So I was told off for posting a songfic. Fair enough. I based this off Fields of Gold and it is the recommended song to listen to while reading this. You can sort of see where I put the verses, in the gaps. If you use your imagination, you can fir the lyrics to the fic. I hope you enjoy.
Fields of Gold
A Hunger Games fanfic
Dimly, as though from deep underwater, she heard the cannon fire; heard a sob. The girl felt nothing, saw nothing, nothing but echoes. Calmness washed over Rue like warm water. Hazy shapes swam from the darkness into her vision. Slowly, ever so gently, the scene settled. Settles. Rue feels young again, skipping forward to clasp her father's warm brown hands as they stroll through the barley field, in District 11. Home. Safe. Gleaming stalks wave in the breeze, parting for the two of them. Just the two of them.
Father and daughter walk hand in hand. The harmony of gentle sun upon their shoulders, the gentle music of the swishing barley, the rhythm of matching footsteps. Love. Family.
In the back of her mind, the part she'd left when Katniss' last notes had waivered out, Rue knew this was a memory. Sweet memory; the only thing left of her now.
They walk in silence, just absorbing the afternoon's calm, its peace. Her father's thumb rubs the back of her hand, rhythmic pressure saying I love you I love you I love you. The birds sing.
Rue gazes over the heads of barley as they dance in the gentle breeze that lifts her hair. Part of it escapes from behind her ear and a delicate hand brushes it back into position.
She turns her head. There is her mother, her smile a ray of affection. Ahead run her young siblings, laughing and calling. Rue clutches the hands of her parents. The baby girl calls out in laughter.
She blinks, and when she opens her eyes, they are lying cradled in the grass. She raises her head. Her family is enjoying an apple together. Rue smiles, and her mother beckons.
There is a whooshing sound as the sky around her rushes for freedom. Humanity has named it wind, but it stands for so much. Her hair dances along with the sky.
Are there any days left, now?
She's twelve now. Too old to frolic, and yet too young to play such Games as these. She wonders if there can ever be a right age to play.
Her siblings still run, though
They will remember. Rue is the wind now, that rushes through the trees and the fields and the town and the farms and the barley.
The fields of gold, where the sun shone and the birds cooed in pleasure. The fields of gold, where the barley moved in the wind and bowed to the passing butterflies. The fields of gold, where the breeze stirred you clothes and made your hair disobey. The fields of barley, where the children ran and sang and the birds called back and where laughter reigned.
For Rue, no longer.