Here in District Three, some of us have been watching the games anxiously; praying for a loved one. Others, like me, have been watching and anticipating all the awesome deaths and challenges that the game-makers throw into it. I love watching the games every year. This year, I am rooting for a tribute that I bet on from the start; Blake Cooper. I think he is from District Seven or something like that, even though his appearance would make you think he would be from a career district. When we were given the opportunity of sending a silver parachute to any of the tributes, I just had to send one to him. I didn’t know what I should send him, so I decided to turn on the TV and observe.

He is running through the jungle when I turn on the TV, trying to escape something. I realize that another tribute is chasing him with a shimmering golden sword. He grasps onto a tree to the right of him and covers his body behind the rough trunk like a shield. The other tribute is still running towards him with the sword, but is a few yards away. Blake Cooper quickly takes out his arrow and shoots the tribute down just before he could have the chance to attack him. He is making his way over to retrieve his arrow when he trips over a tree root bulging out of the ground. He falls to receive a terrible wound on his shin and knee; that’s it! I will send him some of the healing salve my mother makes for me and my siblings. It goes onto the wound smoothly, like butter, and doesn’t sting at all when you apply it to a wound. It will numb the area of your wound, controlling it and masking the pain. It sends a refreshing cooling sensation through your body which revives you almost instantly. Blake will surely be unstoppable with the help of this salve.

I gather about a cup of the healing salve and put it in a small silver jar. Then, I attach a note to it that reads, “Invincibility, strength, and power; apply directly to open wound and feel the magic happen.” I can’t wait to see Blake open this amazing package in the games. He will become even more of a killing machine and destroy all of the tributes; all thanks to me.

As head gamemaker, it is important for me to make sure I kill off some of the tributes to speed up the process and add excitement. The tsunami I conjured was a huge success in painfully drowning the tributes that just weren’t fast enough. This time, I have an even better idea; to send a multitude of poisonous frogs into the arena. I think that this plan will work extremely well because the tiny little frogs seem harmless, but can kill you in an instant.

My objective is to send the plethora of sticky, poisonous frogs into the arena to kill at least three of these tributes. At first, red is the color I wanted the frogs to be because it usually represents pain or death. I quickly changed my mind and decided on blue instead because it symbolizes peace and tranquility. I want the blue, tranquil color of the frogs to poison them; the pain and blood will come afterward. At the moment, they will seem benign, but will soon cause death; like a cigarette does. They seem good in that second, but cause a horrible death later on. Once I finish generating the little blue frogs I press the blinking red button that has been calling my name, waiting for me to press it and send them into the arena. I find it amazing that I can cause the deaths of the tributes, just by the push of a button. I press it.

The frogs come racing into the arena like the tsunami did, but they are much more subtle. The tsunami was as subtle as an elephant in your kitchen, but these frogs, however, are sure to surprise the tributes. They swiftly leap across the wilderness like birds fly across the sky; until they come across a tribute. He is tall and broad-shouldered. His muscular limbs indicate that he is probably from one of the career districts; perfect. I love it when the careers die off because it is not what anyone expects. The frogs dash in his direction and, with every leap, I get more and more excited. The gooey frogs cling to his body and start to accumulate like flies to honey. The expression starts to leave his face as the poison seeps through his veins and into his blood. Once the frogs sense that he is dead they move on, leaving his limp, dead body lying there; helpless. A rush of confidence goes through my body while watching him lay dead on the ground. Not so bad for your first year, Gabe, I think to myself, Not so bad at all. I smirk at my wonderful achievement and start to plan out what amazingly terrifying thing I will conjure up next.

Much mislead by its deceivingly playful name, the Hunger Games is not simply a game, but a way to weaken what holds the twelve districts together. By destroying the bond between the districts, rebellion won’t spark like a fire; beginning small and growing larger and larger until it ensconces its surroundings. The games are meant to turn the once unified districts into ruthless enemies so that the power they hold cannot overthrow the capitol. Gamemakers, like me, are determined to make the games as interesting as possible for viewers at home, while still pushing away the idea of uprising and insurgency. I get to control the events that occur during the games this year and I am very thrilled. So far, only a minority of the tributes have died, by either natural causes or in the bloodbath. Our job as Gamemakers is to make the games captivating and action-packed by putting the tributes through terrifying and deadly obstacles which they have to escape from in order to survive. The Costa Rican scene we chose for the location of this year’s Hunger Games is perfect for my great plan of creating a tsunami.

Looking down at the huge computer and holograms, it is like I will be playing a realistic video game. I plan out the buttons and controls to press on in order to successfully create a tsunami. My fingers slide over the blue and red buttons and eagerly tap each one. With the last tap, a monstrous wave rises up from the ocean and stays there for a few seconds as if stalking out its prey. I wave my hand over the holographic screen and, with that, the wave comes rushing forward like a wild animal that can’t be caged. I zoom in on the screen where I see a young, frantic tribute running for her life. She comes toward a thicket of trees which she will not be able to go through; trapped. She is bewildered by the great amount of water above her and knows that she cannot escape now. My favorite part about the games is that there is no rewind button, every move you make affects you drastically and you can’t undo it.

The wave comes crashing down on the girl, reaching every inch of land as far as the eye can see. It pushes her back and covers her body. She flails around in the water and tumbles across the rough sand. I watch her as dies and accomplishment overwhelms me. I can imagine the water start to seep through her nose and mouth until she can’t breathe, can’t move. I imagine the salty water immersing her weak little body and slowly filling her lungs. What a thrill it is to know that you caused the death of a tribute in the Hunger Games. Wow, it sure is great to be a gamemaker.

My name is Roger Williams and I am from District Three. My best friend, Willow Abernathy, is being forced to participate in these horrendous games. I have been watching the games since they started, even though I don’t want to. It makes me feel like I am somehow protecting my poor Willow by being able to see her. Although I am watching something so terrible, it is as close as I can be with her now and I can’t pass that by. If my Willow returns I will embrace her with all my might and cherish every minute I get to spend with her. This is why I need to send her this silver parachute. When I was given this wonderful privilege of recording a video to send to her, it was like I had the opportunity to save the world, and Willow is my world.

My eyes glaze over the blank television wondering whether or not I should turn it on. I don’t know if I would be able to handle watching a death of any tribute let alone my own brother. I turn it on. I watch as my brother sprints across the grass trying to escape the plain that makes him vulnerable, but there is nowhere to hide. Suddenly, the camera shifts to my brother’s left, about a hundred feet away, and lands on a tribute who I recognize to be from District Four. She is scrawny and only has one arrow left in her quiver. The sweat that has been accumulating on my forehead has now turned cold. She won’t hit him, I assure myself, She’ll miss. My heart feels as if it is shriveling with each step she takes, soon it will be gone.

The arrow is shot.

It whooshes through the air, but my brother does not see it. I am yelling. Screaming. Trying to warn him. It is no use. When he sees the arrow and the girl, it is too late. I can tell that he has fallen down through my blurry, tear-filled vision. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and it is saturated with my tears. My brother is dead. My best friend is gone. It seems so unreal to me, it can’t be true. He will return in a matter of days. I am simply hallucinating, yeah, that’s it. I look back at the screen. At my brother, lying on the ground with an arrow lodged in his chest, and turn it off.

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.

As I am standing in the gathering place, my heart pumps extremely fast. This is the day I have been dreading my entire life. I stand, quivering, on the soft green grass. It makes me think of happier times, the times I have heard about only in books, when our world was unified and peaceful. I didn’t notice, but my hands are clasped together so tightly that they are bright red and terribly sweaty. I refuse to lift my head because I know that if I do it will cause me to break down. I wait in silence as an acquaintance of mine’s name is called. I start to shake even more when we near my district, number three.

I come to realization that Harper Hayes is about to announce the tributes from district three. I look up hesitantly and watch her long fingers slowly reach into the large bowl of names. she wraps her fingers around two slips of paper and lets one fall back into the bowl. Your name is only in the bowl once, I reassure myself, you wont be picked. I don’t realize that Harper Hayes has called my name until I can feel everyone’s wandering eyes land on me. I start to panic as if I was on fire, but I can’t move. My throat is so tight as if a snake is wrapped around my neck. I can’t talk, I can’t move. I finally take a deep breath as everyone grows impatient. I find the courage to take the dreadful steps toward the stage. I stand there next to my fellow district three tribute, in front of my friends and family. My knees become weak and I know I won’t be able to stand this much longer. After what feels like forever, we leave the stage. It is hard to breathe, so I sound like a fish out of water; gasping for air to survive. There is no way to escape this now. The tributes have been announced.