So I read Hunger Games, Mockingjay, for the 20th time at least last night. Not addicted at all... Then I went on Tumblr to talk about my feelings, and I decided to do a Cinna and channel these feelings into my work. And then I went and wrote this instead. It is set during Mockingjay, and is basically a change of events, I got this idea from thinking about the Hunger Games and not school work during school - and it wouldn't leave my head. So enjoy, I guess.
Screaming fills my ears suddenly. High pitched, painful… echoing around the room hauntingly. I feel my eyes darting around trying to locate the tortured noise. I am the only one moving, searching for the sound. Everyone else is frozen. Gale, Plutarch, my prep team who have just been relieved of the deadly torment inflicted on them, all stood like statues around me. Even those who had been the deranged antagonists in the treatment of my prep team are stood still. But unlike the others in the room it isn't fear or nervousness that has made their faces turn white. It is something that I can't quite put my finger on. But in the eyes of one of them, I see anger flare up.
Another scream brings me to my senses. I am no longer examining the reactions of those around me, but I am frantically running around the room, trying to find the source of the blood curdling screams. Screams that send chills up my back, manically making every hair stand on end. I hear footsteps behind me; it must be one of the guards coming to cart me off back to my room. But instead I find Gale. He joins me in hitting the walls to find a door… a hole… something to get us to the helpless victim.
It's Plutarch who finds it first. I don't know how he managed it, but I hear his voice calling for me and I barge past the guards who pathetically attempt to hold me back. I hear Gale, once again, following me across the room. It is when I see the Capitol man become tense all of a sudden that I start to worry. His reaction is similar to the one he displayed when we came across Venia, Flavius and Octavia, which only makes dread inside of me build.
Plutarch pushes in front of me before I can make out who is in this room. The stench of blood has suddenly filled my nostrils though. A sickly reminder of the president I am currently rebelling against. The thoughts of Snow whirl around my head rapidly, the rose back in my house in Victors Village, how they smell so disgusting once mingled with the mangled blood laced in his mouth. But they are eradicated once I see Plutarch march into the butchered arena with the scent of blood seeping from every corner. Anger laced on his face in a display of intimidation.
It is then I push past Gale's strong arms and into the room, almost knocking Plutarch to the floor. I think I surprise everyone with this sudden movement, even myself a little.
It isn't a pretty sight that awaits me. I see a man, muscular, at least seven feet tall gripping onto a whip, covered in a heavy maroon. Greeting me is a twisted grin across his face, informing everyone that the torture he is inflicting brings him joy. His grin doesn't waver, even when the person on the floor lets out a cry of anguish and starts to sob. It's the distressed cries that make me look down, and it's then I see the person who was submitted to god knows what unceremoniously slumped on the floor.
Sprawled across the cold stone, her wrists have been tightly tied up by a piece of thick rope, making her arms fused to the wall. The rest of her body is limply disposed on the floor, making it hard to get a good image of what she actually looks like. Her hair is damp and weakly covering her face. Her body is covered in cuts, bruises, and worst of all, blood. Dried and new, indicating the poor girl has been here for a while. She reminds me of one of those people back in my district. You know, the merchant kids. Maybe even Prim. In her curled up position she looks smaller than my younger sister. She also brings Madge, my friend who gave me my Mockingjay pin, to mind - and it is all these similarities that make me bend down and put a hand on her convulsing, sob ridden, body.
She flinches wildly and curls her legs up, managing to look even smaller. It's a sorry sight, and I now see for the first time that a simple rag covers her body. Torn, and like the rest of her, stained by blood lost at the hand of her torturer. I manage to place my palm on her body once more, now that she has calmed down the slightest fraction. She is still shaking wildly, and the sobs are making her body waver even more. But she doesn't move again. Maybe it's because I am not carrying a whip. Maybe because I am showing her kindness, I don't know…
What I do know is that she is as cold as stone. I began to shiver as my hand seemingly freezes upon her pale leg. Her breathing has calmed down now, but tears still fall into her lap. Despite Plutarch telling me to step back and let him deal with it, I move closer. This simple action makes the girl's head lower even further, something I thought impossible, and I look up to see Gale attempting to untie the brutal ropes restraining her. As if she was some kind of wild animal.
"It's okay, we are going to get you out of here now" I whisper to the girl, her answer is a simple whimper laced with fear. She tries to crawl away from me; the ropes don't allow her much movement though so this action is hopeless. "I'm not going to hurt you" I quickly add, even though it is quite possible I already have and my actions have landed her in this mess. The ropes suddenly fall to the ground and the blonde abruptly falls into my chest like a doll been tossed to the side.
I have to stop myself from throwing up; her wrists are battered and bloody. I don't want to think about how tight the ropes must have been around her. What's worse, is the fact that as the ropes fall to the floor, so does a cascade of blood, smashing down to the floor. Even Gale, strong, unmoved Gale, looks ready to empty the contents of his stomach.
Before he can display his revulsion the man has turned to the guard now, the one responsible for beating and whipping the fragile figure sobbing in my lap. Shouting deserved insults at him. I try to ignore the argument and avert my attention to the blonde, wiping her own blood off her arm with my sleeve. But it's useless, her skin still remains red, so instead I focus on the girl's face, pinning a name to her.
"Who are you?" I ask, trying to sound strong, but it comes out cracked. I can feel the girl shaking her head against me. I hate been the one asking questions, so I don't bother asking again. Instead, I take my hand, and brush lifeless locks of blonde hair from the woman's face. She tries to place her hands in front of it in vain, but fails, and I find myself struggling to come up with who the girl is, despite her features looking ever so familiar.
It is only when her eyes meet mine that I manage to come up with something, and I don't like the words I feel bubbling up inside me. Hating the images coming back to haunt me even more as everything falls into place. This girl isn't a merchant's kid; she isn't from my district or any other. She's from the Capitol, and her name is Effie Trinket.