decisions (n.)
a conclusion or resolution reached after consideration.
CHECKMATE #4
"world-changing decisions are hard to make, but learning you have to sacrifice is even harder."
Life has gone back to normal in the Adelaide Woods five years after t...
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track #01 in gwyneth thalia anderson
twice // i can't stop me
I CLOSE the door lightly behind me as the last of my friends step out. I sit myself down on the bed, holding my tears in until it's just me, and then I break down sobbing into the sheets. My phone pings, and I look up through the blurry haze with glinting eyes.
Through the bleary mist of tears, I see a message... from Dad?
Curiosity overcomes me, and I click in, already knowing that it's a scam. But I need to know for real Dad isn't giving me a surprise – then the danger will kick in and I will think of a plan to save Dad before it's too late
I start reading. My dear daughter Gwyneth...
Just as I get to the end of this line, the screen flashes, and the message is gone, deleted. As I expected, my dad tried to call for help, but failed as the kidnapper probably deleted the message.
Sighing, I stand up and walk over to my desk, staring out the window at the view of the salty sea, catching a whiff of the signature seaside air. As our hoverhouse can convert, we've decided to change locations ever so often for secrecy and the holidays. School just let out for term break yesterday, and we have relocated to the rocky shores near the beach.
The waves crashing over the pebbles, rocking in the sands. Returning again and again powered by an unexplainable desire. I find the sound of the sea's waves calming to my ears, yet somehow it seems eerily familiar (besides the times we spent on the beach playing), and then I remember.
It was on a beach that I knew I had to stay alive. It was on that very beach that my life was endangered, that I experienced matters of life and death. Almost exactly five years ago. Time is passing by so quickly that I'm eighteen now – and rarely ever think about the Hunger Games, or what it brought me, anymore. However, maybe now that it's a matter of my dad's life and death, the Hunger Games me has resurfaced just for a minute. The version of me who was extremely observant as to where she'd step; the version of me who carefully planned every attack and defense; the version of me who lost so much, yet gained a lot in return; the version of me who'd do anything to survive.
It's real. And if I don't practically give them everything I own, they'll kill Dad.
All I think about is how bad of a daughter I am. Since I was fourteen, I'd never lived under the same roof with my parents and no longer visit them often. If I had paid more attention to my family and moved in with them again after the chaos, Dad might not have been taken.
No matter how it's phrased, my dad's kidnapping is my fault.
I slide a drawer open and take an old notebook out, brushing the dust off the cover and pressing it flat to crack the spine before flipping it open. I kept this notebook from just after the Second Hunger Games ended, and I smile looking at all my now-faded poems and letters to my then-deceased friends before the revival missions succeeded.
