I don't think I could ever get past the feeling that comes upon me every time we are called for the reaping. All I can think about is the two families of the children forced to into the arena, forced to watch their child die a horrible death on television. How the Capitol people can find this entertaining disgusts me. If I ever could get the chance I would kill every last one of them, but even thinking that would mean a public execution for me. But I would much rather die with dignity then have some sick minded Career cut my face up, all in the name of a good show for the cameras.
"Eve Venter", I tell the peacekeeper in charge of marking off the names of the fifteen year olds, and am then guided into a packed pen full of other girls my age, sealed off by ropes and guarded by peacekeepers at every corner. I don't even bother pushing past people to find my friends, so I bite my nails and fidget with my long braid for the next five minutes until the Mayor of district eleven asks for silence.
I only catch small phrases about what the mayor is saying. I have heard it time and time before. The history of the rebellion, the rise of the Capitol, it feels like hours instead of minutes. I can almost feel the fear drumming through everyone's ears as the reaping draws closer.
The Capitol woman, a new face, is welcomed to the stage. She introduces herself with an annoying, high-pitched voice. Her skin is dyed a dark blue, and shiny gems, shine like stars on her skin in the light. "Right on to the reaping then!" she chirrups. "Ladies first, as always!"
The cameras point towards the roped off pen that we are in, and sweep back to Angela, the capitol lady who is now beginning to swirl her blue hand, covered in rings, around in the glass bowl containing the girls names.
Fear once again ripples through me, paralysing my arms. Angela pulls out a slip of paper, and waves it around over her head. A chill runs through my spine as she carefully opens the slip of paper.
"Eve Venter!"
It takes me about seven seconds of looking around to realise the slip of paper she just read out had my name on it. I gasp. I can see Angela's eyes searching eagerly over the groups of girls for me. Somewhere in the crowds of parents and onlookers, I hear a horrible scream. My mothers. Everyone else is as shocked as I.
I am escorted by peacekeepers up to the stage, their guns pointed at my back. But I couldn't run away even if I wanted to. Silent tears roll down my cheek as Angela squeals in delight when she sees me, saying something about how beautiful I am. I stand up on the stage, body numb.
"Alistair Merrick!"
The name brings me out of my dazed state, My eyes search for him in the crowd. His face falls when he realises that it is him, and so does mine. Alistair is seventeen; this was his last year of being legible to be reaped. At least he stands a chance in the arena; he is strong, and good-looking. He is sure to have an endless supply of sponsors.
We stand on the stage for a few more minutes, as Angela gives thanks to our families. I can feel Alistair shake as he stands next to me, trying not to cry. I want to take his hand, but I know that in a matter of days he will be just another threat, an obstacle if I am to ever make it back to eleven. The Anthem blares once more, and peacekeepers line up around us to march us into the Justice Building.