As I run through the woods in this year’s arena, I rifle through my backpack, looking for the personal item that the Capitol promised I could take with me. I push and shove through all of the weapons in my bag; a hunting knife, a net, a few arrows, and a long rope. Finally, after relentlessly searching, I find what I am looking for.

It may seem like something very unusual to bring into the Hunger Games, but I have my reasons. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had to watch the Hunger Games live on the small staticky television in my dingy living room. Over the years, I’ve noticed the effect that the games can have on participants.

Three years back, a shy twelve-year-old girl from District 7 was entered. She accidentally killed a boy from District 4, and the guilt lead her to using some rope to hang herself from a tree.

When I was eleven, I vaguely remember the Capitol having to postpone the games because a boy from District 1 deliberately killed someone before the games even started.

Last year, a boy from my district, District 9, who was generally soft-spoken, went on a killing rampage before becoming the Victor. I haven’t seen him since, but some of the gossip spreading around my school suggests that he never leaves Victor’s village and when he does, it’s to buy rum and sleeping pills. Some even say that he killed his mother after coming back from the games.

But now, as I run frantically through the woods with no clear destination, I clutch the small mirror in my hand.

I keep it because every time I look in the mirror, it’s a reminder to stay true to myself.

No matter what the Capitol throws at me, no matter what happens; I won’t let the darkness consume me.

Never.