THE 150th HUNGER GAMES

District 6 Reaping (13)

Emilia Coe's (District 6) P.O.V:

I nervously twirl a piece of my dark brown hair around my finger. I could be Reaped today. I could be.

So could Edgar, my twin brother. Or even both of us. Just like those two from District 2. I glance over at him, on the other side of the square. Our green eyes meet. He looks just as worried as I feel.

The escort, who's name I forget, greets us. Happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor. Time to Reap a girl. She walks over to the glass Reaping ball that has my name in it, Emilia Coe. Not me, please. Not me. Even if my mother was a winner, it doesn't mean I want to go into the Games, too. That's right. Acelyn Coe, winner of the 126th Hunger Games. A year after the Quell.

I don't even hear the name being called, only the words that come after.

"I...I volunteer!"

A girl with long, dark brown hair and bangs that cover one eye walks up towards the escort. She looks shocked that she actually just volunteered. I silently thank her. Thank her for guaranteeing that I am safe, at least until the final Games.

"What is your name, girl?" The escort asks in that sickly sweet voice that would seriously get on my nerves if she was talking to me. Apparently, this girl feels the same way. Her annoyance is clear on her face.

"Devyn Harene," she responds. I hope she wins in the Games. She seems nice. Similar to me.

The escort claps her hands, excited that District 6 got a volunteer. She walks over to the other Reaping ball. I glance over at Edgar again, and he looks at me, too. I hold my breath as the escort plucks the fateful name. As she reads it, both my face and Edgar's turn from expressions of worry to expressions of absolute terror.

Because the name that was just drawn was Edgar Coe.

He slowly walks forward, shocked. I want to call out to him. Tell him he'll be fine. Tell him he was the best brother there ever was. But I just can't find the right words. I can feel my eyes watering, but I can't cry here, not in front of everyone. I'm sorry, Edgar. I push through the crowd, away from him. I can't watch. I should be brave. I should give Edgar some hope by staying strong, but I'm running away from him at the Reaping. He must feel so alone. His twin sister, running away from the square to some dark alley to cry. With absolutely no faith in his survival. That must feel terrible.

But he can't possibly imagine how I feel.