The End. (a hunger games fan fiction)

*this is an exerpt from the story*
Tears rolled down my face. My voice dead, my mouth still in a wide 'o' from screaming. My ears were ringing, as I grasped for my life. I was going to die. I screamed for my mother, for my best friend. For anyone to answer. And all I got was nothing. As I grasped the air, I could feel my life slipping through my clenched fingers.
*Sorry if it's not as long as you would like. This is going quicker than I expected.*

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I bit my tongue, the hair on my legs being torn off. I could taste the metallic taste o bloode fill my mouth. It felt like Nasiomi, Ravanys and Zaniss, my prep team, were ripping the skin of my leg. They made lively conversation, but I was too busy being plucked to listen in. They then rubbed something horrible on me, removing dirt, but hurting like hell. After that, instead of anything else painful, they filed my nails. Thy were in a rounded you, each curve perfect. I scowled, thinking how much I hate looking like a girly girl. I hope I could meet my stylist soon. Then, I could get it all over with.

By the time my prep team finished with me, my skin was so raw that it was a bright shade of red. I could actually hear my prep team's shrill accents for the first time. I tried my best to stifle a laugh. Nasiomi had wished me the very best of luck, giving me a shockingly white smile.

Someone who I thought to be my stylist walked in. Her skin was a dyed a light shade of rose, and her hair was colored maroon. She had heavily applied makup, and was very plump. I could tell she was the typical. Old person trying to look young. I remember her from past games. 

"Hi! Im your stylist, Trista!" She said, in her accent. I rolled my eyes. As she looked me over, I felt like a cake ready to be decorated. I sighed. We made idle chitchat, keeping our thoughts to myself. How could they? And for amusment. They watch people die. And to myself, I'm thinking how despicable she is. But she's soooo idiotic. I don't know what I think. I just kept to myself, as she handed me a coal miner's outfit. I put it on, unenthusiasticly. As I walked out, I met with my brother. He gave me a weak smile. But I hugged him. I watched each chariot parade around, until it got to Chase and I. He stood there, but I started to wave. I had two curled strands of hiar loose an outlining my face, while the rest of my hair was pulled tight up into a pony tail that faded into a curl. I smiled, waving and twisting my finger into one of the curls. People waved back, but I didn't notice. The Hunger Games is all about fans. You have fans, you have sponsors. And I need sponsers so Chase can stay alive. Chase was smiling, but barely moving. I was the one trying for fame. For life. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.

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