THG AU: Reaping Day

Why did this have to happen to me?
46.
Why couldn't the odds be ever in my favor?
Like they were every other year?  
Why this year?
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I walked out of my home, all dressed up.
The way people get dressed up, only once a year, when the poor Districts, like 11 or 12, can afford to dress up.
My jest black, usually wavy, hair was flattened and placed, quite neatly,into a french braid.  A white blouse, a faded black skirt, that was rolled up a little bit, so that the skirt went just a little bit past my knees, and black flats.
I didn't understand the point of dressing up so nicely for an event that seemed completely sadistic.
Dressing up nicely for the funeral of two unlucky people was sadistic.
Well, at least I thought so.
I was to walk to the square with my older brother, Prem, who was lucky enough to be eighteen.
Your name was in the fishbowl from ages twelve to eighteen.  
I was fifteen.  This was my fourth reaping, and I still had three more reapings to go.
Prem was a lucky bastard.  I'd been repeating that to him whenever he brought up his age.
Hopefully, I had three more to go.
"Shut up, you idiot,"  Prem would flick me whenever I said "Hopefully" in that context.
This was my fourth reaping.  
I'd never gotten chosen before.
Why did I get a sick feeling this time around?
46.  
46 slips.  Right.  But maybe the odds would be ever in my favor this year, and I wouldn't get chosen.
Sadly, I was wrong.
Due to my name being called, I'd frozen with shock.
I bit my lip and tried not to cry, failing miserably.  At least there'd be no gross sobbing noises.
I had a reason to cry, I would be walking to my death.
If I wouldn't become one of the fallen tributes during the bloodbath that usually happened at the Cornucopia, I'd die soon after.
I couldn't cry.  
I couldn't cry.
The girls surrounding me,the same ones that called me their friend. didn't console me, or hug me.
Instead, they backed away.  
"Getanjoly Roy?  Are you here?"
The Peacekeepers started walking towards the general area I was standing in.
My face became even more wet, thinking about my chances of surviving.
"I'm here," I managed weakly.
I cried, walking to the stage.
I knew the death I was destined to was going to be a violent and bloody death.
"Well, aren't you an absolute doll," the announcer gushed, her voice sounding as artificial as her pink hair, skin dyed white, huge eyelashes, and eyes too blue to be real.
"Stop crying, dear, you'll be famous!"
If this was fame, I didn't want it.  I'd rather stick to the stereotypical poor life of a District 11 child.
I didn't like this person.
"The male tribute is..."
The pause seemed to goon forever.
"Lovino Vargas!"
He came onto the stage, only with a face of sad shock.
I couldn't do this.  He was a friend of mine, and I couldn't do it.  
If our district did win, it would be him.
"Shake hands,"
We shook hands.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to him.
"Me too."
"May the odds be ever in your favor."