I remember sitting there in the living room, my mother and father on either side of me. I remember when the president came on screen, he was young and new to the Capital, but I could see it in his eyes. He was a snake, all like the rest of them. His voice was smooth and even as he announced what the twenty fifth games were to be like. I remember the relief that passed across my parent's face. I was eighteen. This was the last year I was eligible for the Games, and they were certain, that with this news of the first quarter quell, that I would remain safe. I would go on to marry my fiancee in a couple months. I would have children. I would live.
I remember being relieved, too. I remember how naive I was to think that those in my district would not vote me as the female tribute. I was unaware of the people my father had stepped on, the amount of enemies he had made to get himself a good job in our district, to give us a nice living. I was unaware of how angry his enemies were, and how willing they would be to take it out on his offspring.
I remember watching as my parents left, with the rest of the adults, to cast their votes for the tributes that would be chosen for the quarter quell. I remember sitting at home, drinking a glass of tea and writing in a journal. I always quit writing whenever the Hunger Games came around, and did not start again until the victor had returned to their homes. I was always so afraid that had I written during that time, my writings would turn dark. That would be the last time I would write before the twenty-fifth games.
I remember thing that tomorrow would be the reaping. I remember not feeling any fear. I knew that year would be different. There would be no pulling of names. The names would have already been preconceived, by those in the district. I had felt an instant pity for those who were chosen. Even if they were to win and return, they would know who was responsible for sending them - those that knew them. It was not just some random choosing of a name. This years tributes would be sacrifices.
I remember walking to my section, with all the other eighteen year olds. I remember smiling at some of my friends, who flocked around me, talking animatedly. None of us thought that it would be any of us. We were not disliked, or, had we been we had not taken notice. Unlike any reaping before, or any reaping that would ever come after, none of us were afraid.
I remember only half listening to the woman as she began to speak about the tributes. I remember hearing my name.
I do not remember hearing the male tribute's name at that time, only the sound of my world shattering.