Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
I never thought this day would come.
The day I would have to say goodbye to everything I knew, cherished, thought of as my own in some way, remembered.
The day I was picked for certain death.
I had been reaped for the Hunger Games.
I wasn't surprised. I took lots of tesserae, so it was expected. I didn't cry. There was nothing holding me in this hostile place that was called "home". Yet I knew I would still miss it.
The soft breeze in the morning, the monotonous voices of the workers as they trudged to work past my cracking window. The sound of childrens' squeals as their mother spun them around in endless orbits, as if they were the Moon spinning around the Sun.
And when death came for me in the form of a spear, I accepted it. I embraced it with open arms. I yearned for it, to take me away from this purgatory we call Earth.
I never understood the people around me. Not anything I could be, or at least pretend to be.
The last thing I saw was the face of my savior. The one who set my soul free, away from this terrible place.
His face had a sort of angelic quality, freckles lightly dusted over the tops of his cheeks, nose and its bridge. Those sky blue eyes with tiny streaks of grey, the color of the sky on a rainy morning. The pale, yet not too pale, air-brushed skin.
Those eyes widening at the realization that he took somebody's life. Yet I can't let him feel guilty, he's done me a favor.
"Don't be guilty. You saved me. Thank you." Those were my last words on this foreign, alien planet.