This is it.

The Capitol told us it was today.

And it is.

Everyone is scared.

I can feel it.

It's in the air.

It's in my bones.

The very first 'Reaping'.

I suppose it is an appropriate name.

They're harvesting us for the upcoming slaughter.

I wonder if the other districts are as frightened as we are.

It's pretty quiet here in Twelve.

"Blaine! Hurry or we'll be late!"

Or not…

"Coming mum!"

My voice is as strained as hers, and as I walk into the next room, I can see the glassiness in her eyes.

But I will her not to cry.

If she cries, I'll cry.

"Don't you look handsome,"

She's giving me a very sad little smile as she brushes a hand over my gelled hair.

Normally it's free, a mess of dark curls, but mum told me to gel it back.

To make myself look presentable for the Capitol.

Like a prize pig.

"Thanks,"

She stares at me a moment longer before breathing in heavily.

"We should get going, before it starts,"

I nod.

My throat is constricting at the mention of it.

It only takes a minute for us to leave the house, giving it a quick once-over before shutting the door.

It has no lock, like almost every other house in District Twelve.

~o.O.o~

Four and a half minutes, one hundred and six steps later, we're in the middle of the District.

Every other kid between twelve and eighteen are gathering in one part of the square, their parents in another.

I give my mum one last half-reassuring almost-smile before moving off to join my peers.

I pretend not to notice the single tear that escaped down her cheek.

A horrifyingly happy-looking woman from the capitol, with bright yellow hair, eyes and lips takes the stage, her short-cut gold dress reflecting light directly into my eyes.

I squint to look at her as she moves across the stage, towards the microphone in the centre.

"Good morning everyone! A very happy first Hunger Games to you- and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Something tells me that saying is going to get very old very quick.

"My name is Ivett Trinket, and I am so very happy to be here to choose the very first Tributes from District 12!"

I can feel the glares focused on her, and almost –almost- feel sorry.

"Well! Let's get started then shall we! Ladies first!"

Her claw-like hands dive into a glass bowl on her right, and she pulls out a single scrap of paper.

The whole District takes a collective breath.

"Grace Knolland!"

A tiny, twelve-year-old girl in the very front row bursts into tears.

The whole District stares at her, already seeming to mourn the loss of the little blonde girl.

"Come on sweetheart, up you come, don't cry now! This is a huge honour!"

I send my own glare at Ivett.

The little girl, whose life has barely begun, is going to end in a few weeks, and this bright yellow thing from the Capitol is telling her it's an honour.

If I ever got the chance, I would rip this woman's eyes out.

"Now the boys!"

Ah.

Right.

Her hand fishes through the other bowl, and I feel my whole body tensing.

It can't be me.

There are hundreds of other boys.

All of our names are only in there once.

It won't be me.

It won't.

"Let me see… Blaine Anderson!"

~o.O.o~

They're all staring at me.

All of them.

I can't move.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Then I hear something.

Over where the adults are standing, my mother is screaming.

I finally move my head, and turn to look at her.

She's trying to claw past all the Peacekeepers, but two of them have grabbed her arms.

She's screaming at them.

At me.

At everyone.

I can't take it.

So I turn my head to face the stage again, and can see Ivett is getting impatient.

My legs start moving, though I can't remember telling my brain to get them to.

I'm halfway up the steps, when I look at Grace.

Her little face has tear tracks, and her whole body is shaking.

I want to run to her and just hug her, even though before today I didn't know who she was.

But we're the same now, me and Grace.

Tributes in the First Hunger Games.

Pieces of meat for the Capitol to slaughter.

I finally make it to my place, choosing to look at the pathway between the crowds rather than at any of their faces.

Grace and I are told to shake hands, and when we do I reach my other hand up to cover hers, giving some small form of comfort.

She looks up at me, her blue eyes shining sadly underneath her messy fringe.

Up-close, I notice how filthy she really is.

And that no-one screamed for her.

~o.O.o~