Goodbye, district of medicine.

Waiting in the crowded space with children the ages twelve to eighteen was all too familiar now. It was a yearly thing, becoming a routine. My name was in that glass bowl four times, only four times. I never had to purchase tesserae, considering I was filthy rich. My dad never let me forget it. You see, my father was a winner of the games. The bloody Hunger Games, literally. It happened thirty-eight years ago, but there never goes a day with out him reminding everyone.

"Ireigh Lynn." My name gets called. I snap my head in the direction of the speaker, an impulse move. Never did it register in my head, that voice was the voice who now decided my fait. Death. I can feel the color drain from my face. I search the crowd for my parents, when I see them, they both have huge smiles plastered on their faces, ear to ear. They thought this was good news. I thought of it as my death sentance.

I make my way onto the stage, trying to hold in the breakfast I had this morning. After a few minutes of applaud and congradulations, they steer my new district tribute and I to a building. This is where we say our farewells to our loved ones.