The Hunger Games One Shots

Capital Pedigree

Capital

They spit at me.

They kick me as they pass.

But what hurts the most are their words.

Their comments that always seem to stab my heart and make me weep.

"Looks like her Capital Pedigree can't help her now." A woman says, making sure to turn her nose up at me. My eyes search her face, trying to find some sorta sympathy, but it's pointless. She's just like the rest of them.

These people claim to be trying to achieve justice.

But what have I done to them?

After all, I was only ten when the rebellion began. I watched Katniss Everdeen. I watched Peeta Mellark. Their love for each other made me want that. I wanted to love someone someone as much as them. I wanted to be them.

But how could I?

I was a child of the Capital.

I would never be reaped for the Hunger Games.

I should be grateful for that privilege.

I never worried about going hungry. I never worried about my name getting plucked from the large glass bowls. I would never be brutally killed by other children my age or lose a friend to the Games. I never worried if my death would happen from starvation or by mutts.

But it has.

No, not from starvation.

From these mutts.

They've killed my spirit. They've killed my chance at living any life at all. Their rabid snarls of hate. Their long claws that swipe at my face. Their eyes that send shivers down my spine when they met mine.

These are the worst monsters I've ever met.

Humans.

Rebels from the Districts.

They say they're achieving justice for what was done to them.

But what about me?

What did I do?

It's not my fault I'm from the Capital.

It's not my fault I was born into this.

Yet they've chained me to this wall. The cold shackles rub my thin wrists raw. My body has been in this hunched position for so long I doubt I can even flee if they released me from this spot.

Besides, I was weak to began with. Their choice of food doesn't help me either.

Scraps.

Scraps that even the wild dogs turn their noses at.

Scraps that make me vomit the little food I have back up.

And I'm the beast.

I'm the monster from the Capital.

Yet what are they?

I didn't have to worry about dying in the Games.

I should have worried about dying in the war.

Because that's what's really killed me.

At least the physical part of me.

"Ugly girl." A man scoffs, kicking his boot at me.

I flinch, the dirt hitting my grubby face. I've been ripped from my Capital lifestyle.

The only way I knew.

Clean clothes.

Clean hair.

Clean face.

And now I'm dirtier than the trains returning from District 12. They're covered in the black dirt. Yet compared to me, they look nearly spotless.

What would my parents say if they were still here?

What would my grandfather say?

I know what I would say to them.

Why didn't you request to have me executed with you?

Why couldn't I be strapped next to grandfather?

Why couldn't I have died from the Mockingjay's arrow?

Did you really think that the rebels would treat me fairly?

Did you really think they would care for the grandchild of the wicked President Snow?

Because you were wrong.

I knew you weren't above killing children, but at least you didn't kill your own.

You should have known the rebels would treat me lower than dirt.

After all, you've seen the clip of them blowing their own medics to pieces.

Yet you begged for my life.

A life that they say the granddaughter of Snow deserves.

They say that the best generation of humans can now survive.

They don't see the cycle of hate they're returning to a little girl who has done nothing. She's done nothing to harm them. She had no say in anything.

I couldn't end the Hunger Games.

I couldn't beg them to stop.

Yet I'm the one being punished for a crime I didn't commit.

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