“Maizy Demeter!”

At those words everything went numb. They were exceedingly familiar, yet so oddly puzzling for me to consume. However, according to the amount of stares pinned to me in that moment, these feelings of confusion weren’t mutual to most of the people in my district that afternoon. Yes, perhaps they pitied the unfortunate little girl who would be shipped to the center of Panem, briefly drenched in deluxe Capital-living, and then sent to her inevitable demise. But there was no mistaking that name… That name belonged to me.
“Oh M-May,” Vember whimpered timidly, sympathy dribbling down her sun burnt cheeks. Her body began to tremble so vigorously, it echoed through my bones as she wrapped me in a rigid embrace. Vem and I had known each other sooner than we were old enough to even work in the fields. We’d been inseparable for most of our lives, that would be, until now. 
Our reaper, now with an edge of irritation, cleared his throat, “Maizy dear, come up and join me on the stage now,” he called through a gaudy grin.
I’m no fool. I was more than aware that my life was now over. Whether I attempted some form of resistance in the next minute or so, or whether I join what's-his-face on the stage, I was a dead girl walking, the only difference between these two scenarios being that one would end me slightly sooner than another.
Roughly 15 seconds had past since my name was drawn from the bowl, and the peacekeepers began rummaging through the crowds, closing in on my whereabouts. They grew closer, and then closer, and then it was no longer four of them it was 8, and a devastated Vember, as I dopely gazed to my left, appeared also to be doubled. About then, was when I came to the realization that I had forgotten to breath. 
The next thing I knew I was being dragged to my feet and thrusted upward, the keeper’s aggression strained of course due to the fact that, as of now, there was a national spotlight aimed on District 9, and more specifically my recently limp body. From what I’ve gathered about Panem’s President, Coriolanus Snow, is that he has no seeming moral hindrance when it comes to releasing his widely aired, normalized, and even capital-celebrated, Hunger Games, where children, plucked from each of the 12 Districts. Children as young as 12. Are forced to slaughter one another until only one remains. However he wouldn’t want to allow exposing anything overly belligerent about the way 9 is handled, televised to the citizens of his precious Capital.
“Oh!” The Reaper squealed with delight, “Looks like a dramatic turn in events, as our new female tribute seems to have collapsed,” He narrates through his mic, transparently far more amused than he was moments ago.
I swallowed hard then turned, making my way to the stage, the reality of the past moment not quite grasped. As I met what's-his-face center podium, he pulled me into a rather awkward, camera-faced side hug, that had begun to last longer than I could stand. 
   Releasing he assured, “Don’t worry darling, sometimes the butterflies get to me too, haha. And it’s more than understandable after being appointed an honor like this one, how about we give Maizy a round of applause!” A few forced claps emitted from the masses, in response.
I’ve grown up watching these ceremonies occur year after another. In fact I’ve lived to view 14 of them, and now I’ve experienced my 15th. I suppose my two years of luck has run dry. Time to disappear.