A/N: ANother entry for the Starvation forum's monthly oneshot challenge. This month's prompt: Five.
If you're interested in competing in this challenge or next months, just follow the link on my profile :D
I'm not SuCo
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five simple bottles all sitting out in a straight line. Straight even to sober eyes. Each bottle was exactly the same: clear, round, and empty.
Chaff stared at the bottles sitting on the table in front of him, he blew in the top one to create a whistling sound. He chuckled at the noise it made, like the noise the rows of his empty bottles made in his window sill, and sat back in his chair. No one in his District understood why he drank like he did. They just left him to it though; at least he was a happy drunk, most of the time at least. Seeder wished he would stop drinking, even if she took care of him after. Haymitch helped him along, but neither of them understood. When he was this drunk, he had an excuse for being clumsy, and excuse all his own.
Chaff reached for the lone bottle he had sitting off to the side. He tugged the cork out of the top, splashing some of the cool liquor on his shirt, but not enough to ruin his mood. He scowled at it for moment but went back to his drink.
Carefully he started to pour the liquid, his relief, into a cup. Seeing that it was pouring in easily, he confidently rushed himself. The cup tipped and the liquor ran across the table, down into his lap.
Chaff yelled as he slammed his bottle onto the table. Nearly half of it was gone already, and none of it drank.
This was when he wasn't a happy drunk, when he could no longer drink because he was disgusted with himself. He grabbed the tipped over glass, still dripping with liquid, and threw it into the wall. Glass shattered and sprayed in every direction, leaving a rainbow of colors as the light reflected across them.
He stomped out of the room tipping a chair over and slamming the door as he went. He didn't want to spend his night like this. If he could just make it to bed, his nightmares would shelter him from his own judgmental attitude.
He collapsed on the stairs, unable to remain upright long enough to pass out in comfort. It was too late though. He was already thinking about it…
He remembers the five simple things that everyone over looks, abuses, and takes for granted. He used to have them too. They were always right there; he never really paid any attention to them. Now they're gone. Before his games he would haul baskets of fruit around, catching the apples thrown down from the higher braches in his basket, every so often reaching up and grabbing a fruit to toss in. He would prick his fingers on the rough wicker, sometimes getting a sliver of wood in his hand that would be dug out later with a pocket knife. Not anymore though. He couldn't grab the fruit; he doesn't even have that hand anymore.
He went into the Hunger Games, positive he was going to lose. Then, when he got into the top three with two other boys, the District 5 tribute, and the District 2 tribute, he and 5 had agreed to take out 2 together. They did, and then 5 chopped at his hand with a sword, mangling it and fingers beyond repair, just before Chaff sliced his throat.
The Capitol gave him a new one. A fake hand, but it wasn't the same, you can't feel with their work, you can't do anything with things from the Capitol.
Each finger was special. No one really thinks about it unless you don't have them anymore.
One.
One finger was all it took for Chaff and his friends to get beat by the Peacekeepers when they were younger. Just the middle one, held high when they thought the man in white wasn't looking.
Two.
Two fingers would feel the soft little berries he plucked off the bushes around harvest times as a boy. Nothing could compare to the plump little bumps that ran across the pads of fingers as he dropped each blackberry into the bucket.
Three.
Three fingers were the most his baby brother could hold in his tiny hand when they walked to school together. His hands were not as big as Chaff's, they were tiny, and frail but covered in just as many calluses.
Four.
Four fingers made up the brunt of the fist used to punch his sister's sweetheart. Chaff saw her flinch once, and connected the dots quickly before the pain of his fist connecting with that lowlife's jaws was jolted inton his hand.
Five.
Five fingers wrapped around the mayor's hand on the day Chaff's fate was sealed. When he felt the light, almost indignant, pressure from the mayor's handshake he knew that some day he would die in the arena.
It was like he could do nothing now. Nothing! The thought crashed through his drunken mind as he slid down a step, cradling the stump of his arm and sobbing over it. Tears dripped down his nose as he remembered all the things he couldn't do.
He couldn't block the bullet the Peacekeeper shot at his sister. He couldn't hold his brother's hand when the fever cooked him from the inside out. He couldn't even write a note of thanks to his mother's best friend for sending a flower to his mother's funeral.
He was useless. He couldn't write. He could barely pour himself a drink. They were gone. Five little fingers, they seem so meaningless to too many people, but to him, if he could have his fingers backs, he would give his life.
He sat in his depression the rest of the night, when the sun came up dark rings were set in deep under his eyes. Still drunk, still a handicap.
A knock on the door redirected his scowl from the stump on his arm to the wood panel door moving in. The tall woman came in. A look of pity pulled her face into a frown when she saw him.
Seeder didn't say a word, she wrapped all five of her fingers around Chaff's whole arm and, ignoring his intangible curses while avoiding his gnashing teeth, she led him to his bed. He was in no condition to refuse.
He slapped her perfect hand away from him as she dumped him in his bed. Still grumbling curses at her as she pulled the blinds shut on his window, Chaff started to drift off into oblivion, but not until the door would be shut.
Seeder shook her head at the man as she started shutting the door behind her.
Chaff jerked his remaining arm up, with a single finger raised in a final attempt at contempt for the whole bodied woman.
He lost five of his fingers, but he still had five left, and all he needed was one, before he finally passed out.