He watches them go by, time making them reminiscent of little more than names, or faces. The ones that stand out to the crowd are of course, their particularly gruesome deaths.
But he sits by and does nothing.
He remembers some of them, clear as day: little Evanna, the blond 12 year old from district 5 in the 52nd Hunger Games, when he was first posted as the Game's host; the pair of tributes from District 3 a few years later, with their sullen eyes and quiet, intimate silence- they were lovers, and minutes after they entered the arena, they stabbed each other as the suicide pact had bound them; bright energetic Suzie from District 10, her smile soon forgotten when a spear embedded itself deep into her chest; charismatic Marcus, the psychopath the Gamemakers ended up killing with their avalanche and Rue, the sweet District 11 girl.
No one could ever forget Katniss or Peeta of course. Caesar was glad for them; his hatred towards the Capitol has burned long enough. After all, he was only 30 when he first started, and who refuses the Capitol's request? It seemed harmless enough, didn't it?
But it wasn't. Being the host meant talking to the tributes, and talking them meant knowing them. They were seemed so much more human closer up- and so much younger.
And of course, there was the dying. The dying all around that he could not help stop; only create.
A/N: So this is me trying my hand at HG fanfiction. I've always wanted to write from his point of view, Caesar; what does he thoughts fill his mind during his waking hours, what dreams plague him at night? Reviews and constructive critiscm are appreciated!
Love, Aisyah :)