'An angry man's power will shut you up, trip wires fill this house with tip toe love'

Shogo Hara- Victor.

The guns in The Capital were fired that weekend in August, not in anger this time but salute. I watched all the tributes of my Games appeared on the Capital screens one last time, my photo highlighted with a golden band. It was the same all weekend long, they wanted no talk of what they had done, no talk of the bravery they had shown. Some of the most important people came to pay tribute to me but I wanted no tribute for myself. My concern was for those who didn't make it, for the friends I left behind in the soils of their Districts.

Those of my District, who didn't understand what I has been through, may of felt humbled as I mingled with them. However, they just brought back the vivid memory of the dead people that littered the ground, so young that they made me feel humbled. I wanted to pay and not receive tribute. So I walked quietly to the cemetery and sat by my District partners grave.

They wont grow old like I do, age wont weaken them like it will me. As the days go on and the sun rises and sets, I will remember them until the sun finally sets on my life.

I couldn't enjoy the beach anymore, it was now a long thin line of personal anguish. All I see is a long line of human waste stretching as far as the eye can see. Some lay next to gear, gear that is now stained in blood, never to be used again. The gear that belonged to those who died so I could be were I am now. Socks, sewing kits, plasters and rotten fruit now being washed away by the tied. Their dead hands clutching their tokens from home, the last thing they had of their life before the arena.

Then I'd open by eyes and the sickening scene would be replaced with a smiling Kanu as he hunted for new shells to add to his collection.

What haunted me every year I mentored was the extreme youth of the people who fought in the arena. They all had different reasons but each one was fighting for something when they shouldn't. They should be in school learning, laughing and playing with friends. The careers shouldn't be pressured into volunteering and killing, they should be playing games like kick ball not survival of the fittest. It is always the young that suffer when a man with power shows off his strength.

One day, I came back to my room after a pointless wonder round The Capital with Kanu, to find two young tributes, one from five and one from three. They looked to me, almost unbearably young, boys in the over top clothes of The Capital and each cradling his token from home.

"Mr Hara" the one from five said cautiously "we heard from your tributes that you would let them write letters to their family just in case they didn't make it. I know we are not your tributes but we beg you to let us write a letter, our mentors wont let us". I quickly rushed them into my room before handing them a thin piece of paper and a sharp pencil. It was hard to write your last words on one piece but it was the best I could do.

This was the start of what would become a regular stream, I would invite them inside, give them some paper and something to write with then I would put them with others that I would deliver to their devastated families in a few weeks.

Almost always, they wrote to their mothers and they were the worst to face.

'Run out of excuses for everyone so her I am and I will not run'

He was one of my tributes in a story called 'In Your Hands: The Thirtieth Hunger Games' By LadyCordeliaStuart. He died but this is how I would of pictured his life if he had of won. I am doing this for all my tributes.

Hope you enjoyed it, please review and let me know :)