Number Seven
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, which belong to Suzanne Collins.
A/N: This is not awfully good at all. But I needed to write, and I decided that I would pick out a random character and write somrthing random about them. President Snow, well, I always pictured him like this.
I killed well over a thousand people in my reign over Panem. Most would feel guilty, embarrassed, or scared. Most suffer from nightmares. Most hate themselves every morning when they awaken. I do not. I am proud of my accomplishments. I refer to it as problem solving, and it is very logical, radical thinking.
I had seven wives killed. Not murdered. Murder is something committed by an overgrown, overfed, balding man with large tattoos up his arms. Killing, well, killing is death. Death happens. It is a necessity of Panem, and therefore, so is killing.
I had a child with my seventh wife. It is more than unfortunate. Terrible. Awful. Disgusting. But my child is the one thing I am sure that I love. Long, white-blonde hair, and bright green eyes. I make a habit of sponsoring every tribute with her looks that enters the Games.
Number One. Laylie Marinda. Flowing blonde hair. Blue eyes. Easy smile. Honest, or so she was. When I married her, she was honest. "I do." She does, doesn't she? She does an awful lot of things for such a pretty face. Like having children, two times, two men. Neither of them me. Painful to think about, even more painful to hear from a friend of mine. Laylie Marinda was beheaded. Apparently her pretty face was all that kept her going.
Number Two. Sahara Sarca. Sarca, short for sarcastic, or so it seemed, anyhow. Nice enough, pretty enough. Brown hair, grey eyes, tall and skinny. Nice assets. Clever too, too clever. Far too clever. Genius, in fact, smarter than I when I got down to the tests. Her score, at least ten points ahead. I pride myself in being the smartest human in Panem, and it will remain that way. She had to go. Sahara Sarca was drowned. She thought it was a joke. How agitating.
Number Three. Ranie Blue. Ranie Blue. I should have known from the moment she introduced herself that she was a liar and a cheat. Rude, unforgiving, ridiculous. Irresponsible. Stupid. But, she was not really any of these things. What she was, she was a fool. Ranie looked clever, too. Glasses. Black hair, piercing green eyes. Small and skinny. Quite pretty. However, she hid a lot behind her pretty face, such as the fact that she was rapidly spending the Capitol taxpayers money. Illegal. Punishable by death. And so it was. Ranie Blue was shot by a firing squad. I watched from afar. Unfortunately, she didn't even scream.
Number Four. How tedious it is to speak, yet again, of Joane Bauy. The only one of the seven that was not, in the slighest, pretty. Short, close cropped brown hair. Brown eyes. Moles. Plain, boring, and all around hated. Not just by me, but by my fellow, high ranked officials in the Capitol. She had to go. Joane Bauy was poisoned. She screamed before she died.
Number Five. Briony Herar. A simple minded child. Small body, small brain. Large head. Surprising it could fit through the door. Blonde. Conceited. Brown eyes. Pale skin, with freckles. I remember her vividly, in all probability because she must have been at least ten years younger than I at our marriage. Disgusts me. She threw herself at me. She wanted everything. And she thought she deserved it. She deserved District 12, the lowest of the low. I wonder where she went today? She died of starvation. The Peacekeepers ensured of this.
Number Six. Pellie Masoy. Red hair, very long. Very curly. Got caught on everything in our home. She had to go after she destroyed my presentation plaques on my wall. And my chandelier. And my plates. Ridiculous! Pellie Masoy was suffocated. The only one killed directly by me. I wanted to do my own dirty work this time.
Number Seven. Number Seven, the selfish woman who really took my heart with her when she left. Momentarily, that is. Horrid. Selfish. Rude. Idiot. Foolish. Anything else? Black hair, grey eyes. I feel no need to mention her name. I will mention that I am rather surprised she is not related to our precious Mockingjay, the great Katniss Everdeen. They are quite similiar in appearance and personality. Similiar indeed. And so why do I hate the Mockingjay? I need not make a list, but I shall anyhow.
She's bringing down my empire. She outsmarted my Hunger Games. She hates me and all that I stand for. She was born in District 12. She has two perfect boyfriends, while I no longer feel the want for a wife. I have no room left for love. Katniss is selfish. She is ridiculous. She is girly, yet lethal. And she resides in District 13 with Primrose Everdeen. The youngest Everdeen. The youngest Everdeen, who will die. Not because I love her. Because I hate her. I hate her sister, so I hate her. And she will die.
To kill a person is not to destroy them. It is to destroy everything that they are. And that is what I will do. Her father is dead. Her sister will be, eventually. When I get around to it. Miss Primrose Everdeen is no longer a top priority. Then Mellark, then her mother, then Hawthorne. The subject, Miss Everdeen, says she does not want children. With both of her lovers destroyed, she will be lacking the means to have them. The average number of children is two. That makes seven things of Miss Everdeen's that I will have destroyed. Number Seven.