Albany Rosewood- District 2 Victor

Chapter 4

I spend hours sitting on that bench, thoughts tumbling around in my head. At first, all I can feel is rage. How could Maylee do this to me? How could she volunteer for the Games? She's intentionally entering herself in a fight to the death. I will have to watch her die! And she's mad at me for "not supporting her"? This is insane. I want to march up to her house and slap her beautiful face to make her listen to me.
But then the rage ebbs away and is replaced with grief. It's bad enough that my own life has already been destroyed, but now Maylee's is too? Her odds of winning are good, but not perfect. Anything could happen. I already witnessed more death than I ever thought possible, and now I will probably have to watch my best friend be killed. I'm going to have to mentor her, try to help her. But it might not be enough. It's awful. Tears pour down my face and I put my head in my hands. I run my fingers through my hair, tangling them in the long brown strands.
And then it's like a switch is flicked. The grief instantly vanishes, and the rage returns. But this time, it's not at Maylee. It's at the Capitol. For making us participate in these horrid Hunger Games just because they're mad at the districts for rebelling more than 60 years ago. For sentencing 23 innocent children to death every year and leaving just one scarred victor. For ruining my life along with so many others. For everything that they've done. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them more than I've ever hated anyone or anything in my entire life. I hate them more than I hated my aunt and uncle when they forced me into the Games. I despise the Capitol with every fiber of my being. The Gamemakers, the stylists, the escorts, and most of all, President Snow. I loathe them. I didn't see it before; I was too wrapped up in guilt over what I'd done. But it's what they've done. They forced children to become monsters. It is they who should feel guilty.
  Eventually, I am able to think of something other than my hatred of the Capitol. I don't know if there is anything I can do about it, other than mentor the tributes the best I can. I take a deep breath and stand up. I pick up my cup of tea, which has long since gone cold, and my half-eaten muffin. I walk into the house, and find my aunt making soup in the kitchen.
  "Hello, Albany. Where were you?" she asks.
  "In the garden," I reply shortly. I don't feel like talking to her. Thinking about Maylee volunteering brings back all of the fear and hatred that I felt towards her during my Reaping. When a girl's  name was called, and I had to make myself step out and volunteer. I have repressed these feelings for two years, because I know that they only did what they thought was best. But they did force me into doing what I dreaded most; killing other people. I repress a shudder as I think of everything I've done.
  "What took you so long?" my aunt asks, interrupting my thoughts.
  "I was talking to Maylee," I say. It's not a lie. I was talking to Maylee, just not for the entire time. "She is planning to volunteer tomorrow." I try to hide all my rage at this fact from my aunt; she already thinks I'm overly dramatic.
And then my aunt says exactly what I thought she would say. She voices the same opinion that almost everybody in District 2 possesses.
"Good for her! She will bring pride to her family and her district, even if she doesn't win." I merely grunt and continue making my way upstairs.
Once I get there, I head into the bathroom. I look at my reflection, and I look like a mess. My face is tear-streaked and my eyes are bloodshot. Not to mention my hair, which is a tangled mess from running my hands through it. I splash cold water on my face and brush my hair. Once I look presentable, I head downstairs.
"Where are you going?" calls my aunt as I am opening the front door.
"The market," I reply. I'm going to see the only other person who has even an inkling of what I've gone through. Another victor.