A/N: A short fic that was birthed as a mind-child of my depression.
This is not a happy fic, don't read it if that's what you're looking for.
Enjoy!
Click
A sound. Just a simple little sound. But it carried so much behind it.
Click
The sound of pickaxes on stone.
Click
The sound of Effie's high-heels on that first fateful reaping day.
Click
The sound of an empty mag, emptying just when Gale needed it the most.
Click
The sound of The Capitol's pod that had released the black sludge.
Click
Click
Click
Click
Click
The sound of the bombs he had engineered, reaching the hands of the eager children waiting for them, thinking they were presents.
Click
The sound of glass after glass after glass of firy alcohol burning through his blood.
Click
The sound of that door closing on Katniss, the last time he ever saw her in person.
Click
Click
Click
Click
Click
His head throbbed and he gritted his teeth. 'So many clicks, too many clicks!'
Click
He hated that sound. Loathed it, despised it. There was no escape, no mercy, every tick and tock and click and whirr that echoed around him surrounded and pressed down on him like roaring, dark, putrid waters and he was drowning… drowning… drowning within them.
He glanced at the gun lying on the table. It wasn't much. A collection of bolts, and plastic, and metal — things that snapped and clicked into place. A thing that he always carried, just like his demons, and just like his demons he couldn't get away — not even in his own home, his own table, his own chair where he was now slumped.
A trembling hand reached over. The clicks, they wouldn't leave him alone, they wouldn't ever give him peace. They wouldn't leave his head, and the screaming grew louder with every click, a screaming in his head that refused to come out right and instead burbled out of his lips, spit bubbles that popped as he sobbed into yet another cup of that one drink that could sometimes make him forget.
The trembling hand reached the gun and shakily picked it up. It was loaded. It always was. Gale stared at it for what felt like hours, until the screaming built to a crescendo which ripped into his mind and caused the ever-present thumping over his right temple to pulsate out as if the lead drum in a marching band, matching the roaring thump of his heart.
He lifted that little piece of plastic and metal, that thing that had caused him so much pain and yet was the only escape.
He put it to his temple.
He closed his eyes.
He pulled the trigger.
And there was one last...
Click.
A/N: Did your heart break? Good. Suffer like I've suffered -_-