Anger
A/N: This is the second part of my five-part one-shot series. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. This is Anger.
Fuck you.
The last two words I had said to my mother. With those two words I had broken her heart and shattered whatever remnants of a mother-daughter relationship we once had.
Fuck you.
I had said them automatically, as I often do when I am verbally attacked. I hadn't meant them, but that didn't matter. I had still said them.
The day after she had died.
Fuck you.
Those two words killed my mother. I killed my mother. She died of a broken heart.
Fuck you.
I say those words now to my stylist before the platform I stand on starts to rise. He doesn't care. Disgusting, Capitol inbreed.
Fuck you.
No one had come for me the day I had been Reaped. I sat alone for a solid hour in the Justice Building, crying by myself. I prided myself on being able to withhold my tears but I was unable to bear the horror and strife I was going through.
It was only later on the train that I was informed by my mentor that my mother had died that morning. My brother was forced to bury her after the Reaping.
Fuck you.
Anger that is what I felt that day. Anger toward my mentor for giving me this news. Anger towards the ones who tried to comfort me, my escort and district partner. Anger at my the Peacekeepers who had let me suffer in silence as I asked where my family was. Anger at my brother for not being there as I left on the train. Anger at my mother for dying and leaving me with the guilt of knowing I caused her death.
But mostly, anger at myself. I was always anger at myself.
I have always been angry. Who could say what had caused it? My sister dying in childbirth, my father leaving when I was six, the starvation my family went through in District 11. I didn't think when I was angry. I let the rage flow through me. It's the only emotion I could ever show.
Anger.
Hate.
Rage.
Hurt.
And of course my anger caused my automatic response.
Fuck you.
Now my stylist shakes his head and looks away as I rise.
Anger.
How dare he look away.
Hate.
Retched Capitol scoundrel.
Rage.
I want to hit something and badly.
Hurt.
He didn't even say goodbye.
Just like my mother. My brother. My father. My sister. My mentor.
All just looked away, all just left me.
Fuck you.
Fuck me. I'm dead.
I rise up and see Cornucopia. I hear Claudius Templesmith count down the remaining seconds I have for planning.
I shake myself and try to form a plan. But I am too angry. My hate flows through my body.
Fuck you.
The gong sounds and I run. I once again resign myself to the anger and I see myself scoop up a knife and stab it into a tribute's chest.
Fuck you.
The words once again leave my lips as he falls. I fight in a rage I have never before. The anger rules me.
And I like it.
Fuck you.
No. I do not win. My anger provides me strength but it does not clear my head.
He stands over me, the tribute from One, his sword on my neck. He is smiling. Smiling at the hate clearly showing in my face.
Then he asks me for my last words.
You should know what I say.
Fuck you.
I spit in his face and his sword goes through my neck.
Fuck you.
Anger.
Hate.
Rage.
Hurt.
But at this moment I mostly feel the hurt.
Anger had taken my sister and mother. It had hurt my brother and caused my father to leave.
Anger had ruled me during this Game.
My anger.
My hate.
My rage.
My hurt.
It is not the tribute's sword that kills me.
My anger betrays me.
Fuck you.
Hurt.
Betrayal.
Sadness.
Death.
I die in anger just as I lived.
Just like my mother had died before me.
Fuck you.
My anger kills me.
A/N: Anger was the first one I wrote in this series. Which is why it is so long.