❛ HOPE ISN'T SOMETHING GIFTED TO YOU
IT'S SOMETHING YOU ACHIEVE. ❜
in which a small girl from district ten must
protect those she loves, or die trying.
𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙀𝘿 (UNDER HEAVY EDITING)
― oc x...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
BLURRED LIGHTS FILLED INTO MY VISION as my eyes snapped open after a painful unconsciousness which numbed my brain and it made myself uncontrollably dizzy. My entire body ached as I struggled to sit up and I soon regained some strength in my hands to wrap them around a sharp metal railing that helped me sit up.
The slightly bloodstained bed which I lay on was uncomfortable and I daren't move from my position in case of further harm to my fragile skin. I gazed around the immaculate room I was in. It appeared to be some sort of hospital room, although, in comparison, it seemed to be the same size of the District Ten's living quarters inside the Training Centre.
I met with a mirror at the end of the bed and I stared at the girl that also stared at me. She had darker and richer hair than her usual mousey colour, her eyes dilated and worrisome. She copied my movements as we looked down to our palms. Her skin was cold and paler than before, her body skinny and malnourished. She looked like a blank canvas as her arms and legs didn't have a single hair. Her expression was worrying, her real smile extinct. I knew that the Games had changed us all and destroyed the ones we loved. And, I knew that I wasn't going to forget.
"Morning," said a broken voice that I remembered to once appear reassuring and thoughtful, however it was now cold and weak too. I peered up to the voice's owner and Bradley was slouched into an ebony leather sofa in the corner of my recovery room. His hair was greasy and he showed bags under his eyes. It seemed as if he hadn't slept in days.
"B — Bradley, it's nice to see you again," I stuttered, perching on the rim of my mattress.
"Sixteen stitches on your waist, a broken wrist and a sprained ankle. You couldn't have been more careful," Bradley harshly said as he stepped up from the seat and made his way towards me, causing me to stand up too. I noticed the splint, which was dull and tight, my arm had been put into. I could have been more careful, but I wasn't careful at all.
"I'm sorry. I tried—"
"I'm just glad that you're alive," he said, practically taking the words out of my mouth. "We're all glad that you're alive." Bradley pulled me into a hug, his hand stroking my dark hair. My head rested against his chest and I could feel his heart beating rapidly. He knows, I thought, he survived the Games too.
"We're?" I questioned, looking up towards him (I was at least 1 foot shorter than him as he was practically a giant compared to my average height).
"Atlanta and Saffra were both here about half an hour before you woke up. They're as worried as I am," He confirmed with a chuckle. "Even if Atlanta's worrying includes smiling and buying all the District Ten team celebratory silver bracelets in the shape of mini daisy chains."
I laughed too. That was probably the most likely thing Atlanta would have done in a situation like this, even if it meant possibly forcing Bradley to wear a daisy chain.
"What about Tigris?" I curiously asked, pulling out of the warm hug.
"She. . . It's complicated. . ."
"What do you mean?" I said softly, too tired to try to figure out an answer from only Bradley's hidden expression.
"Alright then, it's good to see you, Silver," Saffra said as she walked over to me, just like Bradley did, and hugged me. "Sorry about the hair. As soon as you came out of the Arena a couple of days ago, the rest of the stylist team insisted that you updated your appearance."
A thought climbed into my head and I just had to ask, "Is that how long I was asleep? Two days?"
"You came out of the Arena three days ago, we thought you weren't going to make it," Bradley said, with a hint of sadness.
"What did they tell the rest of the Capitol and the Districts?" I asked another question. I needed to ask questions but I knew that I couldn't find an answer to some.
"They told them that you were temporarily unavailable and wanted to prepare yourself for the amazing audience," said Saffra.
"Basically, a bunch of lies," Bradley continued, crossing his arms angrily.
"Do they know that I'm awake?"
"Most likely. That's why I'm here: to get you ready." Saffra said, stepping towards the door of my room.
Bradley edged worriedly towards me, acting as a shield and almost protecting me, "Get ready for what?"
"I don't know. Atlanta was adamant —"
"Well, I'm coming too," Bradley insisted, grabbing my good wrist and guiding me to the door as if I was a precious artefact.
The three of us made our way out of the room and into a long narrow corridor that Bradley confirmed to be the corridor back to the Training Centre elevator. Soon, I found myself in very familiar surroundings. The paintings of District Ten that hung on the wall of the living room was still slightly slanted like before and the room always smelt like Atlanta's favourite and expensive perfume.
Then Saffra pushed me into my old Training bedroom and said, "Get changed out if that hospital nightgown and put some sort of clothes on and get cleaned up. Come down to the stylist's room and we'll get you sorted."
"Yeah Saffra, I know. I know what happens next."
Ten minutes later, I'd hopped into my Parade leggings and the standard D10 training top that was on the clothing rack inside my old closet and I began to make my way down the stairs into the small room next to the elevator shaft.
"She's all grown up," said Saffra as soon as I stepped into the door. She flicked her chestnut hair behind her shoulders and sat me down on a tall styling stool. "Look at her hair, her diamond eyes and when did you get so grown up? You don't even need me anymore!"
"Of course I need you."
"Don't be so silly, Silver, you're the Victor of the Seventy-Third Annual Hunger Games. You don't need me."
A tear rolled out of Saffra's eye, but she still smiled brightly as she sprayed my hair with an aerosol, studying me in the mirror.
"Then who would dress me up for fabulous occasions and inform me about the newest Capitol styles I should wear next?" I said, sarcastically.
"Alright," She beamed, adjusting my hair. I smiled back. Not because I was happy, but because I was finally out of the Arena, surrounded by people who helped me find a way out.
"Something's missing," I said, looking down at the floor and noticing the stains of makeup used in previous years.
"What? Silver, you know you can tell me anything," Saffra replied.
"Silver?" I heard Bradley's voice watching over us from the back of the room.
My stomach abruptly churned at the thought of something that haunted the back of my mind and I couldn't quite focus on it. Something that seemed shiny and plain at the same time. Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something greatly important.
I'd completely forgot that all my friends were dead.
