January: The first kiss, your lips on mine,
Felt safe, admired, everything divine.
February: Your mom fading, the hospital light,
Her smile lost, slipping out of sight.

March: I noticed changes; your gaze turned away,
No sparkle, no warmth, just shadows at play.
April: I lost her too, the pain I would shout,
Missing her laughter, the joy she brought out.

May: I long for that sparkle, your laughter so bright,
To hold me like I’m the only one in your sight.
June: A hug that day, a moment so rare,
Foolishly thinking I’d find safety there.

July: Nothing's the same; no change in your heart,
Words fall like whispers, tearing us apart.
August: I lost myself, but I can’t let go,
All I wanted was you, but I’m starting to show.

September: A new school year; the distance is cold,
Missing each inch, the warmth we once told.
October: Another embrace; the world fades away,
Lost in your touch, wishing you’d stay.

November: This isn’t fair, the pain that I bear,
I don’t want someone better; I just wish you were there.
December: Haunted by memories, my room feels so tight,
Can’t face the mirror; I cry through the night.
All I gave was love; didn’t deserve this despair,
Yet here I am, lost in the air.

I wake up at 6 at the normal time as I do every day, it's an hour-long bus ride to school and school starts at 8. I roll out of bed, almost falling off, and walk downstairs to see my mom and two women. I think nothing of it; they're probably just her friends. I grab a pancake my mom made and take a seat at the dining table with the rest of them.

"Good morning," I say.

"Hello, darling. We need to talk to you about something," says my mom.

"Alright, go at it," I reply.

"You're getting sent to a wilderness camp. Me and your dad have been talking; we don't feel comfortable with you in the house anymore."

"What? No, no, no! I'm not going! Have you heard of those places? They're horrible!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you have no choice."

I wipe my tears and run up to my room. I smack my suitcase down to pack, but before I can do that, the two strangers start yelling at me. "We're leaving now!"

"But I'm not packed!" I protest.

"You don't need to be," they say. I walk to the van and see three other girls who definitely aren't happy either. I try to say hi, but one of the girls just looks away and ignores me.

We get to the camp, and I'm told to strip so they can search me like this is a prison. They give me my outfit; I have a choice of a skirt or ugly black pants. I grab my clothes and try walking to the bathroom, but I get stopped. They tell me to change in front of them.

Finally, it's bedtime. There are no rooms, just hallways and hallways of mattresses. I get placed next to a girl named Susie; she seems sweet. I don't understand how she would be in here; she's so nice. I'm here for 12 months—how will I survive? I lay on my mattress, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that's happened. I can't believe my parents would send me here. I hear whispers from the other girls, and I feel a mix of fear and anger. I want to scream, to tell them that I don't belong here, but I know it won't change anything.

The next morning, we wake up early, and the counselors are already barking orders. They make us line up for breakfast, and I can feel the tension in the air. Everyone seems on edge, and I can’t shake the feeling that we're all trapped in this nightmare together.

After breakfast, we’re taken outside for what they call "team-building exercises." It feels more like punishment. They make us climb ropes and do trust falls, but I can’t trust anyone here. I glance at Susie, and she gives me a small smile. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.

As the days pass, I start to learn the rules of this place. No talking back, no complaining, and definitely no escape. But I can’t help but think about my life before this—my friends, my freedom, and my family. I miss them so much. I wonder if they even care about me anymore.

The days turn into weeks, and I find myself adjusting to the harsh routine of camp life. The counselors are relentless, pushing us to our limits both physically and mentally. I try to keep my head down and follow the rules, but there's a constant nagging feeling inside me that I can't shake off.

One afternoon, during a rare moment of downtime, I sit with Susie and a girl named Mia. We share stories of our lives before camp, and it feels like a small escape. Susie talks about her love for painting, and Mia shares her dreams of traveling the world. I find myself opening up, telling them about my favorite music and how I used to go to concerts with my friends. It feels good to connect, even in this place where everything feels so bleak.

But as the weeks drag on, the reality of our situation sinks in. The counselors seem to thrive on our struggles, and they often remind us that we’re here because we “need to learn.” I can see the toll it takes on everyone. Some girls have started to break down, crying during group sessions, while others put on a brave face, pretending they’re okay. I want to be strong, but I also want to scream and let out all the frustration and sadness that’s building up inside me.

As I lie on my mattress at night, I think about how I can survive this place. I start to plan small rebellions in my head—little acts of defiance that might help me feel like I still have some control. Maybe I can find a way to escape, or at least make my voice heard. I refuse to let this camp break me. I have to believe that there’s a way out of here, and I won’t give up hope.

Today was the day the 12 districts would pick one boy and one girl.

My name is Vianna Dontae. I am 16 years old, and I'm in District 3, where technology thrives. I surrounded myself with machines, always inhaling the faint scent of metal.

Every year, the reaping took its toll, but this time I was old enough to get chosen. The square was filled with the somber faces of the district members. I stood behind my mom, holding my brother's hand, my heart racing to the sound of the mayor's voice; it felt like it echoed through the crowd. Finally, it was time for a girl to be chosen. When he announced it, the world went silent. I was chosen. My heart shattered into pieces as I let go of my brother's hand, walking to the stage. I vowed to fight with everything I have. The mayor continued speaking, but his words turned into a blur. All I could think about was what lay ahead. I had heard the stories of the arena, the challenges, and the fight for survival. I knew I had to use my skills with technology to my advantage. My mind raced with ideas—how could I create tools or traps to help me navigate this deadly game?

As the ceremony concluded, I felt a surge of determination. I wouldn't just be a pawn in this cruel game. I would fight with every ounce of strength I had, not just for myself, but for my family and my district.

The next few days would be crucial. I needed to prepare, to train, and to gather everything I could to survive. I wouldn't let fear dictate my actions; instead, I would channel that fear into a fierce resolve. The fight for my life was just beginning, and I was ready to face whatever challenges came my way.

With each passing day, I immersed myself in my training. I spent hours in the workshop, tinkering with scraps of metal and old gadgets, piecing together makeshift tools that could give me an edge in the arena. I envisioned traps that could ensnare my opponents and gadgets that could provide me with crucial information about my surroundings.

I also sought out the other tributes from District 3, forming unlikely alliances. We shared our skills and knowledge, teaching each other how to navigate the brutal challenges we would face. Together, we strategized, pooling our resources and ideas. I felt a sense of camaraderie that I hadn’t expected, a bond forged in the face of impending danger.

As the day of the arena approached, I felt a mixture of excitement and fear. I knew the odds were stacked against us, but I refused to give in to despair. With my heart pounding and my mind racing, I reminded myself of my vow to fight. I was not just fighting for survival; I was fighting for hope, for a future where my family would not have to live in fear of the reaping. I would be a force to be reckoned with, and I was determined to make my mark in this unforgiving world.

As I stood there, contemplating what to bring into the arena, my mind raced through all the possibilities. I knew I needed something that could serve multiple purposes, something that would give me an edge. After much thought, I decided on a multi-tool. It felt like the perfect choice—compact yet versatile. With its blades, screwdrivers, and pliers, it could help me craft traps, defend myself, or even make quick repairs if needed.

Holding the multi-tool in my hand, I felt a surge of confidence. This wasn’t just an item; it was a symbol of my resourcefulness and adaptability. I was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing I had the tools to fight for my survival. I was no longer just a name in a bowl; I was Vianna Dontae, and I was determined to rewrite my fate.

I was quiet, but I was not blind.
I saw your dirty looks, but I was too kind to say anything.
I heard your giggles but brushed the fear off.
I saw you whispering ear to ear.
I was quiet, but not blind.

I witnessed my family fight, yet I never stood up for my mom.
I heard them whisper about how ungrateful they think I am.
I saw their flaws, their strengths, every piece that came with them.
I was quiet, but I was not blind.

I noticed how the teachers walked past me, forgetting I was there.
I saw when they forgot to mark me present because my presence was too quiet.
I heard them talk about how I have potential if I just stood up for myself.
I was quiet, but I was not blind.

In the quiet of the night,
Thoughts take flight, a gentle sight.
Whispers of the heart unfold,
Stories waiting to be told.

Through the struggles, we will rise,
Finding strength in every sigh.
With each step, we learn to heal,
Embracing all that we can feel.

Moments dark, yet stars will gleam,
Lighting paths, igniting dreams.
In the chaos, find your peace,
From the noise, let worries cease.

So let your voice be heard today,
In every word, let hope convey.
For in this journey, hand in hand,
Together, we will take a stand.

Day 1
My name is Ahusaka; it means "wings" in Winnebago. I don't think they know I have this diary. I am 13 years old, and this is my first day at this awful place. I've never missed anyone more than I miss my family, and it's only been one night. I think they took my brother here too; I don't know, though, because they make sure we have nothing to do with family members and keep us far apart in this school. They stripped me down like some rag doll, like I wasn't even a human being, like I was some doll they found on the ground. They forced me to put on these ugly, stinky prison clothes on, then dragged me into this bathroom, sat me down, and cut my beautiful, long, healthy hair. I cried a little, making sure they didn't see.

Day 2
I woke up frantically, not knowing where I was, but then it clicked: this ugly, stinky, mean place that cut my hair. I woke up seconds before this tiny figure started screaming at the other girls to wake up. I think her name was Lisa. Ew, Lisa—such a basic, boring name. We all walked in a line to the kitchen like we were in the army or something, and we had to sit in seating plans. They poured some "delightful" platter of porridge onto my plate. I've never seen anything more disgusting. I forced it down my throat. After breakfast, we had free time. There wasn't much to do—hockey, but you would get judged because that's a "guy" thing. I think I heard something about a tag game going on.

Day 3
Once I find out where I am and where this place is, I'm going to run away. I think that's what every kid says, but I gotta have some belief in myself. I look across the street and notice a church. I've been to that church; I know where I am. It's only maybe a two-hour walk from my home if I remember my way.

Day 4
I'm getting out of here, I say as I change into my day clothes. I run to the gate early enough that none of the workers are awake. Luckily, I'm skinny enough to slide right through the gate. I run down the road, hoping one of my elders or uncles or someone will drive by and notice me, but no luck. I keep running and running until, hours later, I make it home. I slam the door open, running to my mom; she's crying in shock. I look towards the fireplace and realize they didn't take my brother. I run to him in happiness, hugging him. I've never missed them so much.

I never noticed how alone I was. Of course, I have friends, but I've never had a person I could look up to. I stare at my snap while crying, trying to find someone to help me. It clicked that I have so many people, but no one is really there for me that way. I put my phone down and walked out the door in my slippers and pajamas. I walked down the street in the middle of winter to the forest. I always enjoyed walks, but I had never gone into this forest; it always creeped me out. Since I just moved here, I didn't want to get lost.

As I walked through the forest, I smelled something awful; it was so disgusting I almost puked. I kept walking and realized I had entered a cemetery, but not an ordinary cemetery. The people were still alive, crying, as this strange dark figure started burying them alive. I frantically screamed and tried to run, but they noticed too fast and threw me to the ground, never to be seen again