MPHFPC ➵ The Hunger Games AU (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 8

.☆ POV- Bronwyn

Get out!

The screams filled my ears. Go. Go!

Tears were forming in my eyes. Holding onto Hugh's arms, keep him back, keep him safe.

Why aren't you running?!

The woman let Victor drop to the ground. His eyes were dull and lifeless from what I could see, and his limp body thudded gently on the ground. Blood poured from his head and pooled until he was surrounded by a warm sticky puddle. Layers of maroon licked his wound, for the few moments I could catch his chest heaving up and down crookedly. For the few moments he was still with me.

Leave, girl, or you'll be as dead as this world would greatly accept! It was his voice. Mine and Victor's father. Ringing in my head. It was as though time stopped.

I was in District 7. He was chopping wood, and he'd brought Victor and I along. 

"I can't afford for you ungrateful pests much longer, you know!" he roared. I was used to his outrages by now, but every one of them still had a sting to it. "Take this." He thrust his ax at Victor. "And don't you waste a good ax, put some work into your wood for once."

And he left off for our house.

Victor lazily hacked at the tree, each swift movement drawn-out and swingy. "Someone's got issues." He threw out a few more half-hearted jokes, and soon I just couldn't take it.

"Victor, this isn't right! How can he force us into labor, and all you do is make fun about it? How haven't you lost it?" I demanded, watching in satisfaction as his melodic wood-thwacks came to a stop.

He paused to think about it, and shrugged. "It's life. Ya get used to it."

"Maybe I won't," I huffed, crossing my arms.

He laughed and I joined in. The moment felt careless for once. Victor knew how to make the bad things go away.

But later that night, in bed, I felt around for Victor's warm arms. He was out of bed. I looked out into the other room and there was our father, our stupid, stupid father, yelling at Victor again. I had had far past enough of this. When it was all calmed down again, I snuck out of bed and into where he was sleeping.

His soft snores echoed around me as I went over what I was about to do. This would ruin my life forever. Never again would I live a single second as an innocent child.

And yet I took the knife shakily out of my pocket. Held it back in the air. Thought through all I knew about aim, then all I knew about my father, then all I'd ever seen that wretched man do and say to poor kids, and hurled the metal at his throat.

Blood splattered my face, covered the floor and my hands. He opened an eye and grunted. I could see how angry he was. How much hatred he had boiling up inside him. But there was also defeat, and I was admittedly far too prideful about it.

I hid the evidence.

I burned the body.

I took the entire incident away with me, and somehow that made it more permanent.

I shook the scene away, trying to get rid of the foul images, only to wake up to a sickeningly worse reality.

My own brother's dead body, there before me. "Victor," I whispered, flinching as my voice cracked. Hugh was still wrestling in my grasp, but his long, skinny limbs weren't going anywhere.