I'll bring them to life
Let them breathe on my page
They can't stay confined in my mind
The ink will write their story

No one understands them as I
So I have to write them
They want to be known
Their stories must be told

It's not just words on a page
I's memories, meaningful moments
Every letter, every word
Draws the pictures of their life

When they cry, I feel their pain
When they laugh, I smile
When the times seem most dark
My heart wrenches for them

The ink will write their story
And I control the pen

She is fire
The spark that starts a wildfire
A contagious idea no hunger can suppress

She is a bird
The symbol of hope and freedom
A song they all can sing
Maybe by the Hanging Tree

She is a girl
The sister that risks it all
A heart that loves a tiny primrose

She is strength
The one thrown against impossible odds
A tribute in a game of death

She is of the arrow
Flying straight and true
Will never miss her target
Whether corruption, a hog, or a silver coin

She stands against wolves of evil
She stands against the ticking clock
She stands against the snow that falls
Stained red with blood and roses

She is the girl who was on fire
Will always be the girl who was on fire

     I wait in the line behind Elora Nuwater. She is a bit stockier than me, and much taller, too. I have trouble seeing over her, so I look out to the side instead. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it'll burst from my rib cage. This is my fifth Reaping, but no matter how many times I come here, I am always so nervous. Who will be chosen? Will it be me? Will it be my twin brother Saren? He stares across to me from his position in the boys' line. He gives me a small nod, trying to comfort me. It does very little. Being chosen would be horrible. But it would be even more horrible if I had to go against Saren. But the odds of that happening are so slim I almost laugh. But today is not the day to laugh.

Tila Whitepitcher clears her throat as she sticks her hand into glass jar that holds the names of all the 12-18-year-olds of District10, the livestock district. My name is in there 7 times, as is Saren's. I cross my fingers, hoping that it will not be my name.

The escort gives a sweet smile as she reads the paper, and announces the female tribute's name: "Stella Penthe!"

Saren's eyes widen and my heart drops. It cannot be. It just can't. I have gone this far without being called. This is my second-to-last year before I'm no longer eligible.  It just can't be.

I feel everyone's eyes burn into me. I suddenly feel self-conscious and afraid. The world is a dangerous place that I shouldn't contend with. That I can't contend with. But I know that there is nothing I can do to change the name on that paper. What's done is done. Elora gives me a sympathetic glance, but it doesn't help at all.

"Go on, Stella," Ursa says, nudging me forward. I turn to gaze into her sad eyes and do as she says. My steps are small, as if I was a child again. The whole while Saren is giving me such a look that makes me feel like sobbing, but I know I cannot. I would look weak…I know I would.

I get to my destination and stand there, waiting for the male name to be called. It can't be Saren. If it's Saren, the world might as well be over. Only one person can win the Hunger Games. Only one. Not that I have any chance of winning, I just don't want to have to kill my brother, or he kill I.

Tila scoops her pink-nailed hand into the glass jar to pull a boy's name out. She pulls out the piece of paper. It seems like slow motion to me. Her lips open to reveal the name of the second tribute from District 10. "Avin Ahearn."

I know the boy very well. He is tall, somewhat lanky, with chestnut brown hair, a few remaining freckles, and sensitive green eyes. He looks more shocked than I feel, and his fear shows plain on his face. Even his stride discloses his emotions. He comes to my side, slouching a little.

I can say this, District 10 has some horrible tributes right now. I know there is no chance that we will be able to win. If anyone will win, it will be the Career tributes.

Avin and I shake hands as the story behind the Hunger Games is told. I have heard the speech so many times I almost have it down by heart. My lips even seem to move with the words being said. Avin glances at me and blinks in confusion. I ignore him, letting the words swirl around my mind. Finally, though, the words end and there is scattered applause. Most are from individuals who have hope that one of us will win, the rest are people who enjoy the Hunger Games, believe it is an honor to participate in them.

It's odd to me that people can enjoy minors killing each other. And every year it is always so brutal. So much blood, fear and death. I can't stand to watch it. At the end of all the Hunger Games I've viewed, when they summarize the Games, I close my eyes and try to block out the sound, the screams. But I can't leave, it's required viewing. But they can't stop me from closing my eyes.

But now. I can't close my eyes. I have to keep them open, alert, or die without a chance. The small chance that I have. I know I cannot win. But I will try, and accept my death when I realize it is time. I just hope that it will be quick.

The 32nd Hunger Games are about to begin.