The first thing to see was frost. Cold, heavy frost that piled over District's Two's grounds like a blanket. It had been like this for over a month, each day becoming colder than the last. Today was the coldest of them all.
Reaping Day was notorious for being the coldest day of the year. Everyone who gathered in the square created thick condensation in the air, either from being nervous or from being freezing, and that's exactly how the window I was gazing out of looked. Utterly clouded. Just like everyone's judgement.
The moment my name was picked, the civilians around me relaxed, but I was far more tuned in on the screams of my mother. She ran to me, or attempted to, but was stopped by the Peacekeepers. Her face was stained with tears and an agonizing expression. She had always supported The Hunger Games; District Two was the Capitol's favorite after all. We had built their weaponry and precious stone buildings; even had been loyal to them through the previous rebellions. We were favored by them, yet we still had to compete in the Games. I don't think my mother ever imagined this outcome.
She was peeled away from me by big men in white suits. The pain in my chest grew immensely stronger as I turned away from her direction and walked up to the stage. No matter what District you were from, whether it be a Career or District 12, your mortal doom lie in a The Hunger Games. The shock and agonizing pain you feel as you are picked, is something every tribute shares. And now I'm one of them.
My mother is my only family. Dear father died when I was a baby from pneumonia. Only child. Although I wasn't alone, for I had my mother. My best friend. All we had was each other, and we appreciated that every day. Until now. Now I was gone and she was left to defend for herself. She wasn't strong, nor was she weak. But she was unstable when I was in danger. I was usually there to pick her back up. It was only when I last hugged her goodbye that I realized I couldn't do it anymore.
Up on the stage, the people looked so much clearer. The world looked brighter somehow. Perhaps it was the snow, or just the air, or maybe my pure imagination, but I hated it. I hated the thought of killing someone, me dying, family members losing their children, all of it. I loathed it. My fists were clenching my satin skirt. I even knew the look only face showed remorse. I knew it was foolish to let my anger and sadness overcome me. The last thing I wanted to do was look weak.
The boy who was picked alongside me was someone of whom I did not know, and did not plan to know. He was going to die anyways. Both of us were.
In my holding room, I cried. It was possibly the only time I could ever afford to feel weak again, and thus, I decided to take it. My small amount of mascara my mother had forced onto my eyelashes that morning were know being diminished away by the salty tears that streamed down my face. I knew my mother would try to fix it, but even she wouldn't be able to heal the wounds that were caused today. The mascara was only a small price to pay.
My life was soon to be gone and I had let the Capitol take it away from me. I never asked for this. I never wanted this. But no one ever asks to be a Tribute, nor did they ask for The Hunger Games, and yet after 65 years we still have them. Another small price to pay.
The door to my room swung open and my mother entered immediately, running straight for me in a rushed silence. She sobbed into my shoulder, telling me that everything was going to be alright, and that even I had a fair chance of winning. I knew she was lying. She knew I was going to die.
Her last moments with me were those of complete silence. No more tears, or hugs; just silence. The Peacekeeper came into the room and told her that time was up. My heart clenched in my chest. This was it. My last moments with my mother. My best friend. She desperately looked over at me and smiled slightly.
"Make them pay," she whispered. And then she was gone. Taken away from me for good.
That was the last time I ever saw my mother. I didn't have any last words to her. Just a mascara-stained face and a cold expression. I wish she hadn't seen me that weak, but she had. And she was proud.
My need to survive was now peeled away from me, as life would have it. And as I looked out that frosted window on the train to the Capitol, I knew that I was alone. No allies. No hope. No humanity. My whole world was to be shattered in only a matter of weeks, and I had to bear through it. I had to win. Or at least I had to try.
Time was certainly up, indeed.