Hi all I wrote this in tribute to the Hunger Games hope you guys like it.
Dead. That was the one word that could describe my childhood perfectly. The worst part was that I'm not even exaggerating when I say it, because it's the truth; my childhood was dead, and no comforting words or gestures were going to change that. But it didn't just die on its own oh no, it was stolen from me. The Capitol took it from me; only allowing my innocence to last barley four years before it was snatched away when I'd first realized what the games were for.
But, I wasn't the only one whose innocence was stolen away; others, so many others suffered the same fate as I did some were even worse off than I was, although my innocence was gone I still had a little time left for my childhood. Others weren't so lucky. Their siblings, friends or neighbors were chosen to compete in the games and all they could do was watch in frozen horror as they were murdered one by one on live T.V. They no longer sat at their window, waiting for a certain flying boy, Peter Pan our ancestors had called him, to come and whisk them away to a place called Neverland. I used to do that, I would sit by the open window replaying the tale in my mind; looking for the second star to the right waiting for the boy to come swooping in to the rescue me from the hunger, to rescue me from the hate, To save me from the games. He never came.
As the time for my first reaping grew nearer the hopes of being saved extinguished intill there was nothing left but a pile of cold ashes with only a small flame of hope left alive. That small hope that everything would be alright and that me and my sister would past through our reaping years safely. That flame was quickly reduced to a spark the second my name was pulled out of the bowl and my sister stepped up to take my place. My mother had held me, held on to me tight so that I wouldn't run up to my sister and beg her to stay; I remember that she hadn't been crying, tears shone in her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall. I was confused to why she was holding back, it really seemed quite pointless to when it felt as though we'd be mourning in a few days anyway, so I let my own tears fall freely, not caring if anyone saw, not caring to be strong.
I'd cried more than I had ever cried before in those weeks that I was forced to watch my sister face death, again and again coming closer to its deadly embrace each time. At some points I was ready to prepare a funeral, I'd even laid my black dress out in case it happened suddenly; then sometimes I snapped myself out of it telling myself firmly she promised she'll make it. She has to make it…she promised. But even I knew then that a promise wasn't going to change anything, not when the promise involved the games.
But she made it. Oh, she made it! Not only that but for the first time ever in the game's history two tributes allowed to live. It was a miracle, we had all the money we could ever wish for and we no longer had to worry about our hunger or our neighbors either because every mouth food would be shipped for them. I had my sister back, my old mom was back; she hadn't been the same since my father had died. And everyone now had enough food to keep from starving; it was amazing, but, as I should have known then, far too good to last.
That very same year everything fell apart. Uprisings started in district eight and soon we had a whipping post in the town square. If that wasn't bad enough my sister was once again forced to be a tribute in the games; I remember the fresh horror of watching her on the T.V once again fighting for survival with every step she took, and the brutal shock I had felt when the area exploded, sending rock, water and wood to clash in an ultimate disaster, broadcasted for everyone to see intill the screen had gone black. Two days later the bombs came; raining from the sky like giant black cruel raindrops that destroyed everything in their path. It had smelt just as it did now, a sickening stench mixed with burnt earth, body's and blood. I don't see the blast coming I can only feel the pain, the terrible burning pain that felt as though I was being torn apart. Then it was gone, just like that and I felt nothing.
People say that it's a terrible thing to loss one's childhood by death. But what they don't know is that it's far, far worse to lose it by watching others die. The Capitol took my innocence first by forcing me to watch the games, then they took my childhood the moment my sister took my place in the games.
Katniss Everdeen was my mocking jay, my last spark of hope, and my sister.
Sorry it was so short. R.I.P Prim. Feel free to review if you liked it.