Windgrass (A Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Twenty-one: Brink

I don’t quite feel like myself.

The house seems so empty, so lonely. I cannot leave my room. I can see part of Cancanaugh Village from my window, and the fields as they ripple in the wind. Other 9er’s move around in the ripples, small black dots, kind of like ants.

I wonder what it’s like to go crazy.

Is it a gradual transition to insanity? Do you wake up one day and instantly know ‘I’ve lost my mind’? Do you even notice you’ve gone mad?

My ceiling is an intricate web of cracks. I’ve tried to count how many different images I’ve made from the lines. I’ve already got: spider, tiger, wolf, hawk, beetle, squirrel (Barley? He sits outside my window patiently, like I’ll open it any second. I can’t; it’s been painted shut), a cat, a chicken, a goat, a sheep, and something with horns that could be either a bull or a dinosaur; I haven’t decided which yet.

Lying on my back, I have nothing to do. I’ve drawn all the pictures I can, read my Indian princess book twice more since waking up, began whittling a new set of panpipes just for the hell of it, and flipped through Aisling’s diary some more. She wrote some really interesting stuff, mostly about her relationship with Sylvester, her fellow Tribute.

Turns out they’d been using one another, to help stave off the loneliness.

           Syl asked me to his room again last night. I can’t stand seeing him so grim… he was always so lively. He had a mean sickle swing, and could probably sever someone’s head with one fell swoop. It’s strange seeing someone who is normally so cocky and arrogant act like… well, like a dead person.

           He has such a large family… it must be killing him being here. It kills all the Tributes, except possibly the Careers, to be here. The training center is cold and bears a sense of foreboding. This is the last place twenty-three of us will see.

           Out the window of our rooms, we can see the glistening jewel of the Capitol. I find it disgusting. Pastel buildings, pastel streets, people walking around like flamboyantly decorated cakes. Xuixui seems to share my sentiments, though she’s a Capitolite herself. Her hair is such a dark green it’s almost black. Her eyes have been altered to be an unearthly green color. Her skin is normal (some people dye it outrageous colors like pale blue, green, orange, purple, heliotrope [whatever that is]… it’s sickening), but tattooed with lovely knots and curls and ancient-looking symbols she calls runes. The tattoos are plain black, but at night they glow faint green. Xuixui loves the color green. She says she grew up in Seven for a while. Seven is lumber; lots and lots of trees. I can see why she loves the color so much. Fiore herself loves spending time in the Grove, one of the few green places in grain-colored 9.

            Syl and I used each other again. It’s not as bad now; it was horrible the first night on the train. It hurt, the first time. Mother had always said it would; she was right. I even bled a little. Apparently, that’s normal. I spent nearly an hour in the bathroom, merely staring at myself.

           ‘What did I do?’ I thought over and over. I loved my sister… didn’t I? But there was a very good chance I wouldn’t see her again. Syl wasn’t bad, even though it was both our first time. As painful as it was, it was just as sweet. His kisses are like chocolate: sweet, so sweet, and addicting.

           Now, it’s normal. There’s no pain, no guilt, no regret. Believe it or not, I’m kinda happy. There can be no guilt over my sister, because she’d want me to be happy. And besides, she’s got her eye on that Peacekeeper, Percival Ripley, though she won’t admit it. She feels she can’t compete with other girls in 9. She thinks she’s not pretty enough, not friendly enough, just not enough.