A/N - I, unfortunately do not own The Hunger Games *goes away to cry and eat a cookie*. THG *sniff* belongs to Suzanne Collins. R&R please, I'd love to know what you think of it :) I wrote this in about ten minutes so I know it's not perfect. Happy Reading!
President Snow sighed deeply, as he made his way silently through his marble mansion, only stopping to gaze out a window, or to stroke a discarded rose with his long, this fingers. Eventually, he reached his throne, and he settled into it. The chair was made from deep mahogany, and the back was encrusted with rubies and carvings of roses. Snow gazed out his large balcony where his throne was placed, to the pandemonium below. His fingers were laced together, his elbows resting on the velvet arm rests.
How beautiful death looked.
The once tarmac black road was splattered with blood, and the sound of children screaming pierced the air. President Snow's face remained expressionless, and soon the sound of heavy gunfire raged above the screams of the nearly-fallen. Oh, how Snow loved their faces, their emotions. The flickers of hope, shortly crushed by utter defeat. Oh how it was lovely to watch how one man stood brave one moment, then lay empty the next.
Snow shakily edged his way to the edge of the balcony, abandoning his throne. He breathed in, and let out a silent scream. His eyes were wide, making him look mad. Maybe he was. Snow's clawed hands turned to fists, and he clenched the wooden railing on the balcony. A force field protected him, the rebels found that out quickly enough. But the sounds, the sights, the smells still wafted through. The President took this as a sign of achievement, power. The edges of his lips upturned, as he gazed into the eyes of a small girl, eight at the most, bleeding to death. Snow did nothing, except smile, and slowly, the girl realised this was not a sign of kindness. This was a sign of madness, of what power and longing and death and destruction and war and blood and a world without love did to you.
The girl felt pity for this man, and slowly, she reached out her pale, frail arm, pressed her fingers to her lips, and raised them to Snow. Because, in her eyes, this man was not alive. Without batting an eyelid, Snow reached into his pocket, and pulled out a gun. Pretty much all of the square had gone silent, wondering what this man would do to the girl. He slowly brought the gun to his temple, still smiling. The rebels and peacekeepers' eyes widened in intuition. Snow was committing suicide?
Quickly, the man brought the gun down and aimed straight to the heart of the frozen, smiling girl. He pulled the trigger.
No. Snow was not going to die from the hands of the girl, even if she hadn't meant it at the time. But now, her time was over. A high pitched scream ripped out of the lips of, presumably, the girl's mother. President Snow dropped the gun to the floor, at his feet.
He picked a rose gently from a vase that stood precariously on the rim of the balcony, and gently started picking off the petals.
Eerily, like he was alone, the aged President began to sing.
"I see your faces
I break your smiles
I hear your cries
I sense your fear.
And look, what's this, you cry
A heavenly angel, a mockingjay
But no, it seeks only to destroy
I tried to warn you
You did not believe in me
And this is what it has come to
Your deaths, at your own petty hands
And I, standing above.
Your souls are mine."
Thanks for reading :3 Please the button below and I'll give you a cookie .. And a Mockingjay pin 0.o
