Ashes from Fire
Chapter 8: No stranger would it be
All the anger kept inside me was released into the barrel of the gun. I stared at the weapon, a find quick instrument of sudden death or painful wounds. It was intimidating yet somehow if felt weak. Maybe because I grew up and rose into traditional weapons, that stabbing a person in the back is more personal than a quick execution. The last time I held a gun was two years ago when using it as a intimidation on suspect while the only time I fired it was at Varick three years ago. Jason was being spotter, correcting my stances and use for the gun and marksmanship. I had to two tests for marksmanship, one being with just an eye-patch and the other with the scope. It was difficult with the eye-patch considering my vision coordination goes hazy or aiming align.
I faced the wall of targets, a tapestry holding an image of a male figure with three red circles on the head, heart, and abdomen- those where the vital parts. Taking a deep breath, imagining the image to be President Snow, I set my feet shoulder-width apart, and firmly wrapped my hand around the handle and trigger. The Beretta scanned my palm print making the not safe, ready to fire. I pulled the trigger continuously not caring where the bullets were lodging. The sound wave hardly fazed me for the ear plugs, though the discharge of the fire recoiling hard nearly losing balance. After the magazine was empty, Jason gives the command safety on and guns on the table.
A coil above the firing ring activates bringing the targets back to the firing line. From the holes on the targets are not in the red line showed a low score, though I struck areas that would have the opponent wounded. Once switching targets, I put on the scope seeing much better and got back into position. I closed my eye letting the scope do the work on summing in from balancing the sight of the Beretta, which I hit the red areas of the target. Not perfect on a bull eye, but lethal. The reason for all this anger running through me was Katniss Propos and the recent information of Peeta's captivity.
A few hours later, the Capitol releases a special segment, the Caesar Flickerman show with today's guest Peeta. The condition of Peeta had me infuriated from ever flaw covered in paint. He had lost weight, thinner around the face, as the dents under his eyes indicated bruising of lack of sleep. The tremors in his hands shaking nervously in his hands, defy in the nervous system. How he winces every time he moves, and from looking at the first few second all that came up so electrocution, also physical beating.
A few empty exchanges were past between host and victor till Caesar asked about rumors about the propos for the Districts, his response was. "They're using her obliviously to whip out the rebels. I doubt she really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake? What the risks are to her personally? They're probably hoping she gets knocked off so they can turn her into some type of martyr?"
"Is there anything you like to tell her?" Caesar asked.
"There is," Peeta said. He looked directly into the camera. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't…find out."
Afterwards the seal of Panem announcing the show was over.
The beretta was making clicking noises; I stopped realizing the magazine was empty and set the gun on the table. The targets returned and the results were better than the last, but I can't stop the adrenaline and anger getting out of my system. After watching both footages, I'm tempting to make a propo to scold the living shit out of everybody, mainly Peeta and Katniss.
"Wanna talk?" Jason asked taking the beretta and putting it back in its case.
"What is there to talk," I panted.
"Well, an emotional feud is going on between the love birds." He started. "Then all hell breaking loose. I'm surprised you haven't demanded Varick for another rescue mission."
"What's the point?" I sighed scratching my neck. "There's been an excuse after excuse."
"True," he agreed. "All we can do is mope around and destroy things… want to throw knives?"
"Hell yeah!" I somewhat exclaimed.
Jason barked out a laugh before getting the throwing knives and dialed on the pad of the shooting range to bring out the dummy targets, similar to those of the training center. After lifting the table we had more room to fire. Holding a knife in hand felt relaxing compared to a gun. I watched Jason arm as he throws a dagger. On the next throw, he hits his target in the shoulder where he assumingly aimed. The wound seemed nothing from afar, but closer look the blade had struck into the clavicle a few inches deep in the neck, instant death.
"Damn," I awed.
"Eh," he shrugs.
"Show off," I muttered taking my stance and practice a few throws without throwing the knife. Once I found a comfortable position, I took a deep breath aiming at the targets chest, and throw the knife. The silver spade spins till slamming in the targets sternum. I smirked, feeling the ambition that was buried deep for a long time, the tribute side that enjoyed throwing sharp knives. My skills weren't exponential like Enobaria or that girl from District 2, Clove, but I always hit my targets to fatal point. When every single knife was embedded into the dummy, I stopped bending over panting. I stood up straight to see Jason bewildered flickering his eyes between me and the targets.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side," Jason announced hesitantly.
.o0o.
The headaches were becoming a major pain in the ass and nothing could be resolved. They weren't natural where I could easily take aspirin or some pain medication, or sleep it off. No, the headaches and migraines were artificial as the transmitters from the fear simulation try to activate only Hacker cut off the frequency. Sometimes a loud high-pitch frequency shrieks in my ear to a point I had to stop. Training and physical rehab then became postpone until further notice while everybody kept a sharp eye. It's slightly irritating having people over my shoulder waiting for me to snap, but it doesn't happen. However, it doesn't keep the nightmares away. As the nightmares become so gruesome or surreal I find myself screaming, thrashing around that waking me up ended up hurting people.
One time Miya try waking me up from a nightmare that I pinned her to the bed with my hands pushing harshly to her shoulders close leaving a bruise. The incident scared her that she wouldn't talk to me, and I hardly enter our room until convinced she was asleep. Usually I spend the late hours in the firing room with the throwing knives aiming at targets. My emotions were getting the best of me, all the anger at Haymitch, Katniss, Peeta, and most importantly myself. Lie after lie, betrayal after betrayal, to a point words can't describe how anyone feels. The migraines grew to a certain point all I wanted to do is scream. So I screamed, releasing a battle cry for each strong flicked of the wrist, throwing lethal projectile. When the knife leaves my hand I collapsed onto my knees in defeat. Something wet slides down my cheek, realizing that they were tears.
Slowly I gotten up, wiping the tear away from the cuff of my sweatshirt and collected all the knives. As I put the knives away, I looked up to the security camera spotting the red light on indicating it was recording. Not sure who is watching let alone cared, I cleaned up my mess afterwards leaving the firing room. All of me is on autopilot, zoning around the halls tired and empty. There was no curfew, though people who live in the Nest prefer go to bed unlike the Capitol citizens who party the night away till three in the morning.
A young boy stood at the end of the hallway. I stopped unsure if he was even there as he wore a pair of black camouflage insulated pants, a grey wool long-sleeved shirt, black vest, black boots, and a mixed grey parka. The boy is probably fourteen, reminding me his features from the Seams with his dark olive skin, black hair, and grey eyes. Although his chalky olive completion and blue lips told another story along with his throat slit causing blood pouring out. Mike. I stood there watching my old friend bleed to death. He too stood there like a ghost. Signing, I closed my eye and turned the hall ignoring the simulation or nightmare.
"Blaine," I turned around to see Dr. Caduceus. The moment I turned a pinch snapped me back to reality. Looking down to see a sedative needle injected to my arm. Before I could say anything I collapsed into the doctors arms falling unconscious. "Sleep now child, you need to not feel guilty."
.o0o.
The next morning I found myself in my quarters tucked in. My roommate was absent, probably somewhere or back to her training of communication. I felt completely exhausted that I refused to come out of my bed. The only time I moved was to use the bathroom or petted Shiloh who decided to comfort me. Nobody dared or consider coming into the room to check on me. So I stayed in the darkness, meditating, trying to ignore or forget thinking. Not thinking blocked out the migraine, blocked out the simulation, and blocked out the memories. Hours past when the door opened then closed hearing the person foots steps against the carpeting. The person sat down on the bed, brushing his fingers against my hair.
"How are you feeling?" it was Cinna.
"Tired." I answered.
He sighed, "I know what you mean."
"They drugged me," I announced, as a fact not a complaint. "What was that stuff?"
"Soporific," he answered. "Did it help?"
"Yeah," I breathed turning around to face him. "But I don't wanna get addicted."
I try really hard to stay away from drugs even if they are supposed to help me. Not because I'm not in pain or need a distraction, but it was an act of submission and defeat. Also I don't want to go back to the sixteen year old girl who took ecstasy pills to drown out her depression. Anyway, I sat up stretching till my back popped, then asked Cinna how the corrupt country doing. Cinna shook his head amused before telling me today's news on how a few districts are now revolting for example districts 3 and 11. Now the Capitol will go on a short supply on food and technology unless District 4, 6, and 9 supply. Fulvia, Plutarch assistant had sent another message saying Thirteen's plan is to get the districts to revolt before the final invasion on the Capitol. It seemed slightly impossible for District 1 and 2 (Mainly 2) were dedicated to the Capitol. Next the rebels were planning a series of propos dedicated to the fallen tributes starting with the little girl Rue and Mags. When I heard they were considering of doing Mike, I felt somebody punched me in the chest.
"Do you miss him?" Cinna asked.
"He was my best friend," I confessed.
"Come on," Cinna said standing up and pulled out a set of clothes out of the dresser. "You need to escape out of this cave."
"Aren't we in a cave?" I teased knowing it was time to face reality.
"Hilarious," he chuckled.
Once I am dressed we headed to the cafeteria to see it somewhat empty with a few members eating snack. Cinna advice I take a seat while he gets food. Once he returned with a tray of spaghetti, meat sauce, a roll, and a small salad. I was slightly surprised of the change of food that was considered to be rabbit food to this. Cinna explained that the lack of protein made be the suspect of my behavior. I shrugged and ate happily in tasting something delicious than plain or simple. We ate in silences when another propos appeared on screen that tension broke lose.
Only this time it wasn't about District 8 or other footage in the past. This time it was Katniss and that boy who I had class with long ago, Katniss supossed to be cousin, and debatable love interest Gale Hawthorne, as they walked around the ruins of District 12. A fresh pang of grief in seeing the ashes of the ruins that used to be my home, yet for some reason it was never home to begin with. There was nothing in 12 other than the cemetery where practically my friends and family bury. Katniss walked around the cascade burnt wood of her kitchen, except she wasn't focusing on the room, but the sky. The next segment went to Gale being interview at the remains of his house of the seams. The interviewer Cressida asked him what his family is like, his job, life in the seams, and more importantly the fire-bombing. As they moved around the district towards the woods, you could easily see scorch bodies and skeletal remains of the dead…the innocent.
"Do you want to leave?" Cinna asked concerned.
"No," I breathed not realizing the dinner role crushed into a ball. I was hoping they would show the cemetery, hoping to see the graveyard not is disturbed. Hoping my mother's grave was not in vane? But they don't show the graveyard, or the market, or the victor's village. No, the next segment was Katniss standing under a maple tree with another man who had blonde hair and a red beard. The camera zoomed on her as she sang a forbidden song…followed by a choir of mockingjay.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Katniss glances at the camera and sighed leaning against the tree. The mockingjays continue to sing their version of the sad story until all was silent and the propos exchange to the final. I could hardly believe Katniss dared sing that song publically let alone know it. Long ago, Capital punishment in District 12 was death by hanging. My mother used to sing me melodies and morals, as the "Hanging Tree" is the most dangerous song.
"Being tortured by the Capitol is a much worse fate than death." I quoted my mother's words.
Another interview given to both Katniss and Gale on their relationship as hunting partners and the animals they killed. Some of the people slightly gaged at the mention of shooting skunks or other animals they consider to be inedible. A slight chuckle tickled my thought, which I coughed to suppress it. Katniss lead the camera crew to the rumbled of the Mellark bakery; all that remained was a rusted stone oven.
Katniss stopped, she looked exhausted as she whispered, "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" she looked across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you."
"Have any of you been torture?" Cressada asked when they reached what remains of the gallows.
Gale nodded as he removed his shirt and revealed his back. A flashback of him being whipped during the winter comes to mind of laceration and blood. Suddenly I remember accidently of Damon whipping me to a point I could no longer feel my skin, let alone the blood pouring down my back creating a pool under my feet. Not saying another word, I stood up knocking the chair down and ran out of the cafeteria. I hid in a janitor's closet, legs curled up to me as I silently cry the memories out of my system. A simulation triggered as the screams of the fallen bellowed in my ears, blood consuming my senses, while snakes coiled around my arms and legs squeezing tightly as they suffocated me. Yet they don't actually harm me, knowing it was all an allusion. Now I wish I could be blind, so I won't have to hallucinates the madness President Snow sends me.
The closet doors open as Cinna kneeled down eye level and holding me in his arms. Soft murmurs of "not real." Soothed me as my hands clenched tightly to his shirt, weeping the agonizing pain in the simulation, hearing the snakes hiss in protest biting into my skin while the screams continue louder than ever before. How long we sat like that may not be important, but the simulation stopped and I looked up at Cinna in the dark.
"This is not good."
"I know," he whispered. "I know."
.o0o.
After having an episode Cinna took me to see Dr. Caduceus. The doctor did a quick physical examination before going through my mental and emotion therapy. Cinna stood by my side, taking my hand and assuring me that I wasn't insane. When Dr. Caduceus asked what triggered the simulation, I told him about the recent propo of Katniss being District 12. The doctor suggested witnessing such trauma of home could devastate anybody, however that wasn't it. It was when I saw Gale Hawthorne back in seeing the scars of the whipping he received.
"I think I come up with a conclusion that you obtain PTSD."
"And now you declare it!" I almost snapped.
"Listen, I'm saying what's triggering your episodes of simulations, is the stress of the event surveyed of being tortured." Dr. Caduceus explained. "Things that reminded you such as water brought waterboarding or seeing Hawthorn back resembled of you being whipped."
"Oh and just last night I somehow hallucinated my dead friend standing before me with a lacerated neck!" I snapped. "What could've possibly brought that, huh?"
"It's just a theory," he defended.
"Well I want answers," I growled. "I'm sick and tired of the theories running through my head to a point I hardly sleep."
I exhale ragingly curling into a ball practically sobbing. Cinna patted my back while Dr. Caduceus watched and wrote down more notes. Then the doctor asked, "Out of curiosity, after the simulations what do you do next?"
"…I usually go to Cinna." I choked.
"Cinna, mind telling me what else happens?"
"We just talk," Cinna answered. "Is there a way to stop this?"
"Not until we know what that serum was," Dr. Caduceus sighed removing his glasses. "Until then, you two seemed to lean on each other. I hardly-if not seen a connection between two patients who can handle one another's emotions after analyzing this."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked wiping the tears away.
"Usually when a person experiences a traumatic event they tend to desperately cling to somebody they consider is strong or understanding. Since both of you experiences the same outcome, you tend to rely on one another through both emotional and mental circumstances, as I seen with the Star-crossed lovers," he explained. "Either way, you two trust one another than you normally do with the rest of us. Until then, Blaine, I advise you not to watch the propos…I think watching them makes you guilty."
"Guilty?"
"Yes, you blame yourself on things that are impossible to control and watching the propos clouds your judgment. So please if the rebels send a propo turn the other way."
"Damn," I muttered. "So much in getting today's news."
The guys somewhat snickered at the bad joke before continuing the session. Once things were somewhat settled, Dr. Caduceus handed be a bottle of sleeping pill. I glared the plastic bottle in disgust knowing there was a large list of side effects. Hopefully I don't have to takes these mandatory. Though I still felt hasty on any drugs from the Capitol. Sighing, Cinna and I left the office and headed to the solar lounge to watch the sunset.
"That song, what is it about?" Cinna asked.
"The Hanging tree is a forbidden song in twelve," I explained with a sigh. "The story is plain and simple though it can be vague of two lovers; the dead man calling for his love to join him in death, because death is better than suffering. Music is considered a weapon in twelve for each melody holds a message, so the Capitol banned certain ones."
He smirk shaking his head arms crossed. "You twelve's are spontaneous."
I scoffed though smiled, "As the saying goes, diamond in the rough."
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