Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I watch through wide eyes, as the delicate raindrops slide off the vibrant green leaves and slither their way down towards the grass; soaking their way back into the soil. The cool water soaks my clothing and clings to my flesh, but the feeling of the rain is something that is cleansing in my opinion. It gives the illusion that everything I don't want to feel can be carried away in that one single drop of clear liquid.
The soft rain has chilled my entire being right down to the bone, but this feeling is not new to me; I will embrace this sensation with arms open wide. Why is that a boy at the age of sixteen enjoys this feeling of numbness to tinge is very existence? This is a question nobody, but myself would be able to ever answer correctly. The answer to this question only dawned on me a few short weeks ago. I began to seek out this sensation after the incident when I was but only a young boy at the age of eleven.
I still held an innocence then, but that was quickly stolen from my clutches. I almost want to laugh at the very thought of my younger self looking upon the world with eyes full of naivety and innocence. My innocence was washed away, just as the rain washes away the filth that clings to the surface of this world.
"So much filth," I mutter beneath my breath, as I tug a flower petal off the plant before me. I roll the satin like petal between my fingers, crushing its very existence; how easily one can bring destruction to the most harmless of things. To certain things that hold no threat to me, yet I still can't stop myself from breaking apart their very existence. When I was younger I was never this way; never so destructive. There is a part of me that longs to go back to the boy I used to be, but the other part of me longs to fully embrace what it is I know I am capable of being. This beast that lurks beneath my surface is one that is only partly known to me. I do not know the full capacity of the insanity it holds and how twisted it could fully warp my mind into being.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The rain begins to fall harder, as the wind whips through my short dark hair in icy waves. Soft shudders rip through my body, causing gooseflesh to sprout across the soft surface of my skin like wildfire. I close my eyes, as my body temperature begins to readily fall. If one was to see me sprawled out with my face buried in this grassy field, one would be lead to believe that I am trying to end my life, but they couldn't be further from the truth. Even after the dark horrors that I pay witness during my waking and sleep I have never held onto the intentions of pressing the cool edge of a blade to the soft flesh of my neck.
The vicious beast that lurks in the darkest depths of my mind would never fathom the idea of departing from this world so soon. Its darkest desires are to wreck havoc upon this world known as Panem for as long as it can. This monster that is held prisoner by the condiments of my body however does have the abilities to sway the power of my judgment. It can bend my thoughts at its willing causing me to see the world as it sees. Through my eyes everything holds a dark energy beneath their surface. In my eyes nobody is sane.
Sanity is something that no longer exists in this world, through my eyes we have all been pushed over the edge, but in slightly different ways. What classifies one who is greedy and selfish as sane? Something is warped and twisted in the depths of their mind, which causes them to care about no one but themselves. What makes this selfish being any different than those who will spill blood in one fluid motion? Both of these beings are destroying lives, if only in vastly different ways.
I breath out slowly, as I begin to ponder the thought of which classification of insanity I fall into. My hand begins to twitch uncontrollably, as I know exactly where it is I would fall. The ones that would be thrown into the shadows to be unseen by prying eyes; the undesirables. The Capitol does not want to believe that people like myself exist, but to their knowledge I don't. I have yet to reveal to the world what it is I truly am. I have yet to fully expose it to myself what it is I really am, yet a part of me is much too familiar with this savage like side.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I close my eyes lightly, as the rain continues to pour down in icy sheets onto my back, yet I do not move from my small haven. The grass beneath me seems to curl up around my skin, as if it is trying to shield me from the elements. The soft blades caress my skin, pushing my mind further into darkness. The dark can be both a terrifying and comforting place; it all depends on how you view it through your eyes.
Everything falls upon how one views the world. The eyes are the most complex feature in humanity, but many would not agree with me on this thought. The mind is one thing, but the eyes are what define it all. Without our eyes we would be blinded by the world that surrounds us. Without them we would see nothing; nothing is what we were born from, but it is not my time to return to that place.
My breathing begins to slow down, as I fall completely still; not a single aspect of my body moving. Exposing myself to these elements does not make me weak, but makes me stronger. Everything around me begins to slowly slip away, but my body remains still, as if it was been frozen in time. If ones gaze was to fall upon me in this moment they would presume me dead, but I know I am very much alive. I can feel my red hot blood course its way through the walls of my veins, that precious substance is what keeps me alive. My steady heart beat pumps this forever precious liquid through my entire core, making it impossible for me to be silenced at this moment.
My mind aches to be sent into that blissful place that is my slumber and I find myself slowly giving into these pleas, but I don't want to slip away. I want my mind to stay active, as it takes in every sound that crackles on the wicked breeze of the wind. I want to open my eyes and pay witness to the destruction that plays amongst the trees, but soon I return to that place I was born from; nothing.
My dreams are a place no one should ever pay witness to, but once I open my eyes to the paling light that is the rising sun the horrific images that run rampant through my mind, become forever lost to me. Here in the hollows of my dreams is where the monsters come out to play, as even they crave the aspect of fun. However their idea of fun is greatly different than how all of Panem takes this concept. To the world fun is spending time with those you care about or wasting your body away on substances that cause you to lose focus and make rash decisions. The beasts that tear across the insides of my eye lids go about their fun in the most horrific of ways.
Their idea of fun involves the concept of pain and torture. A soft shudder runs through my sleeping form, as a ripping sound of tortured screams tear their way through my dreams, threatening to tear apart the seams of my mind. Perhaps it is better this way that I hold no memory of these when I am released by the vice like grasp that is my slumber. So much crimson seems to leak across my sleep filled eyes, as the beasts go about their games, plotting ways to break free from their prison.
They whisper sinister words that in comparison would make the Devil look like no more than a little girl. Once they claim the key that will give them access to my surface there will be no stopping them; there will be no stopping me. There are several defining moments that gave birth to their very creation. Those moments would be better off being lost amongst the wind, but those memories will forever be branded into my mind, never releasing their hold on me. As for now images of the Games I have paid witness to dance across my sleep tinted vision.
The screen that appears to span a vast distance before me holds images no child should have ever had to witness. Through the eyes of a boy who is no older than six, I take in the first Games my eyes ever witnessed. My eyes were transfixed on the screen and I was unable to tear them away. This was a time when I was not tainted and my body still oozed with an innocence that was now lost to me. The wicked song of the gong echoed through the static speakers of the screen and the images of blurred bodies wiped along the screen.
Blood was instantly spilt, the deep crimson colors being splattered across the grass, as if it was nothing more than deep red paint being painted across a blank canvas. My child like features went pale at these sights, but there were captivating and held my attention, like nothing else I had experienced before. I had counted silently the number of bodies that fell so they were nothing more than vacant expressions staring up at the sky that appeared to mock them. Mocking them by saying soon their faces would belong to the sky, how they would no longer belong to themselves anymore.
There are several deaths that constantly play in a never ending string of reruns; the ones that would have caused wicked smiles to dance across the lips of those who gave birth to those sets of Games. The beasts that wait hungrily beneath my surface howl in rejoice the moment I would witness just another child to lose their life to these games known as nothing more than The Hunger Games.
My rain soaked body rolls over restlessly, as one image that has haunted me for year's bursts forward into my dreams. The image of a tall girl with long sleek black hair, that flowed down her back like an inky waterfall stood before me. Her eyes were wide and terrified, as she backed up against the cool rough surface of a tall and proud Oak tree. Her eyes danced around her surroundings, as she desperately searched for a means of escape, but as her attacker drew closer she must have known this would be where she would meet her untimely demise.
The boy that stepped forward wore a look that would lead one to believe that the arena had broke him and he was now nothing more than an empty shell of the being he once was. The girl with the raven black hair that billowed around her in soft waves yelled out that she was not afraid, but the look in her eyes screamed that she was petrified. The large boy fed off her terror, as if this was his form of a sick addiction. He wanted to see the fear reflected in her eyes, he wanted her to scream and beg for a mercy that would never come.
The image rings clear as day, as he grabbed her by the throat and made the first cut along her thin delicate lips. The blade sliced across her flesh, as if it was smooth butter. The first cut was nothing, but a gateway to the pain that would soon be graced upon the girl. Her skin was slowly removed from her skin, as the boy's cold laughter danced across the arena; there was no stopping him now.
My hand knots into the muddy grass, as my brilliant emerald eyes snap open, the sounds of tortured screams ringing through my ears. The images melt away from my memory leaving nothing, but a numbing feeling, but I know that was the first defining moment that would give birth into the monster I would soon become. The defining moment where I watched my sister be tortured to death for all of Panem to see.
A/N: So I am still working on where I want to take this story, but it is really great to hear what you all think so leave a review if you have the time and thanks to those how have been reviewing ^^