They are strong. They are weak. Scared and brave. They are scarred both mentally and physically. Sleepless nights. Screams. They pay the price. They have been pushed to the limit and yet they survive. Their spirit and hope and fire survive and they always will.

Remembering the games comes in flashbacks, dreams and echo's. they tell themselves you gotta let go.

But moving on from them is impossible when that's all they see in their heads.

Losing their ally, friend, fellow tribute, victim is painful.

Dying is too. But so is living.

The dead fade back into the abyss. A mass of nameless, faceless people forgotten and scattered to the winds.

They lost track of the dead. Forget. Forgetting is easier then remembering. It always has been. It always will be.

Victors are forgotten too. Over time. Everything is forgotten over time. Cuts and bruises heal. Pain becomes easier to handle and fade. So do dreams and nightmares. To everyone but the victors.

Not to the victors- the victims. Every second of a fight, feast, bloodbath of their games is embedded in their minds.

Wish they could go back. Wish they could go forward.

They are stuck in their own memories and minds.

They are the victims. Sometimes they think the dead tributes had it easy. They don't have to put on a show. Become someone their not. Change. Live their lives in constant fear.

And whilst they grow older, memories weaker, they know they will always remember their games.








After all, who could forget that?