"Rille Allium."

The second that those two words left Croyale's lips, I knew that my life had changed forever.

Croyale certainly stands out from the rest of the crowd gathered today: she has spiky hair that is red at the roots, and then goes to orange and finally yellow at the tips. She gives off the rather peculiar illusion that her head is on fire.

A few minutes ago, I was daydreaming about actually setting fire to the escort's head. The irony would be fantastic. But then the shiny Capitol lady read, from the slip of paper in her hands, Rille's name. At first, I was shocked. There had to be a mistake, she couldn't have chosen that paper. Rille was only entered in the bowl seven times, and there had to be thousands of slips in there.

Quickly, reality sunk in.

My sister, Rille, had been reaped. She would be going to the Hunger Games. Rille is eighteen years old, and tonight we were going to celebrate her freedom from the Capitol's clutches, since she would never be eligible for the reaping again. Unfortunately, that plan had been changed.

I heard the surrounding crowd gasping, shouting in protest. It seemed that all of District 10 was outraged by the selection, as well they should be. See, my sister is paralyzed below the waist and is confined to a wheelchair for the remainder of her life. The district is angered that she will be sent to the arena, full of brutal and remorseless killers, when she doesn't stand a chance of fighting back.

In stark contrast to the protesting crowd, I feel a scary calm wash over me. My sister isn't in danger – of course not – because she won't be going anywhere near the arena. I will.

As Rille is wheeling herself slowly to the platform, I calmly yell, "I volunteer!"

Rille turns around with widened eyes. "No! If one of us has to die, it should be me! I have nothing to live for, no chance of recovery. But you could have a great life."

I ignore her and walk forward. Croyale smiles at me and I notice her teeth are orange. I wonder why the Capitol residents spend so much money mutating themselves – her orange teeth make it hard to look at her mouth without cringing. She claps her hands together, "Wonderful! What's your name, sweetie?"

"Rienna Allium." I look into the crowd to where I know my parents are sitting. My mother is sobbing, but my father is staring forward impassively, as if his daughter had just volunteered to milk the cow. I barely pay attention to Croyale as she dances over to the boys' bowl, but when she calls the male tribute's name, I look up.

No! She couldn't have said that! Sure enough, though, she had.

"Congratulations to our District 10 tributes, Rienna Allium and Elya Morgan!"

When we were twelve, Elya had professed his love for me in front of our entire class. I had a crush on him, too, and I happily told him so.

"Really? Well then, Rienna, will you come over here and give me a kiss?"

I'm in shock. I've fantasized about this moment, but I can't believe it's actually happening. So I eagerly go over to him and lean in, positive that my dreams are about to come true.

Then, the class cracks up. "See guys? I told you she liked me. That was hilarious!"

He turned to me. "As if, Rienna. As if you ever had a chance."

Since that incident, we haven't spoken again, but the memory still taunts me. And despite my best efforts, I cannot completely erase my feelings for him. I know I should be excited that I will be given the opportunity to avenge my mortification, but somehow I can't imagine a world without Elya in it. Well, hopefully someone else will kill him early on so that I don't have to try.

The Peacekeepers lead me to a room in the Justice Building, where I will see my family for probably the last time.

My mother and father come in together, and my mother speaks first. "Honey, I'm so sorry, and I'll miss you so much. But I want you to know that I'm proud of you – you did the right thing."

She breaks off, starting to cry. "Oh, I was so sure that Rille would make it this year. Her luck lasted for the last six years–"

"Marin. Stop being so emotional," says my father, speaking for the first time. "There is obviously no such thing as luck, as far as the Games are concerned. We just have to deal with this now."

It's clear to me that they both think I will die in the arena. Admittedly, it's pretty likely. District 10 hasn't had a victor in twenty-three years, when Jewel Layes won. Their certainty of my fate has destroyed the small glimmer of hope I had, rendering me sentenced to death.

My mother says she loves me and my parents exit, making way for my sister to come in.

"Rille, I love you. I'll miss you so much."

"Oh, honey!" she wails. "Why did you volunteer? It'd be better for me to die than you! I'm already halfway there. I can't even walk. The Games would have ended my misery, at least."

"Stop it. There is no way I'd let you go in that arena. I have a chance. If I win, maybe we'll be able to afford treatment for you," I tell her, to cheer her up. But even I can hear the emptiness behind my words. I wouldn't win, and we all knew it.

Halfheartedly, she says "yeah" and put something in my lap.

"What's that?"

"A necklace I made. It has your face imprinted on one side of the metal charm, and my face on the other. I was hoping you'd wear it as your token." I study the necklace. It has a simple silver chain, with a circular charm dangling from the front. In the portrait of me I'm laughing, and my blonde curly hair frames my face in a beautiful way. "I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…" she trails off.

"Thanks, Rille. I love it. And of course I'll wear it in the arena; I'll be thinking of you every second."

With that, the Peacekeepers inform us that my time is up. They push Rille out of the room and lead me to our train, where I will spend my next hours of misery.

AN: Let me know if you actually want me to finish this story. This is a Quarter Quell, so there will be a twist coming soon. If you have any ideas for the arena, PM me.

Thanks for reading!