Main square is teeming with people.
My hand is still warm from where my mother clutched it a few moments ago, but she's gone now. I'm all alone in this sea of people.
I line up with the other girls and pass my hand to the Peacekeeper sitting at the desk. The electric rod buzzes within my finger but I don't flinch; I'm used to shocks.
Angelie Tennings, the name on the Peacekeeper's monitor says. She nods and mutters, 'go ahead.'
The crowd's pushing, people are shoving, so I walk hurriedly to my space. No-one shouts or cries. We all stop moving. Stop breathing. Stop pretending.
The victors and officials of our district file out of the Justice Building's doors. We watch them as they take their seats on the stage, the camera's showing their faces blown up on huge screens above them.
We wait, breath held.
'Welcome!' A Capitol woman says into a microphone. 'Welcome District 5 to the reaping of the 32nd annual Hunger Games!'
Janine Rose smiles at the grim faces all looking up at her. Her bloated pink dress is covered in frills today, her wig curly and white like a large puff-ball. She continues, her purple-painted lips smiling rather blandly.
'We're are here to select two members from this crowd to represent their district in a battle of honour and survival. All of the young people here are obliged to put in their name, in repence for the uprising.
'Now without further ado, time to pick from this congregation one corageous girl and boy to represent District 5 and to travel to the Capitol.'
She totters over to the large glass ball containing the boy's names. Her fingers delve into the sea of paper, root around for a few seconds then pull out a folded slip triumphantly.
We all wait. My eyes are focused on that little slip. A life in her hands and she doesn't even bloody know it.
'Ahem,' Janine coughs as her fingernails slit open the adhesive clasp.
'Wade Baxwoll.'
The boys all seem to let out a collective sigh. One doesn't.
A boy of about fourteen starts to push his way through the crowd. When he gets to the clear path up the centre that leads to the stage, he's swamped by Peacekeepers. They march him to where Janine holds out her hand, a broad smile on her face.
I turn and see an elderly woman crying into her woollen scarf. She's silent but petrified. His grandmother.
Fifteen. The number bounces off the inside of my skull a thousand times. That's how many slips I've put in.
'Please give a warm round of applause for our gallant male victor!'
There's a small smattering of clapping. Wade stands there, trembling like a leaf.
'Now for our girls,' Janine says happily. Her hand sticks itself in the bowl and comes out again, holding a name. She trots to the microphone, opens the paper, and reads the name.
'Nutellie Tennings.'