FALLEN ANGEL • the hunger games

[02] may i braid your hair?

this is the closest i've ever been to the stage at a reaping. stood in my age sector, i look across the square to try and find jerome's face. unsuccessfully, i turn back around, ignoring everything the mayor is saying.

it's the same speech every year, the history of the rebellion and district thirteen's destruction, it's basically just a 'do what snow says, he will kill you'.

the mayor seems to have aged since the last time i saw him, his hair was slowly growing out grey, and he had a few more wrinkles around the eyes.

'this year, the seventy fifth annual hunger games, we celebrate the third quarter quell. as a reminder that no matter how strong you may be, it is fate that decides your outcome in the arena. the male and female tributes are to be reaped as usual, however there will be no volunteers to be took into consideration. any disturbances will be dealt with by me and the peacekeepers, punishments may be imposed'

the square was silent, as i think everyone was thinking the same thing as me. katniss everdeen volunteering for her sister caused this. i don't blame her, but i'm also not surprised the capitol are back firing.

mr blythe sat down, shaking hands with district fives escort, robin brady, on his way across the stage. robin was a typical capitol citizen. he was dressed dress pants and a blazer with a bright orange colour, his heels matching. his hair was coloured a green, different to last years pink, and had a starfish accessory pinning back some curls. his makeup was extreme and left me wondering how on earth he would rub his eye had he need to.

'the time has come to select our brave tributes for this years annual hunger games,' he spoke flamboyantly, 'very big and exciting times ahead of us ladies and gentlemen!' stretching out his hands and waiting for an applause, his face dropped as there was an awkward silence.

'now, men first shall we?' heels click on the hard floor as he walks elegantly, and robin reaches his hand in the bowl and swirls it around, making this awful wait seem even longer.

not jerome.

please, god. not jerome.

'sebastian meadowshire!'

a weight lifted from my shoulders as the name was announced, and i let out a breath i hadn't even known i'd be holding. jerome wasn't going into the arena. we can go home, have dinner, and go to bed; just like i promised.

the large screen to the side of the stage displays a boy, who i'm assuming to be the tribute chosen. he didn't look scared, he didn't look as if he was thinking 'shit, im going to die'. he just looked shocked, maybe he thought this was never going to happen to him, but i also think that way.

he begins to make his way to the stage, from the section where the eighteen year olds are held. i feel bad for the boy, it's his last reaping and his name has been called, with no possible chance of a volunteer saving him. i wonder if he has any siblings.

he shakes hands with robin and turns to face the rest of district, now with a small smirk on his face.

'onto the ladies!'

at this point i'm bored, ready to go home. there's a girl next to me hyperventilating. i see a few who look excited.

while i study the faces of the girls who look excited, robin pulls out the paper and starts to open it. the girl next to me starts to rock back and forth slightly.

'esther quinn!'

my heart plummets, but before i can even think about the fact that the name called was mine, or that jerome is going to be alone, im walking up to the stage. my legs are moving without my consent, and my shoulders are relaxed. the performance starts now.