Tap, tap.

Looking up from the rock I had fixated on under my feet, my eyes zone in on the colorful man before me. Viste is tapping the microphone, dressed in a suit as blue as the sky with lime green ruffles underneath. I notice that his usual green hair has been turned a deep shade of purple. I'll never understand the capitol's fashion.

Viste is our escort to the games. He's been in this position for around six years now, so he's familiar with our only two living district victors, Harry, and Sadie who he actually escorted to her own games. She was eighteen when picked, twenty-two now, while Harry had the escort before Viste as he is seventy-six. Harry has grown accustomed to draining out his problems with strangely colored pills which he pops into his mouth while walking around the square, while Sadie tends to stay in her house, never talking to anyone. Ever.

"Ladies and Gents of Panem! It's that time of the year again! The 63rd Hunger Games is going to be the best yet!" He says in his flamboyant Capital voice. Snapping his fingers at a peacekeeper in the crowd, the screen behind him proceeds to show us the familiar video we see each year of how the Games came to be. I can't stand to watch it again, so I glance around and lock eyes with Weston. Breathe Belle, he mouths to me, everything is going to be okay. I nod at him, knowing it's not the truth, and look back at the screen which is finishing the movie.

"Ah, I just love being able to see that every year. Really helps put us into the spirit of the games, huh?" Viste tries to get us to agree back, but we stand as silent as ever, braced for the news that we are about to get.

"While, let's begin, shall we? Ladies, as usual, first." He skips his way over to the glass bowl at the far right of the stage and begins to dig his hand around dramatically inside, flipping hundereds of papers around in the process.

"Belle Stallis!"

All eyes turn to me. As much as I could sense that my name was going to be on that slip, it still comes as a shock. I don't know how, but my feet begin to carry me towards the stage. I push my shoulders back, and try to keep as straight of a face as I can because I know that I'm being broadcast everywhere right now. As I put my foot on the first stair of the stage, I take the first breath since hearing my name. Cool air fills my lungs. The smell of strange perfumes reach me as Viste embraces me, says something that I don't hear, and gently shoves me to his left. Breathe Belle, breathe. I look up and see hundreds of faces looking back, each with a pained expression. None likes this.

"Is there any volunteers? Any brave girls up to the challenge? No? Boys, get ready then, it's your turn!" I don't understand how he can still be talking like this! He's sending me to my death! He walks to the bowl, fishes around with his eyes closed, and pulls up a slip of paper. As he says the name, my heart drops.

"Weston Berlick!"

I frantically search the crowd, finding him in a matter of seconds. We lock eyes and never break as he makes his way to the stage. How can this be happening? What type of sick joke is this? This can't be true. I must look as panic stricken as I feel because when Weston gets onto the stage, he immediately grabs my face in his hands.

"It's okay. It's fine. Belle," he looks so deep into me that I can't help but get chocked up. A lone tear streams down my cheek and he catches it with his thumb, wipes it away, and chokes out, "We'll be okay," Before pressing his forehead into mine.

I can feel Weston shaking against me as I grab hold of him, not giving any room for the peacekeepers to brake us apart. They seem to not put up such a fight, maybe because they actually feel bad for us. I can't see how anyone will volunteer for Weston, we haven't had one for over thirty years. I reach up and gently touch Weston's cheeks and whisper, "I need you." "I need you too, Belle." He whispers back.

"Any volunteers?" Viste says from besides us, breaking our moment as he scans the crowd quickly.

"I volunteer."