Author Games: Olympics | CLOSED

Task One: Entries

USA FEMALE: EMILY GOLD

I'm annoyed. I guess it's not the normal feeling to have while waiting for the reaping to begin, but it's the one I have. I'm not scared, like others, of being voted in. I have no chance of winning these games, and the people have to know that. An older girl will get voted in, I'm sure. I don't know if my country will win, but it's not time to worry yet. Nor am I angry, because who am I going to be angry at? The capital? I guess it makes sense, but what will my anger do? It won't change them.

I can suppress my anger and fear, because even though I claim otherwise, I have both emotions. I don't bother to suppress the annoyance, I could, but I need to feel something, in the middle of all these people feeling everything.

I'm annoyed at the heat that stifles me despite my shorts and t-shirt. I'm not wearing a dress, unlike basically all of the other girls. I don't even own a dress. I'm annoyed at the whispered chatter that meets my ears, as though people are afraid to talk normally, this is the USA for goodness sake. We aren't supposed to be quiet. We're supposed to fill the air with shouts to each other, talk as loudly as we want to, about whatever we want to. We aren't supposed to worry about other countries, content with a confidence we're safe. We're supposed to be brave, and free.

We are the United States of America, when did we become so afraid?

I'm especially annoyed at the woman who stands on the stage, and the cameras that circle the square, that we have worked so hard to impress. The woman is dressed garishly, with bleached curls that pile atop her head, and bright pink make-up that is piled around here eyes, lips and cheekbones that are so high there is no way they are real. She wraps a perfectly manicured hand around the microphone, and speaks in a high, scratchy voice.

"Good morning America!" I roll my eyes and cross my arms in front of me, jutting out my hip, and generally making my annoyance known. The girl next to me, who had spent half the morning crying looks unnerved by me.

"My name is Selena Lisette, I'll be the escort for your tributes and, I'm sure you all know what these are," She taps two envelops with bright pink fingers. "Today, the results of your voting will be announced! The boys and girl whom you have chosen will represent your country in a fight to the death. But their death will not just be theirs, but their whole country as well. I hope you have chosen well. Ladies first." She flips over the first envelope, and runs her nail under the tab, careful not to tear the envelope. She gently slides out the slip of paper inside, and clears her throat.

"And the United States female tribute is... Shay Terroba."

Shay Terroba. I think in horror. We can't send Shay Terroba into the games. She's a genius, that much is true, but she's also completely clueless anywhere outside of a science lab. I watch as she mounts the stage, her yellow dress wrapping around her skinny legs, legs that don't have a chance in beating out another tribute in a chase. She stands awkwardly next to Selena, her face not quite masking the terror that she feels.

"Any volunteers?" The high scratchy voice sings out. She pauses for just a moment, before shifting the boys envelope to the top, and opening her mouth to speak. I can't control my voice as it calls out for her to wait.

"I want to volunteer." Drops from my lips beyond my control. My feet begin to move, my hands shoving people out of the way, I take my place on stage, and Shay takes hers in the crowd. Standing in front of the people, having just signed them up for almost certain demise, I can feel the glares. I don't necessarily blame them. I just traded a genius, the girl who helped find the cure for cancer at the age of sixteen, for a fourteen year old nobody. I bet half of them don't even know my name,but they don't understand. Shay would have died. That much I'm sure of, I don't know if I can win, but I am a better fighter than she is.