Hollis Pobarr, District 9, Male, Age 17

"I freaking hate the Capitol." I stated, quite plainly while looking at the sky. The clouds slightly grey, I assumed it was going to rain later, we'd be home by then though.

"Same here, brother. Same here." I looked over at the pale boy beside me, Ajax. Probably the most extreme rebel of us. Sure, I was a die-hard rebel, but he was on a whole 'nother level. He turned, sensing my dark brown orbs on him. "Frig off, dude. Stop staring, I get I'm attractive and all but cut the Edward impression." I rolled my eyes, so that faced the sky once more. Some of the clouds had gone surprisingly, leaving more blue to the open. Which was good for us at the moment, but not for the crops our District provided. Well, more work for them stupid Loyalists I guess.

The third member of our party propped himself up onto his hands, ready to speak. I looked over at him, Durango, he had Spanish origins. Some place outside Panem, outside Panem. Now that'd be the life. No stupid Capitol. "Listen, amigos, subject change please? You talk about this everyday, my friends, perhaps a change would be beneficial?" Yeah, Durango wasn't really a rebel. More of a neutral, but if he did have to choose. Well, we may have influenced his choice a tad. He would choose rebel, no doubt about it. After many many conversations, and some of our influence of course

Propping myself up on my elbows, I flipped him off. "Just a suggestion." he said, rolling his eyes, and lying back down onto his back. He understood our infatuation with the Rebellion, but he tried changing the subject any time we went on for too long. Because seriously, I could go on for days. I hated them that much.

"Give the poor guy a chance, Hollis." Ajax snickered next to me. I was easily considering giving him the bird as well, but decided against it. Simply shrugging and settling back down. Apparently Durango caught this too. "Hey! You give the finger, yet all he gets is a shrug? Viva la Revolution and all that, favouritism is a nasty thing, my friend." I flipped him off again. I could hear the snickers of Ajax from beside me, as well as the huff of the Spanish boy besides me.

I bet you're wondering why exactly I hate the Capitol so much. Well, we go way back.

I was a rebel In the war, along with my entire family. But that's not too much of surprise, yeah? Hope not. I was A horrible person, for the Capitol that is. Going to every riot imaginable, held in District nine. Planting seeds of revolt in others minds. Publicly protesting, while my fellow District nine civilians watched. Cowards. And idiots. The lot of them. Forever by my side was Fisk. My brother, yeah? Best thing to ever grace our stupid District. He was a saint among souls, a light in the dark. And he supported me, through thick and thin.

He was by my side everywhere. Whether I was protesting, hurting, everything. But one day, we were caught. It was the best, I remember punching someone in the face. Then, next thing I knew, Fisk was screaming. I remember turning, I saw him behind me, his arm bent behind him, the peacekeeper painfully tugging on it. The one grabbed me, they were calling for reinforcements. I remember seeing my brother struggling, kicking, biting trying to escape. More peacekeepers came, tried restraining him, they were, but that didn't stop him.

Finally I remember everything going black, and I passed out. From the over exertion, as well as the pain. Next thing I knew, I was in a room, somewhere. There were ropes around my wrists, and two peacekeepers on my arms. They were dragging me somewhere, it was dark, and I could barely make out their uniforms. So that's why when the sudden light hit me, I screeched. I actually screamed. The sudden daylight, hit me like a truck. I remember the peacekeepers snickering, I had tried struggling against my binds, it didn't work. They just laughed harder, and so my hatred simply deepened.

But The pain from the light was nothing than the actual emotional pain that followed. They had led me to a stage. A guillotine standing proud and tall in the centre. Crowds of people standing below me, with remorseful faces, and tear speckled faces. I was going to die. And even though technically this was own fault, I hadn't been freaking careful enough, I still liked to blame the Capitol.

Because, in the guillotine was Fisk. His head was resting on the little hole for the head, his hand tied behind his back like mine. A guard was standing behind him, his leg on Fisk's back, keeping him from escaping. I wanted to cry out, protest, but before I could, a hand covered my mouth. "Don't go doing anything rash, your next." And I froze, his hand slowly lifted off my mouth when he were certain I wouldn't speak.

I stared straight ahead, my brother caught my eye. I no longer saw the confident, humorous, self-assured boy I had grown up with. No. There, on his knees, was a broken boy begging for mercy. He had snapped. Was broken, shattered. In mere moments, a strong man became a feeble boy. And it hurt. It pained me, looking into his eye, it pained me. And my hate for the Capitol was suddenly accompanied with fear. I was going to die. I was going to get killed. And that realization broke me.

All those protests, actions against the Capitol, finally came with consequences. Now Fisk was going to die, because of those consequences. I was going to die, because of those consequences. I freaking hate the Capitol. I've said it once, I've said it a million times. It never loses any of the bitterness behind it.

I remember the head peacekeeper, straightening up, before gracing the stage with his presence. To this day, I can remember his exact words, or the general idea of it anyways. Something like this. "These boys are traitors, rebels, leftover from the war. These boys are not to be trusted, admired or loved. They deserve none of it." The peacekeeper sneered, venom clearly laced between his words. "The young one, public assault on a peacekeeper." He paused to gesture towards me, I looked at the crowd, none looked disgusted, but none looked surprised,nor particularly sad. It was pity that was instead on their faces, pity laced with guilt. Even if just a little, I was a mere boy. Sentenced to death, for a mere fist.

"The older one, resisted more, though. He struggled, bit, kicked, punched. Even though he knew he was gone, good as dead. And because of this, he's dying first." He paused and looked straight at me, his eyes murderous, he was clearly enjoying his theatrics. "I hope you're enjoying the show, young one. I presume you like the front row seats to your own execution? But your brother first, yes?" I refused to make eye contact, I could hear him chuckle. Sick bastard.

I heard a young child scream. As the heavy metal, fell. A sick sounds, cutting through the people. The head was gone, it had to be, if the screams of the children were anything to go by. I could feel tears prickling my eyes, but I refused. Barring my teeth and ducking my head.

The guards would get a real kick out of that wouldn't they, to see me cry? I felt someone push me from behind, I turned to see who. All I was met by, was a black mask. I could vaguely see a face behind it. It was male, and not a stretch of guilt or pig was laced onto his features.

"Come now, child. Your turn." I didn't move, I felt another shove and stumbled forward slightly. The head peacekeeper laughed. His heal met was off, tucked under his arm. I awkwardly, and reluctantly shuffled forward. The head guard started to grow impatient though, he grabbed my arm and practically threw me though the guillotine. "You two," he said gesturing to two peacekeeper off of the stage. Secure the boy. They awkwardly stumbled forward, clearly not used to this.

When they barely out a foot on me, I knew this was a chance to escape. These two had been obvious amateurs, they were distracted and clumsy. Perfect for what I had in mind. I was strong, and my life would not end here, I would live on for Fisk, for the rebellion. I wanted to personally screw over those stupid Capitol bastards. Every single last one of them. And of course, the guard prepared another big speak for my execution as well. He was sick, a sick sick bastard. Who enjoyed watching people suffer. And what did he represent? The Capitol. How I hated the Capitol in those moments.

"How did it feel? To watch your brother die, boy? Heartbreaking? Devastating? Ever thought about consequences, outcomes?" I refused to look him in the eye. "Well, that's how it is. I'll enjoy your death, truly I will. That's a compliment by the way." I saw his figure nod to someone, holding the rope I presume. He dropped it, quickly I quirked and turned trying to get my head away. I turned on my right, my chest and shoulder crook, now exposed to the guillotine.

It cut me, and it hurt. More than anything I could have imagined. It wa excruciating. It burned, like fire piercing my skin, yet it was also icy cold. The touch of the metal had been like frostbite. It dug deep, like a parent amplified by thousands. I could see the blood, it was red and clouding my vision. I was seeing black and blue from the pain, I felt like passing out. And I semi did, but the pain wouldn't give me a break. I wouldn't pass. I could hear shouts, frenzied peacekeepers.

Everyone was in panic, nobody knew what to do. "Leave him. He'll be in more pain whether he lives or dies. Let him bleed out, or perhaps be saved, either way he'll wish he hadn't retaliated. Ironically, getting his head chopped off would have been better." Then they left. All of them, the citizens, the peacekeepers. I heard a scream, of which I reconized to be my sister Marley. A sly planner against the Capitol, playful and fun. Now here treats were anything but playful. Then I heard two frantic voices, lifting me off the ground. They spoke in hushed whispers, frenzied words. They carried me, and finally I blacked out. My last look at Fisk' bloodied head still in a basket beside the guillotine. Staring lifeless lay ahead. Soon I would learn, that my two saviours had been Durango and Ajax. Two boys from school, sliding into friendship was simple after that.

Later my two parents died, my mother In a bombing, a rebellion. She was only one among many. My father had also been Against the Capitol, but in more subtle ways, like sabotaging a peacekeepers jeep, or sending messages to rebel leaders. He died a few months later, killed by a peacekeeper in the streets. He had been Marley and I's main guardian growing up. Our mother always at protest, but when he died. Marley and I were left with nobody but ourselves.

ooooOoooo

Sliding back into the present, currently I was feigning sleeping. My eyes closed and breath slowed. Of course my friends bought it, I'd been doing it for years. What followed wa definitely unexpected though.

I felt a poke on my cheek. "Asleep?" I heard, Ajax.

"Asleep." Durango comfirmed.

"He's broken, you can see it too right?"

I didn't hear a response. Turning myself around, so that they couldn't see. I gently traced the scar on my collarbone. Shivering slightly, once I reached the end. I hate the Capitol right now. Apparently the Capitol broke me, and for once I don't think I disagree.

So Hollis. A die-hard rebel this one is, yeah?