Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are in the original The Hunger Games the others however do belong to me

Rated M for violence and language

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"Why?!" I scream at Cynthia. "Why must I be the fucking Woman of Death tonight? Are you trying to make me go mad? I cannot be death; not here, not now. Please, Cynthia."

"I'm so sorry, but I had to," she apologizes.

"But why?"

"Listen," her voice turns into a whisper. "This District is somewhat close rebelling. You, being Death here, it will rub what the Capitol has done to them in their faces. I'm sorry I have to do this to you."

"I don't want to be a monster, Cynthia! I can't be a monster," I cry.

"I'm sorry," she says again. That's how it is for a while, crying and apologizing. I do see her point; it is the perfect way to make a District rebel. Still, I do not want to do this. I don't want people to think of me as a mindless, psychopathic killer.

Eventually, I give in. Chances are even if I wasn't dressed like this they would still hate me and want to murder me in the most brutal of ways. It's inevitable; I killed one of their own.

I walk out of my dressing car, and discover that Peeta and Katniss are once again the Boy and Girl on Fire. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who will be out there looking intimidating. Sure, I'm more frightening then them, but I won't be the only one who is transformed into something I'm not.

While I'm talking to myself Peeta comes up to me and says, "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. I was just upset, but I understand what you were doing, why you were keeping things from me."

"I'm sorry too Peeta," I apologize. "I should've told you anyways, but I promise I won't leave you out of anything ever again."

I do not know this at the time, but what I just promised will become one of the biggest and most dangerous lies I will ever tell. That lie will lead to death and torture. If could do one thing to change how everything had turned out it would be to make sure I would keep this promise.

After our apologies we walk back over and join Katniss. Still having time to spare, we talk casually about everything and anything. None of us actually paying attention to the conversation, but worrying and dreading about what wait for us outside the safety of the train.

Just as it happened in District 11, we are swiftly loaded into a car that will drive us to the District's Justice Building. In the car I sit, cowering with my head in my hands, not daring to take a glance out the window. Outside there are people who hate me. No doubt they are glaring at the car with unadulterated hatred. No doubt they are cursing me and wishing that it was him in the car and that I was rotting in hell. But it isn't and within a matter of minutes they will be gathered around me, cheering for me. All the while loathing my very existence.

Anxiety builds inside of me with every second. In practically no time at all we have pulled up to the Justice Building. Like a zombie, I walk into the building. Outside the doors Effie briefs us on our expected conduct. I will not be saying anything here. I have neither the privilege nor the right to do so. Just dressing the way I am is enough of an insult to send them flying over the edge.

The huge, dark, oak doors swing out in front of me. Katniss, Peeta, and I simultaneously walk out onto the stage. Silence; that is what the crowd gives us. Katniss and Peeta are holding each other's hands affectionately. I stand cold and aloof, acting superior to all of them, while inside I'm dying.

The mayor of District 10 congratulates us and presents us with flowers and plaques. I am deserving of neither. Killers shouldn't be praised, we should be damned.

Peeta and Katniss give short speeches, I continue to stand alone. We are almost done, we are almost about to leave when the mayor asks me to say something. He says it as if he is taunting me, like he wants to see me suffer. As I tentatively step up to the microphone I can feel the crowd growing excited; they are daring me to do this. I want to back down, but I can't.

Unprepared and terrified I begin to address the crowd, "I killed your tribute. I am a murderer and you have every right in the world to hate me. I understand, I hate myself as well. I regret all that I did to harm others in the arena. But I am Death, and regrettably that is exactly what happens to those who come near me."

The speech weak, but at the last line I swear everyone takes a step away from me. Their expressions do not change. They remain as cold and hard as ever. Humiliated I follow the others back into the Justice Building.

No one dares to say a word to me. This is just as well, considering I have no desire to speak to anyone. I know of only one person of whom I want to talk to, and he is dead. Cutting like a knife through the awkward silence, Cynthia, Cinna, and Portia announce that we must be taken away to get ready for dinner.

I don't protest; I am barely a shell of who I really am today. Mindlessly, I sit and stare blankly at the red wall opposite me. Keeping my mind completely and totally empty is the only way to avoid having to face the dreaded reality that soon I will be forced to sit down and have dinner with my first victim's family.

After Cynthia is done with me I inspect her work. My dress is short and black. Its lacy sleeves synch at my wrists to create a sort of cuff. My sorrowful eyes are surrounded by reds, and my lips are painted crimson. My vision is constantly shifting from how I look now to how I must have looked while murdering the boy.

"I wish I knew a way to make this easier on you, but even after doing this for years I don't know how," admits Cynthia. She is clearly still ashamed of making me Death, but I am no longer upset with her. I don't feel anything except a shame.

"It's okay," I reply monotonously. We stand in silence until the Peace Keepers come to take us down. The dark brown and blood red interior of District 10's Justice Building seems to move in upon me, threatening to suffocate me with every step I take.

Tonight I will be last in our mournful procession into dinner. As I begin my descent down the stairs I see the families come into me. Both of them stare up at me animosity, but one stiffens with anger when I come into view. I close my eyes momentarily trying to shake their loathing stares, but they wear the same look when I open my eyes again.

Piles and piles of food lie before me when I take my seat at the table, but I have no desire to eat any of it. I know that anything I consume now will only take seconds to find its way back up.

The family of the murdered boy sits across from me. There are three of them in total: a mother, a father, and a sister. Each one of them glares at me in between bites. Tonight's meal is much tenser than the previous one.

The young girl, who can't be any older than fifteen, is the one to break the silence, "Why'd you do it?"

I ignore her. I don't want to remember the Games. I can't relive those memories, not now, not ever.

"Answer me," she demands. "You murdered my brother and I deserve to know why."

"He was going to kill me," I answer hesitently.

"Look at me when I'm talking to me, bitch," she snaps.

Finding new strength to defend myself I slam my silverware onto the table and stare into the girl's eyes, "Your saint of a brother was about to kill me. I beat him to it, that's how it works. I bet that if he were here you wouldn't be lecturing him about his motives, hypocrite."

"I don't think that's why you did it," she retorts. "I think you killed him because you are a heartless, immoral, killer!"

"Don't you dare tell me who I am! I dare you to go into the Hunger Games and not kill someone. There are no morals in the Hunger Games; you do what you have to do to stay alive!" I spit.

"What, like getting yourself knocked-up you little whore?" she torments me.

"How dare you," I yell.

"Ladies calm down," demands Effie.

"No!" both of us protest.

"I hope you rot in hell for what you did to my family," the girl growls. So quickly that I can barely register what is happening she grabs her fork and drives it into my hand. I howl in agony while the Peace Keepers drag her kicking and screaming body away.