It was just another trick. I'm so sick of them, but I've begun to get so used to them that there's no surprise in it. Only a harsh, lingering disappointment, a dull ache for something you're missing.
It could be a coincidence, of course. The ants could have drowned. But the thing is, I'm just sure that it wasn't. It was one more thing to hurt us. Will it ever stop? No. The whole country is watching. Many see this as the long-needed revenge. As long as one person shows interest, they wouldn't stop it for anything. All they need is someone that supports them, and they'd do it. I guess it really shows how awful we as humans are. The rebels tried to end the vicious reign of the Capitol and establish a new, better government. But now? We're just right back where we started. Only in reverse positions.
The sun has started to set once again, signaling the end of the third day in the arena. I'm dreading seeing the deaths tonight. When I first saw the anthems on the day the Games started, I wasn't entirely sure what to feel. Glad it wasn't me? Upset because it ultimately just means one more casualty of the war, that, however much they deny it, is still going? Both? But after the recent attack and the discovery of the water, it's going to be a lot harder than it looked on the surface...
I keep waiting and waiting for the sudden light, but it doesn't come. And when the anthem sounds once again, it's obvious that it means that there have been no deaths today. So why do I feel so disappointed? Is that really who I've become?
No deaths today means that they'll be forcing attacks tomorrow, I remind myself. It does little to make me feel better. If anything, it makes it worse, knowing that someone will have to suffer through it. How could my mind have even conjured up such a thought, purely to lift my spirits? I just want it all to be over. Is it really so much to ask?
Apparently it is, because when I fall asleep, it brings panic with it. Once, the dark oblivion was a brief reprieve from my troubles. Ever since Coin's announcement of the reaping, it's become more and more of something I dread. It makes me feel so vulnerable and defenseless, both in the real world and in the one of my dreams.
My vision is blurry, and I am coursing through the forest at a rapid rate. Running from something terrible. My attention is focused entirely on it, and I must escape it before it is upon me. But it is too late. It already is.
At last, I am free of it – or so I thought. When I turn back and face what's chasing me, I gasp. It's not an it. It's the person I shared memories with, who I always could confide in. My best friend.
"Victoria?" I ask. Should I trust her? I always have. But is this the moment where she condemns me? Where I meet my death? I have to keep faith that she won't. If I don't believe that she's truly good, who will? And besides, I don't have anyone left to care about.
She's holding a knife confidently out far in front of her. A cruel smile curves at the edges of her lips, her eyes flashing. I was wrong. Everyone can be turned against you. Anyone can lie. Everybody can deceive you. Anybody can hurt you.
She's about to plunge it into my heart, but I act before she can. I wrench the blade from her grasp. This is it. The moment I prove how much I want to survive. How much I want to go home. Whether I'm willing to sacrifice my past for a future.
And as it turns out, I am. I draw the sharp edge of the metal swiftly across her throat, and she falls to the ground.
I stagger backward, utterly horrified at myself.
What have I done? Did I really just kill my own friend? I knew the Games were designed to bring out the worst of ourselves, but I was determined to resist it. Yet it's still turned me into a monster that I never imagined I could become.
"No!" I drop to my knees next to Victoria, who is dying before my eyes. "No!" I shout again.
I place my violently shaking hands over the wound, trying to staunch the steady flow of blood from the cut. The cut I've made. The pain I've inflicted.
The warm red liquid oozing from the wound is still warm, which makes it so much more awful. I feel sick touching it, but I'm even more scared of just sitting by like I always have. Letting my friend die when I could have saved her, helped, or even just been there for her. But really, I didn't save her at all. I'm the one that has caused her suffering. I'm the one to blame.
All the same, I'm tired of being someone who simply fades into the background. A bystander. We all get a chance to show the world our true colors. We get one choice that may define us for the rest of our lives. This is my chance to prove to them that I'm different, that I'm not another one of their slaves.
We've all made enemies in the arena. With ourselves more than anyone else. The real challenge is how we choose to deal with it. Whether we want to stand up, be brave, and defy what they tell us to do, when we understand in our hearts that it's wrong. Whether we want to choose the right choice, even if it costs us.
It's no use, I've hurt her too badly. It's too late. A cannon fires, but I barely hear it. It's more like a dull rumble of thunder than the loud boom I remember it to be.
I sit there, sobbing, because everyone knows what the telltale explosion means.
"Congratulations to the winner of the 76th annual Hunger Games!" The voice is much too cheerful. But I'm numb, I'm hollow, and I'm empty, and the triumph of survival is nothing, nothing at all, compared to my anguish. I will not move. I will stay here. They will have to make me go.
A hovercraft appears above, seemingly out of thin air. To take Victoria. And to take me home. But home is nothing to me anymore.
A silver claw emerges from the underside of the aircraft, and it clamps its jaws tightly around Victoria, slowly pulling her up, up, up and away from me. I don't let go of her.
"You can't take her. You can't take her away from me!" I yell at them, but the noise drowns out my words.
—
I wake up screaming and hyperventilating, in a frenzy. But seeing Victoria alive in front of me calms me, to some extent.
It was all just a dream. None of it was real, I tell myself, over and over. The what-ifs flood my mind in spite of the repetitions. What if it does happen? There's no guarantee that we won't have to kill each other. I push the thought away. It's unlikely.
Heavy footsteps startle me, and I lock eyes with my best friend. He turns around, and in the pale moonlight, I can see his face.
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The Sound of Falling Snow | A Hunger Games Fanfiction
Fanfiction[Rated mature due to violence, death, and blood.] This is a "what if" take on the ending of Mockingjay, written as a fanfiction, if something else had happened at the end. Please note that this is in no way officially connected to the original trilo...
