burning.
when there's nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire
au: crazy!cato&clove
…
it all starts with a candle.
she stares at it, flickering back and forth, radiating with heat and power.
soon the voices come. the voices come like they do everyday, and they tell her to do it.
burn burn burn, burn the house down. burn it all down. burn burn burn it down.
she puts her hands to her ears, closing her eyes shut. but the action is futile, and she knows the only way the voices will disappear is to follow them.
she grabs her knives and her matches and she blows out that candle. she stabs her mom and she cuts up her dad. she pours gasoline all over the hallways and she lights it before running.
she watches her house and her family burn with wide eyes reflecting the flames that flicker.
the voices applaud her talent. she sobs into her hands.
…
the police arrive soon.
she's deemed crazy three months later in court, because rehabilitation is more important than retribution; right?
she's thrown into a dark and lonely room, with no light and no heat and no flames. no fire.
the voices are louder than ever, with nothing to mute them out.
she thinks she'd like jail better.
…
she takes sixteen pills a day.
or, she's supposed to take sixteen pills a day. she flushes them down the toilet when no one else is looking, or sticks them under her tongue when they're supposed to be watching her swallow them.
she figures she's too clever for them.
...
he's in the cell next to her.
the walls are supposed to be too thick for them to hear anything, but she's too clever for them, isn't she?
they conduct some sort of communication after seeing each other during mealtimes.
they're not allowed to talk. it'd be too dangerous for to psychopathic pyromaniacs to be conferring with each other. even sit next to each other; they're positioned exactly 16 feet away from each other.
but when the guards aren't looking, they make almost unnoticeable gestures with their hands behind their backs.
on those days where she's forced to eat with handcuffs because she's done something wrong, she scratches her fork rhythmically; ignoring the calls of the rest of the prisoners, or even the guards, and he understands; responding with the three sips from his drink.
and on those days where he's not allowed to go out to eat with the others, she'll refuse her meals. and they'll sit with their backs pressed against the wall that they share, pounding on it in some weird kind of morse code that only they will understand.
...
then, there's one day where only one guard is left in the cafeteria. some emergency or such.
the guard watches them intently, until cato swings his chair connected to his handcuff at him, and he's knocked out.
he rushes towards the door, and gestures for her to follow.
she doesn't bother getting up. she noticed the door was locked from the minute the click was sounded. the sound of him kicking the door angrily is her confirmation that she was, indeed, correct.
"so, what are you in here for?" she says, pushing her food around with no intent to eat it. he's startled by her voice, coming out of her lips as if it was a normal thing for them to talk. but he doesn't dare show it. she feels the same way, rarely hearing a word uttered from his mouth, but disregarding that singular, but most important fact.
"murdered some kids. got caught burning down my school. you?"
"killed my family. turned them into ashes burning down my house."
he nods, as if he understood the situation.
"you might want to get back in your seat. the guards are coming back." she speaks, nonchalantly as always.
"how do you know?" he says, his eyes narrowed.
"ten, nine, eight-"
he grumbles back to his chair.
"three, two, one-"
the door opens, and he looks at her incredulously. she smirks back, still only staring at the food on her plate.
it's then that they learn to trust each other.
...
some days, she thinks it may be good for her to finally take those sixteen pills. maybe just one.
but on the days that she tries, the voices in her head tell her not to. they get louder and louder until she can't do anything but obey them.
she cries as she pretends to swallow the pills. the doctors think she's just crying because she has to take them in the first place.
because she's crazy, and that's what crazy people do, right?
...
after sixteen months, due to her "good behavior", they allow her to converse with others. to see if she is still dangerous and a threat.
but when she walks into the room of insane people, sitting together, talking about nonsense, she'd rather be back in her cell.
he's not there either. he's got three more months until he will even be able to take a step out of his cell, other to eat of course.
so she sits in the corner, digging her fingernails into the wall and waiting for the allotted hour to be up.
they deem her antisocial, which is normal for someone like her. she deems them stupid, which is normal for those who hang around people like her. it makes them seem so much smarter, and soon they begin to believe it.
...
she swallows one of her pills once.
she throws it up as soon as she's alone.
...
he's almost better after six more months. at least the doctors think so. he's let out for that allotted one hour of socialization, and they sit in the corner together, planning the deaths of the people that surround them.
she falls asleep on his shoulder one too many times, and he allows the comfort.
...
"you think we should move them? they're both pyromaniacs." the doctor says to the nurse.
"of course not, they're getting better. and they refuse to talk to anyone else." the nurse replies.
...
"let's escape from here, cato." she whispers into his ear.
he chuckles. "you think i haven't tried? there's no fucking way i can get out of here."
"there's no way you can get out of here. but there's a way we can get out of here."
"bullshit, clove. stop dreaming."
she lifts her head from his shoulder, struggling with her handcuffs. she glares at him, with menace he's never seen directed towards him.
"you think i'm crazy."
he thinks you're crazy. he thinks he's better than you.
his face twists into one of confusion, and she takes it as one of bitterness.
"well here's something you might not know," she spits out with venom. "you're just as fucked up as i am!"
the others in the room run out in fear, or babble incoherent words meant to be asking for help.
he closes his eyes, and tries in vain to bring his handcuffed hands up to his ears. "you're just as fucked as i am!" he hears the muffled sounds of her voice. "just as fucked up!" a pounding. "just as fucked up!"
he's pulled out the room and she's dragged out with her hands around her back, screaming at him.
...
she hates him for a month.
she hates him, she hates him, she hates him.
she imagines burning him down, looking at his ashes. grounding them beneath her feet.
but a month by yourself, with no other company but the voices you try to drown out, gives you lots of time to think.
and she's always been a smart girl.
she wishes she could see him. just by himself, with no flames but ones he carries in his hand.
...
they're not allowed to see each other for months. months on months on months.
he apologizes to her, in his own way. she accepts, in her own way.
a glance from across the room that holds. a small nod in response.
but the nurses and doctors are clueless as always, and they're kept apart. they eat at separate times, they're kept in separate cells. they're not allowed out for allotted speaking times.
they pass by each other when they are to take their medicine, however. twice a day, they see each other.
she begins to live for those glances of his, and those small, rare, smiles directed towards her.
...
they concoct a plan.
in between looking at the weapons the guards carry, nods, and a bit of wriggling in their handcuffs, they concoct a plan.
and they're crazy enough to act it all out. that's what they're in there for, isn't it?
...
they escape. somehow. between the blood sinking into their teeth as they bite the arms of the nurses, and the bruises on their knuckles the next day, they escape.
it's all a blur to her, like the rest of her life. the sound of the alarms. the satisfaction of stealing and shooting a gun. dragging cato out, and kissing him fiercely once she feels the wind on her skin.
but for once, these movements weren't directed to her from the voices. she does them herself.
for once, it's what she wants.
...
she laughs and laughs and laughs as she runs, her hand in his, to the wilderness surrounding their old home.
she's free, and she feels free as her legs glide across actual grass and actual flowers.
the heat from the sun burns on her back, and she remembers the sensation that she used to love.
...
they sleep in the woods, covered by leaves and foliage around them, curled up into each others bodies.
they provide each other with enough heat, their bodies burning with body heat, their touches setting fires to the other's skin.
and when it rains, they allow themselves to stand in it, touch each other in it, kiss each other; and are satisfied to know their fires can withstand even water.
...
she finds a match.
she strikes it.
"let's burn down the world together, cato."
...
"you're crazy, clove."
"and you're just as fucked up as i am."
...
her last moments alive are memories of the voices melting away like candle wax, and her hand in his, as they burn to ashes together.
...
a/n: ignore the writing style; this was written so fast that i really just didn't want to go back to fix the capitalization and such. i'm so sorry that it looks so unprofessional! this idea just came to me, after going through my list of oneword prompts, as a spontaneous stroke of luck. thank you to the person who left me this prompt, so long ago. leave me a review and tell me what you think!