Anelle

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

"I don't like this dress."

The stylist...the one with stupid pink curls, not the one with orange eyes...glared at her. "It's high fashion!" she squeaked.

Anelle snorted. "It looks like those crappy costumes you put us in for the parade had a baby...and that baby threw up this."

I hate neon colors.

Orange Eyes stayed quiet, helping Boring Brian into his suit, which had neon ribbons along the cuffs and collar that matched the horrible dress. Boring Brian never argued with anyone, apparently.

He does have pretty eyes, though. Wish my eyes were green.

Right now, other stuff was more important, though. "I'm not wearing it. It's disgusting."

"Young lady, you will do as we say or...or else!" Pink Curls lifted her chin and scowled with her too-big lips.

Oh, I can play this game. Tilting her head, Anelle said, "Okay. Just one condition."

"Ugh. Fine. What is it?"

"I tell you a story first."

It was a dull day, and that's usually how shit starts, at least in District Eight.

Dull days happen a lot, but stuff gets really boring...like Brian, ha...on the rest day each week, when all the factories shut down for the day. At least in the District Center; I don't know about the outer towns. Maybe they have different rest days. Who cares.

Anyway, it was a stupid dull day, like, three years ago , and Mom kicked me out until dinner because I wouldn't stop bothering the cat. It was a stupid, noisy cat...we only kept it so it gets the rats. We have another one now. I'm not supposed to mess with them because they catch rats, but they're annoying. Except when they bring rats in alive...I like that. I'll be nice to the cats if they bring me a live one.

Anyway, Mom kicked me out...Dad was sick back then, he's dead now...and my brothers wouldn't play with me...That's fine, their games are always boring...so I went to the marketplace to see if anything interesting was going on. Nothing was. I got an apple from a vendor without getting caught, though, so that was nice.

That's when I saw the kid. It was a little boy with cute little teeth, and he was wandering away from his mom...She had like fifteen kids with her, so I'm not surprised she lost one...and I followed him. When he realized he was lost and started crying, I walked up to him and said I'd help him find his mom. I even let him have a big bite of my apple. He was hungry...barely chewed it. What a waste. That's important, by the way.

So I took him down this alley a few streets over from the market...he followed me like a stupid little animal...and then he started crying again because he missed his mom. Oh, I forgot to mention, I'd stolen my brother's big pocketknife that morning. That's important, too.

Anyway, we're down this empty alleyway, far from anyone, and I tell him that I want my bite of apple back. He said he couldn't give it back because it was in his tummy, then started crying about his mom again. So I grabbed him...he was really small...pushed him to the ground, and put my hand over his mouth, tight, and told him I was getting the apple back. Then I sat on him, took my brother's knife, and started cutting into his stomach.

It took a stupid long time...my shitty brother hadn't sharpened the knife recently...and the kid cried the whole time, until he passed out. He woke up when I was digging around inside for the apple...I had to stab him in the eye then, because he started screaming. I found the apple bite right afterward, right in his stomach. Human stomachs are in a bit of a different place than cat stomachs, did you know that?

Anyway, I got that piece of apple back and ate it. It tasted funny, kind of salty , but it was worth it, you know? I tried to pull the kid's teeth afterwards...I didn't have pliers, though, so I got caught before I could figure it out. Because I was so young, Peacekeepers only put me in jail for a week. W hich was cool, because jail is boring.

Anyway, that's the end of the story.

Pink Curls and Orange Eyes stood frozen, glancing around as if looking for an escape.

Good. They should be. She still had that steak knife from dinner the other night in her pocket.

Brian caught their attention. "She ain't lying," he said quietly. "That actually happened. She was eleven, by the way. That little boy was four. That's why no one in Eight cares if she dies."

Screw you, Brian. You'll pay for that.

The stylists gave her another dress.

She liked this one much better.