He thinks he has nothing to lose. He is wrong. He means everything to me; but I resent that. When he told me he loved me I wanted nothing else than to tell him the feeling is not mutual; but it is, even if I don't want it to be. His smirking smile and perfect face reach out to me, separated by only the one year that he is older than me, but the couple of meters might as well be a thousand on a day such as today. Reaping day. The ridiculously exuberant Augusta Callor prances across the podium to the glass balls that will confirm the death of at least one. I cast a sideways glace hoping, praying that I can catch a glimpse of him just in case it's his name this year, or mine. I catch his eye and whisper a silent goodbye. He just looks into my eyes and shows me the true fear hidden within its depths; his cocky exterior is just a cover. He doesn't want his life to be snatched away by the absurd fake nails Augusta insists on wearing. And I don't want that either. He has little faith though; he has been training for the Hunger Games all his life, just to be safe, just in case, just to be sure. He tears his eyes from mine as August slides her delicate hand into the sea of names that could include mine. I take a deep breath. I have to be strong. It is so silent now; I can hear the paper being opened. Augusta's face breaks into a beam. She reads the name. I close my eyes and slump with relief. It's not Melody Flint. He looks at me and allows me a rare genuine smile and I return it. The relief is short lived though, as now the male tribute will be picked. It could be him. The seconds drag by agonisingly slowly as Augusta reaches into the glass and fishes around before ruining a family's life.
"Jonah Flint," August Callor even smiles.
My first thought is overwhelming joy which bubbles up in my stomach; it's not him! But the feeling quickly turns acidic as I realise who it was. Jonah Flint. My big brother. The one that has looked after me and protected me all my life. Guilt threatens to erode me inside out as I realise my brother will go into the Hunger Games and there isn't anything I can do about it. I'd forgotten about my brother, he's 18 and this was the last year he could qualify. I squeeze my eyes shut hoping to crush the tears which will somehow stop the pain, but they don't stop; they make marks down my face, they make me look weak. Jonah needs me to be strong for him. But I can't. Jonah starts shakily toward the stage, fists clenched, fighting back tears. He was so close, this was his last reaping; he almost made it. Our District puts on a strong front but underneath it all no one wants to fight. We fight because we have to and we volunteer because we need to look strong. There are no female volunteers this year. There will be no males because Jonah has a high chance of winning. Statistically.
"I volunteer." An all too familiar voice rings out. Jonah, the audience and the camera crew look around in shock for the source of the voice. It's him. He's doing this for me. Jonah starts to protest but after a quick glance of my tear tracked face he nods but is unable to smile at his fortune. Jonah passes him and whispers something in his ear. I think it was thank you. But not from Jonah, from me. What Jonah doesn't realise is that him dying hurts just as much as my own brother. And he is dead, because even if he does return from the Hunger Games, he'll be different. He'll be dead. Jonah walks over to me and gently tugs my hands pulling me away from the podium. All I can think is that it is good I never got to say goodbye, it'll hurt less. He's killed himself for me. He will kill others for me.
Come home.
I mouth to him as he takes his place on the stage because the second death is less final.
"And what's your name then?" Augusta says cheerily.
"Cato."