I can still remember the way I felt, the way the trees swayed, in the wind, and the way my brother looked when they put a white ribbon around his wrist too. The way my mother sobbed. The way my father tried to stand taller. The way my younger brothers tried not to cry. The way my oldest brother froze. That scared me more than anything.

I remember the pain of betrayal, from my peers, my district, my country and my God. How could they do this to me, to my brother, to my family? I remember the way I yelled at God. I just didn't understand why he would give up three kids from the same family to be hunted in an arena.

My district had about 2,000 other kids they could have chose, but they continued to torment our family. My oldest brother was lucky. He got to come home. There's no way I will escape with my life and the life of my dearest brother. I know I will cry myself to sleep, tormented by this reality.

We were betrayed.

I betrayed, too. I choose two people from my district. Out of the hundreds of thousands of kids that could have been voted for, I picked them, randomly of course. What we're the odds? I felt like the whole selection was rigged. The boy was thirteen. His name is Gregory Smith. He's been sick his entire life. The girl is sixteen, the same age as me. Her name is Rosie Parkers. I knew her since we were little. I tried to redo my votes, but they were already accounted for. I went home and prayed for them not to be reaped.

They probably voted for me.

Clouds begin to swell in the sky. Growing larger and darker as we move towards the train station. They begin to rumble and boom. Louder and louder. Then the rain comes. Large sheets of rain, coming straight down, soaking everyone. I feel as if I'm in a movie. I look up and around. At my brother, standing only a few feet away, at the peacekeepers, holding us still until the train arrives, void of emotions, at Royals Siren, our handsome escort, at my family standing below with the other district six families, the only difference is, my family is crying and everyone else looks on with pity. I turn around to the sound of the approaching train. It's hard to hear with the storm all around us, but it's coming. I look over at my brother and he looks at me.

This is it. Once we step on to the train, we're never coming back. One of us might win, but we won't come back. Our body will be here, waving and smiling, but will only be a façade. Inside will be a shell of who we once were before the 25th Hunger Games.