"rosabelle rossin." the fake-looking escort's paw dipped into the glass bowl, pulling out a slip of paper. and it had my name on it. at first I don't feel anything. I still don't. one part of me doesn't believe it. the other part though, knew this had been coming all along. my life has just been a timer counting down since that fire. I was promised that. it doesn't matter. nothing matters anymore, does it? all I've achieved in my short 16 years of life is about to be gone. forfeit. I feel my paws slowly moving to climb the stage, though I don't ever remember deciding to do that. what choice do I have? this is all just a game to these people. they don't care. we're like animals to them, and too scared to fight back. my only comfort is that ill get to see my mother again. she always defended me, comforted me. my paw reaches to brush the dried rose tucked behind my ear, to ensure it's still there. my last remembrance of home, I suppose. I gaze blankly towards the distant mountains as the other unfortunate tributes names are called, vaguely noting this will be my last view of home. this miserable, rainy day. it crosses my mind to just run. not board the train. I'd die, but it would be swifter than the one ahead of me. these games are a death sentence. and there's nothing I can do about it I board the train.
