Just A Game

Time's up.

It feels as though time has stopped. I barely register Lily's friends breaking down in tears, I barely register the mutters of disapproval, I barely register anything. The only thing I see is my baby sister's ghost-white face, her blue eyes filling with fear.

"Lily Ashcrest! Where are you, dear?" Effie's voice prods from somewhere far away. Lily slowly forces herself to move to the stage and as she inches forward, I rush out of the crowd. But they've already cleared a path for me. Just as she reaches the main path, I do and am forced back by Peacekeepers.

"I volunteer!" I gasp. "I volunteer as tribute!"

The crowd is stunned into silence. The Peacekeepers, too. I hurriedly walk up to Lily and she hugs me tightly, sobbing.

"Violet, no! No, you can't!" she screams.

"It's all going to be okay, Lily. I promise. Go find Mom," I say steadily, but she refuses to listen. But suddenly, she's pulled away.

"Up you go, Vi," Gale says, his voice pained as he takes Lily away.

I'm led the rest of the way by Peacekeepers and walk up onstage alone.

"My, my, my! District Twelve's very first volunteer!" she exclaims. "This deserves a round of appluse!"

No one applauds. The crowd is eerily silent. Then, it happens. Everyone presses the first three fingers of their left hand to their lips, then holds their hand to the sky.

It's a very old, very rare gesture in our district, sometimes seen at funerals. It means thanks. It means admiration. It means goodbye to someone you love.

It's the greatest honor of my life, having the entire district display something so sacred for me.

"What's your name, dearie?" Effie asks and puts the microphone near my mouth.

"Violet Ashcrest," I answer.

"I'll bet my buttons that was your sister!"

"Yes."

She sighs dreamily, then, after a few beats, moves to the boys' pool.

As she selects the boy's name, I pray it won't be Gale's.

"Cedric Reid!" she calls and a boy that I faintly recognized from school walks onstage.

He's from a merchant family. I think his family runs the shoe store, but I can't be sure. He's only fourteen.

"Shake hands," she instructs giddily and we do.

Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving victor from District Twelve, stumbles onstage. He's drunk. As always. He stands in front of me, his Seam eyes examining me.

"Aha!" he exclaims loudly. "I like you! You have the right look to ya!" He shifts over to Cedric. "You," he says, poking the boy's chest, "do not."

Then, laughing hysterically, he falls off the stage.

Wonderful.

Capitol assistants rush to help him and Effie smiles brightly.

"The District Twelve tributes!" she declares and we're guided into the Justice Building before another word can be spoken.

I'm locked in a large room with a leather sofa and such. Lily and our mother burst in seconds later.

"You have to win," Lily sobs.

"I will," I promise wholeheartedly.

"You have to," she insists, holding onto me tightly.

"I'll come home. I promise," I assure.