The seconds tick by, and the boy with the sword still wields it, still slashes it through the air.
Through the air,
Through the breeze,
Through her flesh.
Eventually, he goes with the others. They laugh, jeer at the girl leaning against the tree, clean the blood tainting the silver.
To the girl, everything looks silver.
She had always wondered whether you saw things differently depending on your eye colour.
Maybe it does, but only when you're dying.
Because she is dying, and she knows it.
So do the others, walking away from her.
But she doesn't mind, because through the pain and silver haze, there is a melodic peace settling over her.
Something she has never felt before.
It is her dying, and not her sister.
That is good.
The boy with the sword turns around. Calls her.
"Go call your little ally for help, Fire Girl!"
She just smiles at him, because she feels tranquil, and
He's walking straight towards her little ally anyway.
Straight towards their trap.
It will get them killed,
And maybe her little ally can win.
Maybe.
There is a light shining from above, warm and golden and serene.
She feels relaxed.
Back at home, he can hunt without her.
Her sister will look after her mother,
Her mother will look after her sister,
And he will look after them both.
They will recover. She knows they will.
She won't, but
They say there is a better place.
If it is better than the one she left behind,
She can stay with her father in happiness.
She hopes the ones she leaves behind will be alright,
And she knows they will.
Everything is silver, except
The golden light
The golden pin
The scarlet blood and
The white figure descending from above.
She murmurs their names.
"Prim,
Gale,
Mother,
Hazelle,
Madge."
And as the white figure holds out hands, and
She reaches up to take them,
She can see her own hands, remaining where they were caressing her hair.
But she can also see her hands, fainter, but definitely hers,
Reaching for the white silhouette.
There is a loud sound
But the girl feels it more than she hears it.
It is a vibration, not a noise.
A cannon.
What she does hear is her own name in
Another girl's mouth.
"Katniss! Katniss!"
The girl, Fire Girl, and the white figure are rising.
Lifting upwards, higher and higher.
For a minute, she sees it.
The Arena.
There is a girl with orange hair that looks silver stealing from the Cornucopia.
Her ally is ready to spring the trap that will be the end of the three remaining Careers,
Who are heading straight into it.
A young man is eating, in the wheat fields.
A crippled boy is limping down a stream.
A girl is trying to build a shelter in the remaining light of day.
But Katniss isn't.
She's floating into the light,
Staring into the piercing eyes of the Judge of the Gate of Heaven,
And he's letting her through.
She runs straight into her father's arms.
I don't own the Hunger Games.