Elisha Bailey's P.O.V
"Elisha Bailey!" Bronte Crowsmith shouts. Cool potatoes. Bring it on.
I walk forwards, towards the stage. Bronte holds out her hand to help me up the stairs but I ignore it and go up by myself. She looks at me with pity.
I can see my little sister and my mum staring up at me, in shock. Sofia's only 12 so my mother would never let her volunteer, even if she wanted to. Although it's not like I really want a replacement. I'd feel guilty about it forever if they ended up dying.
My dad isn't here to see me get reaped; he's already been killed, in last year's Quarter Quell, where the twist was that parents were sent into the Games instead of children. I bet this year's reapings were rigged so that the kids of the tributes from the Quarter Quell were chosen. Assholes.
My name is Elisha Bailey, as Bronte just announced, I am 14 years old and I live in District 11, which is probably the largest district in Panem. I have long, dark blonde hair, that's usually loose, like it is now, and I'm about 5 ft. 4. I can run pretty fast- although I'm better at short distances- I'm good at climbing trees and I'm reasonably strong too, what with all the forced labour we do around here.
I think I have a decent chance at winning this thing.
Nobody volunteers for me; not that I expected it. I've never exactly been good at making friends...
Bronte walks over to the other oversized, glass bowl, this one filled with boy's names, and pulls out a slip, but I'm not really concentrating on who it is. A tall boy, who I don't recognise, comes out from roughly where the 17 year olds stand.
I don't want to have to kill people. The whole idea scares me. What's even worse is that in nearly 2 weeks I could be dead. I have to kill though, otherwise I'll die. Kill or be killed. I don't understand how anyone wouldn't go mad in that arena. Actually, now that I think about it, a fair few people have gone crazy in there. I wonder if I'll go mad, from all the dead people everywhere...
"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting our tributes from District 11, for the 101st annual Hunger Games, Elisha Bailey and Luca Howard!" So that's his name. Luca and I shake hands and Bronte Crowsmith leads us into the crumbly, old Justice Building and we're led into two separate rooms where we'll say goodbye to our families.
I don't really cry in sad or scary times. I'm only shocked or freaked out; usually hysterically laughing from the latest near death experience I've just escaped. Sometimes I'm not even that. But never any tears. I haven't cried for years. So while I sit on the little couch, rather than crying and being a wimp, I think of what everyone else must be doing right now. Of how many people will actually come to say goodbye to me.
I'm not very popular at school, so I don't think anyone other than my family will come. I'm correct. My mum and my sister are my only visitors. The peacekeepers kick them out after 5 minutes and then I'm on my own.
Bronte comes in with Luca saying, "the train will be here in 10 minutes so we have to head off to the station." We walk outside to where I can see an immaculate black car. It looks very expensive too. I'm surprised the Capitol cares about us enough to give us a car in general, but a fancy black one? Wow. They must have a larger budget this year or something.
The car ride takes about 5 minutes and we are at the train station almost before I know it. Reporters swarm the station like tracker jackers around a person that's disturbed their nest. We stop just outside it.
"Now, Elisha and Luca, we have to make our way through the crowd as quickly as possible," Bronte tells us, in her weird, Capitol accent. "Also, I thought you might want to know this, but the train is travelling through all the districts this year, with all the tributes on the same train, so you might want to get to know them. It's something the Capitol thought up to cause a little more excitement in the Games and promote more alliances."
Yay… We get to meet our opponents early... I knew something was up when they gave us a fancy car.
They're practically forcing us to make friends with the people we eventually have to kill.