tw: suicide ideation
Brooke Hawker
District 4 Female
66 HG
Brooke Hawker dropped to her knees and hissed in pain. She looked down at the hole Jacinth's rapier had left in her stomach and tried to swallow her fear.
Dashiell was dead. She had heard the arrow shattering into his skull and found Bronze holding the bow. All rationale left her, and she had charged right at him.
All Brooke could think about was how he had betrayed her, how he had killed her district partner, and how she was going to make him pay for it. Jacinth had intercepted her and practically wiped the floor with her.
Brooke had been lucky to escape with her life.
She was supposed to be District 4's first consecutive victor. She was supposed to be the second coming of Finnick Odair.
Instead, she was bleeding out on the forest floor, trying so hard not to cry and make more of a fool of herself.
Brooke dragged herself to an outcropping, gripping her trident like it was her life. Somewhere where she wasn't so exposed.
Once she was settled, she ripped off her vest and began pressing it against the wound. It wasn't large. It hadn't punctured anything important, but it was deep and bleeding a lot. If she couldn't stop it, she'd die.
She had failed.
Brooke didn't know how long she faded in and out of consciousness. Moments of despair and darkness blended with moments of painful lucidity. She felt herself growing weaker and weaker. toyed with the idea of just ending it there and now. She didn't want to die slowly. She didn't want to die at all, but if she had to, she wanted a quick death in combat. Hunting down the Careers would only make her look even more like an idiot, which left only one option.
She stared at her trident and considered her options. A slow and agonizing death, or a quick end on her own terms.
Brooke's muddled thoughts were broken by the sound of chiming. A large package floated down right in front of her. She slowly plucked it out of the air with a shaking hand and this time, she couldn't stop the cry of relief at the sight of the red cross.
It was a first aid kit. Mags had sent her a first aid kit.
Someone out there still believed in her.
Brooke held that hope tight to her chest and smiled. "Thank you…"
She got to work patching herself up as best she could. It took time, lots of bandages, gauze, and applications of gel to close the wound, but she managed to stabilize herself. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
There was hope.
That was, until the fog rolled in.
"No… Shut up! You're not me!"
xi. first aid kit
Yeah, so that one was rough to write, especially considering what happens once the fog rolls in. Brooke really got shafted in the 66th Hunger Games. Any chance this poor discount Finnick had went out the window once Bronze shot Dashiell.