WHEN YOU REACH FOR THE STARS DON'T FORGET WHO YOU ARE
LIFE'S AN HOURGLASS
SIX O'MALLEY | DISTRICT ELEVEN | AGE FIFTEEN
It's me, Six. I was hoping I could talk to you, so here's my letter to you. I know they'd get pretty mad if they knew I was writing to you, but I don't know who else to reach out to bout this. I kinda wanna ask Lock, but I'm worried they'll overhear. I miss you, Four. You're a really great big sister. Things are going alright over here. But recently I was thinking, thinking like you.
I know that you didn't want much to do with us, that's why you left. I'm starting to wonder if you were right. I just don't get it I don't. Are you and I weird for thinking like this? We look like O'Malleys. Blonde to ginger hair, I definitely have that. Pale as this paper I'm writing on, that I got. Freckles, I have those too. But I still feel different from everyone else.
It's hard expressing myself, and even harder speaking out about them like this. They always told me not to. Not to speak unless spoken to first. But... I don't always like being quiet or timid. Sometimes I want to be heard. Right now, I want to be heard. That's why I'm wirtin' you this letter. So you can hear me.
Anyway, I'm starting to think that mom and dad are wrong. I don't think the Hunger Games are a good thing. Just think about it. Our ancestor, Winger, died because of them. Think bout how many people have died since in them. Why is killing people good? I never want to hurt anyone. I don't think I could hurt anyone. Mom and dad never had a hard time hurting us kids. They other day Lock swore and they gave him a black eye. I guess they figure with there being 15 of us one of us is bound to win the Games, huh?
I don't know what I would go if I got reaped... I don't wanna die, Four. The older I get, the more scared I start getting. I'm small and I wouldn't know what to do. The idea of killing someone scares me. I haven't told mom and dad that, but I don't how they'd react. I just don't understand them anymore. Whenever they say something I just sorta nod, but I wish they would explain it to me. Whenever I ask questions I get in trouble. I just want to know.
They're the reason none of us kids have any friends except for each other, y'know. Even if people want to be our friends their family says to stay away from us. Everyone just sees me as the quiet kid from that weird family. But there's more to me than being quiet and timid. If they got to know me they'd see I like poetry and cooking. Maybe we'd even have similar interests. But people don't get there's more to us, all of us.
I thought about starting to speak more. And not just speaking more, speaking out more. Speaking out to mom and dad about the things I don't get. I might run this idea by Lock first, see if he thinks that's a good idea. Writing this letter, seeing all of my thoughts out, is getting me a little bit emotional, but in a good way. I just want to understand what everyone else in the family does. I want to understand why we're supposed to believe all of this stuff, instead of just believing it because that's what we're told.
Oh no, I hear footsteps coming this way. They're heavy. I think that they're dads. I don't know where to hide this letter. I might have to get rid of it. I don't want to but I don't know what else to do. We both know what will happen if he reads this. I hope you do end up getting to read this.