Leah Rockwell, 60 years old

Night One of the 60th Hunger Games

My whole life is a disgrace.

Look how far I've fallen! I went from being the girlfriend of a reasonably popular Victor to living with my friend and working at a fucking clothing store to earn my keep. It's pathetic. I used to be much better than this!

I used to be like these customers, striding around with armfuls of luxurious garments, wondering which ones I should get and what accessories might go with them.

Now I'm just like every other stupid customer service drone: scurrying around, waiting on them hand and foot, forever at their beck and call.

I've taken to wearing wigs and heavy makeup so that no one will recognise me. I can do without the negative press, thank you very much.

My life has been horrible for the past fifteen years, when Hermes decided to fuck everything up on our wedding night. Selfish bastard. I bet he's prowling the streets right now, looking for some slut willing to sleep with an older man. He's probably glad my whole life is in ruins thanks to him. Maybe I should have tried harder to keep him under my thumb.

My family disowned me. And they did it in the most fucking spiteful way possible!

They'd invited me back to Two for the reading of my mother's will. I was a little surprised, to be honest, because I'd expected them to scream at me about missing her last days and her funeral, but whatever. I was really excited, wondering how much money my mother had left me. As long as it was at least a few ten thousand dollars, then I could accept that for all she'd done to me.

Well, it wasn't a few ten thousand dollars.

It was one cent. Yes, a single fucking cent, with an accompanying message about how she regretted ever having me and that I was a disgrace but just to my family, but to my district as well.

Needless to say, I was furious. I tried to reason with everyone about how this was stupid and how I never did anything wrong, but they just kept yelling at me to stop screaming. I was not about to take that kind of bullshit from them, so I fought back as viciously as I could. It was what they deserved, after all.

I ended up getting disowned. Fuck them.

My one saving grace in this whole shitstorm has been my friend Adora. She's been letting live with her since Hermes fucked everything up. She is such an angel, truly.

Unfortunately, money is getting harder to come by now, so we've had to get jobs in order to support ourselves. Which is why I'm stuck in this stupid clothing store.

I keep my eyes on the clock, waiting for it to chime eight o'clock so that I can meet up with Adora, who works at the shoe shop across the street, so that we can go home. To my continuous misfortune, the clock only reads six-thirty. Still an hour and a half to go. Fuck my life.

I've lived for six decades now, and I've spent one of them living a shitty life that is only a cheap imitation of the other five. I still can't believe what's happened to me.

I shouldn't be here! I should be living in a grand house, hosting elegant dinner parties, gossiping with the ladies, and buying beautiful clothes to suit my beautiful body.

But no. All that was stripped away from me the second Hermes decided to take that razor blade to his wrists. I will never forgive him for that.

Maybe it would have been better if he had ended up dying, after all. Everyone would have wanted to help and comfort me. Everyone would have treated me with kindness and respect, because it's bad form to be rude to a widow. And I would have been forgiven for anything I needed forgiving for. I would have been a widow, hiding behind an impenetrable veil of constant grief and misery.

I grit my teeth. I hate him. I really do. He ruined my entire life, and then he just waltzed off without a care in the world. Despicable little rat.

He deserves to be punished for what he did to me. It's been a long time coming. Unfortunately, I can't get too close to him, or else I'd be thrown in prison for violating the restraining order. A shame, really. There are so many things I want to do to him. They would have all been so much worse than the time I put him in the hospital.

My thoughts are disturbed by a customer snapping their fingers at me to get my attention, then sharply telling me to help them carry the clothes they want to try on.

I feel my temper rise deep within my bones. I fucking hate it when people snap their fingers at me like I'm a dog. Or an Avox. Can't they see that I'm a human being just like them? Why can't they just treat me with some basic respect?

I hate dealing with these types of people. They make your life difficult then act like it's your fault. I would love to punch them in the face, but unfortunately I really need the money and can't afford to get fired - literally.

Smug assholes. They know they have more money than me and love to flaunt it in my face, as if to say, "What are you going to do about it?" I can't wait until I'm among the cream of Capitol society again. Then I'll show these stupid bastards whose boss.

They'll regret crossing me. I'll make sure they will. Even if it fucking kills me.

And I'll make Hermes pay, too. He can't hide behind that restraining order forever. It has to expire eventually. And when it does, I'll be waiting for him.

I won't let him get away with this. Not as long as I'm still alive.