Compassion (A Selection Story)

> 10 <

I wake up to moonlight flooding the windows. Sitting up, I realize that after I blacked out, the nurses had bandaged up the worst of the burns, particularly my back, hand, and forearms. I look to my left and see Lindsey, her skin looking striped and white from the bandages encircling her arms and legs. She's still asleep, and I wonder if she ever woke up between when she collapsed and now.

I look back at my bed and wrinkle my nose at the crumbled remains of my hair. Black strings are sprinkled over the pillow, and I get up to sweep them off. My knees halfway give out and I grab the bedside table for stability. Noticing a pair of scissors on the table, an idea blooms in my mind. I drag myself and a chair over to the bathroom on my right and sit down in front of the mirror. Pulling my hair over my shoulders, I begin to snip away the charred ends.

When I finish, I run my hands through my hair, making sure I didn't miss a knot or loop. I look in the mirror and blink a couple times. At least this death-defying occurrence didn't leave me looking like a ghost... almost. My skin is still a pale porcelain color, but now riddled with patches of pink and red. My face received the least burns, and I have a feeling my arms and legs will heal quickly. I guess there are just no more open-backed dresses for a while.

My hair, because of the way I had to cut it, slants downwards as it comes to the front, and falls to just past my collarbone in its longest area. I feel strange with short hair- almost exposed. All my life I've had long hair- for two reasons.

1: We couldn't afford scissors, and I stopped cutting my hair with a jagged piece of glass about three years ago for reasons that left a scar on my hand and left thigh.

2: The long hair helped protect my neck and back from direct heat while ditch digging.

Neither of those apply to me anymore. I will never have to touch another ditch again, even if I don't win the Selection. I smile. It's been too long since I last smiled.

People should smile at least twice a day. It's a fact of life. No one deserves such and unhappy life that they wait days between smiling. Even as a Seven, I had Kai to make me smile. Coming to the palace should make me jubilant, but I've never been more miserable.

I glance back at the clock near my bed. 3:30 a.m. Sighing, I drag the chair back to its proper place, and flop down on my stomach onto the bed. I lay there for what feels like hours, but when I check the clock again, it's only 3:42. Gritting my teeth, I walk out the door. The air in the hallway is cold; the floor is cold. I turn back to the hospital wing, but the doors locked when they shut.

Simple fact of me: I will never be content sitting still or doing nothing. I do not care if I was just in a fire, or just shot- I will never stay and heal. There's too much in life that needs doing, and no one else will do it.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor is tiring. When I reach the top, I hesitate for a moment and then decide to go left, to Lindsey's room.

The door is already open a crack, and I peek inside. There are three guards sifting through the wreckage. The wreckage is everywhere. Almost everything in the room is burnt to a crisp, reduced to ashes, or still smoldering. I back away, and turn back to my room. My door is shut, and I turn the knob slowly and silently. No guards occupy my room, but everything is gone. The bed is taken apart, piled with the rest of the furniture against one wall. Looks like I will not be returning here any time soon. I reach into the top drawer of the disfigured vanity, which is tipped on its side.

My hand brushes a soft object, and I pull it out. The bag I brought from home remains intact, along with everything inside of it. The white shirt and black pants are untouched by flame, and the papers for the banquet are here as well.