The Reaper | F. Odair (COMPLETED)

Thirty-three

From this point onwards, due to my own sanity and other issues with my writing, the book will be written in past/third POV. Scenes were being dragged on because of the first, it didn't let me truly act with all the characters, etc.

The plot has been planned out, it's just getting to writing the updated plot.

Apologies to anyone who preferred the old. This was my first ever written book on wattpad and I just never bothered deterring from that style out of fear of confusing readers, but at this point I'm desperate to get the story out there again -- this will all hopefully someday be in third, and not just this end portion of the book.

    Aaron had lost track of how long she'd been crying for. A numbness overwhelmed her to where she wasn't really sure what was happening to this point. She watched blankly with dry tear stains as Katniss shot an innocent woman before they raided her house. She stepped over the corpse and hadn't even looked back. She watched as Gale had his neck bandaged up. Watched Finnick closely as he bandaged and patched his own.

"Everything is fine," is what she kept hearing. "We're almost there."

Fine? Everything was fine? Seven had remained -- seven -- five were the only sane ones left, two weren't. The rest were dead. Aaron couldn't help but let the previous forty-eight hours consume her. She felt as if she were back in that cell again; counting, waiting, watching. Her eyes would flick around as she counted the few remaining.
Pollux, one, Cressida, two, Gale, three, Katniss, four, Peeta, five, Finnick, six, Aaron. Herself.

Death wasn't a fun topic for any simple human being. Death wasn't a fun nor uncommon topic for any of them there. Their childhoods had been ruined since the seconds they came into this world. It all went wrong because they were born into a District, not the Capitol. That they were born in poor or unfavorable places. That Aaron had to be born in 10, a literal shithole with a shitty and dead--...

My father is dead.

Aaron found herself staring off again.

Who were her tears for but none other than the man who had abandoned her mentally, physically and emotionally. She'd seen so much death in the past forty-eight hours yet here she was only crying, truly crying, over the one she once hated most.

She thought at one point that Alex Smith's death would be something she celebrated. That she was free from those shackles of guilt, free from having to walk into a messy, crippling, old house that was permanently stenched with alcohol.

Aaron had sent two kids every year knowingly to their deaths.Watched with a smile before and after, watched as they were brutally gutted or forcefully drowned.
Thinking now, she realized she never once really wheeped. She's never mourned like this. It was always seeing or wondering who'd she be with and where'd she be waking up that next morning. Selfish. She was selfish, right? Or was she just so out of it she never truly realized? Or did she just really not care?

A painful sob stopped Aaron's train of thought almost immediately. She froze and took a large breath, ignoring any gazes or glances she was being given as they moved forward.

After raiding the corpses house, they found themselves in cloaks that ran past their feet -- found themselves climbing over fences or walls and windows. They ushered through alleyways and eventually found themselves much further in the heart of the city.
Cressida, who'd been leading them all this time, seemed to recognize where they were, and quickly the group found themselves outside of a storefront.

Aaron began to look around, her eyes freezing on their wanted posters. They weren't aware of who was dead and who was not -- she forced herself to look away at the sight of Alex. Her eyes landed back right as the door opened. Katniss was quick to push everyone in, and ignoring her shoving, Aaron found herself staring again, but this time she was staring at racks on racks of pelts and coats all stinking of freshly cut or sewn leather. They all had a very distinct theme of tiger skins or cow prints.