I have trouble standing on the metal platform because my heart beats so rapidly in my chest. The bright glaring sun gleams off of the platform and makes my uniform shine like fish scales. The land around me is made up completely of sand until it breaks into a grassy plain near the horizon line. I figure that my first priority will be to find food and water while other tributes will run toward the weapons, leading to a bloodbath. I know I am not a good fighter. I would die an immediate death and never live to see my family again if I did that. I can’t let that happen. I love them too much to throw my life away by running into a mayhem of bloodthirsty killers.

Then comes the sound I have always dreaded. The loud ringing that invites a whole different world I have never experienced. The noise that makes me cringe, but there is nowhere to hide. The din that sends shivers throughout my body, but I can’t escape it. Then the Hunger Games has begun. Some tributes run toward the grass to seek shelter and hide. Others race to the huge glistening cornucopia to fight for weapons. I start to sprint without realization to escape the chaos as fast as i can. The sand bends and shapes itself around my feet with each step and causes me to slow down. Once i reach the grassy turf I run faster and faster until I can’t feel my legs. Far to my right I notice something shimmering in the distance; the ocean. I also see a cluster of trees not far from me; shelter.

My legs have turned into goo once I finally reach the trees. I climb up as far as I can in the tallest of the trees and feel the rough bark scrape my fingers with each grasp. It almost seems peaceful up here with the view of the beautiful glimmering ocean and the bright white sand. I breathe in the fresh warm air desperately, as if it would make me invincible. I am brought back to realization of the game when another tribute comes running towards my shelter of trees. He is tall and thin. He runs slowly and awkwardly, reminding me of a new-born bird. I am able to hide in the soft leaves of the tree without being seen. The boy nears closer to the trees and i sink further into the leaves until an arrow comes soaring out of nowhere. It flies for a few seconds while the boy leaps to get out of the way, but it lodges into his chest right between his rib cage. His uniform starts to dampen with the red color of his blood. The light leaves his youthful brown eyes and he is gone. I let a hushed gasp escape my lips and that is when it hits me. I am a tribute. I am required to kill in order to survive. This is the Hunger Games.

I sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair and wait for my name to be called. A tribute from district one looks around with a grin on his face as he mentally ranks the others. I feel his eyes land on me and he judges my weak and scrawny body. If I were him, I would probably do the same thing. I have no strength or muscles whatsoever and I am about half his size. I am like a mouse and he looks like a lion with his muscular body and irregular height. His eyes move on to the next tribute and a weight lifts off of my shoulders, but immediately returns when my name is announced over the speakers.

I stand, too quickly, and get briefly lightheaded. I stumble when I try to walk and the other tributes laugh mockingly. I regain my balance and find the courage to stand up tall. I barely have enough strength to open the heavy metal door that looms over my head. When I peer inside my eyes gaze over all the weapons and weights that I have never used before. I don’t know how I will be able to impress the game-makers, who are sitting inside a room above me, conversing and completely ignoring me. I figure that if I want to get their attention I will have to do something I know I’m good at, so I walk past the weights. I have noticed before that I have decent aim, so I pick up a small knife. I turn it around in my sweaty palm, raise it to my ear, and take a deep breath. The knife makes me feel like I have so much power in my fingertips, but i can’t control it. I don’t want to become a ruthless savage like the others. I finally gather enough confidence to throw the knife at the faded blue bulls-eye painted on the wall. I watch as it spirals through the air and close my eyes right before it hits the wall. I inhale and open my eyes as I exhale.To my surprise, the knife has lodged itself into the wall in the center of the bulls-eye. I am proud and terrified at the same time. I now know what I am capable of. I look up at the game-makers, proudly, but they don’t notice. They seem to be much more impressed by how large and juicy their pig is. Frustrated, I take three more knives into my hands and throw them one by one. They line up perfectly on the wall right next to the first knife. By now, some of them have noticed me. I am not pleased with the lack of attention I am receiving so adrenalin causes me to take the smallest weight and throw it into the rack of knives. They shatter to the ground, making a loud clanging noise. I walk away with my head held high and leave my old, weak self behind. I am a tribute now and there is no going back.