how fragile are our hearts // closed

It's funny how a few little words can completely change the way you view your life. Although I was seventeen, and now safely knowing that I would not be reaped this year, I worried for Rose. Sweet, innocent Rose, who would never dream of harming anyone. The girl who didn't understand the Games until a year ago. I knew I was still in trouble, and Mother would yell at me wherever we went, and Father would suddenly have huge fits of rage at me. I just clenched my fists and made eye contact with him. My eyes said the words I wouldn't dare to say, and sometimes he backed off, other times he just started the whole act again, yelling about how I was useless and a disgrace to the family, for convincing young Rose, their little star, that the Games were horrible things the Capitol did.

Father wanted me to train, wanted me to become a proper Career while I had a year till I was eighteen. But I didn't want to; it was a cruel thing to do, and I was completely against it. I mean, murder? It wasn't my favourite weekend activity. But I knew if I did enter the arena next year, if the odds were not in my favour, I'd have to kill. Just for the sake of Rose, because I knew she'd hate it if I never made it back. But now it was Rose who was in my shoes. Little children, from twelve to fourteen, could be reaped, and my sister fell right in those borders, at the age of thirteen. I was so scared that the worst would happen, that Rose would be reaped and I wouldn't be able to volunteer. I hated it. I hated the insecurity that made me wake up with a start at night. It was all so horrible.

How many ways had I seen Rose die a painful, horrible death in the arena? I would have really liked to know then, because it seemed like hundreds. I didn't want her to go in the Games. But there was just one more question: would the odds be in our favour?

Note: Crappy post is crappy.