Red Strike Energy Drink

Frequently Asked Questions

1. QUESTION:
   How do you do Jager Bombs?
   I know the standard is a shot of Jager dropped in half a can of Red Bull, but I usually use Red Strike because it's about half the price of Red Bull for a can twice as big. What kind of energy drink do you use? Or do you just skip it and use beer?

   • ANSWER:
     the proper way to do a Jager Bomb is actually quite simply. You fill a normal sized glass halfways with Red Bull (it could be any other energy drink too, but Red Bull works best, but not the best 'bang for your buck'), then you before consuming you drop a shot glass of Jager (Jagermeister works best) into the glass and shoot it back, it tastes well with a lemon slice afterwards, but the chaser is totally up to you. If you want to substitue the Red Bull, I've tried it with Monster, Nos, and Rockstar energy drinks, and they all tasted pretty good. I haven't tried it with Red Strike but its pretty much the same thing a Red Bull anyways.

2. QUESTION:
   Are AP Students, scholars or slaves?
   We savor school as an instirution of learning, and a resource of life, to which we seek guidance, and help.

   We would learn from words, and work for the practice...until the AP classes.
   Stripped bare bones, the class is devoid of any appealing esthetics's of learning in it's very own institutions.
   The class is focused on what you must already know, before you ever learn it. and then strike you down, after a barrage of homework, lab reports, book reading. Way too much to keep ones bedtime before 9:30 pm.

   Sleep quickly becomes a luxury, and Monster, Red bull, and Venom become the very energy drinks, the life support, in which the hearts of many bright minds, pump lifeless blood, into a droning brain.
   ...work.....work......work.....work......work...work.........until the heart stops.

   WE DONT WORK FOR THE KNOWLEGEN ANYMORE, JUST THE 36 ON THE ACT TEST.

   WE DONT WORK FOR THE KNOWLEGE ANYMORE, JUST FOR THE A+, AND NOT TO REMEMBER THE INFORMATION,
   ,
   WE DONT WORK FOR THE KNOWLEGE ANYMORE, JUST MUSTER OUT ANOTHER GRULING DAY IN A PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A LEARNING ENVIORMENT.

   Students across the world would trade their very lives, to not suffer the endless onslaught of AP work (Student suicide)

   Teachers.........students,......The learning system has become disfunctional, there is a lack of performance in students, as my self, I am not carping, yet heading the lifeless moans, of droppy eyed brethren in the class room....day to day. The test is an F, the essay is insufficeint, and I couldn't read because of the lab report i had to to....

   “We learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself.”- Lloyd Alexander -1924

   • ANSWER:
     Your question was so badly written that I'm surprised to hear that you're in AP classes, but I'd certainly say that you need to keep working!
     AP classes were originally designed to benefit students. By taking them, you can reduce the number of required classes that you have to take at a university which saves money and gives you more time to take the courses you want to take. My daughter, for example, placed out of calculus and the Spanish requirement, so she was able to take courses in Spanish literature, which she enjoyed very much.
     It is, perhaps, unfortunate that high schools now base some of their claims to greatness on the number of students who score well on AP exams. That puts pressure on the teachers, who put pressure on the students. My daughter had after school and weekend session in calculus, so I know what you're talking about.

     It's a competitive world. If your goals are best achieved by getting into a good university, excelling there, and going into a profession, then time in AP classes is well spent.
     If spending a year of your life under academic pressure is not worth the pay off of 50 years in a good profession to you, don't take them. And please don't write sentences such as the one that starts with "Sleep" in your college classes. And learn to use the spelling checker.

3. QUESTION:
   Why can't I sleep? What's wrong with me?
   At night, I take 3 different pills, drink an herbal concoction that tastes horrible, use 3 types of lavender scented lotions, a pillow mist, aromatherapy room spray, a chamomile lavender bath and body works aromatherapy roll on, and a supposedly relaxing hand cream all to try and get to sleep at a reasonable hour.
   When I do get to sleep, usually around 3 am, I have terrible dreams and wake up feeling like I've been fighting all night. I wake up tired, sore, and not the least bit rested, sometimes with bruises from struggling in my sleep and striking a hand against my headboard.
   During the day, one of the only ways I can feel awake enough to function is drinking Red Bull. I have one maybe once every three days, but am constantly told this is why I can't sleep.
   I don't feel like doing anything because I'm just tired all of the time. I have no energy.
   My dreams are so terrible and vivid, that I can't stop thinking about them during the day.
   Most people wake up right when they "die" in their dreams. I don't. I dream of being attacked by a man trying to push me in an acid vat, my (ex) best friend poisoning me and leaving me for dead in a parking lot, being attacked by wolves, bears, a man with a chainsaw, a man with a gun, and many more. I dream of family members dying, that I've been sent to a mental institution, that my steering or brakes no longer work and I have no control over my car. The emotions and images in my dreams are so real that I often have to tell myself it wasn't real for days after a nightmare. I will have to ask my sister if something actually happened or I dreamt it because it is so hard to differentiate between reality and my vivid dreams. For as long as I can remember, I've been like this. I have never been able to just go to sleep because my mind races. I have to distract myself with television. Always a comedy that I've seen many many times. I've tried just about everything and I'm wondering if I'm alone here. What is wrong with me that my dreams are so real? Why can't I sleep deep enough to feel rested? What can I do to solve these problems? I'm just tired of being tired.

   • ANSWER:
     Stop all of your sleep rituals, pills and lotions. I might be up all night just thinking about them.

     Stop trying to sleep. The body naturally resists force.

     Set up a schedule and stick to it. Try reading instead of TV; read the Bible and then re-read it.

     If you wake up early, then remain in bed until your schedule tells you to get up.

4. QUESTION:
   Can you tell me what you think of this piece of my writing?
   The taste of summer glistened on my tongue as the sour lemonade poured sparingly into my mouth. Every droplet was sour, cold, and this glass was the glass I had been waiting for all day. My mother had prepared me this drink after a long, steamy day in the fields. It felt as if I had pulled every corn stalk in the field today from it's roots. My muscles had weakened but now as the sun began to set, my eyes rest upon the clock. The ticking and tocking intimidated me. I was waiting for the little hand to meet six, and the long thin hand to strike twelve. The red hand slowly approached in following the long hand and then, I was out the door. Running barefoot through the spring green grass, the summer breeze splashed against my skin like nothing I'd ever felt before. The sky was blue and sparkled a pink shimmer. Looking up at the sky as I huffed and puffed along with my remaining energy, with my flannel-cropped top whistling in the breeze, the sky appeared as cotton candy scattered through the atmosphere. I could just taste the sweet, sugary summertime county fair cotton candy in my mouth gazing up at this sunsetting wonder. After running through wildflowers of every mystic color, and hopping over every crystal-clear puddle I had made it. He was standing there, looking at me with those ocean blue eyes his arms were spread open wide waiting. I flung myself into his arms, and squeezed him tight. He smelt welcoming, and his hands were pressed firmly, but gently against me as though he were cradling me like a baby. I pulled back from him as I was raised in the air like a lifeless doll to reach his height, and then he pulled me up to his head. My hands rested on his shoulders, I leaned in and pressed my nose to his, wiggling it back and forth gently with a grin and soft laughter. He smiled at me widely with passion and kissed me smoothly. Then I felt him gently place me on the ground. We were silent for awhile. Sitting by the creek was our pastime in the evenings. Skipping rocks, watching the sunset on the horizon. Every wave of water colored bright orange, pink, and blue as the sky reflected across the water was a sight to see. It brought us together, interlocked our fingers, and most definately interlocked our lips. I was moritifed by him. At the end of the day this was our tradition. When the family fueding ended and the crops came to a rest, we would venture to the woods from field to field, path to path, and stream to stream to this one special creek we had promised would be the first place we would make love. One day it would just happen, and we'd never planned it for the surprise of the first time of this type of embracement would be the story that we would remember for every year of our lives. It would be our history, and the reason we would last forever. Then when it was time to leave, I'd cry softly, my tears pelting my cheeks with a stain of pale red on my cheeks that made my faded freckles pop out like fireworks. He'd hold me tight until the crying stopped. Then I would hear my father's loud voice echo through the wooded area. And I would run home. Through the wildflowers, and skipping over the puddles once more, I would run home. Until the next day, when I'd do it all again. All because, I loved him.
   I am 13 years old and I love to write little things like this so please tell me what you think.

   • ANSWER:
     It's good but it's too slow moving. Like someone above said, you put too much details in trivial parts. So try to skip over them. And there are some grammatical mistakes in some parts. And I didn't understand the sentence " I was moritifed by him. " Mortified means feeling humiliated. And I don't think there was anything humiliating there.
     On the whole it was not too bad for a 13 years old. Good job and keep writing on! ^_^

5. QUESTION:
   Can someone revise my Essay Please ! ?
   Africa (South of the Sahara Desert and North of the equator)

   By: Laura Pinheiro Henrique

   Africa has many serious development problems, education is one of them. The biggest problems with education in many African nations are: a lack of funding and a lack of qualified teachers. Most of the educated Africans look to Europe, The United States and other better developed areas of the world to move to, so that they can make more money and live comfortably. In Africa, millions of children don't have the opportunity to receive any education because of the massive poverty and diseases. Pushing education would greatly help Africa in each of the other problematic areas like gathering food, protecting their health, and other necessary parts of survival.43% of 35 African countries have an adult literacy rate of less than 60%! On the Global Literacy map it shows that very few countries in Africa get a literacy rate of 70% and higher. An education provides you with opportunities. Opportunities to get a job to make money, opportunities to find things that you enjoy, and opportunities to make connections to other people.

   Another very serious development problem would be AIDS and HIV and the lack of medicine to cure it. Africa is home to 70% of adults and 80% of children living with HIV in the world. It is estimated that in 2003 close to 2.3 million people died of HIV- related illness in Africa. Since the beginning of this epidemic more than15 million Africans have died from Aids. Aids have lowered the life expectancy rate to 40 or less in many countries! Although there is no cure for AIDS, drug cocktails and improved medical care in developing countries is significantly extending the lives of people living with HIV. Very few Africans can afford the drugs needed to fight AIDS, which can cost between 0 and ,000 a month; also many African governments do not have funds to import these drugs. The average African nation spends less than per person each year on health care. Of 24 million people or so with HIV, a large number of them don't even know that they are infected. To fight this lack of funds, the United Nations are urging developed countries to fund the war on HIV.

   What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the words “Clean Water”? I think of all the people in Africa who don't have access to clean water. We take its abundance for granted, but in much of the world, especially Sub-Saharan Africa, access to clean water is a luxury. According to the United Nations, more than half of Africa's population lacks access to clean water. That’s about three hundred sixty million people. Two of every five Africans lack access to an improved water supply. In rural Africa, women commonly walk 3.75 miles each day to the nearest water source to fetch water to drink. In some parts of Africa, women use up as much as 85% of their daily energy intake on getting water, increasing incidences of anemia which occurs when the level of healthy red blood cells in the body becomes too low and other health problems also occur do to lack of clean water. Having unclean water can result to bad sanitation which also impacts hygiene. The best way, so far, that this problem has been dealt with is by community effort. Community organizations donate and/or grant to help fix this problem. Unclean water contains bacteria, viruses, etc. In result many diseases are caught. Millions of people are stricken by diseases that could have been prevented if safe drinking water existed on the African continent. An example is Mozambique who has 42% of clean water! A really good solution that people came up with is the Play Pump system: while children have fun spinning on the Play Pump, water is being pumped from underground and it can produce up to 1400 liters of clean water each hour.
   The Human Development Index is used to distinguish whether a country is a developed, a developing, or an under-developed country, and also to measure the impact of economic policies on quality of life. The different scores for each country are added and averaged as one final number. On the Human Development index it shows that Nigeria and other African countries have a score from 0-0.49 and is in the category of “low”, which means that they don't have a good education, health and wealth system. This affects the popularity of the country and the population, making many people not wanting to live in that certain area because of that country's average score. Africa's living standard is extremely low, the average African has scarce access to safe drinking water and most commonly lacks plumbing. Sub-Saharan Africa in particular is one the world's poorest regions. According to the World Bank 74.9% of the population lived on less than a day in 2003; 44% lived on less than a day.

   Most of the foreign aid that is pledged rarely gets to Africa, foreign aid is needed, but they need us to teach them how to f

   • ANSWER:
     opening statement doesnt blend to much. i think it should be semi colen in "in many african nations are;"but not sure.there should be a comma after united states.i dont think there needs to be a comma after "to". in formal writing percents should be written out like "20 percent" and you shouldnt have "opportunities.Opportunities". they should be right next to each other. i would combine those 2 sentances. u forgot to put a space inbetween "than 15" in the second paragraph.comma after drug cocktails. i would just make it the end of a sentence after 1000 a month.not a semi colon. in formal writing it should be 10 dollars and not . Its should of a apostrophe in the 3rd paragraph.You could go 360 million but your ways fine.it should be. theres another ":" in the 3rd paragraph.once again im not sure about that.find a better word for poorest.theres another in there. (also remember to indent paragraphs) and it stops at "f" so im guessing it was too long.

6. QUESTION:
   Does this sound like a good story?
   I'm writing a story based on bleach, but has to do with the North American Soul Society.

   Here's a short resume:
   The Morgan’s lived in the heart of Montreal. 18 year old Dahlia and 20 year old twins Reed and Tate had been training together as death gods. With both parents being ex-death gods, the three siblings were doing well. All three were accepted into the American Soul Society as substitute-death gods
   On Dahlia’s 18th birthday, she was driving with her friends at night, when the unthinkable happened; they were hit by a drunk driver. They were driving fast, and their vehicle went flying all over the street, crashing into six other cars, before finally tumbling into a ditch. The four girls in the car, including Dahlia, died instantly.
   All of Dahlia’s friends went safely to Soul Society, but Dahlia lost her death god powers, and was planted to the earth. She was already a death god, and once death gods die, their gone. But because she was only a substitute-death god, her powers left her, and her soul went straight into hollowfication.
   Her family found her the next day, and immediately got their mom, who was ex-captain of the 6th squad: the research and development squad. She immediately cut Dahlia’s chains from the ground and they brought her back home. Nadia, her mom, called the new captain of the research squad to help her. They found Ichigo Kurosaki papers and tried the methods that Kisuke Urahara did to him. It didn’t work properly, Tate froze her time, and they were gone to Japan for Urahara to help them.

   Here's The character profiles:
   Character: Dahlia Morgan
   Age: 18
   Soul Slayer: Alcippe (fire) [Burn the skyway paths…]
   Shikai release: metal blade with imprints of swirls of fire.
   Bankai: (Theos Alcippe) 10 foot black horse with white fire mane, tail and tuffs around the hoofs with fire red eyes. Offers speed, only burns the target, strengthen attacks. She can ride it or it can fight.
   Attacks: Fotia Boli Trecho: 1 shot
   Merikoi Trecho: Multiple shots
   Dynami Fotia Trecho: I big ball
   Epta Katadioko Trecho: 7 balls pursue target, out with one contact. Synechizo: continue
   Ellinas Fotia Trecho: 7 horses (keep fighting for 7 minutes) Telos: end
   To range the attacks: [Weakest] Kitrinos: yellow, Portokali: orange, Kokkinos: red, Prosinos: green, Galanos: blue and Aspros: white [Strongest]

   (To range attacks: [ex] Fotia Boli Trecho: Kitrinos)

   Brothers: Reed and Tate Morgan
   Age: 20 (twins)
   Soul Slayers: Reed- Hito Yabun (Night Thief) [Steal…] Tate- Hito Teigo (Noon Thief) [Take…]
   Shikai releases: Reed: black stainless steel handgun, attached to his hip with a silencer, Tate: silver stainless steel hand gun, attached at the hip. Shoots ‘bullets’ of condensed spiritual energy.

   Mom: Nadia Morgan
   Age: ?
   -Ex Captain of the 6th squad, research bureau
   Soul Slayer: Denkou (Lightning) [Crash down…]
   Shikai: circle that merges into blade with handle. Hollow inside. Four sticks on each side of circle to attract electrons to transfer into energy.
   Attack: Furasshu no Ranpu {flash of light}
   Bankai: Metal strip run along her limbs and up her spine. Two lightning rods on both shoulders, she has ability to conducts lightning.

   Dad: Blaze Morgan
   Age: ?
   -Ex lieutenant
   Soul Slayer: Skotadi (Darkness) [Loom…]
   Shikai: Plain black blade, each strike darkens your world. Eventually, opponent would loose all sense of sight.
   Bankai: Opponent his blinded and other senses are confused

   • ANSWER:
     it sounds really interesting !!! you should write it ! . ANDDD It would make a kick a** manga !! >w<

7. QUESTION:
   Hunger Games fanfiction (Rue)?
   I am writing a fanfiction on Rue as of now, and need to know how it's going. This is the second chapter. Please help!

   The bare feet belonging to my mentor, trudge into my room. He’s dressed discordantly, and appears to have just woken from bed with a slight hangover. Turns out that’s the case.

   He yawns emphasizing the fact that I’ve somehow woken him up. I thought I was being relatively quiet, yet I find my eyes dripping with tears. It’s funny how I can be so happy that I’ll live to see my family and escape the arena, while being miserable and haunted by all the deceased tributes at the same time. I think of Cato, the one who brought her death strike. Multiple ones over and over again. That was the one nightmare I felt I would never wake up from; yet I was wide awake the whole time.

   I’m brought back to Chaff who gives me a bit of a hazy look, but then the little fog that seemed to be over his eyes has lifted. He stays silent, but observes me carefully. He appears as if he’s known this anguish all to well, which he probably does. After all, he is a victor himself.

   I continue to immerse myself in dismal thoughts and feel as if I’m about to burst, but then I contain these feelings. It doesn’t work. The restraint I’ve been working hard to keep strong has caused me to exert energy I hadn’t even know I still had. The exertion exhausts me and holding back only frustrates me further. At home I had always practiced keeping my anger under control and had been quite confident I succeed with this, but soon the world is blurry and the feeling of hopelessness washes over me as tears spill from my eyes.

   I hate the Capitol, I somehow hate my family for not protecting me from this hell, and I’m and a Chaff too. Chaff, the drunk who bet on my death yet let me live to experience this nightmare. I stare at him in disgust and turn away to hide my face, a shameful red.

   But then he embraces me. And that one action brings about a flood of tears to no avail. Because no matter what I do I’ll never save Katniss and I’ll never escape the careers like I had first thought I did at Cato’s gruesome end.

   The thought slithers into my mind, and it brings about another round of violent sobs that rack my body. I’m confused. So very confused that I would like nothing more than to freeze time and piece everything back together right now.

   Sympathy is clearly expressed on Chaff’s face. And I also see another strange look to him. Mixed with sympathy there’s a hint of something more that causes his forehead to wrinkle in the slightest way as he wears a nearly undetected frown. It’s as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

   The thought of him being a mentor for what has to be around 15 years brings about a puzzled look to my face as well. I’m not only confused, but a slight bit angry because the thought of his confusion seems incredulous to me. So with tears and aching limbs I straighten my back upright and look straight into the man’s eyes.

   “Why?”

   It’s like a plea, one that would lead to pity. I don’t want that at all, but I have confidence that my mentor also shares my low tolerance for such a thing.

   We both grew up in the same district. One where poverty and dismay run high. And probably growing up in such a way where even the youngest, emaciated, and weak work for the family’s earnings, we’ve learned that there is no time for pity and no one to give it.

   While he figures out what to say, I stare at the startling white walls of the training center walls that seem to have not even the smallest trace of impasto. Here many more children will reside awaiting undoubtedly their deaths.

   He finally speaks in a husky voice and simply responds, “What?”

   That was it. I quickly become impatient and can’t bear to wait for a response to my question.

   “Why, why save me? His eyes are concentrated on the red and blue sheets we are sitting on the edge of. He stares at me.

   “I didn’t pick you. We never do. It’s a survival game, and you survived; you outlasted them all. You saved yourself. I wouldn’t have picked this for you either.”

   At first I’m offended. He didn’t want me to live? Then I start to understand, and reflect on the painful memories and lucid nightmares. The horror I’ve felt at the unrelenting visions and my tortured screams; all this anguish and I haven’t won. No, nobody ever wins. None of the children in the districts, none of the people in the capitol either, because their is no escape. Not from this land. Panem, where no one is ever truly free. Bound to a life of slavery to those who rule us and forced to play the dictator’s games. No more! Death can’t be the only escape, not any longer.

   Did you like it!

   Please state why, expecially if you didn't like it!

   • ANSWER:
     I really loved it. The mood it sets, and all about Chaff , etcetera: It's basically some subjects that Suzanne Collins didn't really go into that much, and I really did love it.
     Awesome descriptions, use of adverbs, and sentence structure overall. It was easy and fun to read, as well as somewhat emotional, and fiery and ardent at the same time. LOVE the tone, and the central idea.
     5 Stars! (which is out of five..) <3 SO love it. Love the series, and love you're writing!

     Good Luck with the Talent!

8. QUESTION:
   Fanfic too fangirlish (Hunger Games)?
   Just wondering if this sounds a bit too fan girlish (you know, inexperienced, OOC, just vague and bad.) I am writing a fanfiction on Rue as of now, and need to know how it's going. This is the second chapter. Please help!

   The bare feet belonging to my mentor, trudge into my room. He’s dressed discordantly, and appears to have just woken from bed with a slight hangover. Turns out that’s the case.

   He yawns emphasizing the fact that I’ve somehow woken him up. I thought I was being relatively quiet, yet I find my eyes dripping with tears. It’s funny how I can be so happy that I’ll live to see my family and escape the arena, while being miserable and haunted by all the deceased tributes at the same time. I think of Cato, the one who brought her death strike. Multiple ones over and over again. That was the one nightmare I felt I would never wake up from; yet I was wide awake the whole time.

   I’m brought back to Chaff who gives me a bit of a hazy look, but then the little fog that seemed to be over his eyes has lifted. He stays silent, but observes me carefully. He appears as if he’s known this anguish all to well, which he probably does. After all, he is a victor himself.

   I continue to immerse myself in dismal thoughts and feel as if I’m about to burst, but then I contain these feelings. It doesn’t work. The restraint I’ve been working hard to keep strong has caused me to exert energy I hadn’t even know I still had. The exertion exhausts me and holding back only frustrates me further. At home I had always practiced keeping my anger under control and had been quite confident I succeed with this, but soon the world is blurry and the feeling of hopelessness washes over me as tears spill from my eyes.

   I hate the Capitol, I somehow hate my family for not protecting me from this hell, and I’m and a Chaff too. Chaff, the drunk who bet on my death yet let me live to experience this nightmare. I stare at him in disgust and turn away to hide my face, a shameful red.

   But then he embraces me. And that one action brings about a flood of tears to no avail. Because no matter what I do I’ll never save Katniss and I’ll never escape the careers like I had first thought I did at Cato’s gruesome end.

   The thought slithers into my mind, and it brings about another round of violent sobs that rack my body. I’m confused. So very confused that I would like nothing more than to freeze time and piece everything back together right now.

   Sympathy is clearly expressed on Chaff’s face. And I also see another strange look to him. Mixed with sympathy there’s a hint of something more that causes his forehead to wrinkle in the slightest way as he wears a nearly undetected frown. It’s as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

   The thought of him being a mentor for what has to be around 15 years brings about a puzzled look to my face as well. I’m not only confused, but a slight bit angry because the thought of his confusion seems incredulous to me. So with tears and aching limbs I straighten my back upright and look straight into the man’s eyes.

   “Why?”

   It’s like a plea, one that would lead to pity. I don’t want that at all, but I have confidence that my mentor also shares my low tolerance for such a thing.

   We both grew up in the same district. One where poverty and dismay run high. And probably growing up in such a way where even the youngest, emaciated, and weak work for the family’s earnings, we’ve learned that there is no time for pity and no one to give it.

   While he figures out what to say, I stare at the startling white walls of the training center walls that seem to have not even the smallest trace of impasto. Here many more children will reside awaiting undoubtedly their deaths.

   He finally speaks in a husky voice and simply responds, “What?”

   That was it. I quickly become impatient and can’t bear to wait for a response to my question.

   “Why, why save me? His eyes are concentrated on the red and blue sheets we are sitting on the edge of. He stares at me.

   “I didn’t pick you. We never do. It’s a survival game, and you survived; you outlasted them all. You saved yourself. I wouldn’t have picked this for you either.”

   At first I’m offended. He didn’t want me to live? Then I start to understand, and reflect on the painful memories and lucid nightmares. The horror I’ve felt at the unrelenting visions and my tortured screams; all this anguish and I haven’t won. No, nobody ever wins. None of the children in the districts, none of the people in the capitol either, because their is no escape. Not from this land. Panem, where no one is ever truly free. Bound to a life of slavery to those who rule us and forced to play the dictator’s games. No more! Death can’t be the only escape, not any longer.
   It is in fact online at fanfiction.net.

   It is titled Catching Flight under the Hunger Games forum.

   You can also search my pen name f you'd rather, which is SweetYume (beware it changes).

   • ANSWER:
     This is superb. It's not too fangirlish and I LOVE it. But I wonder if the rest of this is online somewhere. I really, really want to read it.