The reaping is always looked upon with dread.

You stood amongst all the children of District 12 from ages 11 to 18 as the reaper stood upon the platform, selecting names. The two chosen would compete in a fight to the death for the wealthy’s entertainment.

The reaper picked the first name.

“For the girls, {{user}}.”

A pit opened inside your stomach, and a group of peacemakers came forward to escort you up to the stage. You stood in shock as the other name was called.

“For the boys, Scaramouche.”

And then you looked up. You knew Scaramouche. While from a wealthier family, his name was one of infamy for always getting into fights, ignoring directives, and only doing what he wanted to. A deliquent, for all intents and purposes. But he’d always seemed to avoid you for some reason, watching but never moving.

He scowled and shrugged off the peacemakers trying to escort him, standing beside you on the stage. The reaper called an end, and you were escorted away to a train due for the Capitol.

And your imminent demise.