Chapter Text
The shock that shook me when I stood out in that crowd, gazing around as if someone had made a mistake. That shock will never fade. I will never forget.
They called my name. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide. The exact moment the words escaped the speakers and bounced through the town, the boy to my left whipped his head to me. The girls around me whispered and gasped, one started crying. My friends, too shocked and wide eyed to fully take in the concept of my name being called, stared at me with dead eyes. I took a gulp and nervously pulled on my collar, no one would be taking my place. White coated figures pluck me from the crowd, putting their arms around my own and practically shoving me to the front of the crowd. A brightly dressed man stands on the podium, reaching for my hand. A happy, joyful expression on his face despite what I’m being pushed into.
"Could you repeat your name for the crowd, Please?" He asks, grinning and placing his arm around my shoulder. I know it’s supposed to be a somewhat comforting gesture, one to ease my spirits, but this man has watched so many boys and girls come up to face their doom that he has most likely forgotten that we’re actually human beings and not chess pieces waiting to be used. My mind goes blank after looking down at those familiar faces in the crowd and I stumble to create words.
"Rabbit.. Rabbit Walter." I finally manage to choke out of my mouth. My brain feels all hazy and all I want to do is sit down, but I know I won’t be able to do that at least until they take us into the town hall. The man claps his hands together and releases his grip on my shoulder, leaving me to awkwardly shift my weight to one leg and cross my arms, I wonder how I look to the other million people watching this on television..
"Rabbit Walter! A fine young gentleman if I do say so myself.. And next up, we need..." The man starts, taking quick, short steps towards a large container of paper slips. "Honey Rainery! Come up here, sweetheart." His booming voice bounces across the area, reaching another hand up to help a young girl, my age, to the stage. Her face is washed of emotions and I can tell she’s thinking the same thoughts I’ve been thinking while onstage. She turns to me and gives me a look of pure defeat.
She's shorter than me, curly black hair that bounced when she walked up and onto the stage. She's wearing a lovely yellow dress, as we’re supposed to wear our best on this day every year, a dress almost as brightly colored as the man who stands between us. She twiddles her thumbs and bites her lip, standing slouched and nervously glancing around. She looks out to the crowd and I can tell by a wailing cry that someone out there, a family member or a close friend, is going to miss her.
"There. Now, Ladies and gentleman!" The man says, taking hold of our wrists and throwing our arms up into the air, dramatically, almost like we’ve already won and he’s showing off his trophy children to the people of Panem. "The tributes of District 8! Happy Hunger Games and," He grins straight into one of the cameras and I shift my glance from him to the other tribute. She looks to me and I can see, in her washed-out green eyes, that she's terrified. That's usual, as I've seen on the televisions all these years. "May the odds," He shouts, glancing down to me and then shifting the glance to Honey. She frowns at him and gives him a cold look. I try to weakly smile into a camera but it’s probably a bit too forced.
"Be ever in your favor."