asher clarke || district one

(a crumpled letter sits forgotten in the far corner of a grand living room, dated the year of the seventy-fourth hunger games)

To Mister Fray
To Mister Justice Fray
To Victor Justice Fray
To Justice:

Hi! I'm your biggest fan! I saw you during your victury tour and you looked so cool!

My family wants me to be a big strong career, just like you. No one else thinks I can do it but you have inspired me to try really, really hard.

Some day I'll be cool enuff that you know my name.

I'll be twelve in the Eightieth games! Please wait for me until then!

Love,

me

p.s. i'm still super lame, so you can't know my name yet. sorry ):

(the remnants of a letter lay scattered at the bottom of a fireplace, dated the year of the seventy-ninth hunger games)

Justice,

I think I'm broken. I've daydreamed about my twelfth birthday for as long as I can remember but when it finally rolled around all I really felt like doing was crying. There's this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, it kind of overwhelms me in waves? Like I'm being swept up in a current that's too fast for me to fight against. Can you drown if you're not in the water?

Presents have never really been my family's style, it wasn't like I expected much so it's kind of impressive how they managed to give me even less. They either forgot it was today or they simply didn't care. At this point neither would surprise me.

It's ironic though, because the kids in my class definitely remembered. A few cornered me in the halls during lunch and they asked me a lot of questions that they didn't even give me time to answer. I don't think they cared to hear them. I've never felt so scared or small or helpless as I did then. I kept asking them to leave me alone but they only laughed louder.

I wish I'd never punched him but I just didn't know what else to do. I thought maybe it'd scare him.

But that was kinda stupid because he had so many friends around.

Considering it wasn't a fair fight, I don't think you can say I lost.

My dad was furious when I got home, it was a couple hours after I was supposed to because it hurt to move for a long time after they'd finally left me alone. At first I thought it was because I was badly hurt. I thought he was going to ask me who'd done this and hurt them worse than they'd hurt me.  Because that's what Dads are supposed to do, right?

Turns out he was just ashamed I'd lost. I guess I can't blame him, I'm pretty embarrassed too.

I didn't wanna stay home after he'd finished yelling at me so I waited until everyone else had gone to sleep and I went over to my sister's place. I try not to do that so much anymore because she's got a baby now and her apartment is pretty small.

She yelled at me too, but it felt sweeter than when my father did. She wrapped me up in a hug that hurt so bad I started crying and she played with my hair and let me hold my nephew until he fell asleep. He's three now, all cute and small and with freckles that look like constellations.

I hope he never becomes a career.

I know you won't ever read this and I know that even if you did you wouldn't care.

But I think that's why I like telling you these things.

It feels safe.

sincerely,

me.

(an opened letter, torn in two, dated the year of the eighty-fourth hunger games)

Dear Old Dad,

I'm not coming home.

This letter is nothing more than a formality. I'd tell you not to worry but I know you won't.

Are you relieved? I won't blame you if you are.

Our family is a joke. You've been ashamed of us since before I was born. A generation of careers who've never seen the inside of the arena. None of us are willing to die an inglorious death framed in golden glory. Your only daughter's son is born of blood made of mud and stone. How humiliating.

(If only you knew.)

I'm better than you'll ever be. I've always been stronger than you and I think you've known that far longer than I. Maybe that's why you hurt me. Frankly, it doesn't matter to me anymore.

I won't miss you. I won't miss my brothers. I won't miss the dirt you fed me all whilst assuring me it was sweet luxury.

I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for the sad things that train endlessly beneath your thumb. I feel sorry for the victor they just crowned. I won't guess whether or not she can bear the weight of the world upon her shoulders but I know well how all the others buckled beneath it.

I feel sorry for the me who wanted to be just like you.

With all the love in the world,

Asher Clarke