Again, thank you to Luke777 and sghope16 for reviewing! I very much appreciate your comments. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 5

I retreat within myself again. Shortly after the two men left quietly, I left the tiny room, knowing I could never return. It would always be tainted with their memory now. Ian didn't say anything to me, and for that, I was grateful. I fear that if he had even uttered a sound, a free flow of words from my mouth would cause irreparable damage to him and me.

My bed was the only comfort I found. I laid down and didn't get up for several days. I cried a lot, mostly for myself and the hopelessness I felt, and other times for my lost family. I hadn't cried in a long time, and once the aching pain went away, I actually felt better than I had in awhile.

Finally, I pick myself up. I roll out of bed and shower, fix my hair, and even apply a bit of makeup. Valeria enters and looks honestly relieved and happy to see me up and about. I give her a smile small.

I spend a few days readjusting myself to the land of the living. I leave my room to take my meals again, doing my best to avoid my husband. The gardens are not as vibrant as they were in the spring, but they still offer a nice retreat. Slowly, I feel normal again.

The letters never stop coming, and they were still delivered to my room even during my recent bout of depression. There is a large pile now sitting on my desk. I've been wandering around aimlessly for two days now, and seeing nothing better to do, I sit down and begin flipping through them.

Most are from Capitol citizens as they usually are. I keep looking through them, searching for something that might be interesting. And towards the bottom of the stack, I see one that catches my eye.

The handwriting is large and printed with a heavy hand, almost like a child wrote it. It's simply addressed to Mrs. Snow, and there is no return address. I rip open the envelope and unfold the single piece of yellowed paper.

Dear Mrs. Snow,

My name is Ingris Winters. I live in District 11. Rue was my friend, and I was very sad when she died. I cried a lot for her.

I've seen you on the tv, and you look very nice. Also, you are very pretty! I was wondering if you could talk to the President about some things. We are good people here in District 11. We work hard and do what we are told. But the peacekeepers are very mean. Could they maybe be a bit nicer? Also could you talk to him about the Hunger Games? My parents are very scared for me and my brothers. I don't like to see them scared.

I hope you are as nice as you look.

Sincerely,

Ingris Winters

Age 9

PS, Please don't tell my parents I wrote this letter. They would be very upset!

I lean back in my chair, hardly able to believe what I just read. It was a simple and crude letter, yet more touching and heartfelt than any other letter I have ever received. I immediately pull out a blank sheet of paper and my pen, only to remember there was no return address. Even if I wrote a beautiful letter in response, I wouldn't know where to mail it. I checked the date of the stamp and saw it was mailed back in May. Why did it take so long to reach me? District 11 is quite far, I can imagine, but it's September now. This poor girl probably thinks I didn't even read her letter.

Determined not to give up and happy to finally have a purpose, I get up and head to a rarely used stairwell and down several flights of stairs. There is an archive in the basement that keeps records of all the citizens of Panem. Surely with her first and last name and district, I can find this young girl's address.

It gets cooler the deeper in the ground I go. The stairwell is made from smooth rocks, and I trace my fingers along them as I carefully make my way down. I have only been down to the basement twice in my years here in the mansion, and this is my first journey by myself. It isn't lit well, and shadows exist around every corner. The front two rooms are filled mostly with furniture that has been cycled out of use from rooms upstairs. Couches, chairs, dressers, bed frames, all now sit in odd arrangements covered by heavy dust. If you let your imagination run away from you, it's easy to imagine ghosts of previous residents having parties down here.

I find my way to a smaller room towards the back. There are boxes everywhere, stacked along the walls all the way to the ceiling. The President likes to keep records on everyone in his country but failed to put anyone in charge of maintaining all of these records, so this is what has happened over the years. The most recent census documents sit on the floor closest to the door. I find the one from District 11 and flip it open. However, inside is not what I expected. It is not simply names, addresses, occupation, number of children, etc., that I hoped to find. Instead, I see name hundreds of names, dates, and such things as "Cursing the President" and "Hiding weapons". I check the top of the first page and see no heading. But after looking at page after page after page, I begin to understand. These are death lists.

I inhale sharply. There is a box from each district. I hurriedly throw the top off each one and see the same thing. Hundreds of pages with thousands of names. All killed for supposed rebel activity.

Sitting on the dusty floor, my mind goes numb. Did Coriolanus know about this? Of course he did. He was probably the one who gave the orders for all these murders. Some of the reasons were cause for severe punishment, but most were innocent. Most wouldn't even be reason for a lashing. Most revolved around the townspeople asking for more food.

I remember the letter and Ingris mentioning how mean the Peacekeepers are. In the Capitol, Peacekeepers are no more than decoration. They stand at entryways and on corners acting as guards, but don't really do anything. The people here eat as much as they want, some actually throwing up so they can eat more. I've seen the children from the Districts year after year as they come to the Capitol for the Hunger Games. How did I not notice that they were malnourished, starving even?

Even in this dark, cold place, the answer comes. I never noticed because I never paid attention. In my own selfishness, I never saw their suffering.

I put my head in my hands. My blue dress is covered with dirt, but the silk underneath the grime still shines. I remember the tributes from this year at their reapings. All dressed in their best, but their best being barely something I would dress a dog in.

Suddenly, another thought occurs to me. There is a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I do not allow myself to give into it until I know for sure. I search the lists from District 11, and several pages in, my fears are only confirmed. There is her name.

Ingris Winters May 28 Complaints against the President