The Story of Her

The Days That Followed

The days that followed were in one word, heartbreaking. I won, as the Capitol wanted, and moved on to the victor's interview. How I was going to make it through without breaking down, I don't know. My whole life had turned into one big blur of people and congratulations. I hated every person that came up to me and said they were glad I won, that Elle's death was good. The first days I wanted to punch anyone that said anything about the games, I wanted to kill them. Make them hurt like I did.

"Kyle Peterson everybody! The winner of this years hunger games!" Caesar announced. "Hello again Kyle! It must be such an exciting time for you right now so have a seat." He beamed. I merely glared in response but sat down, fighting back the urge to scream. "So Kyle, how does it feel to be a victor?"

"I hate every moment." I answered bluntly, I was done sucking up to the Capitol.

"Most tributes would die to be in your place right now. Why aren't you happy?"

"The tributes did die to try and get here."

"Oh. Yes I see. Bad example sorry." He laughed awkwardly. "But why are you not celebrating?"

"I lost people I became friends with. Why should I celebrate that?"

"You're still alive."

"I shouldn't be."

"You're thinking of Arabella, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. How could I not?" I felt my hands shaking as I tried to control my rage. How dare he be so light hearted about all this.

"You really loved her didn't you?"

"I love her more than you would ever know."

"Why did you let her die for you then?" He queried.

"I didn't let her die for me." I growled. "If I had been quicker she would be here instead of me."

"But she died so you could be safe. Why won't you accept that?"

"Because I love her!" I yelled, standing up. "She should be here instead of me! I should be dead in the arena!"

"Kyle please sit down." He said calmly.

"No. I'm done with your freaking Capitol." I said angrily and stormed off the stage. I ran for the elevator and went up to my room, not caring what people thought. I slammed the door and lay down on my bed, letting the tears flow freely. When I finally glanced up I noticed a small poem framed on my wardrobe.

This is Her Ghost

This is her ghost,

A shadow of life

Taken cruelly,

Far too early

But taken anyways

She is the creaking floor boards in an empty room

The voice in an abandoned house

She is the reason you wake up crying

Without any idea why

The thing the dog barks at in the middle of the night

She gives you the shivers while you're warm in bed

The reason you talk to yourself when your home alone

The silence in a conversation,

Making herself heard

This is her ghost,

A shadow of life

Taken cruelly,

Far to early

But taken anyways

I stopped reading for a moment and wiped my eyes before continuing.

Do not cry for this lost girl

For she has always been happy

Though she died her heart lives on

So please, please don't cry

So much for that last line. To say I was crying was an understatement, I was a wreck. Whoever put the poem in my room hit the nail on the head. It was something Elle would do and that was enough. It was the gesture that I needed, don't be angry. Be honoured that she felt you were worth her life. Be grateful, she chose you. I set the poem back down and noticed another piece of paper hidden in the frame. I unfolded it carefully and instantly recognized Elle's handwriting.

Dear Kyle,

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The next few parts will be letters the Elle write so look forward to that!

Hugs

Erika