I watch.
As the blood splatters the screen,
Congeals on the lens.
Watch our view switch.
To a different camera.
We aren't barbarians.
We're just a government trying to make
A permanent impression.
Year after year.
I can't tell a soul how I truly feel.
I can't tell my friends
Who are concerned with boys
And makeup
And dresses.
That the Games are bad.
That the Games are sick.
That its murder.
They find it entertaining.
They fawn over the tributes.
And mourn when they fall.
I see the young district 11 girl,
Rue,
A spear buried in her chest.
Her eyes look into mine
From the screen.
She will never know
The impact they have on me,
A capital girl.
The district 12 girl,
Katniss,
Cries.
I mirror her horrified expression
As she sings a soft song
At the young girls request.
Then I see the last tears
Trail down her russet skin.
I see Katniss,
Scream to the sky
For Rue back.
For help.
But only the sound of a cannon replies.
Signifying the death
Of her ally
Her friend.
As I watch the scene.
Katniss surrounds the fallen
In flowers almost as beautiful as she.
I feel the rebellion
Wrap around my heart.
Feel it seize my mind.
And I know,
I will do anything
To make this suffering end
Forever.