Rosemary Acker was pronounced victor of the 55th annual Hunger Games, however she didn't feel like a victor. The trauma and horrors of the games continues to haunt her for many years to come. Watching her friends die one by one, under the hands of P...
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The word "evanescent" hung heavily in the air as Rosemary and Elvira reluctantly walked away from the shelter that had briefly been their refuge. The weight of their recent loss pressed upon them like a suffocating blanket, leaving them with a sense of impending oblivion.
It was a silent walk, one that Rosemary had trodden countless times in her memories. But this time, it was different. Tears trickled from their eyes, mingling with the raindrops that fell relentlessly from the darkened sky. The pungent aroma of loss and grief permeated the air, interwoven with a trace of regret. Elvira's steps were heavy, her feet dragging along with the burden of their shared memories. The haunting screams echoed in their minds—a vivid, evanescent recollection of the horrors they had witnessed. Rosemary couldn't help but recall the lifeless face of the fallen tribute, her lips plump and purple, her eyes forever closed. Even in death, her blond hair cascaded gracefully, a stray strand gently swaying with the soft breeze.
A sharp pang of pain shot through Rosemary's chest with every raindrop that collided with her head, as if the heavens themselves wept for their fallen comrade. She couldn't help but harbor a dark thought—wishing that it had been her, that she could have been the one to slip away into evanescence, sparing Elvira from this anguish.
"Rose," Elvira's voice quivered as she called out Rosemary's name, her own footsteps faltering. Rain plastered her ginger hair to her face, giving it a dark, almost brown hue. The relentless downpour mirrored their grief. "What do we do now?"
Turning around, Rosemary saw that Elvira had come to a stop, her trembling form weighed down by sorrow and fear.
"We survive." Rosemary held out her hand, a gesture of solace, and Elvira took it without hesitation. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared resolve to face whatever came next.
"I'm scared," Elvira admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her tears mingling with the raindrops.
Rosemary held her close, her fingers tenderly running through Elvira's drenched hair. "Me too," she confessed, her voice barely audible over the rain's relentless drumming. "But you'll be fine, I promise." Those words were both a comfort and a desperate plea for hope. They clung to the promise, even as the specter of fate loomed over them.
"We should head over to the cornucopia," Rosemary declared, breaking the embrace but holding onto Elvira's shoulders. Elvira nodded, her tears still streaming down both their cheeks. It was a fragile plan, born of desperation, but it was the only course of action they could muster in this unforgiving arena. Together, they would navigate the treacherous path ahead, finding strength in their bond, their shared sorrow, and their determination to survive.
They walked hand in hand, their fingers intertwined as they navigated the treacherous terrain side by side. Neither of them was willing to let go, as if they feared that losing contact would allow the other to slip away, lost to the merciless Hunger Games. The arena had brought them together, and they clung to each other with a fierce determination to see it through to the end.
