"Hello, District two, I am Elvie Seeder!"
Elvie smiled at the crowd, his face shaped elfishly and his ears pointed.
"Before we get started, may I introduce our mentor, Aspen!"
A young man stepped forwards, only 19, and waved at the crowd, with a charming smile on his face.
"Thank you, thank you, I am so glad to be mentoring this year's games. I would just like to say how grateful to be given the opportunity to help these tributes in the one hundredth Hunger Games! But now, let us see the who the tributes are"
He stepped back and pushed the lever on the machine. The belt spun, and names sped past. After what seemed an age, it slowed down, a couple of people gasping as their names swept past. Finally, it stopped.
"Andrea Williams, please step forwards." Elvie announced.
A girl, Amelia Kentwell, stood in the crowd. At that moment, her mind was at war with itself. Her aunt, Clove Kentwell, died in the legendary 74th Hunger Games. Her father, Victor, was the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games. But what was terrifying and angering her, was the thought of her dead sister, murdered by her District partner, only five years ago. She saw his face every day, giving him a look of hate, she makes sure he never forgets what he did. The Hunger Games scarred her family.
"I volunteer!" She said, standing up, in a moment of anger. She needed revenge.
At that point. Andrea had stood up. Her dark brown curls stood out against her face, white as a sheet. She abruptly sat down, and breathed a sigh of relief, as Amelia cursed under her breath. What was she thinking!
But no-one could know that she regretted her decision. For her sister.
She strode towards the stage, looking straight ahead.
"Wonderful to meet you, what's your name?"
Elvie held out his hand, but she just looked at him. She was terrified, angry, and regretful, and he just decides to shake her hand? Come on, she thought, for Cassie.
"My name is Amelia Kentwell."
She faced the crowd with a determined face, but then turned away and walked to her seat. She sat down, her head in her hands. How could this get worse?
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Amelia, but shall we move on?"
She walked over to the machine and pulled the lever again. The names swirled past, boys' this time. It stopped on one.
Antony Silva.
"Antony Silva, please step onto the st-"
"I volunteer!"
A boy stood up, sixteen years old, and walked to the stage. He looked determinedly calm, but many other carrers looked at him with anger, or smirked. As if he thought he could enter, they rolled their eyes at each other. But they couldn't deny his courage.
"I'm Micah Flint," the boy said, looking at the audience.
"well, it's great to meet you both, District two, wish good luck to our tributes, Amelia and Micah!"
Antony led them away, followed by Aspen, as the crowd left, a body of people, some shaken, some already laughing, the thought of the tributes coming back already dismissed, as they left them behind.