I was in the end of the little row of seats in the side of the stage. This time, the stage was in the middle of the plaza, and everyone was surrounding us. They all screamed, they were in utter happiness that the Hunger Games were finally starting.

What was I supposed to do? I just didn't move. Even when I had to scratch my arm, or my face, I ignored it. I didn't know how to approach this crowd. I was again disadvantaged. The Capitol didn't even train me because they thought I had no chance. They were right. I had no chance.

Sure, my dad trained me, a bit, at every thing. I knew how to handle things. I am especially good at spears [did I say something else at the start of the story?], lances, things like that. But I was no Career. I had a little chance of winning, as slight as it might be. All I could hope for was that the Capitol saw what they were doing, but that would, of course, never happen. The last time they did something to a tribute was when he became a cannibal, since he was going crazy. That poor little kid. He was only 14.

I was thinking of all of this, when I heard my name. I don't know how I got into the interview chair, but I guess my body did the job. The crowd was roaring, people screaming their heads off at my presence, most of them had this flash pink wig that hurt when you looked at it. I guess it was the new style? I looked at our new interviewer. They changed him since the old one died. How old was he? Who was he? All I could remember was when he interviewed my sister. A nice man, but he had no opinions whatsoever. He was one of them.

"Hello Fiji!"

"Goodnight. How are you?" I tried being polite, like my mom used to show me.

"Pretty well, thank you. Are you excited? Look at this crowd tonight!" The crowd screamed again.

"Oh, this is fabulous!" My plan. My plan.

I suddenly remembered the knife in my hand. The knife I took before.

"Are you excited about being a mother?"

"Very." I took out the knife, with a gasp from the crowd. I saw the President with a confused expression, but waiting to see what I would do, before sending the guards.

On my arm, I carved "He's mine."