"I hate wearing this shirt, it's uncomfortable," said Davie as he tugged at his white collared shirt. America sent him a sympathetic look. He remembered when England would make him wear stuffy suits when he was a colony.
The day of the reaping had arrived and the entire population of District 3 was gathering in the town square where the tributes would be chosen for this year's Hunger Games. Those who were between the ages of twelve and eighteen stood roped off from the rest of the population and were separated by age group. Davie's mother led them to a table to get Davie signed in, where a man in some type of uniform quickly wrote down his name and put it into a large glass bowl.
"Everything will be fine," said Davie's mother as she pulled her son into a tight hug, before he was ushered away to join the rest of the children. As America and Davie's mother started to make their way toward the rest of the district's population, a hand harshly yanked the back of America's jacket causing him to slightly stumble.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?!" asked America as he turned around to face the Peacekeeper who had pulled him from behind.
"My job," said the man with a sneer as he put a vice like grip around America's arm."All persons between the ages of twelve and eighteen must enter their name in the reaping and you are no exception."
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm nineteen," said America as he effortlessly slapped away the Peacekeeper's hand. This didn't seem to make him too happy.
"You don't look a day over eighteen to me," said the Peacekeeper as he shoved his baton underneath America's chin blocking his way.
"Then maybe you should get your eyes checked," said America as they stared each other down. By now a small crowd was forming around them as the people noticed the commotion.
"Son, you better remember who you are speaking to," said the Peacekeeper as his face started to turn red.
"Don't call me son," said America angrily. The only person who had the right to call him that was Washington.
"What's your name, son?" asked the Peacekeeper with a condescending tone. America's fist clenched at his side. This guy was really starting to piss him off.
"Iamadick," said America with a straight face.
"I am a dick?" said the Peacekeeper confused.
"Yes, you are," said America with a self satisfied smirk. A few suppressed giggles were heard from the crowd as the Peacekeeper slowly caught on to the insult America had just thrown his way.
"Listen here you gutter rat, I can have you flogged so hard that the bones in your back will show," yelled the Peacekeeper as he grabbed America's shirt and pulled him closer to his face. "Now you better tell me your damn name before I kill you right here, right now."
America was ready to punch the guy when he caught sight of Davie's mother who had a horrified look on her face. Her eyes were pleading with him to not make the situation worse than it already was. Damn. He promised her that he wouldn't do anything reckless and here he was about to get into a fist fight with some sleaze ball military soldier. He unclenched his fist and tried his best to look more compliant.
"Alfred F. Jones."
"I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that," said the Peacekeeper with a superior tone.
"My name is Alfred F. Jones," America gritted out as the man at the table wrote down his name seven times and put it into the glass bowl along with the other slips.
"Now was that so hard?" asked the Peacekeeper patronizingly. "Next time I see you around you better remember your place, son."
As the Peacekeeper started to walk away, he stopped and turned quickly, punching America square in the jaw before he left. America was then shoved into the section with the other eighteen year old citizens of District 3 who were looking at him as if he were crazy. What a cheap shot, America thought as he rubbed his jaw. He swore that if his name got called he was going to rearrange that guy's face in a way that even Pablo Picasso would be impressed.
As the final names were put into the glass bowls, they were carried up to the stage where a strange looking woman with a large purple wig stood at the podium. She started to drone on about how great Panem was and how the country had been poverty stricken by the floods and famines, but rose once more like a phoenix to become the wonderful nation they knew today. She also named the past victors of District 3, including two people named Beetee and Wiress who were still alive and stood on the stage awkwardly behind her.
"Before we choose our tributes, I want to wish everyone a Happy Hunger Games," she said with a beaming smile as if this were a joyous celebration. "and may the odds be ever in your favor."
"Now, for the part we have all been waiting for," she said as she reached into one of the large glass bowls and pulled out a slip of paper. "let's have the ladies go first."
"Electra Prevost!," called the woman with the purple wig.
A short thirteen year old girl with black hair and dark skin made her way up onto the stage. America looked around at the crowd to see if anyone would volunteer to take her place, but no one moved.
"Excellent! Now for the gentlemen," she said. "I know you have all been anxiously waiting for your turn."
She reached into the other glass bowl pulling out a slip of white paper and paused to add dramatic effect. As the woman unfolded the slip, America prayed it was not his name written inside. However, fate had a cruel way of handing out miracles.
"The male tribute for District 3 will be—," she said with a short pause.
"Davie Welderson!"
Time seemed to stand still for Alfred. A grief stricken cry was heard from behind him, but his mind had become numb with shock. No! This had to be some bad dream because there was no way that Davie's name could have been chosen out of the thousands of slips in there. Even he had a better chance of being chosen than Davie did, but those facts did not seem to matter because the reality was that Davie's name had been called despite the odds being entirely in his favor.
As Alfred watched Davie walk toward the stage with trembling shoulders, something in him snapped. There was no way he was letting Davie get within three feet of that arena. Being a nation meant that you had to watch your friends die often when they finally grew old, but Davie was still young and had his whole life ahead of him. Alfred knew he would have to say his final goodbye to Davie one day, but today was not that day. He was not going to lose another person he cared about, not yet!
Before he knew it, he was pushing the people in front of him out of the way so that he could make his way toward the stage. There were some undignified shouts as he knocked a few people over, but he ignored them. He hoped Tony would forgive him, but America had made Davie a promise and he was going to keep it one way or another.
"I volunteer!" shouted America.
"Hey! Lady with the purple hair!" yelled America as he tried to catch her attention.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Silence swept through the crowd as he neared the stage. Davie had just reached the steps when he turned around and looked at Alfred with wide eyes.
"I made you a promise, remember?" America whispered quietly as he passed by Davie and confidently made his way up onto the stage.
"W-well, what a wonderful surprise," said the woman with the purple hair as she tried to collect herself. "I see someone is certainly in the right spirit for the games!"
"Why don't you tell us your name! I bet we are all dying to know!" gushed the woman as she motioned for him to speak into the microphone.
"Alfred F. Jones!" he said into the microphone with a smile, while giving a thumbs up to the crowd trying to act like he knew what he was doing because he was honestly flying by the seat of his pants at this point.
"Any words you want to say to the people of your district or to the citizens of Panem?" asked the woman expectedly. It seemed this was one of the more exciting reapings in a long time, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.
"With great power comes great responsibility," blurted Alfred before he could stop himself. Oh. My. God. He could not believe he quoted Uncle Ben from Spider-man at a time like this.
"Such wise words from one so young!" praised the purple haired woman.
"Ladies and gentlemen of District Three, I give you the tributes of this year's 72nd Hunger Games!" said the woman as she motioned toward them with a dramatic flourish.