What? What did she just say? I was paralyzed with shock and fear. With horror I watched as May walked, like she was being pulled toward the stage. Then suddenly a few of my nerves fired, and I ran like mad. Sprinting like a cheetah, I grabbed May's arm and started to pull her away. Unaware of the commotion behind me, I faintly heard people screaming and...cheering. Chanting my name. How do they know me?

May started to struggle, screaming at me to let go, saying that they would hurt me. I ignored her advice, actually, I wasn't really paying much attention to anything in my final desperate attempt to keep her.

The thought of May's imminent death and the people cheering gave me incentive to not give up. Then the old motto, "don't hate the player, hate the game" suddenly popped into my head. Only then did I realize how true that single statement was. The children in the Hunger Games wanted to survive, to live. It was human nature. It wasn't their fault that the Capitol twisted and warped their minds. With all of the modern technology we have, we should be celebrating it by using it together, not forcing our worst, obsolete instincts to come forth. Maybe one day that could happen.

And maybe May might live through the Hunger Games. What an off chance.

"Ella! Ella! Ella!" Peacekeepers' boots pounded into the earth as I yanked in vain to free May from the stage. I was about to do the only thing that could save her life:

"I volun-" was all I could manage before a Peacekeeper knocked me to the ground. The blow made me see red, and I fell, helpless as May 's image vanished from my life forever…

In my unconscious state, I dreamt of the past.

I remember when we were six years old. We didn't care about the Hunger Games. They didn't even matter. May and I only cared about coloring in our homework before spending countless hours in the meadow among the flowers and mockingjays. Singing, singing, dancing, twirling, sniffing the flowers.

That's all that mattered.

I revisited the memory of the day when I asked my mother about my father. I had never met him. She said that couldn't even remember him now. I knew she was lying. I can read people like books. It seemed as though the memory hurt her. Well, whoever my father was, I hope he doesn't come back to hurt my mom again. Unless, of course, if she wants him to come back. I wish she could find the courage to at least tell me about him. I wanted to know.

Then my dreamy haze changed again. This time, May, her mother, father, my mother and I were all flying. We were flying on the black-and-white wings of mockingjays. We were all singing Rue's lullaby in three-part harmony. May and I were together, holding hands and smiling as we sang. I hoped subconsciously that I would remember this dream forever. I wanted to remember something impossible.

It feels satisfying in a way to know that you have something that the Capitol could never have.

And then the worst thing happened: I woke up.

After I fully regained my head, my first thought was May! Where is she? After a few seconds of complete and utter panic, I began to put my mind back together. I realized then that I was inside my bedroom, sitting up straight like a lodge pole tree. I couldn't remember much, only that I was really worried about May and that I hadn't seen her since—the reaping! They took her! Her name was drawn! At that moment, that short, painful moment, everything came flooding back: my wild attempt to drag my best friend away, the people chanting my name, the Peacekeepers knocking me out.

Frantically, I bolted up and ran like mad down the stairs and into my kitchen to find my mother, May's mother and… May herself. She hadn't gotten on the train. She was still here. But how? Then I recalled that tributes were allowed an hour for goodbyes. Then I looked out to the window; the sun was beginning to set. I was out much longer than any single hour. Quickly I ran over to May and nearly choked her to death from the hug I gave her.

"May!" I half-screamed half-shrieked. The girl was crying like crazy. "Why are you still here?" I inquired. May sniffled heavily and refused to look at my face. I didn't understand. Then, a few seconds later in my confusion, May slowly turned to face me. She burst into new tears, hot and runny down her young twelve-year-old cheeks. Next, she said something that brought joy flying through my heart:

"They're not taking me," she said, barely holding back a sob.

"That's grea—"

"They're taking you." She finished.

I think I died at that second, but I did not cry. I was like a rock: silent, unable to move, speak or breathe. It was quite a while before I managed unsurprisingly weak "why".

"Well, I b-broke my leg," I looked down, only just realizing the large cast encasing her left leg. "I w-was walking up t-to the stage and I f-fell on the ground. M-my leg twisted and broke, so they can't take me. Then the woman on the stage looked at you. She heard you say 'I volun—' before the Peacekeeper hit you. Then she said to me 'well I guess we can't take you. We'll take that girl since she was about volunteer anyway. You know her?' And I said 'she's my best friend' and then," May could barely talk. She was more like sobbing her words through, "that horrible woman said 'well I guess she didn't want you to have all the glory'. Can you believe that? That terrible person said that you were keeping me from glory. What glory is there in dying because the adults say you have to?"

Poor kid.

But right now, all that I thought about was how May was safe and I was getting what I wanted:

A chance to save her life and let mine fade away.