The young girl sat still, her eyes glued to the screen before her. The tiny television broadcasted a fearsome, bloody fight between two teenage boys. One was buff, with dark eyes and black hair. His face was contorted in rage, his gaze menacing as he slashed and stabbed with a sword. The other was smaller, his sandy brown hair dirty with dirt and blood. His blue eyes shone with determination and fear. His sword was knocked out of his hand and his opponent stalked forward, a twisted smile on his face.
"You're going down, Four." The larger boy snarled. "You're gonna die the wretched coward you are."
"I won't be losing," the younger boy said, his voice unwavering. "I won't be a monster. I wasn't turned into one like you."
The girl knew what was going to happen. She inched closer to the television, her eyes swelling with tears and her entire body shuddering. "No," she whispered. "Please God, no."
The brown haired boy was back against a tree now, bleeding and weaponless. He knew his end was here and looked up to the sky. "Remember your promise, Odair." He looked back at the boy in front of him, who grinning and approaching slowly with his sword raised.
"Game over, Four."
The girl watched in horror as the boy smiled grimly. "Game over." he murmured and closed his eyes.
The sword was raised.
"Sorry sis." A whispered apology was heard only through the magnification of the microphones.
The sword came down.
Blood. A thump. A cannon. Silence.
And then- a scream. A blood-curdling, pain-filled, ferocious scream elicited from the young girl who had watched it all.
Enraged, she threw the tiny TV, now broadcasting the triumphant victor of the 67th Annual Hunger Games, to the ground. She knocked over chairs, broke plates and glasses, stopping only after catching sight of herself in the mirror mounted on the wall. Her brown hair was in tangles, her eyes… her blue eyes, just like the dead boy's, were red and bloodshot. With another sob, she finally slumped against the wall.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
The girl buried her head in her arms, shaking with uncontrollable grief. She had watched him die. Her twin brother. Her other half, her only family. He was dead. Gone…
And so was she.
He came back over a week later. A plain, wooden box, with a giant black 4 painted on it. The girl was waiting as close as she could get to the station. She had promised him. Promised him that she'd be the first one to welcome him home. Her heart ached, her eyes stung. But she refused to cry. Not yet.
The square was nearly empty; most people saw no need to welcome home a dead tribute. The few that were there stood a good distance away from the girl, whispering among themselves.
The train pulled to a stop.
The door was slid open.
A tall, bronze haired man, boy really, stepped out, his eyes cloudy and grim. Seventeen year-old Finnick Odair. He scanned the square and his eyes rested upon the girl. His eyes softened and he reached behind him, helping carry out the plain wooden box that held his best friend, her brother.
The girl was frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't blink, couldn't breathe. Finnick stopped a few feet away from her, and he and the other mentor, an elderly woman named Mags, gently set the casket down. The trance on the girl broke, and she stepped forward to the box, gently tracing the black, painted four. Once again, she felt tears fall down her cheek. Finnick looked at her sadly, and he spoke, his voice hoarse and broken.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried, Em, I couldn't… I just…"
The girl turned to him, saying nothing, and wrapped her arms around him. She was much shorter than him, and she buried her face into his chest. Two muffled words elicited from the crying girl.
"I know."
A/N: First story ever on the site... very new to this. Let me know how I did? :)