Chapter 15
I'm trying as hard as I can to hold back my tears, because although this is hard for me, I can't imagine what it must be like for Flint. I'm not the one drawing my last few breaths, staring glassy eyed at the sky above, trying to stay here, trying to live, and knowing it's futile.
"I'm so sorry." I whisper, my voice catching at the end of the all too simple sentence. I can't say anything more. I'm not going to tell him he'll be ok, because he isn't stupid, and I will not lie to him. We both know he's done for.
"It's not your fault." He murmurs and then gasps with pain, gripping my hand tightly. I can't hold it back anymore. I bury my head in his chest, sobbing my heart out.
Human grief is incredible. It's not something you can begin to imagine until you experience it for yourself, and by that time, you have no desire to think about it at all. I can barely describe the feeling. My heart has been ripped out of my chest and shredded into immaculately fine pieces, all while I watch helplessly. My throat is clogged with the most monstrous, most desperate scream imaginable, and no matter how hard I try, I can't voice it. The scream is contained inside my fragile body, held tightly in my lungs, my veins, my heart, and it's tearing me apart. The pain is like nothing I've ever felt before, and is far worse than any sting or bite or wound or cut that any blade could give me. It hurts my head, it hurts my body and I know that, somewhere inside me, I'm being torn right open; my soul ripping into smaller and smaller pieces.
"I love you." I choke out. It's the only thing I can bear to say. My apology was pointless, because there was nothing I could have done. I could not have known until that last fatal moment. And yet I know I will die, still blaming myself for his death. Because it could have been me. It should have been me.
"I love you too."
And those four small words were the last I ever heard him speak.
It feels like years before I finally find the courage to leave Flint's ice cold body. I've cried myself out. The sadness has gone and has been replaced with an awful hollow feeling. Nothing seems to affect me now.
And that's just what I need to kill Aquette.
I have no concern about the boy from eleven. Aquette will make it her business to kill him as soon as she can. It's always been me and Aquette, really. Ever since the beginning, I've marked her out as the alpha career tribute… Marked her out as the strongest. And time after time, despite my weakness, we've met up. And time after time, we have failed to kill one another.
Not this time. Not again.
I'm going to do it for Flint.
BOOM, sounds the cannon and it's final.
Now I know there's no chance to save him. I want back those moments when we met, when we saved each other, and when we kissed.
Maybe it's better to lose this, to lose the games; I could be with Flint again. What would I do back home? I know I could easily go back to 7 and assimilate back into normal life, but I'll never really leave.
I always knew that there was only ever going to be one victor… but when you're scared, sometimes you ignore the problem. You choose not to confront it, and you back down like the coward that you are. It's wasted, in the end. Because eventually, you'll have to turn around and face your fears, and look at what's happening around you and deal with it because there's no other choice.
So here I am.
Dealing with it.
I know now that I should have left him when I got the chance. Saved myself the pain. Because here I am, weaker and more unstable than ever, any conviction I once had wiped clean out of me.
I can't do this. I'm a kid. We're all kids. You can't force children to fight each other like this. It's not about suppressing the rebels anymore; it's about mocking us, the districts. They pit us against each other and watch as we brutally murder before we're even fully grown. Even the careers, trained from birth; even they are led like lambs to the slaughter and all because the Capitol needs entertainment. Entertainment.
I dry my tears and plant one last kiss of Flint's forehead. It's almost impossible for me to leave him. I take his weapons, because what use are they to him now? The dead do not want for anything.
This is the last time I'm going to see him. Or at least here, because if it goes wrong, maybe I will be back with him today too. I look at the sky, to the audience's eyes, maybe even to the President's eyes. I could break right here. I could hurl every obscenity and every threat and every wretched accusation I could at the sky, but I don't. Because they would kill me and Flint would've died for nothing.
So I simply stand up and whisper 'I love you' for the last time… and walk away as fast as possible: this is killing me inside, and the Capitol will not allow me any more time to grieve.
I enter the forest next to the Cornucopia, which has a huge lake I never found before next to it. Someone could be near, but the trees are so are huge, so this is the perfect place to start the fire. I'm beyond caring anyway.
I choose the biggest tree I can find, which is at the very centre of the forest, ideal to connect it all to everything next to it, I have to remember: as soon as I start the fire, I run from here, I move forwards, and I don't look back for anything.
Looking for the fire starter inside the red backpack, I remember Flint putting it there, and a fresh wave of pain washes over me. I have to bite
down on my tongue to stop the sob. Before I take it out, I look at the venom. Will I ever get a chance to use this? I look out across the lake holding the small bottle in my hand. Any fights to come will be hand to hand, and bloody. There will be no poison. I grip the bottle of the same venom that killed Flint and hurl it as far as I can out into the lake, where it lands with a dull splash, before sinking beneath the soft, blue surface.
It's time now. Time to burn. Time to run. Time to fight.
10,
Brace yourself.
9,
Feet ready.
8,
Keep calm.
7,
Focus.
6,
Breathe.
5, 4, 3, 2,
Ready.
1.
Go.
I slide the pieces of the fire starter together quickly, generating large sparks and a little flame. The small flames lick at the bark of the tree and it lights immediately. This is all wrong. No normal fire spreads this quickly, or burns this brightly. I watch, horrified as the fires spreads up the tree, trying to think properly. Fire. I have to… I have to run. Run.
I set off towards the cornucopia, my feet falling hard, heavy and fast against the forest floor. No matter. Giving way my position now is not important. Fleetingly, I hope the boy from eleven doesn't die because of me, and that the fire will kill Aquette instead, saving me from the battle I'm dreading most. But I come to my senses. Of course I'll have to fight Aquette; it's revenge, and if there's one thing the Capitol prizes over wealth, and beauty; it's revenge.
And whatever the capitol wants... It gets.
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Lucy XXXX