Poppy looked at her mother, at a woman that she was increasingly growing to un-know, a moment at a time. “Why aren’t you speaking to me?” Her voice was a whisper, in case they were listening.
“You know the rules, muffin.” Despite their hollowness, her words were kind. “You know how it is. Once you’re Called, you cease to be who you were. You’re theirs.” A small tear ran down her mother’s left eye.
Poppy thought of a YouVid that showed a scientific study-that if you shed a tear from the left eye, it was from hate, if it was from the right, it was from love. Her mother cried out of her right eye.
“They’ll come to collect you in a moment.” Her mother said. “You should know that I love you that I’m proud of you.”
Poppy nodded. She should have known this would come. Everyone was Called to be a Contestant on or around her sixteenth birthday. If you survived, you lived. If you died during your time as a contestant, you died. It kept the population down and helped to provide entertainment.
Though there were fewer of them then had covered the Earth before, there were still a lot of Sparrows. They clung to the life they had won. They had fought for it and won it. If you survived (ten survived out of thirteen, usually. Sometimes less. Sometimes only four or five Houseguests survived. Poppy knew the odds.
Her mother looked her in the eyes, softly, one last time. “Your father would be so proud of you, sweetheart.”