Disclamer: I don't own the Hunger Games
There is no such thing as a quick death. It's an oxymoron really. No matter how it happens, be it cancer or a bullet to the brain, it feels the same. It's slow, painful and agonizing, and you know you can't do a thing about it.
No matter what you've experienced, how much you've accomplished in life, there'll always be something else you want to do. No matter how much you hate people or the world, there'll always be someone that you feel worst about leaving. No matter how brave you try to convince yourself you are, death is terrifying.
No one truly accepts death.
I came here, knowing that I was going to die. I knew I wouldn't get out of here alive, that I would never see my family again. I knew all of this, but that didn't make it any easier.
All of this knowledge crashes into me as I stand at the mercy of the boy with the sword. I have no weapon, no strength, no hope. I know I'm going to die. I don't want to. I want to grow up, have a wife, children, a future. I want to go home. But I know that will never happen.
The boy looks at the sword, then at me, and hesitates. I know he doesn't want to do it. None of us do. How would you live with yourself, knowing that you had stolen the rest of someone's life away, just so you could survive?
He looks at the sword again and makes a decision. Any sympathy in his eyes is gone, replaced by cold determination. I just stand there, knowing that there is no point in running or pleading for mercy. At this point, the boy has none. It is truly amazing, what the need for self-preservation will do to anyone.
He lunges at me, the sword pointed toward my heart. I expect it to be over quickly, but it isn't. Instead, I see it come at me slowly, as if the whole world is moving in molasses. I know it will be painful, and I wish that it could just happen already, instead of torturing me with its slowness. Panic washes over me like it has never before, but I can't do anything, only watch the point of the sword come toward me, ready to kill me for a crime that I never committed. I wish I could scream.
The weapon tears into me and the world resumes its original speed. I scream in agony. It's terrible. I don't die immediately, instead I feel the essence of myself, my soul, seeping out of me, my body too ruined and broken, unable to hold it any longer. As death takes my body, It seems like I slide out of my body, watching the scene from above. I see the light fading from my eyes, hear myself stop breathing, and see my body collapse onto the ground.
I see the boy who killed me try to bravely pull the sword out of me, but vomits all over the ground next to me. He heaves and cries, attempting to come to terms with what he just did. I can feel his emotions. Sadness, regret, and disgust at the people who forced him to do this. There is also determination and the hope that he is one step closer to getting home. I hope he does.
I don't hate him. I can't. It isn't his fault. Kill or be killed. That's how it is here. You have to either be strong or die.
I watch the scene for a few moments longer and then depart, leaving for whatever comes after this.
Somewhere, a cannon booms.