the art of breaking
"In how many words can you say annihilation?"
Look at you, filthy drunk. You're not worth your wealth. But oh, you know it. You know so many people that are muchmuchmuch more deserving of your food. Your money. Your riches.
And that is why you find comfort in the bottom of a bottle and drink yourself stupid every fucking night.
Do you even know what day it is? No, you don't.
But today is the day of the Reaping, and you hardly pass Effie's standards of readiness on a "big, big, big day" like this. Ugh, just the mention of the woman makes you gag.
So whatever. Your head is spinning and you can't walk without bumping into furniture. Maybe you smell like alcohol, maybe your shirt is disgusting. Maybe you can't think straight. Maybe you're the direct antonym of Capitol standards. Maybe you're just going to embarrass again.
As you try to walk over to the stage, you give Effie a hug. You really don't know why, but it seems right. After all, you haven't seen each other since last year. She rejects the embrace, clearly aware that you're out of it and smell like complete shit.
Of course, your mind is abstracted and muddled, but that doesn't change the fact that you hear their names being called out. Primrose? Peeta? They'll die in the arena just like the rest of them. The baker's boy and a little girl? Really?
And then you hear a desperate voice, and everything changes.
Katniss, the girl from the Seam. Maybe you've met her in the Hob. She's that hunter.
And she's got something your tributes never had.
Spunk.
So maybe you've helped the Capitol murder hundreds of children. So maybe, you're still breaking inside. So maybe your name could be a synonym for annihilation.
But, this year, you really have a chance.
And then you fall off the stage.
a/n: my new series. these are prompts i find on the internet...up next: Effie. but only if i get a lot of feedback! so REVIEW. but don't be mean, i'm thirteen. [that rhymes haha]