Author's Note: This is a quick piece from Thresh's sister's POV on the Victory tour, hope you like it! Read and Review!
I don't own The Hunger Games
They don' know what it was like for us, me an' my brother, an' my gran. We all worked, sun up t' sun down. Day in, day out. We barely kep' ou' lil' family goin'. Poor gran, she don' work no more, she can barely lift a seed with 'er frail bones, but can' tell 'er tha'. No, she'll do anything she can t' prove y' wrong after tha'.
Thresh was almost done with this game. He was so close. He was good. He helped anyun'. He was quiet, but nice. He was strong, a strong worker. All the time.
He helped the little un's down the road too. They work 'til their bare feet crack and bleed. I 'member Thresh would turn in 'is bushel o' grain t' th' keepers, he'd start t' walk home and without even blinkin' he'd just scoop one up under each arm. He carry 'em the whole way home an' drop 'em off to their ma, poor woman had another on t' way.
He tol' me, when I went t' say good bye, he tol' me he would come home. He wouldn' like it but he would. He knew I couldn' do it by meself.
Sum un' had t' win. Sum un' had t' come home. It should o' been him. But it wasn'. It was her.
He let her go, the girl on fire, the girl standin' up there in front of us, on the arm of 'er boyfriend. Me, an' gran, an'everyun' else has t' sit 'ere an' watch them tell us they're so grateful, so thankful. Well he is, she jus stand there, the little girl helped her an' she still don' say nothin' to 'er family.
It's her fault there's more keepers, more shooting, less food. Her fault he didn' come home.
He could o' come home, they were all afraid o' him, my little brother, my Thresh. But she had to make him owe her. She had t' try an' save tha' lil' girl, an' he always had a soft spot for the lil' un's. If she hadn' he could be home, he could be standin' up there, and I'd be cheerin', not close t' tears.
I finally look down, feeling the dull pain in my hands. Lil' red marks from my finger nails. The skin didn' tear, my nails break too often t' bite through the hard calluses on m' palms, so much like Thresh's. Gran grabs m' shakin' hands in a surprisingly strong grip, she has to hide my hate, else wise th' keepers'll come down on us.
She starts t' say something. I can't watch no more. I can't listen to her 'thanks' no more. She's a coward. She hid out, she couldn' win a real fight.
Then I hear it. Tha' whistle, not even a handful o' notes, but I knew it. It used to come outta the orchard next t' th' field where me and Thresh worked. Durin' the games I found out it was th' lil' girls song.
He used to smile every time he heard it, 'cause every time we heard it, the flags for quittin' time would go up. Sometime's he'd even whistle a note or two of it, but he never got it just right. I laugh and tease 'im for it, but I wasn' no better. The lil' un's he carried home, they could whistle the whole thing.
Then I hear the gunshot tear through the humming building up in my ears. I watch the old man hit the ground, a big, red hole in his head, and a spray of blood behind him. The fire girl is being pushed into the building. I didn' think she could cause anymore hurt. But there's sumthin' else in her eyes. Shock? Is she afraid of this? I see it everyday, didn' she know what she stirred up in people?
I close my eyes tight, like when I was but a lil' un' an' I hid under the thread bare blanket, trying t' hide from the crashin' thunder, or th' marchin' keepers. He used to be there with me, hidin'. I had t' stay strong fer us both then, tell 'im stories t' keep him quiet. Then when he got older he said he'd protect me, but he can' no more, and I can' protect him no more.
"Stop glarin' child," gran hisses in my ear while she tugs on my arm. "He wanted 'er t' win."
I look at th' ol' woman and she pulls me along, far too strong fer her age. She pulls me into the crowd, to hide in th' crowd.
"He couldn' live with 'imself after killin'y' know tha'. He let tha' boy kill 'im, y' know he could o' takin tha' boy's neck and twisted it. He couldn' come home like tha'." Tiny tears leaked outta gran's eyes, dripping and slidin' down her wrinkled face.
My throat tightens, I know she's right. Thresh was good, an' noble. Good like tha' Peeta boy. Katniss, she's no good, she's selfish. She don' care 'bout no one but herself.
But what she started, she's stirred up the pot, now its gonna boil over.
The crowds is pushin' back on some of the keepers now. I'm gonna help, but not for her.
"Get 'em!" I scream and raise my fist helping the men in front of me grab a keeper.
This is for Thresh.
They fire a few more shots, one hitting the man next to me.
This is for my brother.