It's not easy.
Easy to know that you could be sent to the Hunger Games anytime.
To know that you will have to kill other, mostly same-aged people to stay alive.
But it's the hardest to know that you were able to open the gate, which thousands of childrens' hands tried to open futile. And while you opened that gate, there were liters of blood sticking on your hands, on your clothes. Even your face is smeared with it.
And after you walked through this gate, you think you'd be safe from these cruelties. Safe from what you've done.
It could be like that, if every single corner didn't remind you of everything, puts you back in front of this gate. There is no other escape.
You will let them place in the limelight, you will let them cheer you, without knowing the reason why.
You will learn to hate yourself, to detest your deeds; you feel like a monster. And you will think that you wrongly survived.
Who rather deserved to survive? The little girl from 8 maybe. Or the 13-year-old from 12. But for sure not you.
You, the elevenfold murderer. You, the Victors' poster girl. You, Fems Lemdon. Fems, who starts to cry at this thought.
And what happens after your victory? You let other people use you.
Like Snow does.
Like everybody does.
You let them force you to your knees without trying to fight back. But how should that help? It doesn't. So you don't even have to try. So you endure everything.
That's the way it should be, right? You had it coming to you. You should think about all the cruel things which happened to just before your death. Not about something beautiful, something soothing. You should feel the power which they can exert to make you feel dead before you actually died. Eventually they can take everything you have; you can't bridle.
How I know that? It's me who experienced all of that.
I am the elevenfold murderer; I am the Victors' poster girl. I am Fems Lemdon. But now I'll fight back. The Capitol gets what it deserves.
Who takes everything from you has to pay it. And the Capitol will pay; I promise that.