When Alias finally lets go of my hand and we rush to our position in the square, I almost sigh openly with joy. I don't, of course, as my mother would call me rude, and besides, one cannot be too happy at such a horrific event. My blood has been taken now, and I'm inspecting the small wound of which the crimson liquid is still seeping out from whilst the remaining children pour in. Having it taken doesn't hurt me, but I remember a time when it did and think of all the 12 year olds, small fingers stinging as the blade made contact.
The muted click-clack of heels on our wooden stage is all it takes for the whole square to silence. Not that it was exactly bustling before. Thousands of our young heads turn to the over-dressed Capitol escort that is Gypsophila Phlox, some sort of weirdo Capitolite with the kind of face that could be pretty without the extensive makeup. She wears a small, strapless white dress with green 'leaves' and yellow 'flowers' blooming from all sorts of places. Her hat is a white bow with the same yellow 'flowers' sprouting from the centre - I really don't get Capitol fashion. White heels softly clacking, she walks over to the stage and bats her enlarged green eyelashes before she speaks.
"Welcome, welcome, to the start of the 100th annual Hunger Games! Before we choose our tributes, I would like to show you a small and touching clip." she booms in her strange Capitol voice - smooth as honey yet stern and intimidating. Behind her plays the video us 15 year olds are now so familiar with, a video with President Akar's gruff voice clear in the background. It always ends with the message 'hope is stronger than fear', presumably to get us all to hope for our loved ones and continue watching, a message that always sticks in my head.
Gypsophila turns to the audience once the video is over. "Oh, how I do love that!" she starts, face full of emotion. "Shall we begin then?" she continues, and when nobody replies she just sighs and walks over to the first bowl. I don't even know if this is the bowl with mine and Alias's names on. Trembling ever so slightly, I watch as her hand flutters into the glass, picking out an elongated slip with a flourish.
"Alias Melbourne and Cora Ayres!" she thunders. What?! My mind flashes red with anger as Alias strides onto the stage, followed by a weedy, fluffy-haired brunette with her thin lips pressed into a worried line. Ok, I was going to break up with Alias anyway, but why Cora? Why the hell is my boyfriend seeing my cousin behind my freaking back?! I'm absolutely fuming at both of them. Gypsophila smiles and takes Alias's hand, who takes Cora's and searches the crowd blankly. When his eyes meets my raging ones, he just stares then looks away.
"So, how old are you young lovebirds?" she asks, friendly but firm.
"Both 15." Alias replies in monotone. He is then shoved to the left side of Gypsophila, as she prances over to the other bowl. I pray to god that my name was in that other one - although I can't help wondering that if Alias was in with Cora, who was I paired up with?
Still raging, I manage to look at Gypsophila's delicate hand picking out an extended piece of paper. My heart is thudding violently in my chest as she walks over to the microphone, nerves and adrenaline capturing my unwilling body. She puts the slip in front of her face and beams as she reads it out.
"Quinn Arbaro and Caileen Bailey!" she projects, and shock overwhelms me. Quinn is a kid I know well at school - he's a clever guy, but never really did well with anything physical. So not only am I facing my now-ex-boyfriend in the arena, but I have to face him with Quinn; the guy that everyone picks on for being a weak and terrible fisherman. Although at least he has a heart, unlike Alias. Awkward with embarrassment, I stumble onto the stage with Quinn plodding behind me. Gypsophila beams at me and I frown back, speaking my age and then being shoved away from an astonished crowd.
