( Silence. It echoed on the walls of his empty house, seeping out of every corner, pooling around his legs as he tied his shoelaces. It would be the last time he would leave its doors, no doubt. He thought of this as he put on his jacket, yet it made him feel nothing. This place was not home. Home was with his father's bookshelves, with the desk her mother worked at endlessly, miles away, yet now he stood in a dusty room devoid of any memories. He had nothing to pack, and he stepped outside with the clear knowledge he was leaving the district by the end of the day. ).
( The quiet followed him, flooding the streets as he went, surrounded by people anxious to know the names of those whose fates would be derailed today. But he knew half of it already, had decided on his own fate for once. Thus when the human presenter gave his speech, as the others around him struggled not to scoff, he simply focused, looked him dead in the eye. How could he stand there, in front of so many who would kill him with no regrets if they could avoid the consequences? He spoke, his words a game of pretend, pretending he held at least an ounce of respect for his audience, and his audience in exchange forced themselves not to roll their eyes. It dragged on for painful minutes, a complete loss of time, as the words only swam through a deeper sort of silence, carrying no meaning whatsoever, until the presenter finally drew the first name. ).
( Hinami Fueguchi had the misfortune of having her identity acknowledged. As of course, they were always only numbers or monsters to the capitol, only having their names recognized on this one occasion, when they were sent to kill each other. The girl walked herself to the stage, yet when he expected to see her in a state of shock, she stood sad, yet unsurprised,, as if the event made little difference to her, as if she felt what they were taking from her had no value. Perhaps it had not registered with her, he thought, or perhaps she had nothing to lose. He frowned, having not thought much of the one would be volunteering to replace, his chest brimming with a nostalgic, nearly forgotten feeling, a fragment of his old self struggling to emerge. He buried it further down. ).
( And finally, his head rose above the waves. His voice caused ripples around him, eyes turning to spot the one who had invited death both in his arms and on his shoulders, as his steps brought him closer to the stage. ).
' I volunteer as tribute. '
