"GEM-IN-I TWO-LEE."
She pronounces the name heavily, with her high-pitched, silly, trilled capitol accent. Even though this is laughable, and I should be giggling silently among the other children about it, I'm not. Why?
Because it's my name.
My face grows hot as I hear my name. A beautiful name, my great-grandmother's name. A name that means gems, wealth, June, warm summer days…a name that means life can go on. That the spirit wil live.
But not now. Not on the lips of this capitol slave.
I let out a long breath, and slowly take a step toward the worn down stage.
"Ah! There YOO ar'!" The woman squeals excitedly, as I continue my death march to the stage.
I hate this woman.
Before I have reached the steps, I look out into the crowd. I have no clue what I'm looking for. Guidance? or maybe even just a simple pat on the back of encouragement.
Whatever I'm looking for I don't find it. All I find is my mother, with her head in her hands, crying silently, and my father, his jaw rigid with shock and despair.
"Well, WE don't hav' all dae DEER." The woman calls to me impatiently.
I'm not listening. She could probably fall off the stage and land into a pit of venomous snakes and I wouldn't even notice right now. All I notice is my parents.
But finally, at the tap of her high-heels impatiently on the stage, I break my stare, and began my assent towards death.
"THERE wee Ar'!" the woman says, waving her hands ecstatically. "YOR FEEMAIL treebutee!"
I turn and look out into the crowd. No smiles. No happiness. Just..Stares, silently wishing me good luck.
"AND noow FUR 'da BOIS!" She trills as she gracefully skips to the ball just opposite me. Quickly, she snatches a piece of paper from the top, and glides back over to the microphone.
I can tell everyone's holding their breath. You can hear it in the way people quietly gasp and then stare intently at the paper. Just like they did for me a couple seconds ago.
The woman slowly unfolds the piece of paper.
" PLI-NEE PAP-ELL." She reads.
The people slowly let out their breaths with a soft whoosh before the real panic sets in.
Who's Pliny? Which unlucky parent has the misfortune of letting their child go? Will it be us?
Then slowly, a boy of about 17 steps forward from the crowd. Only after he takes a couple steps do I recognize him.
He's the mayor's son.
Despite his name being picked, he seems really confident as he glides smoothly toward the stage. He quietly bounds up the steps, and walks toward the woman.
She seems really delighted, but I'm not so sure I am.
This is the mayor's only son, and he's letting him go. Of course he has to. Every parent has to give up a child sooner or later. But still, I find the mayor's job at this very brave.
"YOR deestrect SEEVN treEbutees!" The woman claps loudly.
I turn to face him, as all the tributes do, to shake hands.
Although I've seen him many a time on the streets, and sometimes even in school, I never really noticed how-(it actually surprises me to say this) gorgeous he was. Dark, olive skin, deep-set blue eyes, messy dark brown hair, and a sweet, small smile.
He extends his hand to me, and I take it, hold on to it firmly. We hold them there for a couple seconds, until he finally breaks it off.
As soon as our hands break away, a couple of Peacekeepers suddenly come onstage to herd us toward the worn out Justice building behind us.
I had no thoughts whatsoever about what I was getting into, but now, when the door shuts, all I can think is: You're gonna die.