"Rue Dove."
My stomach churns as my thoughts swim in confusion. Me? I think, as I look around, staring back as the sorrowful expressions upon District 11 as I walk slowly up to the stage. No one steps forward. I nearly cry myself when I glance back at my youngest sister, Rosemary's, tears.
I step up and turn to face the audience. I look at my parents. I can see my mother on the verge of tears, my father's face scrunched up as he tries to control his anger, his oldest daughter, barely 12, off to die at the hand of a fellow youth.
"Now, we chose courageous young man to be your fellow Tribute. Thresh Carnation."
A tall, strong-looking 16 year old steps up to the stage. No, I think desperately. Not Thresh. Anyone but Thresh. Thresh was one of the silent, but fun neighbors I had. He was almost a friend. And now, we were to be shipped off to our deaths.
Now we shake hands. His hand in mine is strong, whereas I know mine is fragile and weak. Mother, Father, Rosemary, Saffron, Buttercup, I miss you already. I can't say how much I love you. I'll try. But I know no matter how hard I do, I won't win.
I'm going to die.