I have discovered something that is completely irrelevant to this story, but I'm going to tell you anyways: I don't like typing out my resume. It's a project that we have to do for English class, and I was just sitting there typing away, thinking how boring it was. Then, when I looked at the finished version, my first thought was, 'This is pathetic!' And it really was. I always thought that I had accomplished a lot for my age. Well, all of those "big accomplishments" were squeezed down to about 3 pages of random words that don't really make much sense. It's kind of depressing.

Anyways, enough dumb rambling from me. Here's the story!

And since I forgot to do it last time, disclaimer: I do NOT own Hunger Games.

I bit my lip as Eazelle Vermilia, the District 7 escort, climbed up the stairs to the stage. The dumb video they showed every year had already been played and it was time for the tributes' names to be drawn.

I couldn't help but stare as Eazelle tottered over to the microphone on ridiculously tall heels. Her dress had multiple layers of frills sewn in and had almost every shade of red in existence on it.

"Well, here we go," she announced in her strange accent. "Girls first."

As she stumbled over to pick out the girl's name, I noticed all the girls linking hands with one another. The girl on my right, I think her name might've been Ashlyn, held out her hand for me to take. When I didn't grab it, she glanced down at my mangled right hand and blushed. After a minute, she awkwardly rested her hand on my shoulder. I smiled and then grabbed the hand of the girl on my left.

Eazelle reached her hand into the bowl, shuffled the papers around, and plucked one out. After she made her way back to the mic, she held the paper up and took her sweet time opening it.

"Alona Keene."

I think my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't move, I couldn't even breathe. I found myself walking stiffly to the stage on an instinct. I felt like a robot.

'Someone, please anyone, volunteer. Please!' I thought desperately. I knew it was hopeless. No one here was dumb enough to willingly volunteer for a death sentence.

All too soon, I was on top of the stage. My eyes found Asher's out in the crowd of seventeen year old boys. He looked as scared as I felt.

I was out of sync with time. Somehow, I hadn't heard or seen the other tribute come up to the stage. When I turned, I saw Rowan Collison, a black haired boy a few years older than me.

"Well, shake hands," Eazelle encouraged us.

Rowan glanced down at my right hand and then back to my face so quickly I almost missed it. He thrust his left hand out, and I gratefully shook it.

Just to let y'all know, I am very proud of the names I've come up with for this story. For example: Alona's name supposedly means oak tree and she lives in District 7 where their jobs are to cut down trees for lumber.

Eazelle's name, I just completely made up. For her first name, I combined the words gazelle (like the animal) and easel (like the thing you use to prop up paintings). I was thinking something along the lines of how the Capitol's people are all very colorful (that's how I got easel) and how it would be funny if she were named for something graceful because she's so clumsy (that's how I got gazelle). Eazelle's last name is a lot easier to explain. It comes from the word vermilion which is a shade of red I think.