Jenna Berkeley (OC) was the district 12 winner of the 72nd Hunger Games at the age of 16. She grew up in a local family home where she endured abuse until she was chosen for the games where she won and now lives in the Victor Village. She's best fri...
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June 29th Jenna POV
I woke to the early dawn morning casting a blueish-gray hue over my room. I hear the birds outside singing as I lift myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. My eyes shut letting the sound of the birds relax me, taking a breath, remembering where I am.
I'm in District 12. My neighbor is Haymitch Abernathy. Soon I will walk down to the Merchant area to visit the bakery where my best friend Peeta Mellark lives and works with his family. His father always has some fresh baked cookies for me to take home. They're always a different flavor and I look forward to tasting them all.
My eyes blink open and I smile to myself slightly. It's a small thing to look forward to but it's something to keep me going. My favorite so far has been the gooey blueberry lemon cookies he's made me twice so far.
I heave myself up from the bed, my bare feet resting on the cool wooden floors of my bedroom. My house. It still feels weird saying that, that this house is mine. That I have my own bedroom. My own bed.
After growing up in a community family home in the Seam, where we would sometimes be stuck two to three girls in a bed, I could have never imagined having such nice things to myself. To have such peaceful quietness to myself. Well peaceful quietness until the thoughts and memories set in. Sometimes the paranoia gets so bad I can't leave the house for weeks at a time.
It makes me consider drowning myself in liquor like Haymitch but I can't stand the taste or the way it makes my head feel the next day.
I make it to the bathroom, looking in the mirror. I sigh, turning away. I hate looking at my reflection now. The scar that stretches across my face is repulsive. Some tell me I should be proud but it's just a constant reminder of things I'd rather forget. I don't think anyone in the district is even surprised by it anymore.
I pull my hair from the loose bun atop my head, start letting the bath fill before dropping my clothes onto the floor and step into the warmth of the water. I let it fill around me, soothing the aching in my body and quiet my mind.
I turn the water off and sink down until just the top of my head from my nose up is above the water. It's the only place where I can feel relaxed any more. But this week, it doesn't last long, there's too much anxiety and the memories start flooding in.
City ruins. Abandoned buildings. Heat. So hot all I wanted to do was strip from my clothes. Blood. Fights. Killing. Constant fear and paranoia, knowing at any moment it could be your last. Knowing that when it's down to you and just one other person you have no choice but to fight like hell and hope you come out on top, then living with the fact that you took an innocent person's life from them.
I feel the tears sliding from my eyes, silently mixing with the bath water as the images flash behind my eyes.
Two years. In five days it will have been two years since I was reaped for the games. Two years since I killed five fellow tributes and won by killing a sixth. Two years since I was stuck in that horrible arena for 5 torturous weeks.
