"Rue Caller" The name echoes through the square. The name plucked from the big glass bowl, like it was random. A calling of a name like it was a prize. But it isn't. This is a death sentence.

"Rue Caller? Please come up to the stage!" The irritating woman's (Dahlia, I think her name is) shrill voice rides on the wind and into my ears. My death sentence. My friends, step to the side as if I have a contagious disease, like the plague that swept through a few years ago. I step slowly up to the stage, as if going slowly would make it not happen. But it still does.

"Well congratulations sweetie!" Dahlia's high-pitched voice burned my eardrums. "Let's have a round of applause for our female District 11 tribute!" The people applaud, but no one is enthusiastic. I look to the back of the crowd and see Iris, Bryony, Aster, and Zinnia clinging to Mum and Pa, sobbing. Pansy, little Pansy, is in Mum's arms looking confused, because she is to young to understand the terrible thing that took place. A single tear slips down my cheek, how am I going to leave them behind? The tear splatters down on the rotten wood platform, adding a small spot on the stains of blood from the many whippings.

I am so lost in thought; I almost miss the boy's name being called. "Thresh Thorn" I don't recognize the name. A tall man steps out of the 18 year old section, mounting the stage. He is built like an ox, and is over 6 feet tall. I'm not even 5 feet yet! Dahlia congratulates him but he ignores her.

"Shake hands, tributes!" Thresh turns to me, his golden brown eyes softening as he leans down to shake my hand. He gives me a smile, which softens his rock hard features. Peacekeepers soon break our hands apart. They roughly escort us into the room where we will say our last goodbyes.