A/N: Hey guys, I was wondering, what is your oppinion on the lenght of my updates? I'm starting to like this story and plan on continuing it, and would like to know what chapter lenghts y'all prefer. Since I am unfortunately a human being with other piorities, I can't update every day. That being said, I can either update approximately bi-weekly with chapters about as long as this one, OR I can update once a week, with chapters twice as long or longer. As I get further into the more interesting parts I will probably start writing more, but I was just wondering what your thoughts were. Thanks and don't forget to R&R ^-^
The world is still spinning around me as a thousand faces look up at me with a mixture of pity, relief, and among a few, despair. I scan the crowd until my eyes land on Brooke and we make eye contact. She is as pale as a ghost and looks like she's on the verge of tears. 'Don't be sad', I want to tell her, she's safe, and so is her family, which is what really matters. 'What happens to me doesn't make a difference, as long as they are safe,' I tell myself. I mean, yeah my parents will probably be sad for a while after my death, but they are constantly working anyways. It will take some time, but they get over me, just like I'm confident Brooke will. For some reason, facing almost certain death makes you much more aware of your own insignificance, which is how I feel now. In a few months, everything will be normal once again.
With a jolt my attention is snapped back by Bonabelle, who has just said something I didn't catch, but I think it had something to do with congratulating me on this honor. I simply look forward, stone faced, except for a single tear rolling down my cheek, as Bonabelle moves towards the boys' orb.
"And now for our lucky gentleman," She says with a smile, oblivious to my despair.
She reaches down into the container and plucks a single slip from somewhere near the bottom. Carefully unfolding it, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to the ridiculous false nails she has, Bonabelle cleared her throat and reads in a clear voice,
"Boston Wispel"
"NO!" I hear my own cry echoed from the crowd from Brooke, as her younger brother is pushed forward.
If only it wasn't horrible enough before, now Brooke's closest sibling is joining me on the journey to certain death. This finally pushes me over the edge, as I loose control and fall to my knees, sobbing in front of the entire nation. I cannot even bring myself to search the crowd for Brooke, knowing the pain I will see in her face might kill me. Tears flow from my eyes as I see Boston emerge, white as a ghost, as he mounts the stage next to me. Somewhere nearby I hear a voice urging me to get up, and when I refuse to comply I am yanked to my feet by a pair of stern looking Peacekeepers.
Looking slightly unsure from my outburst, Bonabelle tentatively tells us to shake hands, but her voice sounds a million miles away. How could this be so unfair? I can't even imagine what Brooke and her family will do now, after loosing their oldest son, but I make a promise to myself that I will instruct my parents to give their family all the money they need, no matter the protests.
Coming back to reality, I robotically shake Boston's hand, which is as clammy as mine, and look at him through my blurry eyes. Even though he is a year younger than me, he's already fairly tall for a boy from out district, at about six feet. I've only met him a few other times, but its easy to recognize the fair complexion, brown hair, and crystal blue eyes he shares with Brooke. I force out a smile as he does the same, but we are both aware of the gravity of our situation. In less that two weeks, at least one of us will be dead. We turn back to the audience, who look grimly up at us. In a voice that seems much too loud, Bonabelle calls out,
"Congratulations to this years District 7 tributes, Aspen Arbre and Boston Wispel, and as always happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"