Dear diary, it's official. I am a tribute for the 100th Hunger Games. The reaping was a blur, all I remember is my name being called out and I was suddenly center stage in front of the entire district.

The gravity of my situation didn't hit me until I boarded the train. The plush seats and fancy food seemed like a cruel joke. I felt lost and afraid.

Once we reached the Capitol, I met my stylist. She's supposed to make me 'appealing' for the viewers and sponsors. And she came up with the weirdest idea.

So there I was, standing in my chariot, covered in black dust, naked, yet not feeling exposed. An interesting concept, she said, to show we're strong despite our vulnerability.

After the chariots, we were interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. I didn't say much. Just that I wasn't going down without a fight.

After the interviews, I was thrown into training. My partner, a 6-year-old girl didn't speak much. This was all so new and terrifying for her.

We trained for a week. My trainer was tough but fair. He taught us survival skills and insisted that we should stick together in the arena.

As the days passed, I can honestly say, I felt slightly hopeful. We were the youngest but we were learning. We weren’t as helpless as we felt.

The day of the Games arrived. The fear was overwhelming but I couldn't afford to show it. As we were lifted into the arena, I felt my heart pound.

I don't have time to think about being afraid. I grab my partner's hand and we run, leaving the Cornucopia behind. We manage to find a hiding place.

The first night is the hardest. The eerie silence interrupted by occasional cannon shots. I hold my partner close and whisper comforting words to her.

Days turn into nights, and it becomes a routine. We find food, avoid tributes, and survive. It's terrifying but we hold on, together.

One day, we are found by a group of older girls. They're ruthless and come for us. I fight back with every ounce of courage.

We manage to escape but not without injury. My partner has a deep cut on her leg. I clean it as best as I can and hope.

She's getting weaker. It's clear she won't make it. It breaks my heart to see her suffer. She looks at me with trusting eyes.

She doesn't make it. It's just me now. Alone. I've lost a comrade, a friend. The cannon goes off and I'm alone again.

I don't have time to grieve. The Games are still on. I'm a target now, more than ever. I have to move forward, for her.

I continue the routine. Only, it's sadder, lonelier. The arena is a cruel place. But I survive, day after day.

There are fewer tributes now. The end is nearing. But who will get to go home? My resolve has never been stronger.

The final showdown arrives. It’s me against two older girls. I remember my training, my promise to fight. This is it.

The fight is brutal, but somehow, I outwit them. I injure one and the other runs away. I’ve won this battle.

The last girl missteps and lands in a trap. The cannon goes off. I'm the last one standing. I can't believe it.

I've won. Despite everything, I've won. The relief is overwhelming. But so is the grief and the trauma.

The hovercraft comes for me. I’m lifted from the arena. I’ve survived the 100th Hunger Games. A victor. But at what cost?

Dear diary, I've survived. I'm back home now. But nothing is the same. I'm the same. I'm different. I'm a victor. I've survived.