—I was walking with my younger friend, she was about 8, to the bakery. "Ellie, why is everyone always screaming every year around this time?" she asked. I sighed. She was only 8 but she had to know one day. She had lost both her parents in a house fire, so what news could be worse?
—"Every year in May, people gather around, people above the age of 10, and put there name into a box. The host, for the games, shakes the box up and pulls out 10 names. Whoever is chosen has to go to a secret place, and plays the games I was talking about. They go through a series of games..." I didn't want to say the rest "...and 9 die a brutal and slow death." I finished.
—She frowned. "So that means in 2 years I might die? I'll still be to young." Olivia said sadly. Her eyes were watering. "It's okay. I'm 14 and I haven't gotten chosen yet."
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