'Torie Ehlers.'

I tried telling myself it wouldn't happen, I wouldn't get picked. Over the last nine years, children from my District, District 1, have been trained until they reach the age of 19 to fight in the Hunger Games, a competition set up after the Rebellion, where each of the 12 Districts offer a young man and woman, between the ages of 12 and 18, to fight to the death. Most of these Tributes from my District volunteer, confident they have what it takes to be the great Victor. Not me.

I remember the very first Games, of course televised throughout the Districts. I was 7 years old, too young to be selected, but I was terrified none the less. Seeing young people, some not much older than me, slaughtering each other in a desperate attempt to survive brought a sudden sense of responsibility to me at such a young age.

And there, nine years later, I stood at the Reaping for the 10th annual Hunger Games. I can remember the stares directed towards me as I walked towards the announcer from the Capitol, not stares of sorrow, but of respect, admiration. I glanced behind my shoulder to see my brother, four years younger than myself, tears streaming down his cheeks. I had promised him that morning that he would not be chosen, it was his first year at the Reaping meaning his name would only be put in once, and when he asked me if I could promise I would also be returning home from the Reaping, I quickly changed the subject, complimenting the attire our mother had selected for him.

The next series of events went by in a blur; all I can remember is being ushered into a room where I had three minutes to say my final goodbyes to my family. Three minutes. After a blink of the eye, my brother was dragged away, screaming, while my mother and father gave me a gentle nod of the head before dashing after my brother. I could see the tears starting to build up in their eyes. Then, I was taken by a train, travelling 400 miles per hour, to the Capitol, where in a matter of days I attended the Tribute's Parade, made an appearance on a television show, trained with the other twenty three Tributes, and showed off my skills in order to be scored. Before I knew it, I was flown to the arena and taken to my stylist, who handed me my jacket and gave me some last minute advice. Finally, I stepped into the tube leading up into the arena.

'59.'

I looked around. Long, thick grass surrounded the pedestal, and in the distance a forest, forming a ring of lusciously green trees.

'49.'

Ahead, the Cornucopia stood tall and proud.

'39.'

I could see the weapons, rows of knives, axes, hammers and swords.

'29.'

Bags of what looked like supplies cluttered the floor around the Cornucopia. 'Don't go for the bags' my Mentor's voice whispered in the back of my mind.

'19.'

Either side of me, a curved line of teenagers stood poised and ready.

'9.'

This was far too surreal to comprehend.

'1.'