The air whooshed out of my lungs, like the feeling you get when you land on your back after falling off the swings on your back, struggling to breathe while your lungs desperately tried to fill back up.

People parted in front of me, forming a path to the stage. I looked up, and saw myself on the T.Vs. The entire country was watching me.

I took a deep breath and started moving towards the stage, each step taking me closer to my doom. My heart was beating in my ears. Much too fast for my liking, I was at the stage, walking up the steps to the woman who had given me a death sentence.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Minerva asked once I reached her and stood next to her, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

Dead silence.

I was expecting that. I didn't socialize much. I had always considered my books to be better company than people.

But in that moment, I regretted that decision. I wished I had befriended everyone I met, formed a bond with someone, given anyone a reason to volunteer for me. But I hadn't.

And now, I had just been given a ticket to ride on the death-train that I couldn't tear up.

"And now, for the boys," Minerva said. She was even colder up close, a stark opposite of Hestia, who was warm.

She walked over to the second bowl, dug her hand around for a couple of seconds, and pulled out a name. She walked over the microphone, and when she read the piece of paper in her hands, her voice caught.

"Malcolm," She gulped. "Malcolm Pace."

Whispers broke out around the square. Everyone knew that Malcolm was Minerva's son, who she'd had with the baker. She didn't visit him, but I guess every mother will be a little sad if her child is thrown into a fight to the death where they probably won't survive.

Malcolm walked up to the stage, his face emotionless.

"Do we have any v-volunteers?" Minerva asked.

Once again, there was silence. From what I saw at school, Malcolm was like me; a loner.

The mayor walked up to the microphone and started reading the Treaty of Treason, as is required. I don't listen to a word of it. I'm too busy looking at the shops surrounding the square, and the houses and factories behind them. Mainly because I'd probably never see them again.

The mayor finishes reading the Treaty of Treason and motions for Malcolm and me to shake hands. We do, grasping each other's hands tightly, almost like we were battling to see who was stronger.

Then we turn to face the crowd, and I see Hestia in the crowd, tears pouring down her face. Seeing her, the woman I had always regarded as a mother, crying, made me want to do the same. The anthem of Panem was blaring in the background. The tune was so familiar to me, I could recite every note as it played. I tried to focus on it, to stop the inevitable stream of tears from running down my face.

Then it's over. The anthem stops, the T.V shuts off, and people start walking away. Off to celebrate yet another year of living. I envy them.

Some Peacekeepers lead us to the Justice Building. They bring me to a room, usher me inside, and close the door. I have no doubt that they're outside, standing guard, making sure I don't escape. I'd never heard of a tribute trying before, but I was sure it had happened. Mainly because the thought ran through my mind.

The room is the richest place I'd ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. I know velvet because one of the orphans came with a dress made of the stuff.

Hestia comes in first, and probably last. Her eyes are extremely red, and when she tackles me with a bear hug, it takes all of my willpower not to burst into tears.

We stay like that for a few minutes, neither of us saying a word. Ever since my parents died, Hestia had been the only one there for me. She had raised me as if I was her own. I inspired her to build the orphanage, to help other kids in need. Our bond was one of a mother and daughter.

"Oh, Annabeth," Hestia sobbed. "Why do they hate us so? First, they take your father, and now you? Why?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Hestia dropped to her knee in front of me, taking my hands in hers. "Annabeth, you must be careful. You're smart, and you're good with your knives. You can win this. Just don't make your father's mistake. Don't trust anybody."

I knew what she was talking about. My father had allied with Amphrite, only for her to turn around and smash his head in with a rock before it even got down to the final two.

"I won't, Hestia," I promised, resting my forehead on hers. "I'll win. I promise."

She swept me up in another hug, which lasted for a much longer time. I wished it never had to end.

"I'll see you soon," She promised when the Peacekeeper opened the door, signaling our hour was up.

Then she was gone, and I was alone.

I have to win, I told myself. I was all the family Hestia had left. I couldn't leave her.

It's a short drive to the train station. I haven't been in many cars, so the drive was strange. It would've been more exhilarating if I was under different circumstances.

I was suddenly glad I didn't cry. The station was swarming with reporters, and cameras were flashing in my face every two seconds. I look at the T.V on the wall and am grateful that I look impatient, like I wanted to jump into the Games at this very moment.

Malcolm, on the other hand, looks bored. We must be a strange combination; bored and impatient. Maybe this is the year that people will start paying attention to District 3.

We have to wait at the doors of the train for a few minutes so everyone can gobble up our images. Then we're allowed inside, and the doors shut behind us.

Then we're off, speeding away from everything I've ever known, and everywhere I want to be.