James Godfrey's (District 9) P.O.V:
I stand in the audience with my mother. We are at my older sister's Reaping, to watch, and when the time comes for the fifteen-year-old Reaping, I hope she will be here to watch me.
I strain to see over the many heads that block my view of Nora. I can see the escort walk out of the Justice Building, and hear her 'hello, hello, Happy Hunger Games' whatever. I rely on my sense of hearing to tell what is going on now. Her heels clack as she walks over to a glass ball with either boys or girls, I can't tell. I bite my lip. Not Nora, please not Nora.
"Owen Lithe!" It was a boy. Thank God it was a boy. I breathe a sigh of relief and try to think. Owen Lithe... Where have I heard that name before? Was it... Nora's boyfriend? Am I remembering that correctly? I think so.
The heels begin to clack again and I know that it is time for the girls. Please, please, please, please, please not Nora. Not Nora. Not Nora. Not Nora. Not Nora. I repeat this in my brain. Not Nora.
"Nora Godfrey!" The Capitol woman says. I cover my face with my hands and sink to my knees. I let out a curse. Now I have to repeat something else. Live Nora, live Nora, live Nora.
President Snow's P.O.V:
I admire the name of the girl who has just been reaped to represent District 10. Isis Osprey. Isis. Sounds like ice. I suddenly have an epiphany. I call down to Jumbalya. "Jumbalya, every drop of water in the arena is ice. Even the rain that will happen on the 2nd day," I say. Ah, I just love epiphanies!
"Would you also like cold temperatures, sir?" Jumbalya asks.
"Yes, Jumbalya, especially at night." I suddenly have another thought. Maybe it would be best not to kill Jumbalya. Well, we'll have to wait and see how she does in the other games. Yes, we will. I have just hung up on Jumbalya when I think about the rest of Isis's name. I re-call Jumbalya. "Jumbalya, birds. Include birds." I cut the line before she can say anything else.
I turn back to the Reaping. A young man named Vernon Diggory has just been chosen. There is a girl crying in the background. I ponder if it is his year-younger sister or his year-younger girlfriend. They look relatively similar, but then again, everyone in 10 looks similar. But he is relatively attractive. For a young man from 10 at least.
The escort walks them into the Justice Building, and I turn the television off to a high-tech transparent screen and sit silently at my mahogany desk, plotting the death of Felicia Feathersfowl.