(Author's Note: I know the Prologue was a bit short. I know this chapter is also short as well, and I hope to make longer chapters in the future.)
I adjust the satin blue bow once more before stepping back. I observe myself in the dusty, cracked mirror.
I wear a silky white dress that we save for special occasions, such as today. Silver flats that are growing a bit tight on my feet. And finally, the satin blue bow that I got for Christmas on my 11th birthday. I give it a final adjustment so it looks perfect in my brown hair.
There's a knock on the door, rattling the mirror slightly. I open the door to see Rodney standing in front of me. Mom's wrestled him into a decent faded black tuxedo and brown leather shoes. His spiky black hair has been tamed by a gob of hair gel. His brown eyes reflect agitation into my blue ones.
"You look nice." I say. "Thanks," he mutters. "I like the bow."
We exchange places, and I head down the hall into the kitchen. It's empty, so I assume that my parents must still be upstairs getting ready. I should really have a light snack before I leave, but I don't have the appetite. Still, I manage to force down a few salty crackers that normally help settle my stomach. I take a sip of water in hopes of moistening my throat. The crackers don't help, but I already know that nothing will.
Mother comes in wearing her wedding dress, the only good dress she really has. It's a shame she has to wear such a nice thing to such a horrid event. Father follows her, wearing a white tux and black pants. "Where's Rodney?" he asks. "He's still upstairs in the bathroom." I reply.
"Rodney!" he shouts. "Come on down, we want to get down there early before it gets crowded!"
"Coming," Rodney mumbles from upstairs. He exits the bathroom, and we leave the house. We walk to the town square. Thankfully, since it's considered a holiday, none of the factories are running. Normally, when we come outside, there are so many fumes coming from the factories of District 5 that it's almost unbearably nauseating. If it weren't for the ominous threat looming over our head like the dark factory towers, it would've been a pleasant walk.
We arrive early. Mother and Father go off to talk to their friends, while Rod and I find our groups and wait. A few of my friends are with me, but no one makes any attempt at conversation.
After an hour, our representative, Wiyla Tonks shows up in her bizarre neon green suit that she wears annually for this occasion. Bright blue hair to match, and she looks like a regular Capitol freak. I'll never understand their interest in such odd combinations of clothing and makeup.
The mayor stands up the read the Treason of Treaty. I immediately tune this out. His voice is replaced by my own, which remains in my head. Thoughts about today, Rodney, school, topics that drift around in my head until plucked out at random.
The speech is finished too soon. I'm not ready for them to pick out the tribute. I'm not ready to see an innocent bystander praying for their life, only to be picked out like the thoughts in my head- at random, then executed.
Wiyla stands up and chirps, "Gentlemen first!" Her hand fishes around in the glass bowl, then selects a slip. I can feel the sweat under my bangs, dripping down my forehead. My hands have become clammy and shaky. Wiyla clears her throat. "This year's…"
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"…male tribute…"
Please no…
"..of the 75th Hunger Games…"
No! Stop!
"…is.."
SHUT UP!
"…"
Wait, what did she say? Did she hear my thoughts and fall silent? I open my eyes. Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Wiyla's on stage poking and prodding at her mike. A peacekeeper runs over, handing her a new one.
She laughs. "Sorry, we had some slight technical difficulties. This year's tribute is Mark Slotzker."
I breathe out relief. I hear several others doing so too. Rodney's safe. My brother's safe as can be. Now, if they would get the girls out of the way, I could relax. Go home. Act as though it was a normal day. School was out because of a power failure. We were just having a leisurely day at home. Perhaps Rodney will even brighten up a bit.
"Wait!" Someone calls out. "I volunteer."
The boy on stage seems relieved.
But I'm not. My heart drops into my stomach. I almost faint.
That voice belongs to my brother.