"Alright, everyone, welcome!"
The mayor dredged up to the stage, clearly not wanting to be there. He was a short, round man with lopsided glasses. Everyone in town loved him, which was rare for someone in government. But the mayor had always looked out for his citizens in any way he could. It's not like he has any real power, anyway, Sal thought ruefully. So he tried his best not to get angry as he listened to the mayor monotonously recite the story of Panem- the Dark Days, the rebellions, and our punishment- the Hunger Games.
"Now, it is my honor," the old man said listlessly, "to introduce our very own District Three Escort, Cerulean Dolsome!"
Cerulean smiled out at the crowd, enjoying her job in a way no one should when you're sending children to their deaths. Her face looked to be made of plastic, with hot pink lips and ridiculously long, blue eyelashes, which she batted at the cameras televising the reaping ceremony to all of Panem.
"I'm so excited to announce our 40th annual hunger games! That's a huge number, isn't it?" she giggled. The crowd goggled in disbelief.
"Anyways! I'm not going to make you wait, I know we're all sooo ready to get started. So let's get this show on the road, huh?" Her teeth sparkled unnaturally in the sunshine.
Sal clutched Birdie's hand tightly. He knew with inexplicable certainty what was about to happen. It was so, so, ironically obvious.
"Alright, we'll go with ladies first! Can I get a drumroll?"
Crickets from the audience, who was on the edge of their seats, terrified. Sal was filled with a strong and overwhelming urge to punch Cerulean, who had never had to worry in her life about any of this.
"Ah, well. A little tired, maybe, it is the morning after all! Anyhow, this should wake you up-" scarlet talons dug in a glass bowl- "our female tribute is going to be…"
The crowd looked around at one another for a second of tangible silence. Sal caught the watery brown eyes of a girl who looked to be twelve or thirteen. He tried to smile encouragingly.
"Birdie Copair!"
Silence. Cerulean laughed awkwardly. "Can we get some applause for that one!"
Birdie's hand dropped from Sal's, falling limply to her side. Her already ashen face had gone completely white.
Sal had prepared himself for this. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "You know I'd volunteer if I could."
Birdie nodded. Sal could see something harden in her eyes as she thought about running away. But the Peacekeepers were already walking up to escort her, and she knew this, so with a slight shake of her head she pasted a false smile on her face and walked quickly up to the stage.
"My, my, who died?" Cerulean said, scanning Birdie's outfit.
"I'm well dressed for my own funeral, what can I say?" Birdie said into the mic. The District 3 citizens laughed sadly.
Smiling slightly maniacally, Birdie wrapped her hands around the microphone. "I just want to say that I am so, so honored to compete in these games… oh, yes, love it, love the Capitol. Big fan of Panem, for sure! Thanks for this!" she said shrilly, and the sarcasm sailed right over Cerulean's head, who smiled brightly.
"Well, look at this enthusiasm! Now, Birdie looks a little lonely on this stage, so let me-" She dug in the other glass bowl. "Our male tribute for the 40th annual hunger games is…"
Sal braced himself, because he knew.
"Sal Conduct!"
The crowd gasped, because they knew Birdie and Sal and it was so terrible that one should have to kill the other, or both would die- but Sal sighed, resigned. When he woke up from his dream that morning, he was sweating and screaming, but when he thought hard enough it almost made him laugh. It was a stupid cliché. What were the chances? Of course this type of thing would happen to him.
"Oh, is this a thing with the kids these days, this whole gothic get up?" Cerulean asked in that affected accent. Sal thought it was a bit rich, honestly, considering that Cerulean looked like a poorly dressed lollipop.
"Not quite," Sal said. "Me and my girlfriend, Birdie, we just like to match."
"You two are dating?" Cerulean said, and for a minute, that absurdly wide smile slipped. "Ah, well, may the best man- or woman!- win!"
"Yeah, yes." Sal stepped up to the mic. He wanted to say something to represent the bitter anger that he felt, but just in time, he remembered that he needed sponsors. That was the whole thing about this sick game. Somehow, children had to make themselves appealing throughout every step of the process.
What did adults like? Sal sought out his mother in the crowd, the mother he hadn't spoken to in seven years, the mother who disowned him at eleven for being bisexual.
"Uh, mom-I'll- I'll do my best to be back for you." The woman raised a sparsely plucked eyebrow. Sal looked away and cleared his throat. "And, uh, Birdie and I… I just want everyone to know that we meant to get married. Maybe, you know, maybe we'll have a wedding in the arena. Anyway… this is just a promise," he swallowed, "that I will do everything I can to make sure one of us makes it back."
A tear trickled down Cerulean's cheek. It looked unnatural- the cheek shone like plastic. "What a sweet boy! I'm… I'm sure your romance will really add another element to the Games, certainly. Any- any volunteers? Sacrifice yourself for the romance? Anyone?"
A young boy, maybe fourteen, fidgeted in the crowd. Sal caught his eye and slowly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. The boy settled back down.
"Happy Hunger Games, then, to all! And may the odds-"
"Be ever in your favor," Sal muttered under his breath, right along with Cerulean.
Sal and Birdie were marched back through the tall iron doors behind Cerulean, peacekeepers' hands on their backs. Sal was sick, seeing those hands clamped on Birdie's shoulders, but he could barely feel them on his own. He felt tears run down his cheeks. His vision started to blur. Everything felt so far away.
"Sal," Birdie said commandingly. "Five things you can see."
"You." Sal choked back a sob. "The Peacekeepers. Wooden floor. Cerulean. The train."
Birdie nodded calmly. "Four things you can hear."
"Your voice. Our footsteps. The factories. People talking, back there."
"Three things you can smell."
"Uh, the air. Lavender- that would be you. And, erm, this guy doesn't smell too great, but-"
The Peacekeeper slapped Sal across the face, but he knew that he was virtually untouchable, now, until, of course, he was sent to his death. He smiled. The grounding exercises had worked.
He had his mission. To bring Birdie back alive. And hopefully, he'd find a way to go out that wasn't too painful.