Cold Glass

Hi! Thanks for reading this, tell me how to improve it. I reeeeaaaally want to know. Shout out to ChildofHermes-god of stealth who helped me with a lot of stuff and Lykaios113 who told me how to improve (thanks! I hope this one is better...) and wrote a story for me. :) Check it out, it's called Clove's sister and is a lot better than my story (Red).

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. (*sigh* just rubbing salt in the wound...)

You close your eyes and lean into a comforting embrace as a warm buzzing spreads throughout your body. Someone wraps a thick blanket around you, just like Mommy always did at home. You relax into the pair of arms, they feel just like Mommy, who is a comfort when there is distress. A soft humming fills the air; a wondrous tune that sounds of the mockingjays singing in the apple blossoms. You can smell the apple blossoms, they smell so sweet. They smell like music.

A quiet lullaby dances across your cold face like a warm breeze. It sounds like home.

...

Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when you awake, the sun will rise

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you

You are tired, the blanket wrapped around you is warm and comfortable. The lullaby is sweet. Your eyelids are heavy. You can feel yourself drifting away, falling asleep. Mommy's fingers brush your face. They feel like warm honey. The type you would eat when you were sick.

Mommy said she would be watching. Mommy said she would be here. You want to see Mommy.

You open your eyes, but you only see a fog. You start to panic. Mommy is gone! But the fog moves, it swirls and bubbles and changes color, until you see a face. It's not Mommy, it's Aster. You try to touch her, to comfort her, but you can't move.

Aster is talking to you; her mouth forms soundless words. You try to call out to her. She doesn't hear you. But, she smiles.

...

"It's cold." She declares, swirling her hands in the little stream near the orchard.

"The water?" You ask. "Of course."
It is break, and you and Aster are playing.

She shakes her head. "But, it tingles."

You dip your hands into the water. It's is quite surprising, feeling tiny darts of iciness shoot at your hands. But, it's relaxing, letting the sharp coolness seep into the warmth of your hands.

You shiver. Mommy had once said water is life. Are you touching life?

Aster giggles. She is now splashing her hands in the stream. "It tickles, Rue!"

A tremble takes over your body as you glide your hands in and out of the water.

Life swirls and bubbles under your touch as you live in, out, and through, the gift of breath you were given.

You think of a time in the future, when the stream is gone, and there is only a dry bank left in its place.

When life is gone.

You shiver again. "Come, Aster, let's go back."

She ignores you, instead, she watches the water slowly drip off her fingertips. "Look, Rue. Liquid glass."

"What?"

"Liquid glass." She says, using her other hand to point at the hand with water dripping off it. "Liquid glass is dripping off of my hand."

...

You smile faintly at the memory. You can hear the water gurgling again, feel the pin pricks of icy needles, smell the sweet aromas of the fruits.

A pair of soft fingers brush your hair and the quiet melody continues, comforting you. A small drop of water falls on your face.

The fog is swirling again, and Aster appears. Her face is solemn.

You try to ask her if she is alright, but you cannot speak.

She shakes her head. Something is wrong.

...

"You will come home." Aster insists. "And then we can play hopscotch, again."

You smile at her. It is no use telling her you won't come back. But, the fire in her eyes sparks something in your heart, something hot with insistence telling you that you will come home.

She pushed a bowl of something into your hands. "It's from the stream." She tells you. "I just got it."

You peer into the small bowl and see clear water with some golden-green leaves floating on the surface.

You dip your fingertips into it, remembering that day by the stream years ago, and understanding what she wants you to do.

The tingle of the water still surprises you but, it is relaxing, letting the sharp coolness seep into the warmth of your hands.

"Water is life." Mommy whispers to you as she brushes your hair with her light touch.

Life swirl and bubbles under your touch as you live in, out, and through the gift of breath you were given.

The water soon becomes warm from your hands, so you lift your fingers out and watch the liquid glass slowly drip off the curves of your nails.

Aster watches the water gently fall back into the bowl, her eyes following each drop as it splashes against the surface of the water. Soon, the patter of the stream water is the only noise echoing throughout the Justice Hall room.

Mommy tucks your hair behind your ear and murmurs quietly.

"Like water, not even life can stay forever."

...

You nod your head and try to call out to them, tell them you love them. But, you can feel you eyelids beginning to droop, and a warm feeling in your chest, which comes when you are sleepy.

You want to say "Goodnight, I love you." but you are so tired, so weak.

The lullaby comes to a close, the melodious sound drifting away with the tangy smell of the apple blossoms; the whoosh of the stream fades, leaving silence.

Mommy's fingers dance across your face one last time, feeling like the breeze, her touch getting lighter and lighter with each step.

You smile and let the warmness envelope you, relaxing into the comforting embrace.

Death's embrace.