This occurs between CF and MJ, before they use the Avoxes for questioning.
I don't own the Hunger Games.
Dear Phoenix,
I am writing to you now because I can't take it in here anymore. And my therapist, which all Avoxes have to take (believe me, it's all pro-Panem Propaganda) says I have to berate you. But I can never do that. Which is why I am doing this now. And this letter has the truth.
It's been three years. Three years. I have to wait upon the two most unfortunate souls, the Tributes from District Twelve. Oh, how we'd mock them! But now, my heart breaks to even see them. I remember those times we'd laugh at everything that happened in the Games! Life was a joke to us! But now, I can't bear it.
They made me an Avox. Father oversaw it. He … he laughed manically… and said that we were like peculiar warts to him, we never existed in his mind. Our voices were two of the most valued in Panem. And he knew, that removing my voice was the biggest punishment of all. After all, we did insult him and embarrass him. Now he's demoted from head Gamemaker to a normal one. I see him every day. And he takes great care to insult me in front of everyone (by the way, he was replaced by Seneca Uncle. Remember him giving us treats as children?) Do you remember Effie? Effie Trinket? Our agent? Now they've demoted her to an escort to District Twelve. Even though she klnew absolutely nothing about the whole escapade. When one of the girls claimed to have recognized me, she firmly shot me down. Oh, how that broke my heart. Even though it was Effie, she still denied us. And the way she did it, oh, now I despise that witch from the bottom of my heart (I still won't curse, Phoenix, how sad is that?)
The couple we saw that ill-fated day, do you remember seeing them? We motioned for help. I was mad. But you were always the level-headed one. You told me that hey, we wouldn't need them. And we probably would have done the same thing. But before anything could happen, they…they… killed you. And I want them dead. No, not the couple. That girl, I waited on her. I cleaned her stuff and I served her meals. I despised it…but my temper has abashed a bit.
I even remember why we ran away. I couldn't take life as a singer. Constant pressure to stay thin, the media's representation of me as a ginger, and dad constantly pressuring me to implant those wings. I forced you. Or did you come willingly? But the most important thing was that you came. And I will never hate you for that. You were the best brother I could have ever had. Correction. That I do still have. And I made you die for me. Why? Kara Crowe is the new Pop Idol now. We made so much fun of her and her bulimia. But now, my life is gone. Ruined. And the plans for the rebellion we found in Plutarch's purse (I heard Heria that it was a satchel. Goodness, who did he expect to believe that?)? They went through with it. Katniss, the girl we saw in the woods, is at the head of it. The main face of the rebellion. Two other Victors, Finnick (the one Corvetti liked) and Beetee, the geinus victor who won before Haymitch. Did you know Phoenix, that half of the Victors went back in? It was a Quarter Quell. They fished those three out of the arena. Johanna Mason, the girl who cried baby, Enobaria, the woman who we thought was a cannibal, and Peeta Mellark are with the Capitol.
Peeta Mellark. He was that girl, Katniss', lover. But not the guy who looked like her brother. This guy is strong, muscular, blond, and hot. But they captured him. I can hear his screams. I want to shout and say, it's okay! Grit your teeth and they'll shut up. But I couldn't, for obvious reasons.
They are now pulling me in for questioning, Phoenix. Me and Darius, who is my A. Partner. He was placed here to freak both people from twelve out. Since we both are gingers, they call us a matched set. HE seems nice. He hasn't said anything bad yet.
Never mind.
But back to the questioning. They want answers. How can I give them answers? So now I know I will die. I will die a painful death. But I am oddly happy. Why am I happy to die? If I could choose my manner of dying, I'd find my tongue, and sing The Hanging Tree at the top of my lungs. But, I'd better settle for this.
I want to die Phoenix, because I can't see another poor District twelve kid die. I can't see Effie shudder at the sight of me. I can't see dad make indecent jokes about my butt anymore. And I can't see mom 's face everyday, with tears in her orange eyes because of us. It hurts so fricking bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, BAD! I can't live anymore. They don't even give me anything sharp, so no way of suicide. And my food is strictly monitored so that the only way I'd die is through old age. AT ninety.
But I am happy, Phoenix. I'll leave Effie, dad, Seneca, mom, Katniss, Crissti, Plutarch, and even Jeb, that idiotic ex-boyfriend of mine who works as a stylist intern, whom you loved to tease and intimidate. And I'd do it willingly. Why you may ask? I bet you want to be alive. But I want to leave this earthly life now. All for you. We can be together, best friends. It may not be cool to live with your sister, but I will live with you.
They're calling me now Phoenix, so I'll expect myself to see you soon
Love,
Lavinia