This is for the following Caesar's Palace prompts: Challenges by the Dozen(Level One), and the Colour Challenge(Red and Silver).
There are only two colors.
Red, and silver.
There are only two things.
Blood, and weapons.
The rest is made of grey, black, and white.
He's a monster, and he revels in it. He trains, trains, and trains. He's always either training or drinking. (Girls just mess everything up, don't they? Connections, relationships… Alliances are all that you need.) He needs that beautiful flash of sliver, striking down on a dummy, a break from the monotony of dull colors. He needs that splash of red, that crimson that stains the floor, that spews from mutilated dummies, from the faces of the defeated who wanted to steal his crown.
He shouts, climbs the stage, shakes that knife girl's hand, and mentally signs her death certificate.
He smirks, waves, and relishes the adoration from the plastic, frivolous crowds, and the feel of power from the armor, which is full of color he can't see. His content and triumph soon dissipate. They aren't chanting his name, they're chanting Katniss, over and over. They want that little girl! The rat! The scum of Panem! He nearly makes the chariot tilt over, in his haste to turn and mouth his death threats to the rat. Then he sees it. The flames. Fire, had always been a poor person thing, strictly for those who couldn't afford artificial lighting. Red, had always been the color of blood, death. He had seen pictures of fire in textbooks, but it didn't do it justice. The flames flicker, dance, give life and warmth. He craves them, and wants them. He wants the translucent red, that licks at the girl's face. He wants the fire in her sharp silvery eyes, wanted what made her dangerous, wants the real flames in her, not the synthetic fire that would never make the weak boy next to her strong.
He forbids any of them to touch her. He wants to kill her, and consume the fire she has, he tells himself, It's the need to have it all. When he purposely snaps the branches of the tree that she lies in, he tells himself it's to make her descent with the burns harder, that it's for the Grand Finale. When the announcement that two tributes from the same District can live, he convinces himself that his thoughts jumping to her is rational, after all, it's who this announcement was made for. When his brain questions him, as to why he doesn't think of Bread Boy, he answers that he doesn't want to think of weaklings and traitors, and turns over, finding sleep before his brain can continue. When he's next to Clove, screaming her name, he thinks himself delusional, because he doesn't see the Knife Girl, but Fire Girl on the ground before him.
When he feels the pangs of pain in his chest, when he sees the love for Bread Boy in her sterling eyes, he pushes it away, only to realize that the sliver arrow sprouting from his hand is the same color as her eyes. When he deliberately falls off the grey Cornucopia, he still persuades himself that this is all for the Capitol crowds. When he lets the mutts slowly torture him, and when he lets his mouth whisper please, he thinks that saying Girl on Fire is so Capitol. They think of the flames on her, not the flames in her. Fire Girl, he thinks, Fire Girl. When he feels the arrow, the color of her eyes, hit his skull, and drill into his brain; when he sees her silver eyes, when the flames that ate at him appear at the edge of his vision, he knows that while silver and red birthed this monster,
It was most certainly Fire Girl who let it rest.
And in the end,
Still,
There are only two colors.
Red, and silver.
Still,
There are only two things.
Her Fire, and Her Eyes.