The time seems to suddenly go by faster than I remember it. I don't want to go to the reaping, I don't want to see my fate written on that slip of paper. I don't want to hear the words Thalia Grace that keep echoing in my mind in the announcer's voice.

I want a lot of things that I can't have. Like a healthy, whole family. Someone who cares for me, but more deeply than Luke. Someone who would volunteer if I got picked, so we could be together in our last moments.

The wish is stupid, and I almost feel embarrassed thinking it. Who would ever love me, anyway.

Luke works on getting as much dust off of his clothes as he can, trying to look presentable. I don't get why he bothers. I don't bother trying to look good for the annual Death Competition.

"Why do you care?" I ask him, anxiously watching the sun as it starts to dip in the sky.

Luke looks at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you care about looking good for the reaping?"

"I-" Luke pauses, thinking about this. "I don't know. It just feels like the right thing to do."

"Its the Capitol doing this to us," I mutter. "And you wanna give them a solid?"

"Well, no." Luke thinks about my words, leaning against a wall. "I'm used to it. Being all prepared for the reaping."

Like pigs prepared for slaughter, I think bitterly.

"I don't blame you," I admit. "It's hard to get rid of old traditions."

We haven't moved from our spots earlier this morning. The time passed in a blur of rock throwing, internally freaking out over the reaping, and conversations about literally nothing for at least 2 hours.

The reaping is so close, it scares me to think about it. I've heard so many stories of people dying in gruesome ways in the arena.

I don't want to be next.

Luke looks at me, concerned. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing." I kick at a rock. "It's nothing."

Luke sighs. "Thalia, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you're a terrible liar."

"Am not!"

"How can I help?"

I hesitate, wondering whether to tell Luke what is going on in my mind or not. "You can't help."

"There's always a way to help," Luke insists, also anxiously looking at the sky.

I wave my hand dismissively in his direction. "There's not always a way to help."

Luke stays silent for a minute, hitting his clothes to dust them off. "There's always a way to help."

I won't admit I'm scared. I don't admit to things like fear. No one needs to know, and I know that Snow is everywhere. There are probably cameras on every inch of every footstep of every road in every district. Better safe than sorry, and maybe safe means keeping your feelings from the person the closest to you.

Luke looks at the sun. He looks composed, his face not giving away the hint of fear. But I can see the way he taps the ground, the way his hands won't stop moving.

I don't point it out. I doubt he'd want me too, anyway. And what is the point of pointing it out? I won't tell him what's on my mind, so why should he tell me what's on his mind?

I kick at the stones, and eventually get up to pace the alley. Does President Snow find joy in this whole thing? The thought of him watching the show with barest trace of a smile, calling up a bowl of popcorn to enjoy makes me feel sick.

Luke sighs. "You're pacing."

"Great observation," I mutter.

"I'm scared of the reaping too. But trust me, we'll make it out. We'll survive it."

I look up at Luke, into his blue, determined eyes. Maybe we will make it and everything will be ok. Maybe I'm exaggerating too much.

There's no such thing as 'exaggerating too much' in the Hunger Games. There's no such thing.

I lean against the wall with a small huff on impact, tapping it. "Or maybe we'll die in that arena and my last words will be I told you so."

Luke looks at me in sadness, and I almost see the pain in his own eyes. He's just as scared as me. Maybe he won't show it on his face, but his eyes give away everything.

"Listen." Luke picks at the crumbling walls he's leaning on, not looking at me as he talks. "Maybe we won't get picked. It'll all be fine, really."

He almost sounds like he doesn't believe it himself.

"Now who's the horrible liar."

"Ah, shut up." Nevertheless, he lets a small smile grace his face.

I give him a pathetic weak smile back. I hate that every time I look at him, I already see him dead.

"The bells about to ring! Stand still Thalia let me help you!" Luke rushes around, trying to get us cleaned up and prepared.

"Ok dad," I respond briskly. I pick off the lingering lint and dust, smoothing my shirt and pants down. "Better?"

Luke looks at my outfit and let's a little smile on his face. "Yup. You always look good either way, though."

I manage a smile back at him, not taking it as a romantic gesture. Luke and I already told each other that we're only friends, and if not that, just siblings.

"Great." I ruffle his hair playfully to mess it up. "You look good too. And that's the only time I admit it," I add, looking at his happy grin.

I wonder how he can be so composed and indifferent in his facial features. I can tell how scared he is, though. The way his hands keep fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Or the way his smile falters for just a second.

I don't know what he's feeling inside, but I'm feeling terrified. There's a ball of fear in my gut, that makes it hard to walk, hard to breathe. I can hardly think straight and the time feels mushed together in one little ball. One day I was throwing rocks, and the next I'm about to go to the reaping. And I'm left wondering what happened in between.

"Thalia?" Luke touches my arm gently, and I jerk back to reality. "Thalia. Are you alright."

"Fine." I squeeze my hands into fists and put them in my pockets to hide their shaking. "I'm fine."

Luke looks at me in pity, and almost searchingly. As if knowing I'm lying and trying to find proof.

"There's nothing wrong with not being fine," he says gently.

"Easy for you to say! You look like you're just going in to have a cup of morning tea!" I snap.

"I'm scared too, really."

I can tell in his voice that he isn't lying. I turn my gaze from the ground to meet his. I can tell by the quiver in the words, or the fear that clouds his eyes.

I feel bad for raising my voice. Acting like he doesn't know what fear is when he's feeling it right now.

"If I get reaped Luke, I want you to know you matter to me. You're the only family left."

Luke smiles; a real smile, this time, and nods. "I want you to know the same thing."

He gives me a reassuring hug, and I find myself soaking in the love from the embrace. Now, more than ever, I hope he doesn't get picked. I'm fine if I do, really. But I don't want him too. I don't want him to be picked.

Please God.

The bell rings, and my shot nerves go haywire.

We pull apart, I keep my hands in my pocket to disguise the shaking, and we being going to the reaping.

To the reaping, to my fears, and to the one little slip of paper with two little words that seals my fate forever.