Effie: Hope
District 12. It is probably the poorest of the districts of Panem. I sit on my chair on the stage as the kids all file into place, they are broken up by age group nice and orderly. I can see that some have tried to look nice for the occasion while others have done nothing more than brush their hair. Glancing at the thin gold watch on my wrist I am pleased to note things are on schedule. Well mostly, of course the chair beside me is still empty. I fidget nervously as I look at it. Haymitch Abernathy; District 12's only surviving victor. An obnoxious and foul drunk with no respect for schedules or manners. I detest having to work with this district; it's so depressing and unrefined. Finally Haymitch appears and it's no secret that he is completely drunk. He tries to paw at me and it takes all my strength to throw up as I'm assaulted with the stench of unwashed male and potent liquor. Once he's in his chair I nod to the mayor to begin; the sooner this is over the better.
Soon it is my turn and I straighten my hair and paste on a brilliant smile. In some districts there is enthusiasm but not here. As always I begin with the ladies. I feel around in the giant ball for a slip of paper. I hate this part; the feeling that I am responsible for condemning a child to probable death. I want to scream that it's not my fault. It's a random draw and if I weren't choosing the name someone else would. But I don't. I keep my smile on my face as I announce the name. It's a Primrose Everdeen. I look over to the girls' area expectantly wondering who in the mass she is.
My smile falters for a second before I quickly fix it in place. Primrose Everdeen steps out from the back of the group; she's twelve. The young girl walks calmly towards us and I'm struck by how young she looks. I know she won't make it past the second night. Not once the others go on the hunt. As Primrose Everdeen approaches I find myself wishing again that I got assigned a better district. In District 1 or 2 you wouldn't need to worry about a twelve year old being chosen. They'd either be prepared or an older sibling would gladly take their place hungry for the glory. Not in 12. In 12 it meant death and family ties only went so far. Volunteering just didn't happen here.
"Wait! I volunteer!"
I look up startled as a young girl maybe 15 or 16 steps –no runs – forward. Maybe there's hope yet.