Many people exchanged bewildered glances as Blaine rushed past, brushing off his hasty apologies in favour of raising their eyebrows at his enthusiasm to get to the District square. They couldn’t help but be curious as to the Anderson boy’s odd behaviour.

The Anderson family was wonderful at putting up pretences, and the suggestion that they were a harmonious family was probably the best one that they fronted.

The truth was; they were far more dysfunctional than a typical family. Blaine’s mother had a lame leg and had lost her voice after a near death experience in her early twenties. The event that caused this was something both her and her husband refused to address with not only their family, but the rest of the District. Consequently it often served as a cause for gossip when there was nothing else to discuss, and Blaine found he couldn’t evade the rumours wherever he seemed to go.

Blaine’s father was a coal miner, like most of the other men in District 12, however he was much harsher than many of the others he worked with. Where most fathers had enough sense to love their children and realised that they may not have them for many more years to come, Maximillian Anderson could care less.

In his opinion, Blaine was a waste of time. The fact that Blaine didn’t care for the same things as many of the others in his district, which Maximillian attributed to his son’s sexuality, was social suicide. Even in District 12.

Blaine’s father had been brought up on the straight and narrow. Men married women and had children who would one day be offered up as tributes for the Hunger Games. Blaine’s mother didn’t exactly hate Blaine for who he was, but she didn’t support him either.

Blaine didn’t blame her for it though, he understood. Being in any way supportive of her gay son as well as being married to Maximillian Anderson was a complete paradox.

And then there was his older brother. Cooper. Cooper was six years older and had survived all of the reapings. He now worked in the same coal mine as their father, and did everything to make his parents proud.

Cooper used to be everything Blaine had aspired to be, until he came out and told Cooper he was gay. It was then that he saw how similar Cooper and his father were.
Cooper’s solution was to constantly introduce Blaine to different girls of his age. Unfortunately Blaine spent most of his time at school by himself, and Cooper grew impatient with his brother’s lack of social skills. Even his peers thought he was strange, regardless of sexuality.
Blaine didn’t have many friends. His family didn’t think much of him. He didn’t have much going for him in District 12 at all.

It was these thoughts that pulsed through Blaine’s mind as he stood staring up at the stage in the District 12 square. He glanced up at the gargantuan screens, trying to pick out his face amongst the many other terrified faces of his peers.

There was a thud and Blaine focused back on the stage, where a lady in a horrible fuchsia number was tapping the microphone. He wrinkled his nose. The Capitol was meant to be the forefront of fashion and culture, but the outfits he had seen throughout the past reapings he had been to certainly didn’t sell it to him.

“Happy Hunger Games!” A rather nasally voice called, and Blaine winced. She didn’t even sound elegant. “And may the odds be ever in your favour!”

Blaine’s mind wandered from the obnoxiously loud voice and he hoped this year, as he had the past few, that the odds would be in everyone else’s favour.

He longed to be pulled from that glass bowl. So many names, and he would gladly volunteer himself as tribute, except no one had done that in nearly one hundred years.
Blaine’s chest tightened as he thought back on the years before he’d come out; where he’d often wondered if Cooper would ever volunteer in order to prevent him from having to compete.

It could have been a possibility; until Blaine had told Cooper that he liked boys the way Cooper liked girls. Cooper had rushed to his parents and told them Blaine’s secret; completely shattering any sense of trust Blaine had.

After that occasion, it was as if Blaine was dead. He was invisible to his parents, Blaine’s father barking an order at him occasionally, or reprimanding him for something that someone else had done, but never again treating him like a son.

Blaine felt so invisible, and that no matter what he did, he’d never find acceptance. His family never noticed when he was home, why should they notice when his imminent death was broadcast to all of the Districts?
If anything, Blaine’s father would mutter something about how much of a disappointment Blaine was, and deny the fact that he was his son.

The thought should have upset Blaine, but he found it liberating to think that he really had nothing tying him down at all.

Blaine brought his mind back to the present, trying to pay attention to what Fiona Reading, the lady with the loud outfit and equally ridiculous voice, was doing on the stage.

He’d been fortunate enough to zone out for the entirety of her speech, and she was now making her way towards one of two glass bowls.

As was the norm, the girls name was pulled out first.
“Santana Lopez.”

Chatter broke out as an athletic girl, who Blaine recalled as being about the same age as him, stepped out from the crowd and made her way towards the stage; chin held high as she tried to remain staunch. Blaine could see her lip quiver slightly as she strode past. No matter how brave people tried to be, he could always see through them.
“And now for the gentlemen.”

Fiona Reading turned to the other bowl, fingers wriggling above the many folded papers as she tried to drag things out and make it more ‘exciting’.

Blaine rolled his eyes, sighing as she finally pulled a slip of paper out and turned to the front once more.
Blaine’s mouth ran dry. This was it.

“Please,” he murmured, “Blaine Anderson, please.”
He twisted his fingers together, not too sure what he’d do with himself if he had to live in District 12 much longer. He’d rather lose his life in some ridiculous competition than be stuck living with people who had no desire to be anywhere near him.
Fiona Reading opened her mouth, smiling broadly as she always seemed to when she was trying to deliver what she considered good news.

“Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine’s stomach writhed. Had she just called his name? Did he imagine it?

People turned to stare at Blaine, and he swallowed thickly. It was him. After so many horrible years of waiting and praying to whatever deities were out there, he was finally escaping District 12.

Blaine remembered his legs, and put them to use, walking stiffly up to the stage. Nobody spoke. He was just the strange boy that tended to keep to himself. The one with no friends.

The boy who wouldn’t be missed.