Author's Note: Yes, this has no point to it whatsoever. :P I just wanted to write it, being a New Yorker and all...
Ruins
They were against her coming here, claiming that it is a waste of resources and oh, so precious time.
But she persists in asking.
And how can they refuse her? Her, the Mockingjay? Her, the individual who brought down both of the tyrannical leaders, President Snow and Alma Coin, all with one simple arrow that was meant for only the former?
She persists because there is something she wants to see.
The gray dust still swirls thickly through the heavy, humid air, saturating the wind with its tiny, itchy particles. It makes the whole area stink of musk and age, as if the crumbling bits of concrete and metal aren't enough of a reminder that this is all that is left of the civilization before the Dark Days.
She is not here, however, to grumble over the dirty, neglected state of the city—after all, who would spend the time and money to clean up an un-clean-up-able area?—for she is quickly approaching the single building that rises from the rubble, still scraping the sky like it was meant to when it was built, centuries ago.
Its outsides are chipped at and weathered away, but its stone base still stand up, tall and firm, keeping this one hallmark of a great land lost to war and the ages up. Smooth, rounded pillars are regally carved near the gaping, rectangular hole where she is sure that doors once stood proudly, and she feels something run through her—a feeling that she cannot quite place—as her gray eyes flick up to observe and read the faint, almost indiscernible words that are carved on the top.
EMPIRE STATE
While she doesn't think that it's as quite as big as an empire, it still soothes her—it reminds her a little of herself. Having weathered through centuries of bombardment from the natural elements, and battle, and simple neglect—it is still standing. Just like she is after numerous assassination attempts, a war for Panem, and that one, dark, hungry year when there was next to nothing to eat—when she and—
(No. She must not think of her.)
—when she was starving to death in her own body.
And she sits at the base of the building, staring up at its name—Empire State—and quietly reminisces over the past, because this building reminds her so much of it.
Haymitch finds her sitting, motionless, and his abrasive, alcohol-infused breath stirs the hair besides her ear.
"Finally decide that it's time to get up, sweetheart?" he growls.
And she simply brushes him away, not even bothering to acknowledge his presence by opening her eyes.
Because she can't.
She isn't ready to leave the ruins.
That sum up the entire story of her life in a single structure.
No, she can't leave.
Not yet, at least.
Not yet.
End Notes: I seem to be spending a lot of my time writing useless one-shots. Why do I do it? Because I can. ;)
*Hunkers down for a night of no reviews*