Chrysalis
Noun. a protective covering: a sheltered state of being or growth.
Summary: Annie's thoughts after the war is over but before the baby is born.
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay are written by Suzanne Collins and published by Scholastic The are available for purchase both electronically and in hard copy. Recently The Hunger Games has been released as a major motion picture by Lions Gate Entertainment, produced by Color Force. This fan fiction is based on Collin's book.
This author claims no ownership of the characters or concept behind
Warning: Rated K+ for suggestion of violence and mild violence.
Note: These are Annie's thoughts. Therefore expect to see punctuation used for interpretive rather grammatical purpose.
The room was bare, white, stark lighting, as cold and harsh and rentless as 13 could be. There was a chair black, sturdy, four legged. And then there was me. Open eyes. Shut eyes. I was in the chair but… I was also outside somewhere looking down it. I could be one of those artistic photoshoots they had me do after the Games for the Captial magazines. I remembered the- well, whatever they were (something more than just a photographer) arguing as they looked over proofs. "I keep seeing Vulnerable." The capitol was there in the word just like we were in the Capital- Was the Capital in this room now ? No, no, no, no. Glance around. No one there. But since when did that many anything? They were there weren't they. I could feel eyes and breath and… save me! But I must save myself. Alone again Alone again. There was only white and cold and sharpness.
Back to the thought-what was thought? There were just images. Images-yes- like those in the magazine. They wanted "Fearless" and "Hunter." And I couldn't do it- it didn't matter the clothes, the props, the lighting, the makeup… I was all wrong. And then there had come the threats. But I was no actor- I was a watcher, I had watched… I had watched…. I was no do-er. Not full of actions, not... But amidst the threats he had came. The Golden Victor. He had said things to them, had said things to her…and the calm had come like looking out to sea, hearing the crash of waves and having all the dark washed away... But it would never never happen again; there was the darkness she stood at the precipice looking down down into the stinking oblivion. She knew he had fallen down there and she must go after him. But he wouldn't let her! She mustn't fall…
She moved back to looking at herself from the outside. Yes, this portrait would be called Solitude- except it didn't quite work, now did it? Not when she was heavy with a baby. They'd call it some nonsense like Chrysalis. It should spark hope shouldn't? She'd heard people always, always murmuring (always softly) of how it would remind her of him. As if anything in the world- no matter how cute, no matter how sweet, no matter how- beautiful could capture even half him. For he was that and more. He was strong. I kept hearing that word used in another way. Now she must be strong. He would want her to stay strong. Fin- don't say the name not even in my head. I would shatter again. And into how many more pieces than already? I was already too scattered. And I was losing him as I lost myself: but try to pull the pieces together and they scattered further apart. It was like seafoam. It rushed forward, you thought you could catch but it was gone again, and there – there as you as you despaired-it began to appear again, hope rose and was stamped out; it rose and was snuffed out.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I wanted to run, run, run to where Finnick was. But this- this thing was weighing me down. Keeping him from me. I must rid myself of it. Then I would be able to take the plunge. Into the evil dank dark where he had perished. I would rip out leave this terrible thing behind. Shed this skin. Leave of all of it behind and hide in his embrace. I wanted nothing, nothing at all in between me and him. Him and me. Alone at last with no one else in the world.
"Annie!"
The voice jolted my eyes open- and I saw blood. Blood every where. It was on my hands. My hands. Once more stained with blood. The human body is so full blood. How well I knew that. I had seen with my own to eyes. Blood everywhere. In my eyes, in my hair, on my shirt, on my shoes, on my hands. He had died. There had been so much blood- all over me. And he had died. Had there been blood? Sweet blood in the sewers. Red blood in the sewers. Filling them up. Filling the room. It was here- soaking in through the cracks. But not his blood: the blood of the one I had watched die, the ones I had killed, the ones who had died because of me.
Oh I will drown in blood.
And… it would take forever because I can swim.
Patient hands held Annie Cresta's trembling ones and cut the nails short. The hands were now clean. They laid her down and began to treat the deep scratches along her abdomen. Through the window, a girl with dark eyes and dark hair observed. Standing beside her was a boy with light eyes and light hair, like opposite dies of a coin.
"It is worse than I feared," she said sadly. "Will it be better once the baby is born?"
"Who knows? I wouldn't hope," he said
"Once I didn't believe it was possible for you not to hope," said the female. "Surely she will see Finnick in the baby and find some happiness."
"The world isn't a propo. We of all people know that."
Author's note: This story was inspired by a different fic I was working on about Annie and Finnick and their first meeting. Suddenly, I wondered if they got a happy ending.
I also like trying to write in voices that are not like my own. This one seemed like an adequate challenge.
Bonus points if you can figure out who the male and female are.
Feedback is always appreciated.