Young Writers Society

Tressa Alodia
The Arrival
Indigo. That was his name, Indigo. The boy tribute that I barely knew. I didn't talk to him. I couldn't face getting to know him. I would either end up killing him, or he would kill me. We all knew what happened to Katniss and Peeta all those years ago. They fell in love, and they threatened to kill themselves with some poison berries. Needless to say, President Snow had Seneca Crane blow them up.

There was no victor that year. Snow didn't care that there wasn't a victor. He just cared that people knew it was because of his doing. Rebels must be made an example of.

Would I end up killing this boy that I barely know? Who knows. Frankly, I don't care. I'm just trying to focus on looking like I'm actually listening to what Effie is telling me. Yes I have to listen to Rose because she's older and wiser and has been through the games and blah blah blah. I hope Effie knows that no matter what she says to us, I can't take her seriously in that stupid lady bug outfit. I just want to step on her and be done with it.

My sleep that night is restless. I keep having nightmares about the arena. In between fitful naps, the only images that pop into my head are those of death. Would I die? If so, would it be fast? Would I kill if I had to? I think of the amber pendant that my mother gave me. I also think of her advice. I need to be open to all possibilities. Are the odds in my favor? No. Could they be? Possibly. I just need to figure out ways to strengthen myself in the areas that other tributes are weak.

The next day is a big fuss. Effie is dressed like fire. I suspect it's because she didn't want to change the color of her red hair because it's too much effort and god forbid she get split ends. I also notice the slight strain in her smile. That's when I remember from watching reruns of previous games. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire. how fitting.

I haven't seen Rose at all. She's been in her room for the whole trip. I don't care what she was doing. I cared that her top priority was not my life as it should have been. She is my only lifeline in the arena. Effie goes on about how I need to listen to her. How can I listen to one who won't speak?

Before I can muster up the courage to go to Rose's bedroom, the Capital comes into view. Indigo leaves and sulks. I move to one of the windows. People wave at me, with their neon colored hair and eyelashes and their animal decals, they look almost savage. They're waving as if I might not be dead in three days. As if they won't treat my life like a bug's. Meant to be squished when I become a nuisance. I don't wave back, I just stare.

That's when it comes into view. The training center. It's connected to my living quarters. The building is massive with at least fifty stories. It's made completely out of this shimmery metal and I see balconies with glimmer force fields. I know what those are for and I know why they need them. Given the chance, I would probably jump from one of those balconies. I would rather be dead than undergo this fate. Effie speaks just then, startling me.

"Welcome to your new home." Home? As if. They can shower me with luxury, fatten me up with greasy food and give me a comfortable bed to sleep in. No matter what they do, this isn't my home.

It's my cage.

I wake with a start, but at first I'm not entirely sure why. Then I remember.
The reaping. A shudder climbs through me and I get out of bed, ruffling my hair as I go. Getting washed and dressed, I savour the water and each second, knowing it could be my last wash here. My last breakfast, my last day.
My parents aren't nervous. Why should they be? Having three children before myself and not one of them getting reaped, why should I be any different?
At last, 2:00PM rolls by and I check into the square. It's just me from our family now. Just the strange white-haired daughter they didn't want.

District 3 is a large district, with too many clever people to count. Crazy. I wouldn't say I am clever though, I have common sense, but compared to some here my knowledge is not a lot to compare to.
Our District escort comes upon stage, wearing an electric yellow wig with hints of some blue crackling particles whizzing around her wig like some kind of crazy butterflies. My lip curls at the sight of her. It is not beauty she portrays, it is artificial nonsense. I do not care to know or remember her name, I only have a limited brain storage which I'll never use up, but I don't like to waste it on people I dislike.
"We all know who goes first!" She laughs merrily as though she wasn't about to pick to innocent children to be slaughtered. She totters over to the glass ball containing female names and my stomach lurches.

She plucks one from the bowl and I suddenly relax. Why am I being stressed out? The odds of me being picked are so low I don't know why I bother. I laugh inside and relax, rolling my shoulders and-
"Nyx -"
And that's all I hear.

The next thing I remember is being in the quarters of a rich person. The hotel. I gasp and shake myself this has to be a joke. Some kind of joke. I punch my silken pillow and clench my jaw.
I have to pull myself together if I want to survive.

Brylee Nichols

We finally officially left our home. The guy who had been picked after me was Joseph. I didn't know him quite well and didn't care too, why? Because in the end... Well one if not both of us would be killed. Whose to say we don't kill each other. I shuddered at the thought of myself killing another human being.

No matter what happens, I had to get back to my sister and mother. Maybe we would get lucky and be like Peeta and Katniss many years ago. No. No way that I'd have a romance with that guy, besides, I am saving myself.

Getting up, I decided it would be nice to try and see my enemies weak links, maybe he would be the one to open up to me. I needed something to help me win. Out of no where, I opened my mouth, "Let's be a team." I say to him. He looked a little confused but that was okay, we had time to talk and maybe become alliance.

"What's the point?" He asked me.

"Duh, to stay alive, at least a bit longer." I tell him.

Sighing, he just sat there. "How do I know you won't turn on me?" He asked. I looked around the room for a quick moment.

"You don't, just know, we will have to fight in the end if we are the last two standing." I tell him.

His smile was definitely an approval.

Ally Ornastell | District 12 | The hotel


It is when I reached the hotel that I finally meet my mentor. I admit, I don't know what to think. But after expecting something a little... well, more, I guess I show my disappointment quite a bit.

Haymitch laughs out loud, showing his toothless gums from drinking. "What's the matter boy?" Even though we are more than ten feet away from each other, I can smell the liquor stench on his breath.

"I thought I was going to have a mentor, not a drunk." I say, running my hand in wonderment down a jewel-inlaid railing. Everything in the capitol is the opposite of District 12. While our home might have fir stair railings,(where there were two story houses), the capitol had mahogany, inlaid with the most precious gems from all the districts. It almost makes me sick to look at it.

Haymitch notices me eying everything and nods slowly. "They have everything Ally, but at the same time, they have nothing."

I laugh scornfully. "What are you talking about? They have everything! How can someone have everything, but nothing?"

I gesture to the hotel room where we are talking. The room is immense, easily four or five times the size of our entire house back in District 12. A mahogany railing wound around it both at the same level and a story up, where I knew our sleeping quarters were. Diamond encrusted chandeliers hang from the plastered blue ceiling, shedding clean white light throughout the entire room, reflecting from all of the other gems tucked away in every piece of furniture and dinner utensil.

The smell of food drifts through the air, as if to haunt me. But there it is, just on the immense long table ahead of me. Every kind of food possible is laid out in a magnificent spread before us. Whole turkeys, roasted to perfection, lay on marble dishes with gravy spooned over. Bowls of fruit adorn the middle of the table, and for some reason, the table is set for dinner already.

Haymitch smiles an odd smile. "I know it seems that they have everything when you look at outward appearances. But what do they feel inside? They are cruel people inside, caring only for their frivolous whims." He gestured to the oddly shaped chair at the end of the table. "But since they have all the food, would you like to join me?"

Just before we sit down to eat, the girl from my district joins us, accompanied by Effie Trinket. The girl is quiet and looks gentle, not too much unlike my younger sister back home. Unlike my younger sister, she looks a few years older than I am. Perhaps eighteen or so?

Looking at her, I know there is no way I would be able to kill her. Dark black hair, just like the night, flows down her back. Her small features are attentive and perfect. But her eyes are what really caught me. One of them was sky blue and the other a rich green. Not only that though, I could see the mischief in her twinkling eyes. Those eyes that said that maybe she wouldn't turn out as gentle as first appearances. Not only was there mischief in them, but a dangerous glint as well.

I will not make an alliance with her, though. I work on my own. If I trusted her and became an alliance, what would happen? No doubt we would become strong friends and both of us would die. It was obvious to me that while she may have some skills, they were not prevalent enough to be a victor. And even if she did have the skills and courage she needed, what if we were the last ones standing? I know that I will not be able to kill her if it came down to it.

I must work alone.

Ashrii Black, District Six, Arriving at the station

We're on a train. I hate trains.

I thought if I could turn off my hearing aids and close my eyes I could pretend I'd just jumped on another transport train to take a shortcut across the city, but this place smells so sweet it's disgusting.

The boy from my district- hell knows his name, Rocky or Rusty or something like that- looks like he's about to throw up. He's too clean to be from district six. His hair is too soft and he hasn't a scar or battlewound on his pale, hairless arms. He's got smudges of dirt on his hands and some on his face that has been there since yesterday.

He's probably an officials kid or something, and normally I'd be glad to see him off... but for some reason we're both on the same train to oblivian and despite years of prejudice, that seems to mean something now.

I'd be sooner shake hands with a moving train than with him, though. Why would you make friends with someone who's supposed to kill you? That's just stupid.

There is food everywhere; strawberries as red as signal lights, vegetables the bright green colour of toxic moss, cakes iced as white as Poul Oil. I don't know what those things are, but I've only ever seen that colour on chemical rust. None of it looks like it should be eaten.

I think we're supposed to meet our mentor on the train, but hey've yet to show up. It's to be expected, most things from district six don't run on time anyway.

Apparently district six won about fourteen years back, and if he's like anyone else he'll be too drugged up to realise we're even here.

Of course not many people remember him. That would be too glorious. What everyone remembers of District Six is the great Titus, better known as 'that guy who ate the other tributes.'

I can see Rusty in the corner of my eye. He's looking in my direction now and I lift my head thinking he's said something I missed, but he's not looking at me at all.

He's staring behind me with eyes as wide as saucepans and I realise now the hundreds, maybe even thousands of faces gawking in at us from the station platforms. They look like monsters, covered in clothing I've never seen, with skins and hair painted in more colours than I even knew existed.

He taps his ear and I turn my hearing aid back on.

'If we look scared they'll think we're weak.'

'Maybe they'll realise how hideous they look.'

'Do you want to kill them?'

What kind of a question is that? I glance at the faces that are out of the window behind me.

'Think about how much you hate them,' he continued. 'Keep thinking about it and it will make you look fierce... My Dad told me. It's the savagery they want.'

Savagery.

The guards took what little morphling I had on me and now I'm starting to feel the need for another very, very high dose.

Tressa Alodia: Stylists dressing us for the opening ceremonies

Pain shoots through my legs and I bite my lip to keep from calling out. Beauty hurts. My stylists are waxing my legs. I cringe as more hot wax is brushed up and down my leg and strips of paper are pushed into it. Next comes the worst part. They rip off all of the hair from that section of my legs. If this keeps up much longer, I will bite my lip until it's raw.

My stylists are ditzy and a little scary looking. Inala has turquoise eyelashes with a matching hairdo. Velorum looks a little sick as his hair is orange and his skin is tinted green. Fawn is probably the only one who is beautiful in my opinion. Her hair is a mix of brown and blonde and she wears a peacock costume. The dress is a darker shade of blue green with peacock feathers stemming out behind her. Part of me doesn't see how I could find that beautiful, but another part of me finds her look almost natural in a way with her makeup not being too overbearing.

Finally, I'm at what my stylists call beauty base zero, which is what I would look like if I rolled out of bed looking perfect every morning. No makeup, yet. I'm waxed plucked and oiled down to perfection. That's when Orchid enters the room.

Orchid doesn't look normal. Not by any stretch of the imagination. She's wearing a lavender dress that just puffs. Shockingly, it looks good on her. Her dark purple eyeliner looks fine, and her blonde hair falls in waves down her back. It looks like she and Fawn have similar tastes. The only truly odd thing is that Orchid's platinum hair is tinted just the lightest shade of purple. It's so light you would barely notice it unless you were staring at her. She circles around my naked body and assesses.

I feel exposed. Like I'm a piece of meat and I try to cover myself. But she catches my wrists and smiles.

"It's okay Tressa, it's nothing I haven't seen before. You look fine." Her voice is smooth like silk and it comforts me. She hands me a soft robe and walks me through what she has planned for me. I nod and smile. I'm almost looking forward to the opening ceremonies.

District 11 is known for farming. Typically, stylists try to dress the tributes from our district in skimpy farmer clothes. As Orchid finishes dressing me, I see that her idea is much more creative.

I'm wearing I beautifully styled dress with scenes from the fields back home. It shows people toiling under the hot sun. It even shows the children that climb the trees to pick apples. The scenes in the fabric seem to be moving. The result is amazing and I love it. Orchid styled my hair so that it runs down my back in curls with part of my hair braided back to keep my hair out of my face. My makeup consists of natural tones that look slightly extreme up close, but will look gorgeous from the audience. She glued plain black fake eyelashes to my eyelids and applied a shimmery brown eyeshadow along with brown eyeliner and just a few rhinestones at the corners of my eyes. I look beautiful, but I still look like me.

I remember what one of the tributes said long ago during the 75th hunger games. "I'm not just another piece in their games."

Isis Cooper- Arriving At The Hotel

The sound of the wheels on the train hitting the tracks made my head pound.

I tried to block it out, but it just kept drifting back.

The guy from my district, I think his name was Kyle, sat with his head in his hands. He was skinny. Useless. He wouldn't make it very long.

But then again, maybe he could. There were a lot of advantages to being skinny. Hiding in unnoticeable places, for instance.

The sound of the wheels slowed, and I turned to the window.

People in all sorts of exotic clothes either stood around talking with each other, waved at us, or just stood there, doing nothing.

I didn't wave back, just plastered on a smile.

The train came to a stop, and we were escorted inside of the hotel. It was nice, yes. But I preferred my house, because it was more..homey.

Maybe this was going to be a good thing. Maybe I deserved to be in these Games. And who knows? Maybe I'd win.

But of course, there's a chance that I won't last very long. I'm quick, yes. Strong. But knowledgeable? Not very much.

We were standing around in the hotel, Kyle and I. Waiting for our mentor.

"Kyle?" I said, an idea popping into my head. "How'd you like to make a group with me?"

His pale face turned slightly pink, and he shrugged slightly. I'd never heard him talk. Maybe he was just shy? I'll have to warm up to him.

I grinned as a man trudged into the room we were occupying, I guessed it was our mentor.

"Hey," He sounded grumpy. "I'm your mentor. Call me Pete."

My hands clasped together, and I stared up at his slumped figure.

"Kyle and...what's your name again, dear?"

"Cooper. Er...Isis Cooper."

Peter clapped his hands twice, and studied us. "I suppose I should start with survival skills, then after that we'll eat, and you'll find out later what's going to happen."

Kyle and I exchanged glances, and Pete motioned us over to a burgundy couch over in the middle of the floor.

I sat down, and Kyle a few minutes later. Pete stood in front of us.

"Alright, now.."

Leo


As soon as I heard the cheering from outside, I dragged myself over to the window and started my show. I waved and smiled at the crowd Swann, a girl I recognized from a fishing and netting lesson I taught, stood next to me smiling but using her hands to tangled into the fabric of her dress.

Our mentor, Gladia Harp, sat quietly at the table smiling at our work of making the capitol love us instantly. Soon we stopped and were ushered out by the perky pink haired Eliza onto a station platform and then into dressing rooms.

I waved goodbye to Swann just before the doors shut and I was stripped. I instantly felt a blush creeping onto my cheeks as I was pushed onto a cold metal table. I was washed then styled to perfection.

"Leo, Alexin is here for you." The green haired stylist said to me.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into an exclusive room and onto another metal bed. I sat on it studying the plain grey walls waiting for Alexin. Soon he same carrying what looked like a net, glitter, and hair gel in his hands.

"Leo is it?" He asked not giving me time to reply, "Just so you know all you're gonna be wearing is this net, so I hope you like that fabulous six pack of yours."

I smirked at him before replying, "Make me beautiful Mr. Alexin."

Soon I emerged out of the room wearing just a net around my waist. I had glitter in my hair making it look like I was fresh from the water and about ten pounds of hairspray to keep the quiff on top of my head. I had to admit, I didn't look half bad.

I stepped onto the chariot linking my fingers into Swanns to keep her from shaking too much and we took off. Sparkling lights hit me instantly along with an abundance of mainly girl screams. I picked out a girl around my age with a fistful of money and winked causing her to throw her money everywhere along with tears. I smirked to my self and caught Swann just before she flung off the chariot as it stopped abruptly.

I zoned out the speech we listened to every year and just couldn't stop imagining that big piled of jewels waiting for me at the end of the games. Ah, being me is fantastic.

Ally Ornastell | District 12 | The Tribute Parade

The tribute parade. The place and time where I see those people for the first time. Those people who hate me, and yet love me at the same time. Those people who I hate with a passion. Those people who I have to make them love me. Earn their love by my ability to earn their respect and awe.

The girl from my district stands next to me, and yet I feel so alone. The horses that pull the chariot bring us out into the place where I will parade beneath the entire country of Panem, and yet I feel alone. I feel alone because all of those people around me, save for the twenty four kids around me, while be alive in a week.

And I will be dead.

Cinna has built an amazing costume for his tributes, once again. Yet this time even I have no idea how he accomplished it. To be honest, I have no idea what is going on until I see my face and the chariot around me in the big screen that hangs from the ceiling of the viewing arena. That was something that Cinna had counted on. He says that he wants me to look confused, and uncertain, and then in the middle of the parade, my whole countenance will change when I notice what I look like. Starting in Confusion, ending in Confidence.

Just like the Games themselves.

Unlike his previous costumes which lost popularity due to the fact that fire was involved, this one seems simple and doesn't involve flame at all. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who defied the capitol, left a black mark on Cinna's amazing fiery costumes. He has to resort to using coal once again.

When I first look into the screen, my face looks as one in complete shock. Denial, even. Because I am riding on a gray swirling mass of coal, shifting about like a tornado in flight. The coal dust streams out behind me, but instead of falling to the ground, they explode into small firecrackers as they collide, creating more of a sparkling affect than a fire.

When I finally realize what I look like and what the chariot looks like beneath me, my expression changes. I don't even realize the change, but everyone watching me does. People point and scream my name, along with that of the girl standing beside me.

And then I realize what we are riding on. What Cinna has turned us into. I am riding on the Chariot of Damnation. And I look like Hades himself.

The dark soot streaming past and around me, like a hurricane around me. The soot in my face and hair makes my expression even more dark and hateful than before, and the confident look in my eyes looks almost pompous. What Cinna has done is totally change me from a weak, scared tribute from a beaten district to a proud, confident young man who has no weaknesses. Has no mercy.

And the crowd goes wild.

I feel the wheels underneath my chariot begin to move, and I have only one thought moving through my head.

"Let the games begin."

I'm calm, cool, and collected. Until I notice the district behind me. Ally. Their chariot looks like something from the deepest levels of hell and I shudder as the cameras fixate on them. The crowd cheers, and I know that compared to District 12, I am nothing. They're the underdogs, the ones everybody keeps an eye on every year since Katniss and Peeta. Well, it's time to change that.

I raise my hand as if I'm about to wave to the crowd, but instead I move it towards my hair. I yank out the carefully placed hair elastics and bobby pins and let my hair fall completely free. I take the hand of the boy next to me and grasp it tightly as I raise my hands up towards the sky. My chocolate brown air flows behind me in the wind, and the crowd roars. There are still cameras on the tributes from District 12, but I think my stunt has given us enough attention from the Capitol to make us stand out.

As the chariots form a circle around an enormous podium, the President gives a speech. I tune him out. The games have just begun. And I intend to win.

Isis Cooper

It's amazing how some people have different ways of getting rid of kids. Like the districts. "Oh, just put a whole bunch of kids in an arena, and force them to kill each other. Whoever's the last standing keep them alive unless they piss me off."

Right. Like that's fair. The 75th Hunger Games had a little girl! What was her name? Ruby? No, no. Rue, I think. That's cruel.

As the lady with the bright pink hair waxed my legs, I clenched my fists, not sure why I was thinking about this stuff.

"Okay, honey. Your legs are perfect now! Well...except for your scars. But we can cover those up with makeup." She smiled brightly down at me, and motioned me to sit up, and follow her.

I sat up, rubbed my smooth legs, and followed her over to a chair, which was in front of a mirror.

"Okay, Caelian? Do you think you can come do her hair, while I do her makeup? I believe the dress she's wearing is a light gray, or maybe a white."

I'd met Caelian before. She was really nice. But she had a weird name.

"Alright, Iris. Just put your head up, and let us do our job." The pink-haired lady chirped.

I was pretty sure she knew my name. But, just because, I turned toward her, and smiled a bit. "It's Isis."

"What's Isis, Hun?" She tilted her head to the side, and I stared into her huge eyes.

"My name. It...It's Isis."

"Oh, hi Isis. I'm Kandice."

I shook my head, and sat still while they fixed me up.

************************************

As I sit on the couch at the hotel, exhausted, the only thing I remember was bright lights, tight dresses, and people clapping. Really loud.

My head pounded, feeling as if my brain was going to pop out at any moment.

But it didn't, unfortunately.

Pete danced in, looking a little too happy.

"Guess what, girl! Guess!" He exclaimed, his eyes wild with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You and Kyle's performance's were perfect. You've gotten quite a few sponsors. Get happy, Isis! This is just what you guys needed!"

In order for him to go away, I plastered on a smile. "Great."

Pete waltzed away, probably looking for Kyle to tell him the news.

It's hard to believe that him, Pete, won the Hunger Games.

I wasn't sure how long it was until the Games began, but I was looking forward to training for it tomorrow. Training always made me feel good, for some odd reason. Maybe just because I've been doing it all my life.

Training Day: Tressa Alodia
I take a deep breath, and Rose puts a hand on my shoulder.
"It's okay Tressa. Just make sure you make them think you're weak. You want sponsors, not allies. Pick one person to be nice to, then be done with other people. Allies will only bring you backstabbers." She pauses, "Oh. And make sure you kill Isis.Psych her out in training. That girl makes me nervous." I nod. Her warm voice envelopes me as I step into the elevator with the other boy.

It's the first day of training, and I stick to plants and ropes. As I tie snares and traps, I see Isis eyeing some knives. I walk over to her and grab a knife. She glances at me and I smile. It's one of those smiles. The ones that I'm good at. She's going to think I want her as an ally. I'm manipulating her, and she's going to fall for it. Both in the arena, and in the training center. I walk back over to the ropes section, as if I'm using the knife for a snare and she turns away. I stand on a chair and grab a rafter in the ceiling.

As I hoist myself up, I stick the knife handle between my teeth. I don't want to risk cutting myself. So I shimmy over to where Isis is down below. I point the knife directly at the ground and drop it. It makes a woosh as it lodges itself into the ground about four inches from where Isis is standing. As she looks up, I press my body into the black rafters. Our training uniforms are black and so is my hair. I blend in, she can't see me. Everybody turns to see where the knife is in the ground and Isis looks at her hands. I chuckle. She is so falling for it.

As the training goes by, I make sure to advance my skills in knife throwing, spears and hand to hand combat. I know that I am tall and slender, and I need to use that to my advantage. That's when I think of it.

In the 74th games, Katniss Everdeen had to run. She had to run away from fire balls, from attackers and from dogs at one point. I consider other games. Running is something you need to be good at. So I run. I run around the training gym, weaving in and out of stations. I stay far away from the weaponry and I build my endurance. I manage to run about 15 times around the room before I'm purple in the face and I can't run any more. But on day 2, the running is easier. I have endurance. Nobody can catch me now.

Not unless I want them to.

Ally Ornastell | District 12 | Training


The sword was sharp, deadly--a weapon, not a toy. Even before Ally gave it the first test swing, he knew it wasn't for him. The sword was a veritable arch of death, but not in his hands. He needed to get his hands on a staff, and then he would be able to deal damage to everything, and everyone that ventured close.

It was training day. The first of a few that would come. And then the Games. These were days of preparation. The time that would separate the wheat from the chaff. He needed to show the other tributes that he wasn't someone to scoff at. District 12 was something that everyone thought as a joke. The whimsy girl named Katniss who didn't have enough brains to just win the Hunger Games. Her boyfriend Peeta--he had all the brains. He was correct in his verdict that one of them should have gone home.

But no. And because of that, Ally only had a drunken old man as a mentor. Some mentor. Every day, his advice was the same. Don't get killed. It was as if there was something wrong inside his head; a scratched disc that wouldn't stop repeating itself.

Ally looked about him. Tributes fought everywhere. Climbing rope trellises, falling off rope trellises. A few of them were sword fighting beside him, but no-one really had their heart in that station save for a burly boy from District 2 that wouldn't leave it. He was intent on defeating every tribute that came close.

The tribute came closer to Ally, his eyes full of contempt. "Going to fight me, punk? Or are you just going to stand there with that toothpick in your hand?"

Ally looked at the tribute, and then at the sword in his hand. "If I fought you, one of us would be dead. I prefer not to fight you with these sharp swords. I would hate for you to have to be buried before the games. Wouldn't be proper."

The tribute sneered. "If you are so worried about that, let us resort to these dull weapons."

He handed Ally a sword that looked about the same as the one in his hand, save for the edges were bent over. The only harm they could deal were concussions. "I would prefer one of those spears over there. They look more like my weapon."

"Spears are for those who don't know how to fight," the tribute said. "But if you insist, you can use it. I will stick with my sword. I don't have to succumb to the longer reach."

Ally knew that he was trying to goad him to go back to the other weapon. But no, he wasn't used to the sword. If he fought the District 2 tribute with the sword, he would be demolished. And so would his reputation--whatever reputation he had, anyway.

Ally faced him off on the platform, holding the spear with the point up. He would have to time if perfectly. If he didn't, he would be hit before he could even move.

They didn't even say go. It was if an internal clock went off inside their minds, telling them it was time. They both rushed forward in unison.

Ally lowered his spear head and watched carefully, keeping an eye on the sword in his peripheral vision. He had to time it perfectly. Yes, it was happening. The tribute started to bring down the sword down on the spear, and Ally shifted it until the head was directly beneath the sword edge.

The next moment, the spear head lay on the platform floor, sheered off by the other tribute's sword. Ally looked at the head in astonishment, then realizing what had happened. The end of the spear was cut straight and clean, not frayed at all, or mashed over. That only meant one thing.

The tribute was using a sharp sword, and meant to kill him.

But what he didn't realize was that Ally was best with a staff, and he had just given him one.

The next few seconds were a blur to Ally. Everything just seemed to flow together in one piece, as if they were one piece of time. The only thing he remembered was moving out as fast as he could, his hand and staff moving at impossible speed.

The next thing he knew, the tribute was on the ground in front of him. His sword was lying on the ground beside him. Officials ran about everywhere, shoving the watching tributes about, trying to regain order. One took the spear handle in his hands.

But every tribute now knew what he could do. And that was a good and a bad thing. It meant that they all feared and respected him. It also meant that the careers were going to be going for him first. Both to get him out of the way and to get back at them for shaming one of their group.