I felt the tug of a familiar arm gently tug at my shoulder, Waking me up. I open my eyes slowly and wordlessly get up and go behind a wood panel to get changed. Today is not a day for words, except last words, and they don't need to be uttered yet. I tie my hair up into a regular pony tail and stare at myself in the cracked mirror. My father looks up at me "Your mother would be proud, you look so much like her." I turn to look at a photo of mother and notice the similarities, plain brown hair, millions of freckles, sagging yellow skin that is the product of too many missed meals. This is her dress too. I turn back to father and nod as we leave the house towards the square.
The square fills fast with scared reluctant teenagers. The adults form a crowd behind the square while children eligible for the Reaping fill every neep and crany. All accounted for, each child a name on the slip of paper.
A overdressed capitol woman, dressed in a green spiky dress, takes the stage and begins rambling on about war and punishment, the same speech i heard 14 times before. I try too look interested as the eyes of a stern peace keeper meet mine.
The teenagers all take a deep breath as the capitol woman, who name i think is claudinia reaches into the bowl and pulls out a slip of paper. She opens it slowly, pausing for dramatic effect, and reads "Paige Herforth." It takes a minute for me to process what she says 'thats my name I think! Wait thats MY name.' I'm dizzy but i raise my hand and walk slowly towards the stage. The crowd around me parts like the red sea, stepping away from my like i have the plague. i may as well have the plague, I am going to die.
The boy from the district is one i do not know so i ignore him on the train. We will both be dead soon. My last words with father were short yet sweet. We are both people of few words. My mentor ,a middle aged woman called saphia, sees I'm not for talking so sits opposite me, reading. I stare out the window, looking for the capitol, the last city ill ever see.