Bloodlust

Prologue

Sometimes I like to wonder what life would be like without the Games. I shouldn't like to do this, much less do it at all, but this cruel game takes its toll on everyone involved. I'm rich. I'm successful. I like to think that I'm happy. Yet, when those cameras shine on the most important stage in all of Panem and I walk out to face an enormous crowd, I am absolutely sick to my stomach.

Looking at me, you would have no idea that these thoughts filter through my mind. I am the poster child for a cruel game that ends with twenty-three children dead physically and one mentally. The chosen tributes hate me and they are not shy to say it. I want to voice my opinions and try to tell them this is unfair and that I have to say in anything, but to Madam President I am as important as an avox. I may still have my tongue, but one wrong word and I'll end up another forgotten face in the slave trade.

These facts tear me apart each time I shake the hand of another soon-to-be-dead tribute. Each time I stare into a new pair of dreamy blues or warm browns and see the terror within them, it is an internal conflict that I must resist. Otherwise, I begin to melt under the entirety of Panem.

This happened my first year as the Gamemaker Of Ceremonies. She was a small girl from Three with a button nose and a pair of grey eyes so stormy and angry that I froze mid-sentence. Lola, my advisor back behind the scenes said control was a few seconds from turning off the air, which therefore would have had me ripped off stage and thrown into the deepest cellar the Capitol has to offer. It wasn't her innocence or fear that made me lose my intentions, but the fire blazing in her eyes simply couldn't be ignored.

After that, I have made very sure to never make a mistake while under the scrutiny of her eyes. Madam President let me know just how short my leash is, and to be completely honest I'm surprised she's kept me alive this long. Everyone knows a Gamemaker Of Ceremonies has a short career. If you're lucky you end up a bum or a drunkard after you're cut loose, but most of the time a grand mistake ends not only a career, but a life also.

This is the life I chose for myself.

I was a foolish young lad, fresh out of the house and eager to become an aspiring model. I jumped at the opportunity when the letter arrived, but who could blame me? Not many people are asked to join the Hunger Games Committee, let alone someone with just about as much talent as a rock. I was told I was picked because of a certain spark they saw in me, expect I wasn't special. I was naive, which made me perfect for the job.

Twelve years later and here I am, living the same life I was when I began my career of constantly sniffing my drinks or poison and keeping a constant eye behind my shoulder. Instead of loving and thriving under the spotlight like I thought I would, I learned to cower from it.

As I stare at myself in the mirror, the famous red velvet of the stage curtains standing still in the background, I see the same young man from all those years back. The Capitol does wonders at maintaining beauty, and my career has forced me to keep my appearance perfect and constant, so the viewers not only adore me but feel a certain bond also.

They've done a great job. My brown hair is as healthy as can be, cut short at the sides and left long and slicked back at the top. My skin is radiant and tinted olive. My green eyes aren't ringed with laughter lines, but then again I don't laugh much anyways unless I'm on camera. Beneath my emerald suit is a toned body oozing fake confidence, but I won't let anyone know it is false.

To the entirety of Panem, I am perfect and will always be that way. Beneath it all I am broken and so not who everyone thinks they see, but no one will ever know or care to find out.

When Lola comes in to check on me, I make sure to give her my biggest smile.