Pain.
Her every nerve is on fire as she stumbles through the woods. She trips, sprawling to the ground, the damp leaves of the forest pressing into her face, and another knife pierces her ribs. She wretches it out, bringing along a storm of blood, throwing it desperately towards her assiliant, but for the first time in her life, she misses.
Panic.
Fear takes over as she gets back up, tearing through the woods again. Even as she runs, he catches up. She can feel herself falling again, caught on roots and vines that appear out of nowhere. She tangled, weary. She can't get up. Every nerve is screaming in agony when she tries, and her arms can't hold up her weight. She's panting, but there's no point to being quiet. He knows exactly where she is.
Fading.
She can see the blood oozing from her visible wounds, her thigh and ribs, and feel it trickling from her left shoulder. Her hands are streaked with blood, and mud and dirt and grime and blood coat her entire body. The darkness is already encroaching, the weakness that comes from significant blood loss, spots dance before her eyes.
Fading…
She looks up at him, the last face she'll ever see, and he's crying. Tears drip down his cheeks and he holds the knife in a shaky hand, directly over her chest. "I'm so sorry." He chokes out, and then drops the knife. It falls in slow motion, sinking into her chest. She can feel another wave of painwash over her.
Darkness.
She can't see, but she hears the cannon boom. She can hear Cladius Templesmiths voice "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the winner of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, Cato McClain!" She wants to scream. "I'm still here! I'm still alive!" But it's no use. She can imagine his face, tearstained and covered in blood, her blood, turning towards the sky, smiling through the guilt, the pain. His face, her last hope, all blue eyes and tan skin and a bright smile, so happy during training, so beautiful in the summer sun the day before the reaping. His face, the face of her last hope…
Gone.
The world goes black and silent and Clove jerks up in bed, screaming, sweaty, and tangled in the sheets. "A dream. Just a dream." She tells herself, locking her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth.
No.
Not just a dream.
She lays back in bed, eyes open, twisting the sheets again and again through her fingers, playing out the scene from that tnight. She twists her eyes shut, but all she can see is his face, his eyes when she delivered that death blow. His eyes while she dropped the knife into his chest. He had refused to beg, a Career until the very end. She curls in on herself, drawing her knees toward her chin, and locks her arms around her legs, as if she's trying to keep herself together, to keep the little pieces of the person that she used to be together. She's trying to keep herself from breaking apart, but frankly, it's no use.
She's already broken.
"My name is Clove Mason." Her voice is scratchy from sleep, weak from weariness, and yet she talks on. She's seen former Victors do this occasionally, specifically the mad girl from Four. It helps. "I'm fifteen years old. My home is District Two. I won the Hunger Games. I killed my District partner. Everyone hates me."
Honestly I'm not sure if this is going to be a full length story or just keep it as a one shot, but I had a burst of inspiration after my AP World test this morning, and about twenty minutes of down time, and this was the result. I hope you enjoyed! :) Please review?
Forever and always taking requests! Any pairing/character, I'll even do your OC's if you give me adequate information! I just like to write and I don't have any super amazing ideas right now.