Into the Fray

As if I hadn't been nervous enough already, my stylist motions to a glass tube. I stare.
"Go on." She pushes me, her fake fingernails digging into my back.
"But...I don't...do small, enclosed space." I stuttered, swinging my head around wildly looking for stairs. Or anything other than the tube.
"It's not a choice," She laughes at me, "It's a tradition. Do not ruin your hair immediately, okay?"
I fight back tears as I relunctantly step into the glass tube. My stylist smiles and waves at me, like a mother sending her child to school.
     The tube slides closed and takes my breath away. My eyes bulge and I start clawing at the walls. I can see the stylist "tsk"ing at me, her eyes locked on my breaking nails. The platform rises and I sheild my eyes from the sun. A brisk wind sweeps my hair away from m y face, and I use my twenty seconds to take note of my surroundings. Unfortunetly, all I can make out is snow, mountains, and woods. Well, water wouldn't be a problem.
     The buzzer sounds and, against my better judgement, I sprint for the Cornocopia. I had always been the quickest runner back at District 9, so I arrived at the supply pile miliseconds before the others. I grab a backpack at random and am about to make my escape when a scythe catches my eye.
     Scythes are prety old-school, even for District 9, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to use one. I lunge for it just as a girl hurls a mace at me. Purposefully slipping in the snow, I narrowly avoid beheading. I grabbed the scythe and made a bee-line for the mountains. We didn't have either woods or mountains back home, but I decided to take my chances from an elevated point of view.