'm surprised that you never understood what I've really gone through. For one, I have read a ton of books—maybe even more than the ones that line the shelves in this very library. I'm not afraid of the trash people say, even if their trash is the cold truth."

Now the figure looked intrigued as he raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I didn't know."

"And try as you might, you can't change that fact." Rosella clenched her fists again, rising on the balls of her feet just slightly before resting them back on the ground, taking a deep breath. "I chose this path because it's unique. Not many people, I feel, would come here. Everyone thinks that the best tributes are the strongest ones, or the smartest ones who could tell edible plants from the inedible. But no, the best tributes are the ones who could manipulate others, who could change a person's fate with only a simple command. I've dealt with words, I've indulged myself in words, I've grown up reading so many books with words of many different kinds. They always sounded so beautiful flying past a person's mouth, read aloud from the pages where they were written or mentioned in conversation. But the real beauty lies in the power they could have, and that itself could be measured through our present desires. I suppose you never considered that, haven't you?"

"Goodness. I haven't. You're right," the figure softly realized, his eyes widening slightly.

"Exactly. So take a look around you at all these books. There are so many here. Once you find a book that appeals to you, I recommend you start reading them. I found a few simple ones at the beginning of the maze which you can start with. Words are a beautiful thing," Rosella told him, smiling slightly with a hint of triumph. "Perhaps by learning them you too can understand how powerful they truly can be. They do so many wonders; it's like they have a magic in them."

"Wonders. Magic. Power. Of course." The figure nodded thoughtfully, as if now in a trance. "Yes. I'll go and read one. That sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you for the suggestion."

With that, he walked past her, the swirling paper shreds lifting and lowering as his legs carried him forward, his hands stretched towards the shelves on either end as if he was running a small and slow victory lap through the vast library. Rosella nodded at the figure in farewell, turning her attention back to the exit of the labyrinth, just about five feet away from where she stood. Shoving the dagger between two random books on the shelf nearby, she ran to the end and laughed in relief, flushed with success at actually being able to show the Gamemakers what she was used to doing back home, and maybe even more.

It didn't go the way she expected it to, but what mattered was that it all worked out. And now that she showed them her greatest strength, she never felt more prepared for what was to come.

"Your training session has now come to a close. You may go now, Ms. Van Carter."

Rosella grinned as she exited the room. At least now she knew what her strategy in the arena would be.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

District 6 Male: Devin Eifa Alvah  

  "DEVIN EIFA ALVAH TO THE TRAINING CENTER!" I heard a rude female voice screech through the intercom overhead. I stood up from the couch, I previously was sitting on and walked over to the door that led to the awaiting training center.

I opened it without a second thought and walked in.I knew our president was going to put on a show for the games this year, give us something completely new, and I guess that meant amping up the trading session because instead of the norm I found myself in a tiny room with towering sky high bookcases with thousands of books. I honestly wanted to examine them all to see what they contained and the beauty of their written word, but I had a more urgent task at hand. I need to get out of this book maze!

Since the only direction to travel was forward I slowly began to walk in that direction. As I strolled deeper into the maze I saw more and more books I'm assuming amounted to tens of thousands. Being the curious guy I am, I closely inspected them all and saw between some of the books were varying types of weapons. I saw katanas, swords, throwing stars, guns, and knives, and at least once a cleaver. Then finally, I found what I had been waiting for...between "The She-wolf" and "Sherlock Homes" I saw arrows and a staff. I quickly grabbed them examine the well made weapons before I continued on holding it tightly in my grasp ready for a sneak attack that might befall me.

The path at one point spilt into 3 directions, straight, left, and right. I really didn't take the time to think about which path would be the best to take. I just continued on the straight path for the simple reason I was too lazy to change direction.

After a short walk in silence I saw a sword be swung and come within inches of my face. "You Shall Not Pass!" Came a voice from behind the sword. I looked past it to see a paper like man standing holding the outstretched sword firmly in his right hand.

"So another change to the training session courtesy of our President."

I looked at the man standing in front of me pissed off at his refusing to let me Pass. Its pretty obvious that I'm too weak to damage this guy in any really deadly way...even if he's made of paper. I stood staring at him for a moment, thinking of the best way to get him to let me pass. Than a light popped in my head....Fear.

I looked him in the eye with a smirk plastered on my face and the craziest expression I could muster. "My son come on move for me please."

He held his sword still extremely close to my body inches away from contact, "Leave this place."

I looked at him stern a fake anger beginning to show on my face in way of intimidating him.

I pushed the sword away from my face and began to speak in an extremely hysterical tone, "My son I believe it would sincerely be in your best interest to move for me. Because if you fucking don't move right this instant your gonna to pay..." My blue eyes showered my intense anger and my voice. Though still sounding hysterical had a hint of anger to it.

He looked at me with a ounce of fear in his eyes but held his position.

"Still don't want to move? Son I'm going to steal that idiotic piece of shit you call a sword,chop off your head, blast your arms off that scrawny thing you call a body, peal your skin with a rusty saw, and make a necklace with your bowels." I raised an eyebrow as I explained this to him crossing my arms with a huff of annoyance still maintaining my hysterical psychopathic tone, "Now move!"

I saw his eyes almost shoot out of his head as he dropped the sword and proceed to move to the side making a small flicker of light I'm assuming to be the training center visible to me.

I smirked seeing the previously menacing creature bend to my manipulation as I walked past him making him flinch when I sent him one last piercing look.  

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

District 11 Male: Shadow Thantoes Morte

  I sat quietly on one of the couches looking intently at the tile floor.I could feel people walking and soft vibrations telling me there was talking going on.To be honest though I really didn't care what they did.I'm not here to make friends.I'm here to kill or be killed.

I ran a hand through my grey emo hair in deep thought of what I would do for my training session.To be honest,it all seemed extremely stupid to me.We're not really training!All we're doing is putting on a show so that the people from the luxury districts can get a sponsor.No one from a district like 11 will get one,we all know that well.

I had begun formatting some sort of plan using a rope and dummy when I felt someone nudge me.I looked up with a very clearly evident anger in my eyes to find my district partner Regan looking back at me with a warm smile."They've been calling you for like 5 minutes Shadow."Her lips moved to me.I spent a few seconds processing what she said before getting up without a word and walking toward the door I've seen all the tributes thus far go threw.I looked back noticing her lips moving again to another tribute,"He is a wired one."

I huffed turning around and gripping the cool metal."Sometimes I wish I didn't know how to lip read."I mumbled under my breath. I ignored anymore thought about it though,and quickly opened the door walking in.

Once inside I could tell something was strange.I expected a big room with a wall and a table covered with weapons of different size,shape,color,and deadliness.I also expected a bunch of different targets for us to show off our skills,and overhead the game makers and president watching our every move.

But coming to examine the room closely,all I see is bookcases towering overhead as far as the eye can see packed with hundreds,if not thousands of books varying in size,shape,and color. I'm tempted to try climbing up one for a better vantage point but from the looks of this it would take hours.

I look closer at the books,hoping to find maybe one that looks awry that may mean there's a trap door,but instead I see handles sticking out.I pull one out revealing a cleaver.I grip it tightly in my hand,looking at the sharp,heavy bladed machine.I continue to hold it and look forward seeing the only place to go is forward,into a darkening passage way that leads to the unknown.

I don't enjoy the unknown.I already have to deal with being deaf,having to possible lose my sight isn't a welcoming prospect.But with no other choice,I began to walk forward,keeping my eyes and reflexes vigilant.The bookshelves began to come closer together and the lights grew more and more dim as I walk on,making me feel as if they want to suffocate me.

After a fair amount of walking I come to a fork in the road as you may call it.The path splits from one to three.I look down each path the lights getting so dim I can't see more than a hundred feet ahead.It seems strange but I feel as if I'm being drawn to go forward along the path going straight. Deciding to take that route I continue forward on the same straight path.

It continually grows more and more dim until it's so dark I have to guide myself by touch ever onward. Soon though the lights start to come back and once I can see enough to make my way without touch I feel myself bump into something.Something very big! I look up to see I ran into a giant mass of shredded paper.But it isn't just a normal bunch of paper...if anything like that is what you would consider normal.

Stepping back and looking at it,I saw it was in the shape of a man,not very well done man but a man nonetheless.He had a sword in his hand and he looked kinda cool."I wonder why they have a statue made of book paper standing in the path?"I thought to myself.I looked at the sword gripped firmly in his closed hand,it was nice.It looked well made of the finest cast iron and the staff was gold incrusted."Nothing but the best for the Hunger Games."

Deciding to keep moving I started to walk past the statue until the hand holding the sword swings up and waves the sword right in front of my face nearly missing me.I looked at the creature just in time to see it utter the words:"NONE SHELL PASS!"by the way his lips were moving so vigorously I could tell he was yelling.

I backed away slowly seeing him go back to his standing position.I swear I thought he was just a statue.

I began to think in deep thought for a few moments,"My gut is telling me I need to go past him to get to this god damn training session.How am I gonna get him to move?"I ran my fingers through my hair like I always do when I think waiting for an idea to come to me.

"So none can pass now can they?"I ask raising an eyebrow looking at him intently.

He did his stance again,swinging the blade at me and screaming:"NONE SHALL PASS!"

I looked him in the eye,smiling slightly,"I see,you do your job well.Defiantly don't let anyone pass."

He returned to his original position looking at me though this time."I think though this job must be pretty boring.I mean you must always be stuck here waiting for people like me to come and do your same swing sword thing and saying we can't pass.It must be horrible."

He nodded and I smiled bigger,"Well sir if you let me pass I could make sure you could get out of this job and be free to do whatever you want."

He stood thinking for a second before shaking his head,"You shall not pass."Behind his rebuff of my offer I could tell I had appealed him however slightly."I could do more,I'm in the Hunger Games.I need to pass so I can continue the games.If I win I get a lot of money.I would reward you greatly as well if you would let me pass."

He continued to stand there silently.I could tell I almost had him.I gave him a reassuring smile maintaining my eye contact with him ,"Come on you know I wouldn't cross you."

He finally broke,"You may pass."He slowly began to move out of the way reviling to me a bit of bright light."That must be where the training center is!"I said slowly starting to walk past him."Just one more thing."I say turning back to him

He looks down at me and I swing my cleaver at him shoving it deep into his chest and letting it go seeing blood start to pour out from between it.I see the paper creature fall to the ground letting go of his big sword."I think our deals off,"I say smirking picking up his sword and walking away from the bleeding pile of paper  

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

District 13 Female: Xavi Uriendah Liason

The room I stood in had banisters, high as the sky and words flitted around the ceiling. The air smelled of pages and felt dense. The tension was unbearable, as no one seemed to want to talk. I decided from now on, I'd put up a tough girl act in hopes of not being messed with.
I stare coldly at the other tributes, waiting in the hall like all the rest. Five of us had gone, but I stood back with the boy from my district. He looked strange, compared to me. He looked nothing like any of the children in my district, then again, neither do I.
I gave a sideways glance at him and caught his eyes also looking in my direction. Deciding against the idea of being completely alone, and hated during the trials, I chose to speak.
"Hello, I'm Xavi." I whisper, as to not catch anyone else's attention.
"Nick." He nods, whispering half as loud as I had.
I stayed silent for a bit, allowing the air to surround me. I felt as if I had made a mistake, and that this boy was no one to try to team with.
"What's your story?" He finally said, shattering the uncomfortable aura that surrounded us.
My eyes widened in shock. I hadn't expected anyone to ask such a thing.
I thought for a moment, before finally revealing my past. "I'm illegitimate, so I never knew my parents. You know what happens to them.." I said trailing off slightly, waiting for his tiny nod before continuing.
"My parents have never been around, and I have been raised by my nana. She's mentally unstable. She has been for a while now. I take care of her. I work a lot of my day away. I try to provide what I can." I explained quietly
"I try to provide for the one I promised to come home to as well.." I mutter mostly to myself
He nodded, understanding filling his murky eyes.
"Who would they be? Who you promised to come home to, that is." He asked
"My girlfriend. Her name is Willow.. We've been together for three years now." I smile idly at the thought of her.
I don't get to hear a reply, before I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the harsh yelp of my name.
"Ex-vee ureen-dah? Oh hell, I don't care. Thirteen female?" A man says, horribly butchering my name
I blow out a breath before walking forward, and past the man into a room with three halls.
The heavy metal door I walked through shuts behind me, and I'm left in a cold, barely lit cavern. There's moisture in the air. My hair becomes staticky and sticks to my cheeks, and my clothes cling closer to my body as if they were as afraid as I was.
The room was filled with books and any type of literature you could ever dream of. I take notice of three hallways and begin to decide which seems the best.
I take a step forward and the oak floors beneath me creak and groan, notifying me of every step I take. I close my eyes and take a slow deep breath. I have to do this, and I have to come home. I promised her.
*flashback*
Willow threaded her fingers through mine as we lay on the grass on the hill.
"What if you get chosen? What will I do Xavi? I can't live without you?" Her voice seemed strained, and full of pain. I hated hearing such things come from such a beautiful person.
I let out a sigh, seeing as it was highly likely I would be chosen. I had put in a lot of slips, just for portions of food and medicine that I needed.
"You'll be alright, I promise you that. I'll come home. I really will." I said, not quite believing it myself.
"You can't promise things. Kids are ruthless, and you're too kind. Xavi please don't be kind to them. Please Xavi, come home to me." Her voice shook, and tears welled in the corner of her eyes.
That's when I decided I had to make it through.
*over*
The paths glared at me. Three hallways gaped with lifeless expressions and I idly took a step forward. The middle one took my fancy, as I stepped towards it with a grace, and higher dignity of sorts. I could do this, seeing as I was surrounded by books. This challenge must be wits, intelligence and an overall judgement of will.
I decided thinking, was going to be the death of me so I took long strides towards the middle path. The books on the right of me gleamed with golden embossed spines, and the ones on the right, were embossed with a dark charcoal color. I gawked at the sheer amount of books that surrounded me.
I was lost in a trance as I heard a ruffle of pages coming from in front of me.
Slips of paper came from the shelves, pulling themselves together, moulding, braiding, forming. What stood before me took the wind from my lungs.
A man, with charcoal black eyes, and skin full of words.
"Hella Xavi. I'd like to play a game." He said smoothly.
My eyes widened in slight horror.
"Awe, you mustn't be afraid my dear." He said, his dry, papery fingers caressing my chin. "So do you accept?"
"I do accept this task." I said confidently, hoping the shivers I felt didn't show through my voice.
"Wonderful, splendid indeed." The man chuckled.
I stood waiting for further instructions, and none were given. All that remained was his cold blank stare.
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask, confused with the man in front of me.
"That's for you to find out. You're cunning, are you not? Apply it." The words seemed to fall from his tongue.
"What are you?" I ask
"I am words, a story, a past tribute. This is what happens to us. Very intelligent of you to ask young lady. I'm quite surprised." He said with a smirk
I try to recollect the knowledge of every tribute I could remember. Men and women's names came to my mind, but none of which seemed to jump out.
My eyes glided over the mans body, blank spots caught my attention.That's when sentences started to jump out at me.
"I was 17"
"I was from 13"
"I was gay"
"I was second to last to be killed in my game."
I started to frantically think as I figured out a puzzle. I spoke finally as a realisation hit me.
"You are Alabaster Night." I said with confidence. My voice shook slightly.
He was the male tribute from my district last games. I had known the boy, and had been close enough to mourn his death. We were sure he'd make it back, but he never did.
"Brilliant Xavi, you're brilliant. Please keep going." He smiled, a genuine smile. A dark black row filled in, a blank had now been filled.
I thought hard as I remembered Alabaster's life, and what secrets he had shared with me. A name bubbled to the surface of my thought process and I blurted it out, without a thought.
"NEEV. He was your fiancé! In secret!" I shouted, my excitement was not to be contained.
"Xavi more. Please you have a few left." He said in a slightly begging tone." With that three more blanks filled in. I had three left, and I was determined to solve them.
I read the lines before and after the blank on Alabaster's cheek.
"I was brutally blank
"When I was thirteen years old"
"Alabaster.. You were raped.." I said softly, knowing he was touchy about the subject. I began to tremble as one blank filled in.
"What're they doing to you?" I said as my voice cracked with pain for the man in front of me.
"I'm here until someone defeats me. My soul is trapped.. Please help me move on. I can't be trapped anymore Xavi, please." His voice maintained a monotone pitch, even through the painful words
My throat clenched tightly as o remembered the small secrets we decided to share.
"Neev was 23. It was illegal. You never told anyone about your relationship because of that." I said knowing how desperate he was when I caught them together once. He pleaded for me to keep it a secret. I had done just that, and only repeated the words now.
"Indeed he was." Alabaster said, in a simple way.
"Alabaster.. You can let go now. Because I know you hurt yourself in the games. You killed yourself.. That's the last one isn't it?" I said, my tears no longer able to stay at bay.
He simply smiled one last time, and pages began to fall into perfectly shaped pages. One by one, the pages bound together and all that was left of the man I once called my friend, was a book.
The title read: To get through the games By: Alabaster Night

I bent over to retrieve the red, leather bound book off the dusty floor. I felt warmth radiate around me, and a door in front of me opened. I had made it through round one, but I was not spared any horror. I walked through the open door, and began my journey as district thirteens female tribute.