Writer's Games Entries

Task 1: "The Ball"

Do you want to know what I miss the most? The harsh cold winds coming in from the North Sea. The rain that comes splashing down from the angry skies above our heads. Do you know what I miss more than that though? The calm that comes after. There is a sense of peace and content about it. The smell of fresh and cleansed air just transcends me into another existence. Most people from my hometown find the rain to be a bother for them in their everyday lives, but I don't. I rather think it has its charm.

You never know when the things and people that you adore and are comfortable with, suddenly are half a world away. The life that I have led somewhat hidden to the rest of the world, won't help me prepare for what I'm about to face...or am already facing. The Games themselves isn't a mystery. You stay alive, you're a contender. You die...well, that would be very unfortunate. I can do the staying alive part. I'm pretty good at it all things considered, the killing will be a dilemma I'll have to face at some point. What I am facing right now however is far more torture.

Dresses. One thing that doesn't come anywhere near my definition of comfortable clothing to wear, is dresses...or anything that looks remotely 'nice'. Here I am though, right in the middle of a smothering crowd filled with people that I will either come to lean on as allies (I doubt it) or people that I will have to figure out how to avoid, or if it were to come down to it, kill (though avoiding seems more probable for me). Strategy is key I've learned over the years. When I was a lot younger, around the age of that little American boy, I found out that I preferred the calm and quiet rather than the crowded and busy life. That is still where I stand today...

...which is why I am hiding somewhat in the corner of this massive ballroom. In every direction I look, I see all of this glamour and the glorious foods that they have produced just for us. Chances are that most of it will just end up in the trash. See, I'm not made for this type of scenery. I like it out in the woods. I just like listening to the sounds of nature and being alone with my own thoughts. I've never really liked the big cities, or the people that come from them, or the expectations labeled to my generation...or the Hunger Games.

Yet all the things I like the least in life are connected with one another in this scenery. I'm sure we were all told that this ball was arranged in honor of us. I believe they put it as a 'pity-party' of massive proportions where they spend all of this money on foods and designer's outfits for tributes only for nineteen of us to be dead within a week. In nicer words, they felt sorry and they wanted to make us feel better. Yeah, right, it'll take them an eternity to make me believe that. I guess I am just anxious and annoyed at the same time that I may have taken my last stroll in the mountains back home. I may have experienced the last shower of rain.

All of these emotions of missing home and being ripped out of that reality that I've grown to be very fond of is keeping me away from all the attention. There are reporters everywhere trying to get a sense of every tribute in the room. Some tributes don't hesitate to share their story and strategy for the Games (they're either confident or stupid), while others are more secretive about their family-history. Mine is just plain and boring. There isn't much reporters will find interesting about anything regarding me or my life. Norway is just a country on the map, nothing more. It's completely fine by me though.

"Excuse me, Ms. Tra-...Tra-", I almost jump at the sound of his voice. The blinking lights (flashes) did come closer to where I was standing but I didn't pay attention to it until now. I turn around to face this reporter or whatever who struggles to say my name. "I am standing right next to another European tribute, one more anonymous than some," well, I tried to stay anonymous, but that's not going to happen now. "Ms. Agnes Tra-...Tra-..." he struggles. I sigh deeply to myself. "It's Træet..." with a letter that you obviously don't know how to pronounce. "Yes, of course. Agnes, if I may, how are you feeling tonight? You look absolutely stunning in that dress," he goes on.

I'm a bit caught off guard. Every lens is aimed at me and I have no idea what to say. "You are quite something for a version of the Hunger Games. Sources are telling me that you are quite an outdoor-type," I roll my eyes at his words...faen! I mean damn it, it means I'm doing it on camera too. I really have no idea how to act on camera...or in a dress. "What's there not to like," I'm desperately trying to salvage the situation. "You ought to know the answer to that, Ms. Trat," that just annoys me beyond belief. "However, in these Games things are going to be different from what you're used to," he's got a point. I'm not used to being in an Arena fighting and quite possible killing other teenagers.

"So, with that in mind, how do you plan to approach these Games? What is your strategy," he asks. That question never gets old. Many of the tributes that I've overheard, have just flat out spoken their strategy. I on the other hand may not have as much as they have to lean on. What little I have to my advantage is something I have to keep for myself. "The most obvious tactic," I let out eventually. The reporter suddenly turns excited. Of course, for them the most obvious tactic is to kill as many tributes as possible, and not be killed yourself. "Survive," I add before he asks the question.

"Obviously. That is the goal of any competitor going into these Games," right, competitor. "How do you plan to survive? The competition is quite fierce this year," he makes sure to add after my inner-self interrupts. I know he is fishing for my strategy. Some of the younger tributes don't know any better and just pour it all out. I am nineteen years old, I know better. It's amazing what I can actually take from my boring and secluded life in Bergen with the mountains, heavy rain-showers, Northern-Sea storms, and apply that to this scenario. I am going to stick with that I know, what I'm comfortable with in order to survive this.

"Yes, I have noticed the fierce competition, as I am sure you all have throughout the evening. My question though, is why should I tell you anything at all about what I plan to do once the Games begin? I mean, everybody will hear it, including my...my competitors," I have to take a few moments before I use that word. It's like they don't see us as the children that we are, but actual reality-show personalities now, and it makes me so sick. I really just want to get out of here. All the cameras are pointed at me, the reporter looks somewhat stomped but at the same time impressed that someone like me could actually say those kinds of words.

"Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Trat," at that point I've just become so annoyed that I don't even bother. Back home it's never a problem, but here? That alone could actually make me want to kill him, but when it really came down to it, I wouldn't. I'm somewhat a coward like that. It's a working progress...at least it was. I guess that the biggest point to take with me from this ball, is that I've left my mark...and I am ready to get out of this dress.