Writer Games | Masquerade of Martyrs & Family Ties

Task Eight: The Rebirth /F - Anna Smith

Dear Judas,

I've finally realized  all of my mistakes. Everything that I thought I wanted, that I tried so  hard to get, is actually more of a nightmare than a dream. Someone once  told me that a life without fame is a good life. But fame without a  life isn't a life at all. I just there's a truth to that. Maybe a brutal  truth but one all the same. I've been so busy that I've had no time to  reflect on anything else. I suppose that it's better that way. Now that  I've finally got a second to slow down, my head won't shut up.

Last year, a few  months after I left the arena, your father and I relocated to a house  more towards the middle of the Capitol. It made all the traveling  easier. I was constantly in interviews, at parties and then there was  the Victor's Tour around all of the Districts. You wouldn't believe what  everything looked like. Mountains, land for miles to see and not a  single bit of marble or gold to see. I actually fell in love with  everything and coming home was more painful than I thought it would be.  You see, I started to learn with the quiet of a world where people care,  comes serenity. Where there is noise, bustling without a care in the  world for other people, there is only sadness and a prison inside of  your own mind.

Everything changed,  more than I was prepared for. The world of fame is a dark place, Judas  and no one truly loves you. They admire you for what you've done but  when you turn away, their true thoughts come out and they whisper about  your murderous deeds. They write you death threats and wish for your  cold heart to break so you can finally join the rest of your demons in  hell. They stalk you, watch you through your bedroom window and share  the most intimate moments with the world. Your life becomes a show, a  joke to them and you have no time to yourself.

The cameras seek out  every bit of your life, squeeze the happiness out of you until you're  just a wrung out shell of a human. I suppose this is what everyone told  me when they said it wasn't worth it. I'm a star now and I no longer  wonder what it's like to be blinded by stage lights. For a moment, in  the brightness of those lights, you have a moment to yourself and the  only thing you can do is beg yourself to stay strong.

Your father left me  for a younger woman. It was all over the news and I guess I got him what  he wanted. You were my scapegoat and I was is. Funny how those types of  things work. It's a vicious cycle and it won't stop. I wish I wasn't a  part of it. I wish I hadn't lost your father to some bimbo with rainbow  coloured hair and cat eyes.

I guess what I'm  trying to say here is that you were right. Fame isn't worth the life  that you lose to get there. I want to go back, redo absolutely  everything and keep you. I want to hold you close and tell you that I  love you at every possible moment. I want to watch you grow up because  those damned thirty pieces of silver weren't worth seeing you as a child  and then losing you to someone else.

For a while, I  hoarded my money and used it for self-medicating things like alcohol and  all those drugs on the market. I guess I wanted to be seen as damaged.  The attention made me happy but when I lost Keith, I started to realize  how nothing is here forever unless it leaves the right kind of mark. I  straightened up and I'm no longer seen as a woman partying with kids her  son's age.

I'm trying to repair  the damage I've done but its hard when all the damage is in your head,  in a grave or miles away in some other woman's bed. I think, maybe now  you'll be proud of me. I've started an organization that gives orphans a  home. We give them education and health care as well as excessive  training for the games. The donations are outstanding but part of me  thinks that it's for the training. Still, it's nice to know that I'm  giving back to the community.

I've named the  foundation the Judas Center. It's the least I could do. The building is  marble, one of the least expensive materials that we could use. An  engraving of your face is on the door, along with our story. I told the  truth this time, about us. How you were only trying to survive, how all  you wanted was our love and approval and all we did was destroy  everything in our path to get what we wanted. This all made it into the  Capitol Daily and they asked for an interview. That was the first  interview that I declined. I didn't want to be in the eyes of the public  right then. It didn't feel right.

I'm trying to make  everything better. And I've finally found time to keep my promise to  you. I'm taking you to the house where you were born. I'm going to show  you around and then I'm going to lay you where you belong. I'm going to  Hell and you'll be in Heaven. But just know that after all this time,  I've learned something things. Blood is thicker than water and I love  you more than you'll ever know.

Your Mother Always,

Anna Smith

-

I've grown accustomed to  the sounds of fame. A chatter here and there as I walk past a group of  people, a single camera shutter from the bushes or a thousand of them at  a red carpet event. This sound I haven't been used to. I haven't heard  it since the last few moments in the arena. It is silence, the sound of a  fragile mind breaking of the realization that it is finally over. Not a  cough, not a wheeze from a crowd breaks this silence.

My hands are covered  with dirt, a small pile upended next to a silver headstone and a tree.  I've dug a small hole, just the right depth for a glass jar the size of a  cup. The glass jar is open, lying in the grass between my knees. There  are three things going in this jar: a picture, a necklace and my letter.  They call this kind of thing a time capsule. Although I know I won't  want to ever look at this again, I find this kind of comforting. I know  he won't read it but I know that someone will and they'll understand.  Maybe they'll forgive me for my crimes.

From the confinements of  the picture, a nineteen-year-old Judas grins at me. His hair is wild,  eyes bright and vibrant with excitement. His arm is draped around the  two things I've become most jealous of since I set eyes on the photo.  His adopted sister, Cannery and one of his tigers. The same locket that  is in my hands is around his neck, the chain just barely visible beneath  his shirt.

I'm jealous because he  never smiled like that at me. He never once wrapped his arms around me  and laughed at the world like a fearless child. I never got to see the  joy that possessed him when he was among those who loved him. I was  always the nagging bitch in the back of his mind, whispering that he was  never good enough for me. I'm jealous because I had to beg his adopted  mother for the picture and it isn't even the original photo. If I'd kept  him, I wouldn't have begged. His smile would be for me and his father.  His arms would maybe be around two younger siblings. He wouldn't be  rotting in the ground below my feet.

I don't want to give up  this locket. His blood has stained the hair and turned it a dark brown  and rusted onto the thin paper beneath. His hair is still preserved  beneath the cracked glass and if I look hard enough, I can see his face  staring back at me. But it's time to give him up. I've held on far too  long, much longer than I deserve.

My hands shake as I  place the locket in the glass jar. The letter follows, the ink smears  from caressing and alcohol infused tears. After that, the picture of my  son is placed inside. I take a moment to place this inside, kissing the  young and happy face before tucking the photo between the letter and the  glass. I don't want to close the lid but I do anyway and carefully  place the jar into hole I've dug. The dirt covers my sins but I know  they're still there.

When I die, I'll still be trying to fix my mistakes. Remorse is the poison of life and it is eating me up.