It is me. My name has been reaped from the big glass bowl, with pieces of paper of the names of everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen from District 11. Of course my name has been reaped. I am twelve years old, my first time in the reaping. From behind me, a Peacekeeper grabs my arm with a gesture so violent I almost fall to the ground. He slowly leads me to the stage, where a blue-haired man from the Capitol stands, blinding everyone with his cloud white teeth. He takes my arm, and raises it to the crowd. No one claps. Everybody has a serious, but vacant expression on their faces. Probably because I am very young, I sympathize to myself. Everything, or everyone, is dead silent.
Without hesitation, the Capitol freak digs his hand into the bowl with the male names in it. With expression, and clearly enthusiasm, he reads a name called "Thresh". I try to spot the boy, and I am truly astonished. A big, tall boy, about six feet tall. His skin colour is like dark chocolate. He has dark circles under his eyes. Probably works hours and hours in the fields, given the fact that District 11 is in charge of agriculture. In the Capitol's eyes, our district is in charge of food. As two Peacekeepers reel him to the stage, I can't help but stifle a giggle. They are like cockroaches, compared to him.
"Ladies and gentleman, I give you the District 11 tributes of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Rue and Thresh!" says the Capitol man. Still, nobody claps. Thresh and I slowly exchange a glance, and shake hands. His hands are incredibly sweaty, like he knew this was going to happen. That tells me one thing: I am in for a bloodbath.