The Simpson's Hunger Games

Chapter 32

Lisa:

The quietness unsettles me. I've been waiting here for well over an hour now, when he said he would come back. The dust moves in the air, circling over my head like a halo. It annoys me; it keeps catching in my throat, and I can never seem to cough all of it out. Has he left me? No, he wouldn't be so stupid. Despite the obvious dislike we have, we need each other. We keep each other human. I'm not proud of the things I've done this past week, but probably would've done a lot worse if I didn't have someone there to remind me of my self-respect. The same goes for him, I assume.

He goes to search around too. For what, I'm not sure now... I think I've forgotten. My memory hasn't been that good this past week either. The loss of feeling in my legs is also uncomfortable. And the constant ache in my head. To be honest, my general health hasn't been too good over this past week. I shift the scratchy blanket over me more tightly. In the back of my mind, I think that this belonged to someone too, quite recently. But it still seems long ago to me. Strangely, it's gotten a lot colder in these passages. It doesn't stop my stupid throat from feeling like sand paper though. I would reach out and get my water bottle, but I can't seem to remember where I placed it last. I think I hear some vibrations in the wall, but that could be a delusion. My hearing's gone all funny, as well as my vision. Everything seems toned down, duller. When the world gives you muffled impression, it's a lot easier to imagine though. I imagine a lot nowadays, and pretend too. I can be very persuading to myself sometimes. 

The lights attached to the walls flicker, and I squint, trying to focus on the cause of the disturbance. I briefly hear footsteps. Finally, I can see a face through the blur. It's only him. He sighs, and flops down beside me. He's always tired, and never really wants to talk. Then again, I don't think I can ever remember a time when he wasn't. He takes a look at me, and then sighs heavily, swearing under his breath. He shoves a container in my direction, barking at me to drink it. Reluctantly, I take a hand out of the blankets, and retrieve my water bottle. So that's where it was. It's heavier than I remember it. Maybe he refilled it. I shrug, and undo the cap, lifting it to my lips, with some effort. No matter how hard I try, the bottle won't stop shaking, spilling cold water all down my front. 

My body violently reacts to the temperature change, and I hear him suppress a frustrated groan. "Can't you do anything for yourself?!", he snaps, a slight tone of disgust in his voice. I don't answer him - I can't anymore anyway. I feel him take the water from me, and he takes a long gulp, before offering the bottle back to me. I reach up to receive it, but he shoves it in my mouth instead. I nearly choke to death, but I still manage to sip some, even if the majority of it now resides in my lungs. He takes out the little food we have left, and breaks off a tiny piece of something I can't identify. He moves the piece towards me, and I open my mouth obediently. He shoves it into my mouth, and I try my best to chew the dry, tough substance, used to the sawdust-like taste. He eats his share too, and we sit in silence. 

I must have drifted off for a while, because when I open my eyes again, the stiffness of my body and the exhausted dullness in his eyes show it's been hours since our last exchange. The hollowness in my stomach cries out, but I ignore it. Something's wrong. I can feel the sense of urgency in the way in which he makes swift and clumsy movements to tighten the strap on the one remaining bag we have left. Frowning, I wonder what's wrong, and I listen hard, hoping to hear something out of the ordinary. I'm not disappointed. I can hear a strange wailing. It's not coming from a human, but from the air, like the way the wind howls sometimes. It's getting louder as the seconds go on, and my companion seems more and more anxious. I hear something else. A distant crackling sound, like the sound an old radio makes when you try and tune it into a station. 

Then it clicks. It takes a sudden rush of heat coming from the right, and a small shriek of terror coming from him to alert me, however. Fire. There's a fire. Hurriedly, he picks me up, and I feel grateful that he at least had the grace to bring me with him, and not let me perish. I become more scared and panicked, as we - he - sprints through the tunnel. The terror seems contagious. He keeps tripping over things, and uttering small screams. I'm not sure after a time whether it's him or me making the sounds, but nothing seems clear to me anymore. To calm myself down, I start to pretend. I'm not here. I'm somewhere else. I'm somewhere safe, with someone else. I shut my eyes tight, concentrating. Someone else is carrying me, and instead of running from our deaths, we're running for the fun of it. I laugh loudly, and I quickly ignore the voice in the background viciously telling me to shut up. I only try and pretend harder. 

We're still running. We'll run for as long as we want. I laugh again, more hysterically this time. "Millhouse!", I shout. I chant his name over and over again. Suddenly I snap awake. "Stop calling me Millhouse!", screams Nelson, who is still running, and still holding me. I try and pretend again, but this time it doesn't work. Progressively, I grow more upset, and I try and soothe myself. It's not real, I tell myself the truth, Millhouse is somewhere else, somewhere where I don't know. This only makes me more upset. Selfishly, I wish Millhouse was here with me, in the middle of a huge fire, on the verge of death. Vaguely, I tell myself that I'm being unreasonable, but tears still stream my face. I distantly hear me sob and wail as if I was a small child. "Shut up!", Nelson shouts at me, but I can't stop. The smoke and sobs choke me; my lungs feel like a bomb. My mind becomes foggy, and soon I'm not crying, but coughing, the effort to drive the smoke out of my body making my rib cage almost shatter.

 I'm going to be fine. I'll live through this. 

I always do, don't I?

Don't I?