Maybe a desert and if you go far enough a growth of trees (hiding dangers you never knew) appears? Or a whole sea of water with little islands dotted all over it and dangerous animals are in it...?

LaurelAlvarez-

The stylists make me nervous. All of them are fake. The fake animal parts, neon skin colors and other implants are intimidating and I begin to back out of the room.

“Not so fast.” A woman with cat ears puts an arm around my shoulders and drags me over to a chair. With a little more than harsh shove, she has pushed me down. “Don’t look so scared,” she smiles once again.

“Twelves. Never understand what an honor it is,” one of them, a man with bright yellow skin, mutters.

“Now, now Todgraf.”

I watch the three stylists exchange short glances. Then, the woman turns to me.

“Well, my dear…” She makes a slight clicking sound as she walks around me. I feel like a chicken in a crate. People study me, measure me up, see if I’m good enough to slaughter.

Seconds later, I am being shoved into an odd soapy water. After that, I am set in a chair-–they don’t even bother with a twel- and my whole body is pulled, ripped and scratched at until I feel like a plucked bird.

“Now for the hair.” Another man, this one with ruby red eyes, advances with a large pair of scissors. I flinch as her grabs my hair and trims the uneven line Tyler had cut.

Oh Tyler. If he could see me now. Here, all alone. With three ignorant stylists from the Capitol. Sage would certainly have something to say about it. I wish for one of Sage’s unruly, loud-mouthed comments.

Thewoman bends down and begins to pluck my brows, circle my eyes with dark liner and swish my lids with powder.

A man then struts in and the team leaves without a good-bye.

“Well, well. Here you are. Your name?”

I don’t answer. I do not have to if I do not want to. I cross my arms and sit stubbornly on the couch.

A smile dances across his lips. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He leans towardsme. I jump up and walk to the back of the couch. At least a piece of furniture to protect me.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The following laugh is wonderful. It encases the room in a flash of sudden light. I watch him throw his blue head back. His black hair is long and gelled so that it stays in place.

I stay standing where I am.

His laugh stops. “Your makeup is much too dark. Come here and let me fix it.” Reluctantly, I drag my feet towards him. His touch is light as he wipes theliner from my face, fixes smudges and repowders my cheeks.

“Perfect. Now the dress!”

He slips an extremely heavy, dark fabric over my body. It’s itchy on the inside and when I move, a sound like glass on glass comes from the dress.

He letsme look in the mirror. I am engulfed in a head to toe coal black cape. My last sliver of hope to maybe, possibly getting sponsors is gone. I was a piece ofcoal. A little more creative than the ordinary miners suit but still a piece of coal.

“See the string near your left hand. Pull that down.”

I yank at the string and am blown away as the real dress is revealed.

An assortment of different glistening jewels--rubies, emeralds, diamonds--are glistening all over the dress.

The dress is sleeveless, down to my feet and coal black. Dark gloves run until a slight bit under my thin shoulders. My actually dark makeup is glittering with little stones. And my hair. My dark brown hair has been studded with jewels. A black bow wraps around the bottom of the mound and a dark brown ringlet falls into my face.

“You have the right to feel like a princess, Laurel.” He addresses me with my name and it’s so sad that I can hardly hold back my tears.

“I-I’m going to die,” I whispered. He nodded; he understood that I wanted to thank him but I could not. He knows. He accepts the truth. And this little nod crushes all hopes and dreams I ever had until I feel like a nothing. Correction: a nothing dressed in a radiant dress; her death dress.

I am suffering from Writer's Block. Please forgive the horridness of this post. :)

LaurelAlvarez-

I don’t know any of the people out in the crowd. They’re all strangers who probably just want to see a good bloody battle; it is almost certain that that they will sponsor the Career Tributes. Yes, very likely.

I wave at people, wink, smile like the sun itself.

My jaw is sore from smiling when we arrive at the Training Center.

“We did it,” I whisper.

Vaviar nods, his face turning grim as soon as we disappear from the line of cameras.

We have an hour to train at different stations before each of us are taken to perform something for the judges.

The weapon stations are all very full. I stand alone in the middle of the room and look at the other stations.

After a few wasted minutes of thinking, I walk over to the herb station. Descriptions, samples and antidotes have all been shoved into a big glass box.

Liliankraut. A little deep purple flower is lying on a card. Its name has been marked with dark red, meaning that it is deadly poisonous. You will die in a minute if you don’t find something to suck out the poison.

I remember when I had come home with the purple flower as a present for Mother. She had screamed that I should “get that thing out of my hands” and had burned the bouquet.

Mother.

I gulp and move on.

The hour stretches on. My fingers are red from knotting rope; my wrist is cut from the knife I was practicing with.

We are led into a waiting room to wait.

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