One Fire: A One Direction Fan Fiction

9

9

   I called her name, and dove as the tail of the whip descended, throwing myself between it and Leah, and I felt it, full force, as it cracked against my arm, ripping my t-shirt a little in the process, and making my blood run and me scream.

   The pain is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced, and death now would be a relief. The force of the weapon had pushed me to the ground, onto the stones which make up the floor of the square, which are now being quickly soaked with my blood.

   This new Head Peacekeeper seems to have forgotten about Leah, and is next to me again, whip readied. I clench my teeth, waiting for him to strike me again.

   “Enough!” the familiar voice shouts over the commotion, and the crowd, all screaming out at this new person many profanities for whipping me, falls dead silent.

   The whip falls and I see Simon and Ed approaching the man, standing tall. Simon’s at my side in a second, inspecting where the tail hit me. “It’s a good thing most of his outfits have long sleeves,” Simon snaps at the Peacekeeper, “Do you think this scar can be hidden from cameras? I swear if I don’t kill you now, his stylist and prep team certainly will.”

   I see the Peacekeeper bite his lip; though most of my mind is hazy from the burning pain my arm is in. He knows who I am. Even without the bright lights, and occasional stage makeup, it’s easy to tell me apart from a regular citizen. “He’s the one who took the lash from a deserving criminal,” this Peacekeeper argues in a cold, emotionless voice.

   “You’d better hope this scar goes away,” Simon growls.

   “How’s that my problem?”

   “It’s going to be,” Simon threatens. He’s on his feet now, standing the same height as the Peacekeeper.

   “Nobody hurts the blazing boy,” Ed says in a low growl, quoting the other four – Liam, Louis, Niall and Zayn – just before they killed off those who had hurt me back in the arena.

   The new Head Peacekeeper doesn’t ignore this stand they’re taking for me, and instead, glances back at the small patrol standing behind him; all familiar faces I’ve seen regularly at the bizarre. They were all friends. Some of them still haven’t managed to remove the shock from their faces.

   One, a woman I knew fairly well named Mavira, stepped forward from the others. Her eyes are still wide, but she was still collected enough to say, “For a first offense, typically one lash is given to at least one offender. If you’d rather sentence death, a firing squad can be arranged.”

   “That’s really how things work around here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper with a quirked brow.

   Mavira only nods quickly, and speaks quietly, “Yes, sir.” However, I’m not even sure if she knows. Normally, the Peacekeepers could care less about what we did unless people from the Capitol were in Twelve.

   “Fine,” the Peacekeeper says, turning back to Simon and Ed. “Get them out of here.” His gaze turns and locks on Leah, who is still on the ground, in shock. “Next time someone poaches off Capitol land, I will personally assemble that firing squad.” He coils the whip and leaves, with the squad of others in white uniforms trailing behind awkwardly.

   The rest of the crowd begins to break up, slowly. Simon, Ed and Leah are all at my sides and a few random faces are standing a little ways back around me.

   Simon reaches to my left arm, the one I was whipped on. He’s barely touched my skin when I nearly scream out again from the stinging pain; it feels as if the whip is hitting me all over again.

   “We need to get him to Gemma, now,” Ed says.

   I don’t remember exactly how they did it, thanks to a dizziness which takes over every bit of my wellbeing for a few minutes from my bleeding out and the torture I’m facing, but somehow they’d managed to move me from the square to the Victor’s Village.

   When inside, they quickly summarize the story for Gemma as I am laid down on the table in the kitchen. Ed is sent out for a minute, though, in this condition, my ears distort the reason why, as Gemma begins to dive into her work, commanding any and all bystanders to grab the things she needs.

   My mum is up near my head, her hand running through my curls, and I can see her image through the haze. Her lips are moving and her soft tone is slightly audible, but I can’t make out any words, just the sound of her voice. But somewhere in a bit of middle I hear the words “can’t touch you now.” I know of the context it’s used in. Simon has told them already about my reaction of my wound being touched. A sedative will definitely be needed since their usual human painkiller – me – is out of commission. I then hear the words “vital vein” coming from her, and I know why only one crack of the whip was causing me to bleed out; if not treated sooner than later, President Snow would finally be happy.

   I eventually hear noises, and see Ed enter the kitchen. I hear the words “sleep syrup” spoken by someone, probably Robin, and then Gemma is coaxing me to take some. It is a sweet liquid, which instantly knocks out a person. The smallest dose can have someone asleep for an entire day. They use it as a painkiller when I’m not enough, and something more powerful is too much. I’m willing to take it and, within a fraction of I minute, I feel nothing.