*SPOILER ALERT FOR MOCKINGJAY*
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games franchise or it's characters
Death of a Rose
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A scream rises up in my throat, trying to force it's way past my lips. Only it can't because my lips seem to have melted shut. I feel the fire running it's flaming fingers down my back, across my arms, around my throat. The boom of the explosions rings in my ears, repeating itself over and over, muddling my thoughts. I feel my legs give way beneath me, feel my body hit the ground. But it's a strange feeling, almost as if I'm watching it happen to myself rather than experiencing it. My fingers splash into a warm pool of something dark, and then I realize that it's blood. Out of the corner of my eye I see other bodies lying on the ground, mostly bodies of children, many with missing limbs. I suddenly notice that my left arm is limp at my side, hanging at an odd angle at the elbow. My brain recognizes that it's broken and will probably never heal right.
Then I remember where I am.
I am at the enclosure around the President's mansion. I was taking care of children. Broken children. My eyes travel along the bodies around me, and I understand that these were the children I was supposed to care for. Then I frown in confusion, why was I taking care of them? Right, I remember. Because I was a medic from 13, and the children had been bombed. I remember how I had rushed in, stopping next to a crying boy who was missing a hand. I'd bent down, already pulling open my medical kit. Beside me on the right, I see the boy, at least what's left of him. No medical kit will help him now. I remember my sister, my beautiful sister who has been through so much. I remember her voice, the panic as she called my name.
"Prim!"
And I remember the rest of the bombs exploding around me, drowning out the sounds of human torture with their blasts of fire.
Fire. Now, it is the only thing that I feel, that I think about. It is burning it's way into my soul, burning away every memory and feeling that I have ever had, so that I am empty. And I know, in the deepest part of my heart, a part that has yet to be breached by the fire, that I won't survive. But it doesn't bother me, not really. I have done my part in life, helped all those I could. There is only one thing that I regret not being able to do, and that is to be there for her, for Katniss, because I know she will take my death the hardest. I wish I could tell her that it's okay, that she'll be fine without me. But since I can't, I conjure up a picture of her in my mind. A picture of her and my mother and father and Buttercup, sitting on the ground at their feet, with Lady standing next to him, in our old house in District 12. The image brings a smile to my face.
By now the fire has reached my face, my eyes. The pain is deep, as deep as an ocean, and I can feel myself drowning in it. I will it to be faster. This death hurts more than I thought it would. But after a few moments more, I feel the edges of my vision start to go black, framed by flames, and relief floods through me. This is almost over.
I close my eyes, letting the fire overtake them. But the one thing it can't erase is the picture of my family. I see my father's smile widen, hear Buttercup's welcoming meow, feel my mother's hand as she takes my own, pulling me toward all of them. Katniss envelopes me with a hug, a hug so tight I have to fight to breathe. But I don't let her go.
Then my father gently pries me from my sister's grasp and takes my hand.
"Come on Primrose," he says, smiling down at me. I don't question him as he leads me to the door. Just before I step through the threshold though, I turn back and wave at my mother and Katniss, blowing a kiss in Buttercup's and Lady's direction. My father is still smiling as we cross the doorstep.
Please comment and/or review! I am proud of this piece. It was weird actually, I was just sitting on the laptop and was thinking about The Hunger Games and after a few minutes I realized that my subconscious was basically saying words in my head that I imagined Katniss might say. (No, I'm not mentally disoriented, if you're wondering.) Anyway, then this short little one-shot was born. I hope you like it...the work I mean, not the fact that Prim died.. (*cries* I absolutely loved her!)