"My name is Lily Mellark. I'm fifteen. I live in District 12. My mother and father were in the Hunger Games."
I look at that last sentence and realise what I just wrote. I search for a new piece of paper, wrinkling the one in my hand in the process; but, of course, one of those things is nowhere to be found. "Schoolwork is tiring", I think to myself, and then decide I should take a break. I rush downstairs, where my family is having lunch. "Aren't you going to eat something, sweetheart?", my mother asks me. My first instinct is saying no; I always say no to whatever she suggests, since I found out; still, I am quite hungry. I sit down, not a single word coming out of my mouth, and take a piece of my father's bread. I try to eat it as fast as possible, wondering if they notice. If they ever notice that I've been cold and cruel to all of them for a very, very long time, I assume. I catch a glimpse of my little brother and I do notice him. I always do. He's the only person I am truly sure I love in this family. He's got that puppy look to his eyes that he always does. I think he gets it from our father, those big, brown eyes he has. It's hard to ignore him when his whole person emanates care, and warmth, and love. He must think I'm nuts right now, and I try as hard as I can to ignore that. I suddenly find myself sitting in front of an empty plate. I dash out of the kitchen and go to where it all started – the attic.
I remember all of it like it was yesterday. I was thirteen, my brother eight, and we were playing outside; playing being a relative term here, since I already considered myself too old for dolls and cars. Still, I enjoyed humoring him. My mother and father were watching us, curled on a bench. I recall dad asking me to get something from that very same attic; I can't remember what it was. I went upstairs – back then, I was more obeying – and started searching for that something. Instead, I found another thing. A book. It didn't seem like it had much to it; just an ancient book, full of dust. When I opened it, it was like this world collapsed on me and I was in some sort of surreal existence. There were boys, and girls, there, and my mother's writing described their deaths in the most gruesome way. That's when I found out about the Hunger Games, and the tributes, and everything. No one was supposed to know I knew, so I kept the appearences. I took the book to my room, and read a little bit of it every now and then. I kept waiting for my mom and dad to tell me all of that themselves, but they never did, and our relationship severely deteriored from that. I became cold, they acted like they didn't care. And I hated them for it.
That day, I swore I would keep my brother in the dark. It was a promise I intended to keep.