☞︎ℍ𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ☜︎

~The prison~

"Are you okay?" 

The voice jolts me from my sleep. My eyes open wide, taking in the small room around me. It's not much. The walls look like hard, cold stone, and the floor feels the same. There's a small door on one side, with iron bars above it, but they're too high to see through. 

All in all, it reminds me of one of those medieval dungeons I'd read about in books. 

My pulse quickens. Am I stuck here? Am I going to die here? 

I jump to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in my forehead. 

"Are you okay?" the person repeats, and I'm reminded that they exist. I spin to look at them, my hand floating towards where my ax would normally be, from instinct.

Now I get a good look at the person. He looks around my age, with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes. And he looks sympathetic, which is still a new concept to me. Freckles grace his face like someone took a pencil to him.

There's someone else in the room, a small redheaded girl curled up in the corner. She looks like she's having a nightmare, but the boy isn't waking her up and so I'm assuming she's fine. 

"I'm fine. Where are we?" I ask, gesturing to the space around me. The boy gives me another sympathetic look, which I don't really appreciate. 

"Prison. Where else did you think? Underwater?" he jokes. I frown. So this is a prison. Well, I knew that, but I was hoping it wasn't.

"The capitol's prison?" I interrogate. He nods. That makes sense. It was the capitol who captured me, after all, not District Thirteen. 

District Thirteen. I'd forgotten about that. I wonder if I'll ever make it there, ever be able to see my father and my sister ever again. 

Probably not. They'll probably kill me here, and if they don't I'd get my tongue cut out and have to serve the capitol as an avox for the rest of my days. 

Not exactly the perfect life, right?

I realize the boy had spoken and is now looking at me expectantly. 

"Sorry, what was that?" I ask, moving my gaze up to his eyes. I was zoning out for a bit, staring off into the distance. Well, as much as you can in a tiny room like this.

"I asked what your name was, who you are." His gaze meets mine, and I take a step back, sitting down against the wall. The floor is cold, and dirty. But I'm tired from the sedatives, and I wanted to sit down. 

"I'm Amethyst Greenwood, from District Seven. Don't get excited." I close my eyes for a moment, hoping he'll listen to me and not go all 'Were you the one who won the Hunger Games?!' or 'I saw you on TV!'. 

And thankfully, he doesn't.

"Why would I get excited? You're supposed to be excited to meet me, not the other way around." He smirks, and I open my eyes, ignoring his comment. 

"You really don't know who I am? Have you been living under a rock?" His grin fades. I wonder how long he's been here for, in prison. 

"Yes, sort of. If living here counts as under a rock. What did you do to get famous?" I give him a look. Is he pretending? Probably. He must be. What would he have to do to stay here for that long and not get punished?

"I won the Hunger Games," I say. His eyes widen, like I expected. Everyone's always proud of me, saying it's such an accomplishment. But it's not. I killed some other people, I'm a murderer, what's good about that?

"The 73rd, right? You don't seem very old." I nod, then start to wonder if he's been down here for years. He's talking about the games as if he's missed a few of them, or more. 

"Neither do you," I respond. He looks at me weird.

"Wait, how old are you?"

"Fourteen." My birthday was coming up soon though- April 8th. (ahaha she's an Aries yesss) I wonder when his was. 

"Though I'll be fifteen soon, in a few months. When's your birthday?" He looks at me strange again, and yes, I know these are weird questions to ask when I don't even know his name.

"August 17th. It's already passed, I'm fifteen now." 

"I never asked your name," I say, continuing my thought and practically ignoring his answer.

"It's Myles. Nice to meet you," he says, holding out his hand for a handshake. I take it, noticing that he didn't say his district like I did. Not that I'm judging.

He sits down in front of me, seemingly remembering that he was just standing there for a while. I look over at the girl in the corner. 

"Who's she?" I ask. He follows my gaze. 

"That's Autumn. I think she's from District Eleven, but she's pretty quiet. She got in here only a few weeks before you." He tilts his head, looking at me again. 

"I never asked you what you did to make the capitol so mad at you," he starts, and I know where this is going. I also know he'll probably think I'm stupid for chasing after my imaginary family, to an imaginary district, and then trusting someone enough to get captured.

"I ran away," I whisper, then clear my throat and try to talk louder. It's hard talking about this, when I failed. "I ran away from my district, after the games ended. Everyone hated me. I killed my district partner and... and a few other people. I was trying to find Thirteen. My mother told me that my father and sister were there, but of course... I got captured. And now I'm here." I look down at the ground and wonder if that will ever get easier to talk about. I know it'll never get easier to think about, to remind myself what a horrible person I am. 

I notice Myles is looking down, too. And now I wonder what he thinks of me, the brave winner of the Hunger Games who is stupid enough to pour her feelings out on the ground for any random stranger to see. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not meeting my eyes. I consider telling him I don't need his sympathy, but I'm not that kind of person anymore. 

Instead I find the corner opposite where Autumn is sleeping and lean against the wall, finding a comfortable position. 

"Good night," I tell Myles, to his confusion. 

"Well, sedatives are exhausting. I'll see you in the morning." I close my eyes, and am instantly pulled into a dream.