God, she kills me. I whisper her name. Celia. I let it roll off of my tongue. Watching her brightens my day. And she doesn't even know I am here.
She is beautiful; she has eyes so deep I find myself falling into their dark green. The green tells of sadness, anger, pain. She is the one for me. Hair so luscious all i want to do is twist it in my hands, tell her how beautiful it is. And her smile... God, it makes me fall to my knees. I fall dumb when she turns her brilliant smile on me. I love her.
But we live in District 12, and this kind of love is not to be had. Celia is a pretty girl from the town. I am a soon-to-be coal miner from the Seam. She is everything I am not; smart, pretty, sure of herself, popular. I want to be with her. But we can't. She is 17, I am 18. And today is the reaping.
Well now you expect a happy ending type of story. You know, the one that where I go off to the Hunger Games, win, come back and Celia loves me. Heck no. If life was like that, we would already be together. But I worry for her, as I have every day for the past 5 years. Today I worry that she will be chosen as tribute. I can't save her; I can't volunteer for her. I hope that I am sent today. I want to prove her how strong I am.
Effie Trinket is up on the stage, dancing around on a little podium. I make up my mind. I will volunteer. The mayor walks up and delivers the same boring speech we hear every year. And oh, I am nervous. I know something bad will happen. I pray to the creator of this miserable world: Please let me volunteer. And please keep her out of this.
The speech is done. The mayor has left, and Effie Trinket is left to pick tributes. I'll volunteer. It will work out. "Ladies first!" And what do you know, she has swooped down and grabbed a slip before I even have time to throw up. It isn't Celia. It isn't. But shoot, it is her best friend. She is crying and her pretty face is all puckered up and she looks like the end of the world has come. What if I have to kill her best friend? My plan unravels. Celia will hate me, because I escaped and her best friend didn't. But no, I am interupted from my frantic calculations by a commotion. My girl is screaming. She is hysterical. The crowd begins to whisper. But my girl, the one I have watched for five years, she is calming down. And she has this look on her face that I've seen before. She is headed for disaster. And before I know it, she volunteers.
Silence. Deadly. Manipulative. And I have never quite noticed how deafening silence can be. She is going. She is gone, gone, gone. I will volunteer now. Whatever shadow of doubt was in my mind before, it is gone now. Effie is surprised. Volunteers? We never have volunteers. All too soon it is the boys' turn. And I am already steeling myself for what I am about to do. Effie bends over, daintily. She grabs the nearest slip of paper. She reads the name. Samuel Frederickson. I am about to yell, about to volunteer. Then I stop. Samuel, that's my name. I don't have to volunteer. I walk up, glad that it is over. I look around me. People are screaming. Is it because they love me? No, it is because of the local hero, the big burly boy that is kind to old ladies and frisky around the young girls. He has volunteered. No, no, no! This is ruining my plan! I try to volunteer. But you can't hear it. The cheering is too loud. And before I know it, they whisk Celia away, and she is gone, gone, gone.
