Jagged Nails and Poisoned Worlds
…
(She'll pave the way to hell with blood and flesh first.)
…
She holds her head up high, and marches upon the platform. The world watches her, and silence overtakes the viewer. The spotlight seems to gloss over her life, redesigning her to its very wishes and desires. She allows it to do so, because she just can't give a damn.
She straddles the line, toying with the dangers of the outer world, and lurching herself backwards into the land of realities and rules. She volunteers for death, because she's already given up on life. Primrose struggles, of course. She's so closed off from the truth of the world, living in fantasies that even Katniss can't comprehend.
The wind whistles through the silence, carrying the stillness of the woods. She plasters a scowl upon her face and glares defiantly at the crowd. She won't be dragged to hell so easily.
Death will come, and it will wait. She will never give up.
(She'll pave the way to hell with blood and flesh first.)
…
The train clatters silently upon the tracks. It rattles her bones and makes her teeth clack. The hot water glides over her body, washing away her fears with subtle care. The sun sets low over the distance, the horizon fading away. Her world is morphing into a whirlwind of hell and lies, twisting with misery and death.
Her body stands tall as the water dies away, and her fingers comb through her hair. Her dead father's hair, of course. Her body shudders with grief, and she crumbles into the helpless little child she had buried into the Earth.
She had once boxed away her tears within the empty coffin, and given away with the hopes and dreams. But now her future coils with death and blood, and she feels sickened by it all.
She swears, using her own jagged fingernails to cut away at her own flesh, that she will live. Blood rises and the words fumble angrily out of her mouth. The words sound empty though.
"I will live." She chants over and over again, scraping at raw flesh until her entire being has become filled with bloodlust.
(The dead will sink into the ground, and the living will tread upon their resting. She will march her way over them all, rising so far above.)
…
They recreate her very being, burning her very essence with fire. They cloak her with flames, and ash smoulders behind her. She clasps hands with Peeta, and begins the trek to power. The chariots continue through the crowds and they shower flowers at her feet. The fire sparks, and burns them away, and she's left treading in smoke and ash.
The spotlight falls upon her, and the word burns away to hell. She tilts her head back and laughs.
She wants to twirl in the ash and destruction. She longs for her feet to glide over the rubble. They watch her with anticipation. The lust to see her body crumble to death.
She knows though, that she will give them all a show. She will kill and murder and slaughter, and they will watch with baited breaths. She will give them the show, and they will give her the dead.
(The living lie and struggle, and the dead awaken and suffer. She's better though. She's drowning in suffering and struggles, and relishing every moment of it all.)
…
She stands before the world, scowling.
They have all dictated her words and found fault in her walk, but she shall rise above them all. The spotlight is on her now, and she lives for the venom within.
She moulds her words, and presents everything she is to the world. Primrose will watch, and her mother will turn her head. She shall become a shame to the entire district, and bring distaste to the entire world. She doesn't give a damn though, because when dawn falls, she shall be shipped away into a world where rules and laws have no place.
She shall kill, or be killed.
(She vomits blood, cleansing herself from impurities. The expectations the world sets upon her weigh her down, and she detaches herself from humanity. Blood clings to her fingernails, and death lurks in her shadow.)
…
She picks at the nail polish that coat her fingernails as the platform rises. Silence is deafening, and fear lurks within her. Once she breaks surface, she can never go back. She will become a murderer, or just another corpse of the past.
The future lies within seconds.
What shall happen will define her life in a matter of minutes. Her heart races and eyes narrow.
She's disgusted with the world.
The light shines down upon her, and she holds her head up high.
She's not going to die.
(She's to bloody damn good to die.)
…
Blood coats the ground, and the bow lies within distance. She flings the blade at her opponent without hesitation, and he falls dead at her feet. The world spins madly in the hands of the insane, and she grapples for hold of reality.
She gathers a bag with an easy swoop of an arm, bending low to dodge the metal spear. She sprints to the thick of the mess, gathering weapons and retaliating attacks with greater force. Her feet drum against the ground, and power surges within her.
She will not die, because she cannot die. Not yet. Not now. Not here.
The knife she holds in her hand slams into the socket of an attacker, and she does not hesitate to shove his screaming body away from her.
She hefts the arrows and bows with victory, before sprinting off into the distance.
(They call her still. Guilt and the dead moulded into one figure, wielded into a final weapon. They'll destroy her in the end, but for now she will live in lies.)
…
The world is a poisoned one, she decides. Night fell with heavy heart, and shadows grew in the woods. She had slipped up a tree, working her way up to the highest branches. The world calls her name, seeking her out above the rest.
She is no longer Katniss.
Katniss died away a long time ago, and now she remains as a frightening crevice in humanity. Her eyes are cold and unforgiving, and skin blemished by the fierce cut against her cheek. Her tears burn brightly in her eyes, but do not fall. Blood stains her skin and clothes, and she shivers against the cold.
It makes her feel alive within.
Every breath that she steals is a proof of her existence.
"Told you Primrose, I wouldn't die. Not yet."
(She calls to the cameras, baiting them to her every movement. Every breath and every movement is stolen away for the world to judge.)
…
The world burns around her. It creates a horrid noise, like the sky is burning. It hurts and overwhelming, and she shudders from the pain. The world is screaming around her, choking her slowly. She stumbles through the wreckage, and forces a smile upon her face.
They expect her to play out the tale of torn lovers with the fool, but she won't. She'll manipulate and use, until he's dead.
They seek her for death, but she has her arrows and bow. The flames burn her flesh, but in the end she will prevail.
The ground is like lava, burning at her feet. The air has become heavy and thick, and she gasps for air. Ashes reign down around her, and she rises from the wreckage like a phoenix.
She breaks through the clearing, and falls to her knees.
The spotlight is on her, always on her.
Time for the show to begin.
(He holds her by the neck, choking the life out of her. Her very existence is fading, but nothing matters. She struggles for breath, gasping and choking as she takes an arrow from the quiver, and slams it into his eye socket.)
…
She hunts him down, seeking his bloodied form. He had burrowed himself into the undergrowth, seeking refuge.
"Miss me?" She asks with a voice full of disdain and satisfaction. He grimaces as he watches her.
"What happened to you?" He whispers out, eyes widening.
She smiled. "We're all going to hell. I'm just sending you a little faster."
She stabs him in the back.
(She writhes with nightmares and lies, poisoned by the worlds unknown to man. She seeks vengeance and slaughter, blood dripping from her hands. She'll never be saved now.)
…
They all die, one by one. Some by her own hand. Some by others.
She is the final.
Twenty four had entered, and one would remain.
Like an equation, of some sorts. Calculated and rigid with formats and rules. She was tired though, of it all. She was alive, and they were dead. She was the final part of the equation.
She decided, as the final bell of victory descended over the arena. She picked the knife from the ground, and began to laugh. "I told you I would win, Primrose. But death can only wait for so long."
Silence falls, and spotlight dims. The audience turns away, and she gives her final act.
Curtains fall.
(He holds her, wishing that perhaps she had transformed into this being of death. She smiles, and wishes for nothing more. The world was full of bastards, and they were going straight to hell.)
…
Merry Boxing Day everyone! So the world hasn't gone to hell or been destroyed. Christmas has come and gone. I still have work. Life goes on, sadly.
So. Insane Katniss? Why? Because it was fun and entertaining to think of. I don't often stray into the Hunger Games fandom, but I had gotten a Hunger Games mug for Christmas and began thinking about all of… this.
Enjoy all. If not, well. Don't really happen to care.