A/N: Check out JamieOdair's fanfiction! Oh yeah, and I don't own Hunger Games…
Caspia Ayersion.
I watch as my daughter stumbles onto stage. I watch as she is congratulated. I watch as her shaking figure finds me among the other parents. I watch the tears fall down her face as she meets my gaze.
The male tribute is called, someone who I don't recognize. But I know his parents are feeling the same thing. The emptiness. The blankness. The pain.
I just can't tear my eyes from the girl standing in the frilly pink dress. Somehow, she looks smaller than she really is, like a scared fawn separated from its mother. I want to comfort her. I want to help her. But I can't. And that's what's tearing me apart.
"Families of the tributes," calls a Peacekeeper. A man and a woman step forward. The woman is sobbing so hard she can barely stand, even with the steadying arm of her husband around her. Almost mechanically, I move to the front of the line with them. I feel everyone's eyes on us. I know they can't help but pity our situation, but they are still glad it's our children, and not theirs. I don't want their remorse, though. I want my daughter.
We are lead into a fancy room of the Justice Building, where Hedrida awaits us. She doesn't even smile, like the usual tributes escorts, but asks us wearily, "Who are the parents of Caspia?"
I nod my head, unable to talk. Because I know that when I see Caspia, I need to look composed and strong so she doesn't despair more than she probably already is. How do you say what is likely to be your last goodbye?
A Peacekeeper points to a room down a long hallway and says, "Last on the left."
My feet carry me there, and I open the door quietly. Caspia is by the window, looking down at the scene behind her. I am surprised to hear that she isn't crying.
"Caspia?" I whisper, and she turns around. Her face is red and blotchy, but dry. I notice that her shoulders sag in obvious despair.
I get on my knees and hold out my arms, like I used to do when she was younger. Caspia walks slowly into my embrace, and we hold on to each other for a while, not speaking. I stroke her back to calm her, because she is shaking like a leaf in a strong gale.
"Can you promise me something?" Caspia says after a bit.
"Anything," I answer softly.
"Will you…" she trails off, but doesn't finish. And I don't push her. It seems like any conversation would be strained. But I feel like I have to say something.
"Caspia-" I start.
"I have no skills, nothing like the Careers," she says tonelessly, cutting me off. "I'm not coming home and I know it."
I am struck dumb by her words, and I don't respond. The thought threatens to shatter what little self-control I have left. Because I know it's probably true. Her chances of surviving are just about nothing.
I tighten my hold on her, trying to remember every detail of her small frame. I stroke her silky hair, and take deep breaths, inhaling her warm, familiar scent. It seems important to memorize all that is my daughter before she's gone and I forget the little things that mean the most.
"I love you, Caspia. I love you so very much," I say, closing my eyes. She starts crying softly into my thin cotton shirt, her warm tears bleeding through and wetting my shoulder.
"I…love you too," she sniffs. "Forever and always."
There is a light knock on the door, and I know I must give her away. Allow her leave, to a place where she very well might meet her death all alone, without comfort.
I let go of her, and stand up. Everything is my world is lopsided and spinning. It feels as if my very soul being torn from my chest. Then complete despair rolls over me. It makes my vision blur, and my head pulse. I'm not in complete control of my limbs, like a poorly controlled marionette. And the pain. The undesirable pain.
I stand up clumsily. Caspia, who is crying in earnest now, manages to whisper my name. But her voice seems far away. I leave without looking back or responding. Not out of spite, or sadness.
But because I just simply can't.
Of the next hours, I remember little. Odd little details jump out at me, though, like the lovely color of the golden grain, swaying gently in the wind. And the fresh beauty of the cherry blossoms, with their sweet scent in the air, which so disturbingly reminds me of Caspia. I begin to wonder if I am going mad.
Everything is empty without her. It's like one of the oil color paintings I saw in the Justice Building, except the painting that's now my life is washed out and dull. My hearing is affected too; sounds that are usually quiet reverberate around the walls like the boom of a cannon. I distantly recognize the symptoms of shock.
Hours later, back at home, I sit listlessly at the kitchen table. My eyes are locked on the clock above the bed, watching the hours go by. I lose count after five.
Tick tock.
The seconds crawl by like years, but eventually dusk falls, yet I don't move. Hunger claws at my stomach, but I don't eat. Tiredness makes my eyes itch, but I don't sleep. Because everywhere I look, I see her. Because every time my eyes close, her face comes to the front of my mind and the pain returns so fiercely, and hurts so terribly, that I want nothing more to simply drift away and leave the mess of my life behind.
Because I just simply can't take anymore.
