Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

The Boy With a Pulse

AN ENDING BEFOREHAND
"THE BOY WITH A PULSE"

It's cold. I register that much.
It's dark. I register that much.
It hurts. I register that much.

"There's a dark room inside of my head, developing images I'd rather forget."

Night has fallen, and I'm still sitting here on this cliff where I fought Beckett. Except, that wasn't Beckett, and I know that. I know that, but I still mull over how his face paled, how every muscle in his body tensed up above me. I think back to how those amber eyes lost a little bit more of that alert glow. I think back to how he let out a single breath, a restrained one, his cold breath fanning my face. I think about how he rolled away to lay by the cliff-side, his head tilted so he could see the arena in its entirety. He'd always been fascinated with seeing everything at once.

"You laced your tongue with poison, and it makes me remember..."

And then, I let out a choked croak, and drop my head against my chest. Fuck this, fuck the games, fuck the world. A gaping wound sits on my stomach, taunting me, flowering my abdomen in red. My shirt is still sliced open, so I can see every shift of flesh as I inhale and exhale, the grating of torn skin.

It's cold. It's dark. I hurt.

"Every night I look out my window, afraid you might return for more."

It's not just my stomach that's ablaze with pain, though. My chest has this unending thump against my ribcage, but it's not my heart. It's spread out over my body, numbing my other extremities, but making me cry out when Beckett flickers back into my sights again. His body has been removed, but I can still see it, clear as day, laid out in front of me. His chest, right above his heart, has an expanding dot of red, and he's clawing at it, screaming.

I hear nothing but those screams and my own heavy breathing.

"I miss your frozen love too much, and I'd overdose from just a touch."

And then my sobs join the silent cacophony, my shoulders slumped over as I let them wrack my body, shaking me to the very core until the pain in my stomach is unbearable and my own screams conjoin with the sobs. I don't notice when the anthem begins to play, but it's there, drowning me out.

"Whatever you do, don't come back for me."

There's a fire in my veins, and I want it to stop. There are invisible needles injecting me all over the place with poison, and I want it to stop. But I'm helpless here. There is absolutely nothing I can do. Never have I felt something like this, something so...degrading. I've spent my whole life being able to control what I do, what I say, what happens to me.

"After all, I've bled for you, I can hardly breathe."

It was my decision to befriend Beckett and change his ways. It was my decision to rat him out and let him get shot. It was my decision to let him go into those games, it was my decision to write those notes. It was my decision to let his death infest me until it was the only thing I could think about, until I was the one standing on that stage in front of Four, until I was the one running through this arena.