Them.

I hate them.

I hate the air they breathe, their words. Their actions. I hate the light in their eyes that never seems to go out. I loathe the energetic way they walk, how they fall in step with me on the sidewalk. I hate their unpredictability, a sparkler that kept burning and burning. They are the fire on a summer morning, the sharp chip on a bowl, the bane of my existence. They are happ...

My words were foolish,

You praised them as truth.

My actions were flawed,

You said I do no wrong.

You fattened me with sweet words,

While my brothers starved at my side.

I ask why, you say why not?

But while you softened me,

My brothers grew strong.

Their backs bent with their own weight.

Their hands were calloused,

Their souls were tough.

But you kept me from that greatness

That kn...

December 7, 1954:

**[This log is to track the growth and study of the experiment known as “018.” As written by Dr. Reyna Katri]**

When I was first given this assignment, I was over the moon! Working with the Genetic Study and Mutation Program was a dream come true to my younger self, to know what glorious feats we could accomplish by simple changing or adding onto a humans DNA. While it started ...

He looks surprised, and maybe exasperated. I couldn’t blame him though, how else are you supposed to react when, while stuck in a giant arena with bloodthirsty teens, your ally sits down and pulls out a Language book?

“Really?” He dead-panned at me, “you brought a _Spanish school book _to the Hunger Games?”

I frowned, and argued back.

“Listen, I know its weird. But I’m not gonna lose my streak j...

A winters morning is the most unlikely time to be out in the afternoon. With news of a blizzard hitting, most were inside sipping coffee, sighing from the comfortable warmth, and giving hardly a thought that anyone would be crazy enough to go outdoors.

They were wrong.

For out there in the cold wind of the north, far across the frozen lake, shivering under her red winter coat and white stocking ...

It was theirs, not mine

I did not want the fire and ash

I did not want my husband’s sash

Taken from a battle, bloodied from clash

It was theirs not mine

It was mine not theirs

They did not care for my son’s smile

They did not see my pain worthwhile

They did not care for our lands defiled

It was mine, not theirs

For all my sorrow, they spoke of glory

For all my peace, they spoke of things gory

I...