Song Suggestion: Apparat—"Goodbye"
Thank You: Karen, Vestina, slightlytwisted84, Sandaanataliaa, Guest, erstott2012, ShootingStar96, PainAndPanicReportingForDuty, cjsandy, guest, HeyBirdy, and Parachute of Joy.
Mercy Killing
Somehow she crawled to the steps of violent green house. Her body was robotic, automated by an outside source. One hand was on her neck. The area was sticky and wet, the blood drying into flakes, but it wasn't gushing anymore. Prim assumed it didn't hit the internal jugular, just the superficial one, or the major carotid arteries. If that would have happened, she would have been dead.
Prim wasn't sure how she got there, but her eyes snapped open for a brief moment. Her face was buried into the dirt, a few rocks stuck into her cheeks. She breathed in once and sputtered out a wheezing cough, filled with mucous and earth. The green color of the house slapped her with a massive migraine. An inch from her nose was a pile of mouse droppings.
Lovely, she thought before the world's rug was slipped from under her toes.
The colors of the world bled together.
Undetermined Time Later
Voices awoke her: loud clapping, the sound like a melody; a deep voice, trained to hypnotize. She had heard this voice before. Her head buzzed, and it was several moments before she could sort out her place in life.
Who was she?
"Primrose Everdeen," a memory spoke. Effie Trinket searched through a glass bowl. The name rung out like poison. It was a domino, affecting everything after.
Prim. That was who she was: kind, caring Prim. Or was it vindictive, hateful Prim? She could be equally that now, couldn't she?
Where was she?
The dark was encompassing.
Open your eyes.
She cracked an eyelid. The room was as dark, except for a few flashes that sparked from the corner towards the ceiling. Her eyesight did its best to adjust.
What happened to me?
That was a harder question and took a great deal longer to answer. Slowly, her life trickled back through, fighting through the sticky web of the drug, threatening to trap her consciousness and devour it again. It came in flashes, a giant puzzle insisting to be solved as soon as possible.
Her mother. Lady. Her school. Cato.
Cato. The memory made her suck in a breath.
Coral.
The grief came back. She thought she made a distressed noise, but wasn't sure.
No, she was gone. The screams continued to haunt her, little, screeching. Mommy she kept crying, though that may now be just a figment of her imagination. Either way it was real enough Prim gave a loud gasp. This time she could hear it.
She had to get her, go find her. The likes of that treacherous bitch should never touch children. Prim wasn't shocked by her unkind thoughts anymore. People could hurt her all they wanted, and like a basket case she would likely accept it, but that sentiment did not hold up when another person was being hurt. That was when Prim felt fresh claws.
But first she had to awaken. With great effort, Prim lifted her head from her chest, and it wasn't until that point she realized she was sitting up already, resting against a rickety wooden chair. That realization took a back seat to her instant nausea. Whatever Persephone stabbed her with must have been chemically linked to lava with the way she felt burned all over. Every little movement made her want to hurl and cry. It was far worse than the after effects of chloroform or Vice.
Pulling every ounce of strength in her body to a singular place, she heaved and lifted her head and opened her eyes.
The flashes of light in the corner of room were from the Capitol sponsored television. On the screen was a picture of Cato and herself.
Caesar Flickerman was reporting, his face in a well-placed frown. He looked different than usual, as if he was unhappy with reporting, something Prim had never seen. Or was he afraid? Why would he be afraid?
"There is a rumor floating around that we must address, involving our beloved Primrose and the Lion of District Two. Is this true, Alexandria? These are some serious allegations. Is there any substantial evidence that can prove or disprove them?"
Persephone played her hand well. She must have made the rumor through underground news so powerful that the heads of the Capitol had to address it. This was a serious thing, due to the Capitol hardly ever promoting negative news. Usually all of the news had a bubblegum flavor. The rumor must have caused discontent.
The camera panned to a woman with fuchsia hair pulled up into a shape of a rose, but otherwise she looked surprising normal.
"Yes, a very disturbing report, though I doubt it's authentic. We have to wonder—"
The TV turned off, a silent beep, a brilliant flash. Then Darkness.
Near total darkness. At night, with the dark curtains on the window, she could barely see the end of her nose.
The sound of a human rustling reverberated around the small house. A strike of a match could be heard, undeniable, even in the darkness. A tiny flame emerged. It was set in a glass lantern, and suddenly she could see.
Cato looked back at her without his trademark smirk. In one hand, his gleaming sword was pointed towards the floor.
"I see you've awoken."
Prim attempted to startle backwards but realized that not only was she sitting in a chair, but she was tied to it.
A Few Seconds Later
Cato set the lantern on the top of the table. A layer of dirt on the glass made flickering shadows across the room, a macabre puppet show that wasn't meant to entertain.
His now free hand rummaged through his pant pocket. They were the ones meant for training, and their purpose was understood. He came to fight; he came for war. His eyes were flints of gleaming sky, ready to see a shower of blood.
Prim's hands moved together, trying to make it not look obvious. When they were close enough, she started to pick at the strands of rope, making sure not to move her shoulders.
His hands found what they were looking for. He pulled a small silver blob out from the depths and dangled it in the air.
"I found this outside near the train tracks."
Oh God. Her stomach twisted. She could no longer contain her nausea and leaned over to the side, throwing up. It splattered across the floor. The act did not make her feel any better. The horror contorted inside her.
Prim couldn't take her eyes off the metal chain—Coral's charm bracelet that Cato gave her. Prim had the matching one on her wrist. She had forgotten to take it off in all her blind panic. It was a stupid mistake, one that could end her life.
She's gone. She's gone. She's gone, Prim chanted, and it's my fault.
It was, and she would carry the burden for the rest of her life. She would never let it down. The weight was too damning to release.
"Coral," she gasped and looked up. Cato was looking at her in disgust, as if she was, once again, just a slum rat in his eyes, someone who needed to be eliminated for health reasons.
"Who took her?" Cato clenched his jaw after he said it, as if he was holding back something hard and cruel inside himself.
"Persephone," Prim cried out and hung her head. There were no secrets anymore. "Persephone took her. She tricked me. She—"
Prim didn't finish. There was no use explaining, not when Cato seemed to straddle the edge of manic. A flip of a switch and he'd lose all mental stability. She recognized the look as one he carried in the games.
In a flash, Cato gave a short, tempered scream and chunked the little bracelet against the wall. It slapped against the drywall, indenting it before jangling to the floor.
Cato leaned over and grabbed the table with both hands as if he had suddenly lost his equilibrium, as if the world was no longer stable.
"It's a tracker." Prim said.
"Of course it's a fucking tracker."
They stayed that way, interned in their own bodies, their bones calcifying into statues. How long they stood that way she would never know, but the silence was filled with oppression. The grief split the atoms in the air. They lost their daughter. No, correction, Cato lost his daughter, though Prim felt the sting as if her heart rested outside her body and was being stomped on. Finally, she couldn't take the stillness in the air. She felt a premonition of violence, like the whirling weathervane indicating an oncoming storm, the smell of disturbed earth in the air. Something was going to happen.
"Are you going to kill me?"
Cato slowly lifted his head and looked at her. His features allowed themselves to crumple for a moment, his eyes glistening, and then hardened.
"Of course I'm going to kill you."
His sword hand jerked, allowing the tip to touch the wooden floor of the house. He walked around the table and towards her, the tip dragging against the ground, making a hollow screech.
"Why?" She started to panic, regretting her question. She thought she would be ready for the outcome, but no matter how much a mind can come to terms with the end, the body scrambles to live.
I don't want to die. I don't want to die.
"You don't have to do this."
By this point Cato reached her. The tip lifted from the floor and found its position against the hollow of her throat. She felt the sharp metal piercing the skin, but it didn't push past the thin veil of flesh.
"But I do," Cato said, He gripped her hair and tugged her head back, exposing her vital veins, as if she was a sacrificial lamb. Prim doubted he would miss the death blow. "If I don't, you'll suffer a far worse fate. Think of it as a… mercy killing. Shooting a horse with a lame leg."
"What will happen to me if you don't?"
His jaw clenched and his arm flexed. It looked as if he didn't want to say. 1,2,3 break. She could die any moment. She knew this.
Keep talking, her brain said. Look him in the eye.
She did both items her instinct presented her with.
"What will it matter if you told me?"
He breathed a moment. He struggled with something invisible.
"The Capitol takes their revenge seriously. Snow is creative with his tortures. He never… He will… We failed. That's something he can't forget."
The words sound like the bang of a hammer, jarring. Prim could imagine the pit everyone talked about, the one Jace was sent to for a night. A dank place that smelled of mildew with rusty torture devices spread along the wall. Or who knows, it would probably be worse.
"Then do it," Prim cried, "Add more blood to your sword."
"You think this is a joke? You think I want to do this?" He was upset now, trembling. The muscles roping around his arms were bulging, shaking in miniature earthquakes. "I… fuck… I don't… I… Don't you get it? Don't you see after all this time? After all…"
He was crying now, a few tears streaking down the sharp angles of his face. His body still shook. Then he steadied himself and breathed deep.
"Goodbye, Prim."
He made to move. Prim flinched. Again he almost pushed. Prim made an anguished noise. Then he released the sword. It clattered to the ground. The metal reverberating.
"I can't do it," he whispered in defeat, "I should kill you. I need to. I can't."
"What's going to happen?" Prim asked, afraid. If Cato was scared, then she should be as well.
Prim understood the severity of the moment. Cato was trying to save her, but couldn't because he couldn't get past—What? What couldn't he get past? He had no problem killing other people. Prim even suspected he could kill a few people he interacted with all the time and not blink an eye. What made her different?
"What's going to happen?" She repeated.
Cato wasn't paying attention to her. His eyes stayed locked on his sword, as if in self-loathing. One hand was still tangled in her hair. Now his eyes looked at her exposed neck, at the veins running across her flesh.
"Don't you get it, little bird?" His hands loosened.
"Get what?"
His eyes met Prim's.
"I love you."
The world stopped spinning, and then the poles flipped. Chaos ensued.
A Fraction of Moments
The doors to the little green house bulged forward before exploding. Shards flew everywhere. Men in white suits scrambled through the opening, like beetles. They swarmed.
"You are under arrest under the order of President—"
Cato's sword sliced across his neck before he could finish. It was so fast she hadn't even noticed that he had picked up his sword. His head halfway detached to his body, only stopped by a thick band of flesh at the back of his neck and his spinal cord.. Blood arced up. Prim screamed. Cato swung his sword again, embedding it in another peacekeeper's belly.
The peacekeeper looked down at his severed insides in surprise. Cato attempted to yank it out, but it stayed stuck. Cato growled and stuck it further inside the man.
"Even your armor has a weakness, fucker. Right below the—"
Two other peacekeepers tackled Cato to the ground before he could continue his slaughter; a third stabbed him in the neck with the same syringe that Persephone hurt her with, but he was still a cornered bear, furiously struggling. The peacekeeper that had Cato's sword inside him managed to pull it out in a shock-filled movement. It was the wrong thing to do, Prim knew this. Immediately, blood started gushing from the freed wound and he collapsed. In seconds or minutes he'd be dead.
Prim tried to look back at Cato, who scuffled on the ground. She heard grunts and curses flying, but her view was blocked. A man stood in front of her.
The peacekeeper smiled at her. In her nervousness, she almost smiled back, as if it was survival reflex. Look him in the eye, her instinct once more pushed, make him see you're human.
But it didn't work. The Peacekeeper in front of her must have lost his humanity long ago. His smile was cold.
"The president asked for me to give you a special message."
His fist flew out and upper-cut into her stomach. Her chest seized and scrambled for breath. In her torment, she didn't notice the ropes tying her to the chair were cut, until she was being dragged across the floor.
"Cato," she wheezed out, crying, "Cato! Help me!"
Cato answered: "Prim… Don't let them take you!" The sounds of a scuffle, more curses, and then silence.
"Shut up," The peacekeeper said to her screaming. She couldn't stop. It came like vomit, over and over.
"I said shut up!" This time his fist landed in her face.
Prim went limp and he roughly dragged her out the house. Before he slammed the door, the flame in the lantern blew out.