The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

1.Two Words

I volunteer.

It only took two words to change my life. I stepped forward and repeated it, when the escort was up on the stage, asking for someone to take my best friend's place. At first I was reluctant. I could make new best friends, right? My life didn't have to revolve around her. Then I saw her family. Crying, weeping, sobbing. Each in a different state of despair. That would be my own family if I volunteered. However, I knew that I had a better chance than her. Maybe I could win. And if I didn't, I still figured that it was worth a shot.

I volunteer.

I scream it out once again as I run up the aisle. It's almost like I'm afraid no one will hear me. My best friend starts sobbing all over again. Bunching my dress in one hand, I climb the steps. Because she knows she can't argue, my best friend runs down the steps, almost losing her balance on the way to her family. The escort, Velia I think her name is, sticks the microphone in front of my mouth. It is smudged with her dark yellow lipstick.

Her lips are moving, but no sound comes until she's halfway through her question.

"-your name?"

"Eunia. Eunia Fairbain."

My voices breaks slightly, which I hope no one will comment on later. My throat hurts badly, and I would like nothing better than to weep like my mother. There is applause that I don't really think I deserve. At the very back of the crowd, I can she my best friend and her family. They're relieved, hugging each other and murmuring reassurances. My mother and older brothers aren't. One of my brother is trying to comfort my mother, while the other grips a ribbon of railing, and stares down at the ground.

"What a brave volunteer!"

I've gone numb. I can't feel anything, because there isn't anything left to feel. I've been through shock, doubt, fear, sorrow, anger. What is there left to feel?

It only took two words.

The second round of applause I get starts off as deafening, then fades to silence. Hands still clap, but I can't hear it. I see one my brothers look me in the eye. His mouth moves, and I can tell he's screaming all sorts of awful things. He'll blame me for taking my friends place, He'll scold me for bringing my mother immeasurable, insufferable pain.

Just two words brought forth all these ugly emotions.

My face is wiped blank. The red pinpricks on the cameras remind me that I am being projected to the Capitol. I try to hold my head high, but I feel like everything, my whole world,  has just unravelled. Which I suppose it has.

Although it feels like it's already been hours after I gave my name, it has only been seconds. Velia walks over to the boy's glass ball, microphone in hand.

"And now we're to choose the male tribute for District Eight this year!" she beams. "Let's see if we get another volunteer!"

The microphone picks up the rustling noise of the sea of white paper slips. Velia digs to the very bottom, her colourful nails making a clicking noise as she accidentally taps the glass of the ball.

My mother is still weeping, despite my brother trying desperately to calm her down. In the pit of my stomach, guilt swells until all I can think of is how I've messed up. Why, this one time, could I not have been selfish? Why could I not have simply watched my friend arrive in the Capitol, take part in the Tribute Parade, be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman, run for supplies at the Cornucopia, make alliances with other outline districts, die an excruciating death?

Velia's heels tap against the stage. She has a precarious perch on the edge of the stage, and is in danger of falling into the flowers that have been planted at the bottom if the stage.