I feel like I can't breathe, much less speak. All of the murmurs I hear around me have just been tuned out in a faint buzzing and my only focus is the tiny slip of paper sitting in Zia Oleander's hand. How is it possible that my name, out of thousands of kids, is picked today?

This isn't possible. But apparently Zia Oleander doesn't care if it's not possible, because she just read my name into the microphone. I get a ton of stares. I hear some muttering, like some of these people don't even know who I am.

I begin to slowly making my way up to the stage, still not believing that this is happening. Perhaps I expect Zia Oleander to say something like "Just kidding," or "Wrong name," or something like that, but nothing comes. So I'm forced to step up onto the stage, accepting the reality that I'm the District 4 tribute.

I know that I'm probably shaking and look pretty dumb right now, but I guess I have a good reason to. Because accepting the fact that you're a tribute is the equivalent of accepting the fact that you'll be dead in less than a month. Not only that, but you'll probably die a slow, painful, death. Real cheery.

Accepting your certain death is not an easy thing to do for anyone, anytime, anywhere. Why would it be? But it's the torture that the tributes are put through each year. And that's what has just happened to me. The one time I show up for reaping, my name is pulled out of the ball.

But is this really so different from how I've been living a majority of my life? I've practically been a hollow shell, sitting, speechless for years. Perhaps it's best that my life ends here. I don't have much to live for at the moment.

My eyes search around the crowd, trying to find Slade, but I don't see him. I always thought that he would be easy for me to find in a crowd, but apparently I was wrong. I tend to be wrong about a lot of things.

There are so many thoughts swarming around in my head, that when Zia Oleander says, "Now for the boys," it's more of a faint hum in the back of my head.

I only have a split second to worry for Slade's safety before Zia Oleander reaches her hand into the boys' ball. She pulls out the tiny piece of paper that has the name of this year's tribute on it. The only noise is the thump of Zia's heels as she walks up to the microphone.

When she reads the name, "Quinten Ortega," into the microphone, I am temporarily relieved. Slade is safe. A little boy, he must be twelve, stumbles up to the stage, looking shocked. He's rather scrawny and I feel sort of bad for him. Hopefully, I won't be the one to have to kill him.

"Now," Zia says into the microphone. "Do we have any girl volunteers?" Silence. I'm not surpised. "Okay, any male volunte-" She's interrupted with a, "I VOLUNTEER." My eyes scan the crowd for the person who so abruptly volunteered. I catch a sideways glance at Quinten to see if he may show any familiarity to the voice who said it, but he looks as surprised as I am. Then who… I get my answer as Slade stumbles to the front of the crowd.

Oh no.

This cannot be happening, but I know it is. "Well, it appears we have a volunteer," Zia says, slightly perturbed. This isn't as common in District 4 as it is in 1 and 2, seeing that in those districts, people volunteer for no good reason once they're 18. That doesn't happen as much in 4, but it sometimes does. And today, District 4 has a volunteer.

How could he be stupid enough to do that? Quinten Ortega seems stunned and bounds off the stage, and Slade climbs on. "And your name is?" Zia asks him. He gives her his name.

I don't listen to anything else that Zia Oleander says for the rest of the ceremony, mostly because I feel no need to. I see Slade's mother crying in the back of the crowd, and she eventually has to be lead off by Peacekeepers. Why is he doing this? Leaving his family behind as they watch him loose his life to the same Games that took his sister's. What was he thinking when he volunteered? I'm very mad at him at the moment.

I realize that I'm being steered off the stage by Peacekeepers. They lead us into the District Four Justice Building, where I'm stuck in a room to do nothing for the next hour. Of course, this is normally when the tributes say goodbye to their friends and family, but of course, I don't have anyone to say goodbye to me. I decided to take advantage of this time as quiet time to sort my thoughts out.

I sit down on the couch, the only piece of furniture in this tiny room, and try to sort things out. I was chosen as tribute. Slade volunteered. Now we have to kill each other. But why did he volunteer? By the surprised look on Quinten Ortega's face, he didn't know Slade. So why would Slade volunteer for him?

Either way, I'm mad at him for leaving his family behind like that. Of course, he could win these Games if he tried. He's technically a Career. I am too, but I'm in no shape to win these Games. I don't stand a chance. Of course, I don't have anything to come back to, anyway. But he does. He has a whole life ahead of him. Which just makes me even madder.

Maybe he volunteered for his family benefit. Maybe he knew that he could win, and that his family would have a lot more money if he won. But for some reason, I don't think that was his motivation.

I am still thinking about this when the first visitor comes in. I don't realize that anyone was coming until I hear the door creak open. I'm surprised to see that it's little Quinten here to wish me luck.

"I hope you do well, we'll be cheering for you," he says, and then quickly leaves before I can respond.

I know he'll have a lot more to say to Slade than me. But it was still nice of him to come by. I decide to stop trying to figure out why Slade volunteered, since it's too late to change anything. I can worry about my own strategy in the Games, not his.

I'm not exactly sure what I plan for that strategy to be. I mean, I know I'm obviously not coming out alive, but I can still try not to get killed in some painful, nasty way. I suppose that my greatest advantage will be that I'm small. I don't weigh much, so hopefully that will help me somewhat. Not enough to get me out of the Games, but hopefully enough to get me out of the Bloodbath alive.

I wonder what my mentors will tell me to do. What outfits my stylist will make me. What my prep team will be like. Will anyone be nice in the Capitol? Most likely not, but I can hope. What will the Capitol think of this little girl? I'm pretty sure that nothing anyone does will make me noticeable to the crowd.

I hear another creak, and the door opens once more. A girl with dark brown hair and sea green eyes enters the room. I don't recognize her, though I feel like I should.

She swiftly, but quietly, walks over to an empty chair and sits down. I suddenly realize who she is by the way she walks. The last time I saw her was when I was about five years old, I think. How could she possibly remember me? She was the little girl that worked with my mother that I used to play around with. Most of those memories just include us getting very, very wet, but everything is wet in District 4. I remember that her name is Alicia Opalheart.

"You remember me," I say, rather surprised.

She smiles. "Yes, and I'm here to wish you luck. I really do hope you do well in the Games."

"Thanks," I tell her. I don't bother to say that it's practically impossible. She would probably do better in these Games than I would.

"So what made you want to come say goodbye," I ask her, sort of curious as to why it would matter to her.

"Well, you're my friend, for one thing, and I know that you'll need the encouragement," she tells me.

I nod. This makes sense. Before I can say anything else, the Peacekeepers come in and lead her out.

I'm glad I at least had someone come say goodbye to me. At least I don't have to go through any serious emotional goodbyes today.

I hear something coming from the hallway and I realize that Slade's mother is crying again. Okay, not crying, sobbing. This makes me feel bad, but I can't control it. I couldn't control that Slade volunteered, either.

After a little while, we are escorted out for the short ride to the train station, where we'll get on one of the Capitol's high-speed trains and head to the Capitol. I don't talk to Slade during the ride, and I don't intend to. He makes no attempt to talk to me, either, but I'm fine this way.

At the train station, we wait a few minutes while our pictures are taken, and then board the train, bound for the Capitol.