“Happy Hunger Games!” said the voice of the President. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

  I heard the signature Capitol phrase, the one excessively repeated too many times in one year, echoing throughout the massive arena. I saw myself standing alone in an open forest, wondering what in the hell I’m supposed to do next.

  “Breathe easy, Chanyeol,” I said to myself. “Nothing…is going to happen, Chanyeol. Nothing is going to hap—”

  I was interrupted by someone’s arm wrapping around my neck from behind. It held me up in the air, and I scratched and bit at the limb, but it was futile. I felt my face turn purple as the air in my system began to decrease rapidly. The person who stood behind me, the person who was choking me, exhaled slowly into my ear, almost as if to tease me for having no air to breathe in.

  “What’s not going to happen, Twelve?” the tribute asked me softly. “Tell me your last words and delusions.” The boy’s voice was sharp, but gentle; soft, but powerful, like a sinful angel.

  “My secrets are going with me to the grave.” I heard myself say hoarsely. The tribute boy did not reply, instead he tightened his grip around my neck. I felt him take something out of his pocket. He breathed on me again and showed me the unfolded pocket knife in his hand. The boy ran the knife over my lips, cutting them effortlessly and making the slits leak with fresh blood. I tried to breathe for air, but all I took in was the blood from my lips. I gagged and coughed out the blood that I almost breathed in. The blood and saliva mixture fell onto my opponent's arm, and both of us silently watched the fluid run down it. The boy finally broke the silence.

 "When you die in the Hunger Games, there is no grave for you. Tell me your last words." he repeated darkly. We both knew that I was incapable of uttering a sound. I felt my eyes getting drier by the second. I continued to gasp for air, but all I could feel was the blood that was profusely gushing out of my lips. My vision started to spin. I heard the boy grunt quietly as he moved the pocket knife away from my face.

 "S...Stop," I heard myself whisper weakly. My opponent laughed, his voice vibrating in his throat. I could feel those vibrations on the top of my head because he held me so close. He took a free finger from his knife hand and ran it across my side.

 "Don't move, Twelve," he cooed. "I'm just trying to find the right spot..." I felt a sharp pain in the spot where he touched me. I lifted a shaking hand to my side, only to feel something warm pouring out of my body.

  "I'm just trying to find the right spot to kill you, Twelve."

 I felt my vision blur and turn white. The boy tribute dropped me on the ground with a careless thud.

 "May the odds be ever in your favor," the boy tribute whispered in my ear.

 I awoke from the nightmare, sitting up in bed with cold sweat. It took minutes for me to come back to reality and realize it was all just a really horrific dream. I buried my face in my hands and rocked myself back and forth, sobbing, tears pouring out of my eyes.

 "Chanyeol," I said to myself between shakes and sobs. "Chanyeol, it's okay. You're not dead. You're alive. You won't die there. Ever." I attempted to find some sort of comfort by talking to myself, but the plan failed miserably. I kept crying into my palms, utterly shaken by the chain of events my imagination displayed to me. It's not like me to cry. I am a strong male, I never ever cry.

 My name is Park Chanyeol. I am from the coal-mining district, District 12. I am an only child with a mother and father. My mother is a stay-at-home mother, while my father runs the coal mine about one mile west of my home every day. We live in the poorest district in Panem, as well as the poorest part of the district, better known as the Seam. We don't have much in our tiny home, but it works for all three of us.

 I sat in bed shaking for another hour before deciding to get out and eat so I can dress for the reaping. Yes, the reaping is today, and all families who have male children in their houses are required to attend it. This year the rules have been changed so that only one male per district can participate in the Hunger Games. Quite nerve-wracking, if you think about it.

 I managed to get my lethargic self out of bed and into our dusty kitchen. I searched every cupboard and the only thing I could find was a half loaf of stale bread. I bit down on it and made a disgusting, loud, raw crunch. I looked at the dark brown slice again and I threw it back on the counter. I didn't even have an appetite to eat, anyways. I walked back to my room and immediately began searching my closet for things to wear to the reaping. After some time, I was able to find the same outfit I wore last year: baggy khaki pants, a baby blue top with a collar, and a pair of black suspenders. Everything was dirty and dusty from sitting in my closet for a year. I quickly changed into these clothes and examined my stature in the mirror. Everything looked okay. I glanced at my drawer and noticed my father's old black hat that he gave to me years ago. I snatched it from the top of the dresser and placed it on my head carefully, almost as if it would disintegrate if I didn't put it on with care.

 I looked at myself in the mirror one last time before walking back out into the kitchen area. I had noticed my parents were at the dining table, discussing something quietly. I called their names and they quickly turned their heads in my direction, looking shocked.

 "Chanyeol," my mother breathed. "Good morning."

 "Good morning, Mom." I replied, then turned to look at my father. "'Morning, Dad."

 "Good morning, son. Looks like you're all ready to go?"

  I felt the smile on my face disappear instantly. "Yes...I am...kind of."

 My parents rose up from their chairs and opened the door. They escorted me outside and onto the path that led to the gravel streets. Those streets would lead us to the center of the district, where the reaping would take place and someone's fate will be inevitably decided by the Capitol.

  "Oh, Channie." My mom put a hand on my shoulder. "That hat. Isn't that your father's?"

 I smiled. "Yes, it is."

 My dad looked at me and grinned. "Son, you're beginning to look just like your father."

 "And act a little like him too." My mother laughed.

 We all smiled and laughed and tried to keep each other happy as we were walking towards the gloomy center of the district.

  All three of us knew that in any case, we will not be happy soon.

A/N: Hello friends and new subscribers!!

I'm finally done finishing the prologues!!!! YES!!! -victory dance-

I kinda rushed this last prologue because I'm so dang EAGER to start writing actual chapters!

I'm so surprised with the amount of positive feedback I'm getting from these prologues. Thanks for the encouraging words. I would have never expected this story to be this noticed! I'm actually REALLY excited to write this story...like really you have no idea. At the same time it's going to kill me because...

well no one really wants to write about their oppars dying.

O^O BUT IT SHALL BE DONE. I MUST FINISH THIS.

thanks again, friends and subscribers! Chapter One is coming sooner than you may think! :)