ANDREW
I stare blankly at the television screen, not comprehending what was just said. To show that even the supernatural cannot defeat Panem, this year's Quarter Quell tributes will be the sons and daughters of the Greek gods themselves. Greek gods? I feel my stomach tie in a knot as I finally realize what is happening. Only demigods – Children of the Greek gods – will be entered into the 100th hunger games.
'This cannot be happening.' I say to myself, and hold my head in my hands. 12 years ago, during the 88th hunger games, it was discovered. Three of the tributes entered in the hunger games revealed that they had special abilities: the ability control water, or fire, or even to persuade others to slay themselves on command. After this hunger games, many more people discovered these supernatural powers that apparently had been theirs since birth. It was supposed that these people were children of the gods. And I was one of them.
My mother told me years ago, how my father had come to her, how they fell in love, how I was born. She never knew who he was, but she had her suspicions, which were confirmed the day I came home, telling the story of how I made our class pet's fishbowl explode.
I had never wanted these gifts; and now I wanted them gone more than ever.
'Andrew!' My mother runs through the door of the living room. She must have been watching from the TV upstairs. She hurries to me and hugs me, and all my worries melt away. 'There are dozens of others, it won't be you. You'll be alright.' She sounds almost as if she's trying to convince herself. 'We're lucky to be in District 4, there are more demigods than in any other district here, with Poseidon and all.'
'I hope you're right Mom,' I pull away and look out the window, watching the steady push and pull of the sea. 'I hope you're right.'
I stand with 20 other boys at the reaping, staring at the bowl, which seems much to empty for my comfort. Being 14, my name is entered less than most of the other boys that stand with me, but with so little names in that bowl...
The girls are drawn first. 'Yae-Rang Ahn. ' A small, dark skinned 12 year old girl walks up to the stage, a terrified look spreading across her already large eyes.
The man drawing our names walks over to the other side of the stage, where the second bowl is; the boy's bowl. My palms are sweaty, and I pray to every god I can remember the name of that I won't be picked. The man reaches into the bowl and pulls his hands out, very slowly, almost as if to increase the tension. Yeah, like I need to be more nervous than I already am. The man unfolds the paper almost as slowly, and I hold my breath. My heart hammers in my chest so hard I feel like I'm about to explode. Then I hear it, and my senses go on overload, adrenaline coursing through my body. 'Andrew Restores'. I feel like crying. Surely no one can blame me; I've just been given a death sentence. But I hold it inside, close my eyes, and walk up towards the stage to join the other girl tribute.