I am writing this new story, but I'm having trouble editing them. So please, kindly edit the story below:

It's been 51 years since the last of Hunger Games. Panem had finally come to peace. Things had run smoothly since then, but...
PROLOGUEI could see the smoke of the hot tea up above the cold summer breeze. I grasp the cup tentatively between my fingers, the warmth seeping down the coldness in my palms. I looked back at the far side window, seeing the sun sinking below the skyline and with the skies slowly tinted with the hues of black.Soon, the TV screens would flash, featuring President Mellark for his first address in front of a world - wide audience. After the long wait, the ceremonies have finally started. I could hear the noise of the pounding drums, the high – pitched timbre of the lyres, the chuckles and the tones of cheers that passed into the crowd’s lips. No wonder why he won, he was always everyone’s bet. Who wouldn’t be? He’s the son of two of the victors of the Hunger Games, Peeta and the deceased Katniss; naming him the next heir of "THE MOCKINGJAY".But despite all praises, I doubted him.And I’m not sure why.Then I see him, the muscles strained from his pink tuxedo, the smirk that traced into his lips, and the small steps up toward the core of the podium. Spoiled yet handsome, as some would say. Everyone had their heads turned at the screen, eyes focused right into his features and beams wages into their faces as it started.************************I sit motionlessly as I glance carefully at the monitor. From the heavy noise of the crowd, I could hear the hysterical sound that screeches out around a gauge behind me, again. Seven times in the past few minutes it had swished.It's my name they’re calling, Harmony Luke.This time, I let the sound persist, hoping for it to go away. But the noise continues endlessly, becoming hysterically pressing as every second passes.A trail of wind appears as I doubtfully rush to turn my head around and face the clear view of the rear side.I see no one.Instead, I find a narrow opening of a glass window. From a distant outlook, I can see the increasing combat between the swaying trees and of the autumn - painted leaves, slowly dancing with the breath of the wild breeze. I can feel the odd sensation of its ambience.The senses of tension and nervousness are now slowly creeping in to every fragments of my body.I know I’ve seen and felt all of these before, in fact, only a few days ago. The expression was now viciously cold, but clearly these familiar scenes had happen a day before my brother's death, that soon played out in my nightmares that had come more and more frequently.I know by then that this is a sign. A sign of something that is unexplainable.The sign might have come to warn me something, something that could help me cheat the fate that holds an erroneous future.“This is nothing.” I heaved heavy sigh, consoling myself in the thought that it’s just an imagination.I look back to the TV screen, seeing the crowd’s faces sensed in adrenaline and tension. Now the noise refused to pass their lips. Their hands were shuddering. I could hear the noise of their rushing breaths out of their emptying lungs.I was right. Something is wrong.The camera crews focus back at President Mellark. By the moment he speaks, I froze. He softly announces…“I and the others had planned. The country will be re – initiating the annual Hunger Games.”

I look into my reflections and start to hallucinate; seeing myself in a bloodbath, ripping down every bit of me, abandoning my corpse soaked in a thick mass of dark blood. I can barely see these things happen. I blink once and finally faced reality.
My hand reaches the pillow, running my fingers through its cases for the last time. I rouse up, hearing the soft chuckling sounds inside my knees. From the windows, I could see the orange sun rising above the horizon and the soft clouds colored in carnation pink. I rolled my eyes up above and watch the shining luminance of the casted sunlight. The day is defined perfect. Unluckily, it’s not for me.
It is the day of the reaping. Any minute by now, I would discover the fate that lies on someone's hand.
Since the day of declaration, I had never been in my best. One time, when I was at the bridge, waiting for the breeze to fill my lungs, I collapsed, breathless as the awful memories played abruptly inside my mind. It made me weak; it was as if it had drained my energy.
This is what I feel now.
"Hey!" Mom gasps at the side of the entry.
I turn around; looking anxiously back at her, watching the smirk that paints into her lips.
“Go look at the mirror,” She adds as she reaches into my palms, delivering a large fragment of a broken glass.
I can hardly recognize myself in the best blue silk-dress with a match of a pair of slippers. All these were grandmom’s outfit in her last reaping, probably around 65 years ago. I can’t believe it. She was as small as me; luckily it fitted perfectly in my petite size.
“You looked beautiful,” She whispers in the exact instant when the bells at the square ring.
My knees start to tremble. I could hear the loud pounding noise of my chest. I can feel the sweat and the coldness that wrapped in the palms of my hands.
The time has come. Hopefully, with fingers crossed, the odds are not in my favor.
“Ready to go?”
I nodded; a sign of a silent response.
The fear persists, and becomes frantically urgent as I make a step nearer onto the gates. Everyone is quiet, except for the murmuring crews and of the soft mumbles of the breeze. At a glimpse, I could see the families grasping tightly in each other’s hands.
In a few moments, the occasion would finally begin. Camera crews would finally make their way around, emerging each of our faces in the television screens.
I am at a clump of sixteen year olds. Most of them appear to be calm. They were not terrified at all. In fact, they’re excited for who the odds will pick this year. They're so naive to think that if they found themselves in the arena, they would gain popularity. They hadn't even thought of coming home dead.
The velvet curtain slowly opens and rapidly seeks the glimpse of a woman in a dull - purple ball gown, with a curled pink hair, wearing mysteriously her phony smirk. The one and only Felicity R. Trinket, the presenter of District 10’s tributes in the 76th annual hunger games. I watch her as she makes her way at the center of the podium with a young man around his teens.
Looking from afar, I could see him looking back with a piercing gaze. His Raven - haired, tall and his intimidating personality registers back inside my memory. Just before his name was introduced, I know this was the same man that’s proven guilty behind my brother's sudden death: Truce Greystorm.
From my vantage point I watch him beaming, just as though he was honored in representing our district in the games.
“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.” Dire greets happily in a loud tone. “As you can see today, the boys are not here. That’s because we have a volunteer! And as what the rules have said, if a person volunteers before the reaping, he will be the one to pick any girl, to be the female tribute for District 10 in the 76th annual Hunger Games.”
“Who will be the recipients of the opportunity, Truce?” asked this apparition.
“I’ve chosen....”
I stand motionlessly, feeling the adrenaline and rush that defies the ambiance. My hand starts to shiver again, speechless, breathless as I wait for a name to be call out.
“This is someone I haven’t met. My sister picked this girl..." His breath clattered out from the microphone. "I’m sorry but it’s …”
He reads out in a clear voice. It's someone I recognize my whole lifetime. He call out someone named Harmony Luke. It's me.