𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 | ❝ remember the fallen or fall as they once did ❞
Orelia Thoreau felt as though a part of her died every time a new tribute was chosen from District 5. She couldn't help but remember the names and faces of every young child...
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. WHITE ROSE
The scream is what had woken Orelia up from her restless sleep. It was a scream she knew well and one that she often found mirrored in her own throat. But this time it wasn't Orelia letting out that painful cry, no, it was someone else entirely.
Orelia rose from her bed as quickly as she could. She slipped on a pair of slippers and soon found herself sneaking out of her home. It was almost pitiful. A 24 year old woman sneaking out of her house in order to not wake her mother. But Orelia had her mind set on her goal and she was not about to fail.
And so, without so much as a knock, Orelia found herself in the house across from her own. The house of the 72nd victor of The Hunger Games, winning just a few years ago. Arlo had become a tribute at 18, finding himself chosen in the last year he possibly could be.
Orelia shut the door quietly, making her way up the stairs of the almost empty home. The only thing that allowed anyone to know someone even lived in the home was the screams of terror.
Her pace quickened as the screams began to subside, instead being overtaken by the sound of jagged breathing.
Orelia pulled open the door to the only bedroom and was met with the same image that found its way engraved into her mind.
Arlo Hollick was sat on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees that had been brought close to his chest. He was rocking slightly, staggered breaths leaving his lips every so often.
Orelia didn't speak. She had no need to as she made her way next to the younger boy. Silently, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lightly shushing him as she rubbed circles into his arms.
This occurrence wasn't irregular. Every so often, honestly more often than not, one of the two would wake to the other. Those terrified screams would subside as one of the only other people who could understand what truly lied behind them would be there to help.
Orelia found she was more likely to wake up in Arlos lonely home rather than her own nowadays. For some reason the boys nightmares had gotten worse, so therefore, Orelia was over much more often.
He never wanted to speak about them in the mornings. Orelia understood. Her older sister had quickly found out that asking would lead her nowhere after the third time she had awoken to her sisters screams.
It wasn't that Orelia didn't want to let her sister in, it was that she just couldn't. Even the idea of voicing the nightmares made them feel more real. And when they felt more real, Orelia found she couldn't tell the difference between reality and her imagination.
