"if i'm a ghost
then so are you"
Emerald Colter hasn't known peace at any time in her life; and with her reaping comes a chance for her to finally make her mother proud of her. Only, when she returns home, everything remains the same and...
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WARNING : contains imagery of violence and blood.
She'd been a mere child the first time her mother had put her name into the draw more times for a little bit of extra food. Twelve years old and already in there five times, five pieces of folded paper with the name Emerald Colter printed in neat, easy to read font. At the time she'd been horrified, cried and begged her mother to stop, but as the years went by she couldn't bring herself to weep any longer.
Emerald simply stood by and watched as her mother signed her up for tesserae year after year, reaping the benefits as she further endangered the life of her only child — her only living family. Jewel Colter had never really seen her that way, no, the teenager was merely somebody who lived in her home and helped her earn money.
Hours and hours of stitching fabrics together, her tiny fingers shaking as blood seeped from wounds on her skin. Every crooked stitch meant three more outfits she had to make, and every five meant no dinner. By the end of the night, when she was exhausted, the young girl would collapse into sleep before getting up only a few hours later to start again.
And yet those days, of what felt like torture, is absolutely nothing in comparison to what she's feeling now. Deep gashes etched into her limbs, blood covering the only pair of clothes she's been given, and a dry throat due to dehydration.
This is what the Hunger Games feels like, so many different types of pain rolled into one and thrown at you without an ounce of mercy.
She's seen people die, the sixteen year old has watched them bleed out around her as she watched on in terror. Their lives faded, their families mourning back home, and other children who had been the cause.
Guilt, pain, fear, sadness, grief. Emerald doesn't even know how to comprehend them properly anymore. It's almost as if they are all the same thing to her, every emotion crossing over with the other so much that it's hard to tell them apart. And she's sure it's not just her feeling this way, even the most vicious and unforgiving tributes in this very arena feel — even if it is merely a flicker of fear in their final moments of life.
They are all kids after all.
Emerald is unlike so many of the others in here, because whilst she may have seen death, she hasn't inflicted it. Her strategy from the very start had simply been to hide away, sink into a dark corner and live in the shadows. A tactic that has worked for the young girl so far, and one she will continue to employ until it doesn't anymore. She imagines it won't be too much longer, because there's only a few people left at this point, and that means the brunette will finally have to fight for her life.
Peeking her head around the corner of one of the large, disintegrating stone walls of a building, Emerald can see the two boys who are left. They're both of significantly larger stature, and a lot stronger than she is. There's little to no chance that these boys will die at her hands, but it's almost certain that she will die to one of their's.
The boy from District Two tackles the other to the ground, hands clasped around his throat in a vice grip. The other tribute claws at his skin, desperately trying to find a way to push him off before his situation becomes even more dire. Emerald can see the life slowly fading from his eyes when he makes one last move in his distressed state, leaning over as much as he can and biting the hand before him.
Emerald takes the opportunity to sneak around, eyes searching for something to use as a weapon in this final fight. District Two has gained control again, his enormous frame standing over the weakened boy with a brick in his hand.
A soft whimper escapes her lips as he brings it down onto the side of the other tribute's head, effectively smashing his skull with one strike. He keeps going however, making sure that the boy is truly gone before he stops.
"One more to go!" She hears him call and she imagines the vicious smirk present on his face. In his mind, that boy was his last hurdle, Emerald Colter of District Eight will be an easy kill. "Come out girl. Lets get this over with!"
Whilst Emerald knows fear, and she knows helplessness, she refuses to know cowardice in her final moments. So as he turns to face her, the brunette steps out for him to see. The wicked glimmer in his eyes in something she can see, from quite far away, as they shimmer under the light of the sun. He stills holds the brick, blood dripping to the floor as the canon sounds around them.
This is it.
"I thought you would have been dead long ago. If anybody from Eight was winning, it would have been your District Partner — well that was if I didn't use a piece of this broken glass to slit his throat,"
He's taunting her, using her pain to get inside her head. That boy from District Eight, Francisco Wents, had taken care of her like you would family. Making sure she was fed, letting her sleep whilst he took watch, and putting her life above his own over and over again. One time it proved fatal, and he'd died for his actions. It's why she's here, because without Francisco, her fight would've ended in the bloodbath.
"Wouldn't it be poetic?" The boy comments, leaning down and picking up a large shattered piece of glass and letting it shine in the sunlight. "Emerald Colter of District Eight, dying the same death as her protector,"
He lunges at her and a scream escapes her lips as she falls to the ground, the harsh terrain beneath her sticking into her skin. Wounds all over her body are reopening as she jerks about, but the pure adrenaline running through her refuses to let it hurt.
The larger tribute stands above her, holding his arm up in the air before forcing it downwards. She manages to move her head at the right moment, avoiding the attack almost completely. A small nick on the side of her neck is all the damage he leaves.
"Prolonging the inevitable," he hisses and uses his weight to keep her grounded.
Emerald can feel the cool touch of the glass against her skin, digging in and drawing small amounts of blood. He begins to press down harder, the pain much more recognizable now that it had been moments earlier.
Her hands reach out to her sides, trying to grab anything that she can — glass, brick, metal, it doesn't matter. Anything here would be a better weapon than her own strength. Emerald's right hand manages to grasp onto something, and he is far too distracted to notice.
"Time is up," He says.
"Yeah. For you,"
Moving her arm with as much force as she can, Emerald sticks a sharp piece of glass into the side of his neck. A noise escapes his lips as he moves his free hand to the weapon, pulling it out and staring at it as he begins to gargle on his own blood.
"I-isn't it poetic?" The girl croaks out, the male falling to the side and holding the wound to stop the bleeding. His killer, the brunette from Eight, stumbles to her feet and looks down at him as his chest stops rising and she sees it — the fear.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games, Emerald Colter of District Eight,"
