I can't do this.
Most of the others dropped that attitude days ago. Most of the others took one look at the Careers- I wonder if they ever felt this way? Or were they born fearless and homicidal? Either way, they certainly came in ready- and realized that they couldn't afford to think that way. Maybe they still realize, knew, deep down, that they had no chance. That they were postponing the inevitable. But they tried. I watched them try, swinging swords, tying knots, making fires, throwing knives. Some learned, some didn't, but they tried so hard. Bless them, every one. Facing the Careers, they stood strong, and they tried.
I did not.
I watched, feeling myself tremble. How? Even the most innocent, the youngest- there was a twelve year old from 8, even him- were fighting, trying so hard to learn to kill. The tiny flashes of determination in their eyes as they landed a hit with their weapon of choice- it was all so sickening to me. They'd made their choice. They were going to live. At the cost of everything that was them, they would live. I could watch the Careers, their careless brutality and cruelty, and feel nothing- they were trained for this, and there was precious little left to save in them. But the rest of them…so desperate to live. I wanted to climb up on a pedestal and tell them all what I knew. But that was, of course, unthinkable.
A Hunger Games victor did not live. A Hunger Games victor survived. That was all.
I saw it every single day, I saw the hollowness in my big brother's eyes. I watched him turn to morphling, turn into a shallow imitation of his former self. I saw what he did on that screen, I saw the desperation in his eyes. He was never particularly attractive and scored only a six in training, and he starved for sponsorship until the very end, when he proved his intelligence and his wild, desperate strength. The Career pack ripped itself apart early that year, and that stroke of luck gave him the chance to win.
He won. The first victor from District 6 in years. He killed four kids, and their ghosts followed him home.
The Capitol had high expectations for me, the little sister of an underdog victor, but I refused to submit to their whims. I sat quietly in my chariot, I did not speak a word during my interview. My name was quickly forgotten, and only remembered briefly as I became the talk of the Capitol with my unbelievable training score of 0.
I stood my ground and stared at the Gamemakers. Trying to understand what made them agree to participate in such a horrible thing.
I deserved my score.
My mentor gave up on me. My poor brother, the mentor of my male counterpart, broke training rules to try to encourage me. But it was flat, empty, like his voice, like his eyes, like him.
It's okay, I tried to tell him. I know what I'm doing. It's okay.
And I did know.
I would not kill. I would not survive the games, but I would live, live until my last moment. I ate the food, I danced when I was alone. I made friends with Kobe, the boy from my District. He knew I was no competition, and so didn't have quite so much trouble interacting with me. My first and last friend, he'd never know how grateful I was that he made my last days almost…happy.
I would not kill, but I couldn't bring another to kill, either. These poor kids that would so quickly be lost, desperation driving them to fight and kill- I wouldn't make that happen. Not even to the Careers. I would not be a spot on anyone's conscious. I would live and die on my own terms.
As I stood on my plate, I heard the countdown, and I smiled a secret sort of smile.
My district token, a small wooden ball, a gift from my brother-
I let it slip from my grasp.
Satisfied.
I may not have survived, but at least I lived.