This has been sitting on my laptop for about a year now, not real sure on how good it actually is. I've done a lot of editing and revising to this, trying to get it to how I want. Review and let me know what all of you lovely readers out there think.

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 1

I lay sprawled on a green velvet couch. I was on the train, going to the poorest district of them all - District 12. The Victor Tour was definitely a waste of my time; no one really wanted to cheer for me. Sometimes I'd think that the Capitol was so annoying for making the victors do this just because the districts rebelled. All my life I had been raised to believe that the Capitol was good and perfect and the Games were the solution to the country's problems. It wasn't till after my Games that I realized how wrong that was. Or how everything I'd known—or thought I'd known—was just another one of their domineering ways to keep everyone in Panem in line.

I spent my nights screaming and lying wide awake in bed afterward because of the stupid nightmares that my games gave me. Not only that, but President Snow had tried to get me to do the infamous "appointments". Tried is the key word. I didn't go through with it. I didn't have any close friends because I was always training, and the last of my family had died a few months before. Snow was so frustrated that he didn't have anyone to use against me; his pale face was red, his puffy lips pushed into a thin white line. Before I left his office, he hissed that he would get me one time or another, that I couldn't be alone forever. I had rolled my eyes. I was going to always be alone. No one wanted to be friends with a monster, and I was never going to get attached to someone, much less love them. He would never have anything to use against me. He can't own me. They most definitely can't have my body. Ever.

One day, this country is going to be ripped from his hands and into another's. It will be given to a person who deserves to hold power; a person who won't force the Hunger Games upon us; one who won't sell the victor's bodies to eccentric, slutty creeps.

Back at home, I spent all my time at the gym, not wanting to speak to anyone, not wanting to have all those girls flirt with me, not wanting anybody to congratulate me on my winning of the games. And though I knew that none of them could know what it was like—or would ever know, since most of them were past the age limit to be eligible for the games, I sometimes couldn't control myself from lashing at them to leave me the fuck alone. The simple truth was that I was envious of them. They were never going to feel the same pain I had. They wouldn't have the nightmares, the guilt, the haunting memories that are immortalized in my brain, the hallucinations, loss of complete humanity, or the loss of the only sort-of-friend I ever had. No matter what those trainers did, they couldn't train us for the aftermath. They may have brainwashed us into thinking that that's what we wanted to do-go into the games and kill as many children as possible-but they couldn't brainwash us enough to not feel the weight of all those deaths on our shoulders, and no amount of money could buy the next best shower to wash the blood off our hands. We victors were forced to live with the compunction of everything we did in those fucking games.

The train came to a stop, but I didn't move from my spot on the couch to get off. It didn't take long for Eva, my stylist, to come on and coerce me to leave.

We got into a small car that took us to the mayor's house. The whole way I looked out the window at the coal-covered, nondescript landscape and its inhabitants. Their olive-colored flesh was covered in coal dust like it was an extra layer of skin. Their faces looked tired and hollow. Their figures were basically just skin and bones, cadaverous and emaciated. If I tried, I was sure I'd be able to count all of their ribs. This, certainly, was no District 2. Even the little kids weren't running around chasing each other like the kids back home did; instead, they stood around, doing whatever they did, looking as solemn as the adults. Of course, there were others, too. They had blonde hair and blue eyes; they were healthier looking than the others, but still not up to District 2 standards.

We stopped at a rustic house about the size of a regular home in District 2. Though this one was run-down like the rest of the buildings around the district, this one was the biggest and seemed to get more repairs than the rest. Besides the fact that weeds were growing everywhere wildly and the paint that was coming off on the siding, the house looked fine. Not District 2 victor house fine, but a nice, homey fine.

We were greeted by a man with graying blonde hair. When he bowed his head to welcome us, I could see the growing bald spot growing in his peppered hair. His figure was slouched over more than it probably should have been, but as for size, you could tell he ate more food than most in this district, though he wasn't the size of someone from my district. He was still too skinny to be normal. Maybe, though, I'm a little biased since the training center, where my life revolved around 24/7, had kids where trainers dictated and shoved every opportunity up their asses to build muscles.

We went inside, and my prep team whisked me away to "fix" me for the cameras later today. I didn't have time to look around at the decor, but I saw enough to see that it looked nicer than the outside of the house. The small bedroom we went into had cream colored walls, white lace curtains, and a double bed up against the middle of a wall with a creamy brown colored comforter. The room was nothing compared to some of the rooms I've seen, but it felt comfortable and calming to be in. Sure, it wasn't up to some peoples' standards in the richer districts (most definitely not in the Capitol), but it was beautiful in its own unique way. I know, I know, sappy, sappy Cato had become all soft and emotional since the games, but maybe now I was just realizing how fucked up my shitty life was before. The citizens may face other dangers, but at least they had a house not made of that prison gray cement.

I could have been overthinking my life, only seeing the bad, but that only good thing I achieved was the liberating knowledge that was purposefully warped, twisted, and hidden from my brainwashed self: The Capitol was a pain in the ass, the polar opposite of good.

The speech I made later in front of the district was pretty boring, considering no one smiled and only gave a soft clap when I was done. Through the whole thing, I was looking at all the faces of the crowd, seeing how everyone seemed so grown up and how they lived in a world of pessimists. While scanning, my eyes found one girl with dark, long hair that was pulled back into a braid that fell down to her waist and who had stormy gray eyes. She scowled the entire time, not necessarily at me, but at everything. She looked utterly bored with everything going on around her. She had her arm around a girl with blonde hair that was pulled into two braids. She had blue eyes and looked nothing like the girl standing next to her.

When I was done, I was quickly whisked off to the town square for the dinner and a small party. When they served the food, you could tell they didn't have a lot to work off of, so there wasn't much there and it was a little bland. But I guess it's not like they made food for a living like District 11.

Afterward, when some music was played, only a handful of people started to dance, but most talked in small groups. I stood off to the side, observing the people around me. It wasn't hard to see who hung out with whom. There seemed like the District had segregated itself between blonds and brunettes, skinny and not so skinny, pale and olive-skinned. There weren't a lot of brunettes there, but the ones who were there weren't standing next to blondes. Except one.

My eyes swept over all the people but stopped short when I saw a young brunette standing in the corner next to a pale, blonde-haired girl, who somewhat resembled the mayor. The two girls weren't talking, but neither seemed to mind. The brunette's imperturbable face still held the same scowl she had on earlier; the blonde had on a small smile. The brunette wasn't what most people would call beautiful—especially standing next to the blonde beside her, but she definitely stood out from the others in the room. Her body language showed a fighter. Her figure showed she had it better it off than some of the others. The way her shoulder sagged showed the pressure and hardship of life weighing her down. These characteristics were a combination of the new and old Cato. The old Cato would never back down, always postured to fight at any given moment. The new Cato resembles that man, but I was no longer eager to pursue a pointless fight for the hell of it. Now, I could feel the heaviness of life like a thumb whacking an ant; they are hit time and time again, but that wasn't always their dying blow.

I stood off to the side by myself, my eyes flicking over to the two girls frequently. At the other side of the room, I saw small groups of girls giggling and stealing lustful glances at me. They probably didn't care-well, actually, I know that they didn't care-that I was a victor. They probably just want me in their beds for a rush of their lifetime from a rough-tough, good-looking guy.

I pushed those thoughts aside and ignored them.

At one part during the night, the blonde left the brunette's side and went over to the mayor. The brunette didn't leave her spot; she just played with a loose string on her blue dress that fell to about an inch above her knees. Her gray eyes were glazed over, lost in her own little world.

I took the chance of her being alone and went over to her. With her being zoned out, she didn't notice me standing there, so I cleared my throat.

She looked up at me, unfazed by my presence. She blinked a few times, her eyes narrowed. She stared at me as if she was trying to decipher if I was really next to her, trying to talk to her.

"What do you want?" she asked icily, not even bothering to act nice like everyone else here had. She, apparently, didn't care that I was the newest victor of the Hunger Games. Though I didn't know her, nor did she know me, she looked as if she absolutely hated me. Her abhorrence was inscrutable. It sent me back to the real world where everyone hated me, where I still hated myself.

I held up my hands up in surrender, feeling slightly crestfallen. "You were all by yourself and so was I. Just thought we could talk." The excuse was lame under any circumstance, but it was better than telling her I had absolutely no idea what coerced me over to this side of the room, next to her.

"What makes you think I wanted to have any company or even talk to you?" She turned her head away, her braid flipping over onto her shoulder, and crosses her arms.

"I didn't. I just-"

Her head flew back around, her face red. "See, that's the thing! You don't think. You just assume. You think that everyone will like you or pretend to like you. That people will do whatever you want; act a certain way around you. Well, I'm not like them, so take the hint and leave me alone." Her animosity began to send chills down my spine. What is with this girl?

"Chill out."

"Chill out?! You- never mind. I'll be the bigger person and just walk away." With that she gave me one final death glare and stalked away, going off to a tall man about my age with dark hair, a glare also present on his face that was directed in my direction.

Geez, people. What did I do?

Then, it hit me. I was the one who murdered the District 12 tributes. Not just one, but both of them.

I hoped that all the districts weren't going to be like this.

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~Txcutee