The morning of the reaping is always one that is dreaded. People with solemn faces, neat clothes, and hands clenched tightly together. We always say to one another 'I hope you don't get reaped' but there is always a selfish part inside us hoping that they do so that we don't get chosen to fight till death. Except not in me. I am always up at night praying that Angie's name isn't chosen. A strict belief has been placed upon us that if one of us is chosen, it is a great honour. She told me once she dreamt of being chosen and fighting in the arena. I felt sick to my stomach and left the room. If Angie was reaped there would be no chance of her survival. With no training and her being at the bottom of the pile because she is twelve, she would probably be one of the first ones to go. So I guess I am being selfish for her, because losing her would mean losing everything. She is the only spark my family has, the only glimmer of warmth. She gives us enough to have a small sliver of hope. If we lost her, the tiny particles that hold of family together would be flung so far apart, they would lose contact completely.