70th Hunger Games

Janice Ellsa Hagritay was a fighter. Strong and stable, she was nothing if not utterly reliable. Her life had been a constant struggle, one of which she had always prevailed. When her name had been called, Janice stood proudly before her neighbors and family. Life had been difficult, this was but one more hurdle.

It wasn't but a few days in to the beloved Hunger Games when Janice discovered the startling truth of the games. She had never previously understood the secrets of the games- afterall, no civilian could ever imagine it. Yet, as the night rolled on endlessly after her first kill, she finally understood. Emotions flooded her brain, attacking her with vengance. At first she sobbed, her body shaking against the camera that moved repeatedly in attempt to adjust around her thigh. Her mind was plagued with images of the girl from district eleven, writhing furiously on the ground with Janice's axe in her chest. Blood spurted out of the tributes breast, splattering on Janice's shoes as she gaped at the casualty.

The kill hadn't upset Janice as much as she had anticipated. Rather, it was the very fact that she felt so immune to remorse that devestated her. Two daysin a world controlled by the Capital had destroyed her soul. She had became a killer.

Lethal- it was always an undescriptive word for Janice. What was lethal? Were the animals that wondered around the woods, preying on their weaker counterparts lethal? What about the trees, crashing down to the ground as lumberjacks cleared out of the way? Surely the Career tributes, romping around the arena together not unlike a viscious pack of wolfs- surely they were lethal. But she, Janice Ellsa Hagritay, daughter of humble parents and beloved older sister of three- a girl with strict guidelines yet high tolerance- was she lethal? That was the first time that she ever had to ask that question, and she wasn't even sure she was interested in the answer.

That night, as the false thunder rumbled on, Janice was finally able to fall in to a deep slumber, only to be traumatized by an even worse vision. Her nightmare started with flashes of light raining in the darkness, illuminating the scene dully. The place was familiar, her home, she realized. The dusty wooden couch was crowded with her family sitting tensly. Her father was a large man of tall stature, a long beard and stern features. He was holding on to an infant, his eyes narrowed in on the screen with a blank expression. Sitting next to her father was a boy of seven, clutching on to his mothers hand. The woman was a rather aged beauty. She had dark, curly, brown hair that had been hastily pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin was pale with small yet dark freckles seemingly painted unevenly along its surface. Her blue eyes watched the screen frantically, her breath steadily increasing in tempo. Janice watched painfully as her twelve year old sister walked slowly in the room, her hair blocking her face as she walked, staring at the girl met no ones eyes as she slumped to the floor at the mothers feet. Her sister raised her head, staring forward. As hard as she tried, she couldn't see what they were watching. It wasn't even as if it mattered, Janice already knew. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, focusing on the screen. Suddenly, with a blinding flash of light, blood projected from the screen to the family. As it began to coat their skin, their skin began to bubble. Their bodies writhed silently,even the children in the pain induced pose. Janice tried to run to them- to help them. As she became closer, the ground beneath her became unstable. Janice ran as fast as she could, as hard as she manage- yet when her legs gave out, her body came crashing down. She landed with a thudd, her hands reaching to the ground to stablize herself.

The ground was no longer solid. It had turned to be that of a jello-like state. It was dark and unstable- completely foreign to the girl. She tried to crawl her way to her family, but her efforts proved in vein when her hand broke through the matter. Dark crimson liquid began to seep out of the whole, covering Janice in searing burns. The pain waa unrelenting, and the strong and stable young woman began to scream violently. The pain suddenly stopped as she screamed continuosly. When she opened her eyes, she had to blink as her eyes adjusted. Her throat was sore and her eyes were stained. It was day three.

Janice's experience for the duration of the games from that night on was different. When the realization occured, she had changed. She had killed several more tributes, slaughtered them in cold blood. When it was finally down to Janice and another tribute, it was no secret that the odds were in her favor. The only tribute left was the obviously insane Annie Cresta of district four, whom had managed little more than shouting at the sky and laughing at the dirt. She talked in ryhmes and if it wasn't for a suspiciously large amount of gifts, she would have died of dehyration weeks prior. Yet, as Janice walked through the dirt path on her way to a familiar stream, a loud roar could be heard. Water rushed in to the arena,sweeping everything it touched with it.

Janice was no exception.

The odds were no longer in her favor. She was no longer a fighter. The Capital blurred the lines between black and white once again.