I remember when I started school. I was only five when my parents had decided that the ruins of District 12 were not a good place to raise a child. District 12 had become a famous place to go for mourning the deaths of the people of the district, the people who had succumbed to the Capitol. There was an entire graveyard made just for them, each with their own grave, even though most of them didn't have a body buried. This included many people that Mama and Dad knew, such as both of my grandparents on Dad's side and many of the traders in the Hob, the place where Mama used to trade meat that she had hunted for different things, such as fruit or vegetables.
"One of them had their tongue cut out that way he could never speak again." my mother would weep. "And they were made a slave."
And then I always sat beside her, suddenly wishing I could relate to her, somehow. Just so I could know how it felt and be able to comfort her. But because there was no way to, I would just put an arm around her and then wait until she had let all of her sadness out. Afterwards we'd go back home, the exact home in which Mama used to live in, only now fixed and made prettier. Dad had planted flowers around it, while Mama did most of the dirty work on the inside. It was nice enough, only when Mama was soon impregnated with me, things changed. It became harder to live in, they had to make a makeshift bed for me, as there were no shops, only their remakns. I grew out of it quickly, so eventually I just slept with them. Sure, District 12 wasn't entirely an island, like I said, many people visited there for a couple of hours to mourn. But a mourning district? For a toddler?
So, they decided that we should move to a different district, such as District 8. District 8 was where there was the first uprising in the Great Rebellion, so it was a place where we could be accepted. Not treated as royalty, but simply respected, and that was enough for us. When I first went to school, I was immediately already ahead of the class. I had already learned to count to a hundred, I had already memorised my times tables and I already knew the definition of a noun, pronoun, verb and adjective. The teacher immediately saw this and thought I should try out a day in the year above. So I did, and even though I was a bit of an outcast, being a year younger, I really enjoyed it. I fit right in, so they decided to make it permanent.
Fast forward in time and I was now fourteen. I was taking a lot of exams, especially to get the academic scholarship in my next school. I was planning to take English, Maths and History. The History of the Hunger Games, it had always been my strength, being the daughter of the exact female who started the Great Rebellion.
But one cold day, as I was coming out of school, I noticed a girl, about my age, sitting on a concrete. She was unrolling a black sleeping bag, everything she wore was black. Black beanie, black backpack, black jacket, black leggings, even black trainers. However, the person who all of these belonged to, was very colourful. Pale skin, golden hair, blue eyes, they contrasted to what she was wearing. But, a sleeping bag? Out in the streets? She then took out a torch and placed it facing upwards next to the slepeing bag. She then started to unzip it. I knew that these both could mean only one thing, she was homeless, a rare thing in District 8. I shivered outside, it was winter, not cold enough for snow, but still freezing. Would she really be able to stick the night with a sleeping bag and a jacket? I tried to walk past her, but I couldn't just leave her there. She would be so cold. She could have maybe even died! I had to do something! I walked near her, deciding to at least offer some assistance.
"Hello there!" she refused to even look up at me, she was still unzipping the sleeping bag, but I could tell be how much slower that she was now doing it that she had heard me. "I was just wondering if you wated any help. With anything, really."
"I don't need anything." she snapped, resuming to her sleeping bag.
But I refused to give up. "I am sure you do. It is very cold outside, don't you want to sleep inside a nice, warm shelter."
Her eyes drooped slightly, and I could tell that she was tempted. "I am fine outside." she said gruffly.
"You are not fine. You need help. We can get you somewhere you know. A homeless shelter most likely, but for the night you are welcome to come to mine."
Her eyes suddenly met mine, with such hostility that I almost staggered backwards. Her deep sea blue eyes suddenly wishing to drown me. "You are a fool. You have no sense to leave me alone. Be on your way!"
I lost all hope, things really became hopeless. I couldn't help her in any way without making her angry. Sulking in defeat, I began to walk home, the five minute walk, when I heard sudden, fast footsteps running towards me.
"Wait!" I turned around, it was the girl. "Brown hair... blue eyes, I know those blue eyes! What is your full name?"
I gulped, shrinking away ever so slightly. "Kayla." I said. "Kayla Everdeen."
"EVERDEEN!" she shot upwards and was soon lifting me up by my shirt. "I knew it! Your mother, she ruined my life!"
I shut my eyes, begging for all of this to be over. It was just a nightmare, I would wake up from it soon. Only it never ended, and the pain of her hard grip was definitely not pretend. I just had to respond.
"How did my mother... ruin your life?" I whispered, barely able to speak at the sudden change of events.
"She shot Aunt Alma!" she yelled.
"Who?" Mama had never mentioned an Alma.
"Alma Coin!" she sneered.
I then immediately understood what she was talking about. Mama always referred to her as Coin, but never Alma. But then again, she wasn't related to her, she was under her orders, unlike this girl. But how did that ruin her life?
"Afterwards, my mother had been pregnant with me, but she fell to the loss of Aunt Alma. She lay in bed, in depression, and soom grew very sick. They only just managed to save me, and then as soon as that I became an orphan. I once lived in a foster home, for a few years, but I ran away from there, no one wanted me, I wasn't cute or little like the others. Also, I didn't like playing with toys, I actually just wanted to go to the park or something, or climb trees, and just stay there all day, I wasn't like the other kids one bit. Now, I live on the streets!"
"What my mother did has nothing to do with me." I whispered.
"Oh, that's just what you think. I'll let you think that, but our parents have everything to do with how I should be looking at you. You don't deserve to exist, killing Aunt Alma was a crime punishable by death! You should have never been born! When I heard about it, believe me, I did not fall for the "mentally disoriented" act she played."
"Listen, you may not have liked it there, but it is unacceptable to just live on the streets for the rest of your life!" I cried.
"Not for the rest of my life, just until I'm old enough to get a decent paying job." she threw me down to the ground, still glaring at me harshly.
"But until then, you're just fine with doing this? You have to get help!"
"Help never got me anywhere. I am doing just fine on my own."
"Then why did you say that my mother ruined your life?"
She stood there for a moment, not responding, considering what I had just said, before walking away from me, going back to her camp, probably just hoping no one had taken her sleeping bag. I hoped so too, that way she didn't have another reason to hate me. Slightly stunned, I headed home. I needed to speak with Mama.
