In the last moments of my death, I feel nothing but pain. Although this pain I feel, is not from the iron claws shredding my skin, nor from the blood seeping from my head, blossoming in an array of deadly roses on my neck, or even from the realization that my final moments on this world are not with my family, but televised live to the country whilst they watch on, some in delight, some in pain but all entertained.
No, the pain I feel is not from the external damage caused to my body, but the much deeper agonizing pain caused to my mind. The pain of regret and loss. The pain of never being able to experience love and happiness.
I know who I am and I know who I have become. I was trained to fight, I was brought up to be a killing machine and I am a product of the Capitol. I remember my childhood, the brief expanse of peaceful days, before I had to train, when I could still be a child. I remember the first day of training, thinking it was a game, thinking that I was special, seeing the pride on my fathers face when I won my first fight. That's all I wanted to do, make people proud.
As I finally slip into the empty abyss of death, I don't fear what waits for me, I don't feel the pain anymore, all I feel is relief. I am finally leaving.
And that night as the final canon sounded, I know that hell gained another demon.