...
Everyone says that life is full of disappointments, but you always live through them. Something better always happens, that for every bad thing, a good thing closely follows. Right? Wrong. There's nothing good about getting hit with the end of a whip because you were protecting someone you know. Nothing good about being turned in by your so-called 'friends.' There's nothing good about being in a cell, your tongue cut out, with no idea what'll happen to you next. ... I'm guessing Avox, but probably not, because I should've been out by now; they would've already told everyone what the Quell was.. I hate myself. ... Oh, yeah. I forgot. My opinion doesn't matter.
The small pencil snaps between my fingers, clenched in a tight grip. A low growling sound escapes my lips, and I slam the little stick of wood against the damp stone wall. My hand flies instantly to my mess of red hair. Ever since I've been gone.. I feel their looks piercing my skin, my hair.. Emotion wells up in my throat, ready to escape. I swallow in pain and push their faces away, but they keep coming back.. Gale.. Katniss... The look of his broken body pinned to the pole haunts my dreams, and Katniss seems to follow me everywhere, as I remember her laugh..
I growl at myself for being so stupid. How could they remember such a stupid Peacekeeper like me. I sigh, and rub my eyes roughly with my hands. They're rougher feeling than I remember. Katniss was a good friend.. Gale more or less.. My face reddens as I go to lick my chapped lips, and remember that my tongue is long gone. This drives me into another fit of rage, and I toss my parchment onto the ground in disgust. I kick the edge of my cot in agony. I'm guessing the scrape of metal against the rock makes them remember I'm here, because he appears in a second. "Hey! Redhead! Knock off the noise, unless you want to lose your eyes, too!"
I cringe, and send him the most hateful glare I can conjure in my half-starved state. I can't be too 'rude,' or else he'll 'forget' to feed me again. Figures.. I sit on the edge of my makeshift-bed and put my head in my hands. I can tell he rolled his eyes. "Oh stop!" he snorts. I look up, my pale misty eyes duller than usual. Than again, it's been a lot like that lately. My stomach grumbles, and I stuff my forefinger in my mouth and gnaw on it half-heartedly. Yes, I have been driven to act like a starving puppy, to beg for food. I feel sick with what I've become. The man has no emotions, let me tell you. The pain in my mouth is excruciating, and he still makes me open my mouth so he can check what's left of my tongue.
I'm surprised as he beckons me over. "Get over here, Redhead!" his snarl is as abusive as ever, but there is a glimmer of something in his eyes.. Sympathy? I whimper and crawl over, my head bowed in humiliation. I hate having to rely on him for food, but he's the only one who brings it and when he does his character changes.. Watching me rip my food into little shreds and then chew it into mush.. That's no life.
"Open your mouth." he says gruffly. I know he hates this as much as I do, because he's sure I'll bite him and I'm sure he'll rip out the stitches. I hesitate slightly, my eyes narrowed distrustfully. He glares at me. "Do you want to eat in the next year?" he nearly shouts, and I shrink back, but open my mouth. He uses his right hand to hold my chin down and the other to feel my tongue. I squeal in pain like a little girl, and my jaw slips from his grasp and almost snaps shut. Good thing my hand shoots to hold it open.
He yanks his fingers back open, his eyes wide in fear. My breathing grows hoarse in fear of what he'll do to me and I retreat to the far corner of my cell, shivering in the cold. They don't heat this place, far underground, and all I have is a thin blanket. Yeah. Like that'll help. He watches me for a moment, and I'm sure he'll report me for disobedience, and my shoulders shake, not from the cold. He sighs, and something slips from his pocket. "All right, Redhead. We're goin' on a field trip."
My eyes are wide in curiosity, but I stay where I am, unsure if I should trust him. "I think it's high time you got some fresh air." he pushes my barred door and it swings open with a loud creak. In surprise, I leap to my feet and race to it. I realize that this is the first he's seen me drawn to my full height. Though he's tall, I'm taller, and I immediately stoop to match his. He looks at me funny. "You're going where other people can see you; do you really want to look like that?" I try to laugh at the look on his face, but stop; apparently your tongue helps you laugh. Pity mine's probably halfway to the local dump by now. I sigh and straighten up.
[AN: Hey, guys! This is my first Darius fanfic I ever wrote. I found it on my cousin's old dA account she posted the chapters on. I was at the youngest, nine, at the oldest, eleven, when I wrote this chapter, as well as the next two, and had to edit a lot of spelling errors. Chapter one of three already written, I'm posting the three up and I'll add onto the story soon.]