I Hope You're Happy: One Shot

I'd been beautiful my whole life. No one could interfere with that. They could do whatever they wanted with me, but my beauty would always be there. Until they took control of my life.

I hope my parents we're happy when Cashmere agreed to start training me when I was 13.

She trained me hard, made me sweat blood and tears. My insides were beaten after every session with her. And although my hands were cracked and bloodied from handling a sword everyday, I remained beautiful.

I hope my parents were pleased when Cashmere told them I'd be ready for the Games at age 18.

They never listened to me. I didn't want to volunteer. I didn't want a bloody and painful death. Still, they pushed me harder, made sure I could run miles without stopping, and that I could start a fire in seconds. Still, I was one of the prettiest girls in District 1.

I hope my parents were excited when reaping day came, so they could see me volunteer.

I stepped onto the stage in the square, my head held high. On the train to the Capitol when Marvel and I watched a recap of the reapings, I knew that no one from any other District was competition for me. I was still the most stunning.

I hope my parents were overjoyed when they seen me on the chariot, using my beauty to my advantage.

I obeyed Cashmere, my stylist, everyone. I let them poke and prod me and dress me up like a doll. They said that I could "Get every male in the Capitol to sponsor me." I didn't know whether I should be excited or disgusted at that.

I hope my parents were proud when they seen me in my interview wearing that gold dress.

I hated that dress. It was completely see-through. I tried to make my stylist change it but he told me "This is the only way you will win!", in his stupid Capitol accent. No one listened, I could win these Games without help.

I hope my parents were delighted when they seen me at the cornucopia, swinging my sword through tribute after tribute.

The Games we're terrible. Worse than I'd ever imagined. We finally found the sickening "Girl on Fire," ironically after the flames died down. When she climbed 80 feet into the air, we sat under her tree and when night fell I was supposed to keep watch.

I hope, for the first time in their lives, my parents were a little nervous when they seen me fall asleep.

I awoke to chaos. Clove was screaming and Marvel and Cato took off towards the lake, leaving me behind. I was englufed in a cloud of golden insects, an unnaturally loud buzzing in my ears. Tracker Jackers, I thought. I struggled to my feet only to have them sting me and sting me until my legs couldn't hold me up anymore. I collapsed to the ground, the stings along my body growing to the size of oranges. It hurt, it hurt so much, I just wanted it to end. And the worst thing wasn't that I was dying. It was that I wasn't beautiful anymore.

I hope my parents we're horrified when they seen me die. Their beautiful daughter wasn't so beautiful anymore. Lying in a clearing with my body covered in giant lumps, I was not what they wanted. Because I was ugly.

In a way, it's more peaceful now. I escaped the restraining grips the world had on me when I died. But the best thing is that I'm beautiful again. I was ugly in death, but im stunning once again. Maybe I'm stunning again because I was forced into this by people who only loved me because of my beauty. I wonder if my parents miss me, but I don't care if they do, because they made me ugly.

I hope my parents are happy that they started this mess...

because now I'm dead.