Bitterness
My name. My name. They called my name. I suppose I should have expected it, with the amount of tesserae I had to take, but I'm twelve! There has to be a mistake, any mistake, anything at all that will make the announcer laugh and pipe in her ridiculous voice "Oops, not you!" But nothing happens except for whispers in the crowd, anxious for me to go, go, get up there. Hands I don't recognize start to push me towards the stage, my head to the waists of everyone else as I shakingly climb onto the stage. I look at the boy as he walks up next to me. He's not even a boy, he's a man, a monster. He's too huge to be here. But I don't cry. Not when we shake hands, not when they lead me away, not when my brothers and sisters come in, crying and begging on my lap to just come back. In fact, as I stiffly and stonefacedly walk onto the train, I feel something that I never do. They are taking me away from my life and from everything I have ever known; they are cutting off any way home and forcing me to walk calmly into my own death. They have taken the understanding Rue, the kind, loving, mothering girl who takes care of everyone and never yells or snaps or gets angry, has a harshness inside of her. If anything, I have earned the right to be bitter.