These one shots keep coming to me, and I just have to keep writing them (I'm going a little crazy with them this week but hey, it's spring break). This one's a little different writing style than my other one shots, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. In my opinion, it's far more angsty, but I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
He heard fairy tales when he was younger. His mother would read them to his sister while he would sit with folded arms and an irritated expression and listen. Stories about a handsome prince and a beautiful damsel whom he would save from the evil (the stories never really specified what exactly this "evil" was, but then again that wasn't the point of these stories was it?) and they would live Happily Ever After. Every time.
They were not a fairy tale, and they did not get a Happily Ever After. He was not the handsome prince-although he was described as handsome-and she was not the damsel, waiting to be rescued. This is what he told himself over and over. This is what he ingrained in his brain. He was not the prince and she was not the damsel.
She was the tiny girl with the knifes whom he liked because she understood him in a way that the ditzy girls who found themselves being kicked out of his room after a night couldn't. That feeling of wanting something, of needing it so bad. The way he was searching for that thing to make him whole. And she understood. This is why she was never invited to stay for a night, because she was not to be associated with those girls. She was different and special and he was not going to group her with them. Besides, she would hack him to pieces if he even suggested it.
Then they were doing their interviews, dressed up and shiny new toys for the Capital to play with, and that blonde bubbly girl kept making Looks at him that felt all too similar to the way the girls back home did, and She did not like it. So she got her revenge by slinking past the drooling Capital boys who had one thing on their lustful little minds as she smirked past them. No, that would not do. He would not allow it. That was wrong and he needed to tell her so. But when he grabbed her bony wrist and dragged her to his room to tell her how inappropriate her behavior had been (What are you Cato? My father?), his mouth found itself pressed against hers and her hair twisted in his fingers as years of pretending nothing was there had finally worked up to this moment.
But when they were plunged into the Arena, it was back to nothing. Because he knew that eventually, his sword would have to be plunged into her stomach and her scarlet blood that seemed so different, so much more valuable than anyone else's had to cover his hands. He knew this and he did not like it, because this was not the way of fairy tales. Because when she had been in that orange interview dress with her dark hair piled on her head, she had looked delicate and damsel-like, and in his blue suit he felt like a prince. Because if they weren't a fairy tale, what were they? A horror story?
Then the rules were changed-for the star-crossed lovers, of course-but it didn't matter because it meant her blood could stay in her veins and her heart could remain beating and maybe they could make their own fairy tale. Not one of dragons and fairies, but one of sacrifice and almost-love. A new type of fairy tale, one that the "star-crossed lovers" could only dream of. One that seemed to be perfectly in his future. Years of looking for understanding and something other than his bleak surroundings was finally over, because she could save him. When she looked into his eyes and ghosted her lips over his, he was so aware of his presence, his being, and it was all so right. He had found the thing that made him whole.
She was not a damsel. She was not a damsel, and yet she was screaming his name like those women in the stories. Loud and filled with fear, a sound that split him straight down the middle as he raced to her, wanting nothing more than for her to stop being helpless and go back to smirking and loudly threatening him with her vast array of knifes. But she would not, because she was broken and empty-eyed on the ground because he had not come running fast enough. He had failed. He was not her knight in shining armor, because he had let her die, his name still burning on her lips.
His neat little world came crashing down as he realized they were not going to go home with their storybook love. Because she was dead and he was too. Without her, he was nothing. He was not whole anymore, because how could he be when she would never kiss him or whisper in his ear again? The Capital had gotten tired of their new toys and broken them to pieces.
They were not a fairy tale, and they did not get a Happily Ever After.
Did you love it? Did you hate it? Review and tell me!