Anonymous

Interviews

All 24 of us are sitting in a semicircle, waiting. The interviews will start in a few minutes, and we'll be called up one at a time for our interview with Caesar Flickerman. We'll need to impress the audience if we want to win sponsors.

Nolan's been giving me odd looks, but I ignore him. He's already suspicious of my sudden change of heart. But I've gone along with everything else this week, so he has no basis for thinking that I'd try something now. Exactly what I planned out.

His wife is pregnant. She'll be a young widow, and I have sudden sympathy for her. I can empathize, almost.

Given this setting, I've planned out my escape to the minute. On my way to the interview seats, I'll trip. With these heels, that'll be the easy part. Then, when I'm down, I'll roll over as if I'm getting up. Instead, I'll roll off the stage, kicking off my shoes and making a run for it. I can see the doors marked exit from here. The biggest challenge will be the sprint to them.

They've got to be unlocked. They're for emergencies. You have to have a way out in case something happens. I'm not exactly sure where it will lead, but hopefully it'll be an alley or backstreet, not some fenced in courtyard.

I watch as the interviews pass by, each trying to outdo the last. I almost pity them- I'll be free from this soon, but they'll all be dead in a matter of weeks. Despite the horrors of having young people kill each other, it doesn't shake me. Something tells me that I've seen worse.

It doesn't matter now. I'll figure out who I am and what I'm doing later, once I've gotten myself out of this.

Nolan's interview is scheduled right after mine, but I'm fairly sure that there'll be a delay while they try and hunt for me.

They won't find me.

The boy from Seven leaves after his buzzer sounds, and I know I'm next. "Theresa Linen, of District Eight!"

There's polite applause, but not the roar of attention that some of the others get. And that's good. I'm the girl who made a fuss at the reaping, who drew no attention at the chariots or in training. They won't remember me. I don't even remember me.

I smile, smoothing out my dress and taking a deep breath. To anyone else, it'd look like I was trying to calm myself, trying to be composed for the interview. But I'm making sure my dress won't tangle around my legs, breathing to get ready to run. I check to make sure that my heels will come off easily, that I can pretend to trip and fall. I'll collapse on the ground, breathing hard as if from the impact. Then I'll roll off the stage and run.

I smile at Caesar, moving my hands to the edge of my dress, about to curtsy. I look down at my feet, watching as I roll my ankle and hit the floor hard, distant pain creeping up my leg. I've lost one shoe already. I must have done something wrong, but I can't focus on that now, I have to get out.

The gasps of the audience are in my ears as I hoist myself off the floor. Caesar is offering his hand, feigning worry. Does he even care?

Instead of hoisting myself up, I push off the stage and hit the ground, hurling my other shoe off my foot. I don't see where it goes, but I hear a yelp of pain among the roar of the crowd.

I take off running towards the door, trying not to focus on the crowd's confusion. Peacekeepers are swarming the area, trying to stop me, but I'm fast and they're wearing heavy armor. If I can just make it to the door...

There's a sharp pain in my arm as I slam into the door and it swings open, but I ignore it. I'll treat my scrapes later, I have to get out!

The door opens into an alleyway, and I rebound against a brick wall, not expecting there to be so little room. But I keep running, my feet burning against the pavement. The adrenaline rush is keeping me going, and I hear the shouts of peacekeepers behind me. I have to keep going, they're still following me. I weave through walls of building and duck around corners, getting hopelessly lost but hopefully away from the peacekeepers. If I can just lose them...

A vertical approach might be more effective. As I dart through the city, I scan for fire escapes to climb, to get higher and get an aerial view of what's going on.

I find one, rickety as it is, and pull myself up to the top. I can faintly hear the stomping of boots, and I see the flood of white uniforms in the winding pathways of the city. I stop to rest at the roof, letting my heels cool and checking for injuries.

The scrape that I thought I had on my arm is gone, it never was. There's only a dot of blood, but my arm feels heavy and starting to ache. I pull the pins out of my hair and conceal them in the roof's gutter. Satisfying as it would be to hurl them to the ground, it'd leave an easy trial straight to me. I rip a strip of cloth from my dress and use it to tie my hair up, making it into a headband. I want to discard my jewelry, but I don't have a place to hide the bigger pieces. I put the rings in the gutter with the pins, untie the choker and twist it around my wrist twice instead.

Exhaustion is settling in, but I can't afford to stop. I have to keep going. I have to get out of the city and into the wilderness.

I move from my sitting position to lying on my stomach, peering over the roof to the streets below. The peacekeepers are close, but I might have a chance. They're expecting me to be running in the streets, desperately trying to avoid them. Is there another way down besides this ladder?

I scan the roof, now actively trying to ignore the burn in my feet and the ache in my upper arm. Was I hit with something? I see a shutter door protruding from the concrete roof. The pain in my feet prevents me from standing, and it's better not to give off a large silhouette anyway. I crawl over to it, fighting against the fatigue that pulls my body to sleep. They must have shot something into my arm, it's knocking me out. Just like they did in...

No! I almost remembered, I almost remembered something. I beat on the metal door, trying to get the handle open before I lose consciousness. But I'm slipping, I'm slipping, my eyes are sliding shut and my arms are going limp. I'm counting, counting to try and stay awake, counting to fight it.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve...

AN: So yeah, another chapter done! We're so close to the Games actually starting, and I'm super excited to get into flashbacks. I've been planning out her backstory since the beginning, and I really like what I came up with... Hope you do too!

I'm aware that Caesar Flickerman didn't host the first games, but there's no agreed name among the contestants for this contest so I'm sticking with it till later.

If you enjoyed, please comment or vote.

If you have any theories, comment them below and I'll give you a dedication if you're close!

-Claire