No matter how good my bag smelled, it still wasn’t doing anything to calm my racing heart. I tossed my knapsack over my shoulder mentally telling myself everything I could to make the time pass faster. Here I was, a 16 year old boy walking straight to my death. Awesome. My life was quite the picnic.

I would never have thought I’d be here, I mean few really do, but you could say the reaping was enlightening in the least. I was enlightened to the fact that neither my parents nor my so called friends were going to do anything to try and stop this madness I was forced into. When my name was called, my father saluted me and my mother blew me a kiss as if her son was off to war, not becoming a human sacrifice to entertain a bunch of rich, messed up circus clowns. I was completely and utterly on my own. Well except for my fellow tribute, Graine Plainberry, but I doubted that was going anywhere.

Before leaving home, I was given the “golden opportunity” of picking one non-lethal thing to bring with me. And after much great deliberation, I walked out my grandma’s house with a red tin filled to the brim with homemade peach cobbler. You may be wondering why the heck I’d bring peach cobbler to a war zone and to that I say, what better way to go out than having just stuffed your face with sugar and butter? Not to mention, knowing I’d likely be first to go and I would not stand a chance against the other kids, I figured this was as good as it could get. I just hope to make my way into the trees before someone gets a dagger to my chest or an arrow to my back. I know this is pretty self-deprecating and just plain sad, but c’est la vie I guess.

Now, back to me walking straight into a death trap.

My knees wobbled with every step though I tried hard to breathe. On the longest elevator ride of my life (literally, I’ve never ridden in an elevator), I finally rose to meet 23 other nerve-sick teenagers waiting for the chance to dive into the middle and retrieve supplies. Luckily for me, I had all the supplies I needed.

Armed with nothing but peach cobbler, I stared into the eyes of all my enemies, hoping I portrayed some sort of daunting expression alike many of my other peers. Gosh, they were scary. Why couldn’t we all just sit around a campfire, put aside our differences (and weapons), and eat cobbler. I mean, would that really be so bad?

Putting aside my fantasies so I could have at least some chance of surviving murder wave 1, I listened for my signal to cowardly run from all opposing threats. And come my signal did.

I flailed, my legs running faster than I could keep up. Evidently, I tripped on the first obstacle in sight, a mound of dirt, and went flying face first into the hard ground. Panicking, I barely noticed the sounds of shouting and bombing happening behind me. Bombing?

It took me a moment to process that the sounds of battle were not coming from the tributes around me, in fact, it looked like no one had managed to secure and use a weapon before the explosions started. We all were staring at the smoke and damage in question until we saw it. Hundreds, no, thousands of people dressed in rags and dirty with soot and grime, were marching near us with weapons at the ready. Peacemakers were everywhere too (very much not “making peace” might I add). Some were fighting with civilians while others were cowering and pleading for mercy to these unknown soldiers. No one knew what was going on.

In finality, shouting stopped and bombings ceased, and in the end of all the chaos, someone to my left loudly cleared their throat, grabbing everyone’s attention indefinitely.

And to my utter shock and disbelief, there my granny stood, javelin in hand and battalion out back, looking like she would throttle anyone who dared defy her order. Needless to say, it was quite the common look for the old woman and I couldn’t help but wonder how she didn’t demonstrate her wrath sooner.

With a few clicks of her tongue, she shoved aside a nearing peacekeeper, pulled off her knapsack, took out a familiar red tin and made an announcement.

“Now children,” she addressed us tributes after yelling at some dudes named Focaccia and Crouton to build a fire, “let us have a discussion over some peach cobbler.”