If I am to be a killer, I want to be on my own terms

I didn’t get to chose my life. I didn’t get to chose my family being ripped apart or my mother shot in front of me. But this , this is the one thing I can choose. The one thing I can control.

They gave me and the other tribute three minutes to choose a weapon from home.

“non-lethal “ they said .

“Courtesy of the capital, the privilege of choice“ they said.

Well I say the capital can burn in hell.

Rage is my weapon. And I will take my mother with me

I cling to my dangling pendent, the last memory of her, the last piece of home I have left and step toward the towering mahogany doors.

I pause, just for a moment

Am I strong enough to survive? Do I have what it takes?

I have to be. My home. My family. The memory of my mother depends on it.

Memory. The thing that keeps me awake at night. The thing I want to cling to and forget.

Some say memory is like a vapor. One moment. It’s there, the next, it’s gone. Not for me

I’ve made my choice

My memory will be my fire.My memory will keep me alive.

I won’t forget what they did to me. What they did to my people.

And I won’t let them forget either.