A/N: This is my one shot featuring Twill for the All Hallow's Eve Contest from Starvation. This character is one whom is not focused on for very much of the novel but plays an important role nonetheless. Hope you enjoy and maybe drop a review!
Everything was burning. The scent of smoke was overpowering and you could not see more than an arm's length in front of your eyes. The streets are filled with people piling out of buildings, clawing desperately through wooden frames to get to uncertain safety. Parents scream for their children but there are no responses to be heard amongst the loud and panicked sounds. A scream rocks me and the scent of burnt flesh begins to pollute the air. No one has time to go back into the flaming buildings, no one so much as pauses to consider the people trapped inside them. All they can do is keep moving.
I run through the streets that are filled with smoke and flames that lick the sides of the wooden houses. I trip and fall onto my knees, nearly banging my head on the pavement. Looking back I see what had caused my fall, the blackened, crisp body of a small child. Likely no more than three or four years of age. I force my legs to straighten and run, leaving the child behind for there is nothing I could do to save them. I just have to keep running and hope I am not too late to get to Baize.
A strip of burning wood lands just three feet in front of me and I am stunned into immobility. I stare into the wild flames that encase the piece of discarded housing and I realize why they are doing this. The girl on fire was our salvation; they are making her our curse as well.
I can see it, the factory. It's still so far away but I can see it now. Baize we're going to leave here just like you said, if only I can get to you before they do. My feet pound against the black, cracked pavement and I fall again. This time nothing causes my fall but my lungs seem to explode in a coughing attack. The smoke is seeping into my body, my limbs convulse with the violent coughs but I stumble to my feet and continue on. I wobble up the hilled pathway to the factory, I'm almost there. I can make it.
The crack of an explosion shakes my core and I fall backwards, tumbling down the steep hill. I once again give into the violent coughing that overcomes me. Only seconds after I rise to my feet am I thrown back again, this time I fly through the air and land in the crisped ruins of a garden. Char clouds my vision and I close my eyes to salvage my sight. When the dust settles around me I will myself to look up. What I see is something I was never prepared for.
The factory that just minutes ago was standing tall, only a light dusting of ashes to mark it as part of the fiery battle, is scattered across the ground. Piles of rubble and bodies litter the terrain but I am unable to pick the first from the latter. Fabric is aflame, wisps of red dancing across the ground and creating charred piles from anything it touches. No people rise out of the ash, they stay down and they burn like firewood. Everyone around me stands still, no one so much as breathing as we watch the largest building of our district, the most sturdy structure, succumb to the flames.
All at once an army of white marches through the town, none so much as touched by the black char that coats our entire district. They press us against buildings, prod us with their weapons. A gunshot echoes through the town and chaos breaks out. Everyone runs to find a way inside, more gunshots ring out and I emerge from the pile of rubble and take to running like the rest of my people. My friends fall all around me, victims of this deadly assault. I keep running, my body convulses with the coughing, but I keep running.
My house comes into my field of vision, suddenly visible through the dust and ash. I reach the side and see a young girl crouching against the wooden planks. My hand grips her arm and pushes her through the door before me, the door is shoved closed and I lean against it. My entire weight presses to the door and my chest rises and falls with great effort. I cough again and when my hand comes away from my mouth it is coated in saliva and black dust. I slide to the floor and my legs welcome the break, my eyes close and it is only then that I remember the girl.
She stares down at me with glazed, brown eyes, her black charred face streaked with wet lines. I stand and once again explode into a flurry of coughing, I stagger and the girl catches me by the arm and leads me to the kitchen where she leans me up against the wooden countertop.
"We have to get out," I say finally when I am once again able to speak.
She just looks at me for a moment, "where will we go? The whole district is burning."
Her words come out almost painfully, I wonder what she saw out there in the streets. Is her family still out there looking for her, wondering if she's still alive? My feet stumble over to where the girl stands, when I reach her I place my hands on her shoulders and look into her eyes. They are filled with fear and numbness, dry now but her face bears the evidence of the freshly shed tears.
"We can get out, out of here," I choke out and ash mixes with my saliva so that the taste of smoke is even stronger on my taste buds. Another coughing fit rocks me but I will myself to the closet that me and my husband shared. I carefully remove a wooden crate and crack open the lid. White fabric shines from within the weathered crate and I pull it out, throwing one of the suits at the girl and pulling the other on top of my clothes. She looks at me with confusion but complies and starts to pull on the white suit.
"My husband and I." My voice cracks but I press on, "we got these so we could leave the district. We were supposed to leave tonight. Plans have changed."
"Where is he?" Her voice quakes and I look at her. The white suit is far too large for her, it was supposed to fit me but I now wear my husband's. The one he will never get to wear.
"He was in the factory."
A silence settles between us as I roll the sleeves and hemlines of the suit to temporarily mask how large it is on her. I pull a few more things out of the crate, two helmets and two large, black belts. We put them on and exit out the back way without pausing to even glance in a mirror. Neither of us want to see ourselves in these costumes.
The streets are still filled with frightened citizens. The Peacekeepers in white carry guns and shoot them at random into the crowds of people. Men with large pieces of metal, or anything else they could find to use against the masses or white, attack the heavily armed men and chaos rings out in the streets as more people fall to the ground, I don't see one single person get up again.
The girl and I move as quickly as we can through the narrower streets, avoiding the bulk of the violence. It is only when we are two streets before the district fence do we begin to sprint. The girl in front and myself trailing behind her by just a few steps.
The girl stops suddenly and turns to face me, panic overcomes her face for a few seconds and I hear running footsteps and a bone chilling sound as a metal rung hits her on the small of her back. The man hits her again and again and I cry out but nothing else. My entire body is frozen with fear and I find myself unable to so much as move. The pounding sounds stop suddenly and the man just stares past me with a dazed look on his face. It is only when he falls to the side that I see the gaping bullet wound in his neck. Blood sloshes out of the hole and coats the rest of his throat and shirt in blood. He doesn't get back up again and I fall to my knees beside the girl.
I press my hands to her neck and feel a pulse. A surge of relief flows through me but when I flip her over onto her back she makes no movement. Her eyes are closed and her chest rises and falls in spasms. One more look at the dying man and I scoop her up in my arms and continue on running.
When I reach the fence I see it is inactive, the soft humming that usually comes from the crossed metal is absent and I can only hope that it will be safe to cross through. The fence is not very high so I climb up, cradling the girl with one arm and gripping the fence with my free hand. The girl is heavy but I don't drop her, I climb the fence until I reach the top. Taking one last look at the orange and black remains of my district I swing my leg over to the other side of the fence and start back to the ground.
My other arm closes around the girl's torso and I run until my feet refuse to move another inch. I lay her down beneath a thick trunked tree and rip off what remains of the white suit. The entire back of the piece is ripped and stained with red. I pull up the clothing of her loose t-shirt and have to hold back the bile that rises in my throat. Savage gashes overtake most of her back and arms, a few even reaching the delicate skin of her neck. My hands begin to shake but I force myself to concentrate as I rip pieces from both our white suits and tie them securely around each wound. Within minutes the white is no longer visible and I take to pressing on the cuts, hoping that pressure will seal the bloodied slashes.
It is night time when she finally awakens, we have no food or water, no plans or shelter. She is not able to walk by herself and so I must carry her. We cannot risk staying so close to District Eight until she has healed, no, we have to keep going. She sleeps most of the day as I trudge through the trees with her slung over my shoulder, the coughing fits become further between but still present all the same. She stays awake at night so that I may get some well needed rest beneath a feeble, sheltering tree. We walk for days, food is scarce and difficult to find. We nibble on roots and berries for all of our meals, neither of us capable of catching an animal for supper.
"Where are we going?" She asks me one day as I stumble through the forest, my head lulling from lack of nutrients and sleep.
I think back to what my husband told me when he had brought back the Peacekeeper uniforms from work a few weeks prior. He told me about the Mockingjay, the one that flew through the footage of District Thirteen each and every year. I remember I didn't believe him, who's to say the Capitol isn't just too lazy to send a film crew down to shoot a patch of desolate land?
"District Thirteen," I whisper and her head returns to its place beneath my chin which has become a calming retreat for the young girl. All those weeks ago it seemed ludicrous that somehow District Thirteen was still standing. Now I hold onto these thoughts like a lifeline.