Hey everyone, it's me again with another wonderfully cheerful fanfic. *crickets* Er... I'll shut up and let you read the story.
-Memories of a Tribute-
I failed them. I lost. I let her go. I let her trick me into believing her lies. I let Fire Girl walk free. She was never allies with the little girl. She couldn't have been. It's impossible. If she really cared, she wouldn't have let the little girl die. She would have saved her. She would have done something, anything. But she didn't. She let the little girl die.
She didn't care.
Even that boy who claimed to be in love with her must know that. What has he done to help her? Everything he could. For the love of Panem, he almost died to save her! What has she done in return? Absolutely nothing. She hasn't lifted a finger to help him. The poor boy's head-over-heels in love with her, and she acts like she hates him.
Jerk.
Anyways, back to my original predicament. See, I'm actually dead. That's simple. The complicated part is how I died.
I was murdered.
I know, I know, real cheerful. But it's true. I was murdered for the amusement of my country. I was murdered because I was unfortunate enough to be chosen for the Games. The Hunger games to be exact. They're glorified hell on earth. The Hunger games were the result of a revolution. A failed revolution that is. I live in a country that used to be called North America. The country was divided into 13 districts. Note the past tense. Now, there are only 12 districts. District 13 was destroyed by the Capitol. The Capitol controls us. The Games are their way of reminding us that they are in charge. They can easily destroy us, but they don't. They prefer to slowly torture us. They take innocent children away from their families and force them to fight each other to the death for their amusement. The more gruesome the death, the better. It's sick how much they enjoy it. They look forward to forcing children to fight to the death in an arena. They're horrible. I was one of the victims, also known as "tributes". I lasted longer than most I guess. But I still died. I still lost. I still failed. I still let the Girl on Fire get away.
I should have killed her then and there. What stopped me? Memories of the little girl stopped me. Memories of Rue made me let the other tribute escape while I single-handedly took on one of the toughest tributes in the Arena, Cato. He was District 2's male tribute. I thought I could win. I was wrong. He snuck up behind me. He surprised me. The coward wouldn't face me in the open, oh no. He chose to wait until I had no chance of escape. Then he attacked. But I put up a fight.
What else was I going to do?
I almost won. I was so close to beating him. So stinking close to killing him. But then I heard her song. Rue's song. Like an idiot, I believed it was really her. I forgot that she was dead. Then Cato struck. He stabbed me. Then he did it again. And again. And again. And again. All I could feel was pain. All I could think of was her song.
Rue's song.
Precious little Rue's song that meant she was okay. I smiled. Rue was safe. She wasn't in the Arena anymore. She was free. The Capitol couldn't control her anymore. And they couldn't control me either. We weren't their pawns any longer. There was nothing more that they could do to us. I, Thresh, tribute of District 11, was free.
"Free..." I whispered, then everything faded into darkness.
I could still hear the mocking jay singing precious Rue's song.
My little sister's song.
Wasn't that just the most cheerful fanfic ever? Thank you for reading this lame excuse for a story. If you liked it, would you please let me know? (If you hated it, by all means let me know as well).
-icanhazjoy