𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ❪ clove kentwell ❫

𝒙𝒗. the aftermath

★★★

Rue's cannon fires, deafening in the still of the forest. The fire has receded, leaving just some still-smoldering remains and ashes drifting silently through the air. I feel completely numb.

They'll want to collect her body, now. I start to rise, slowly edging a few steps back, when a sudden wave of anger hits me. How did this happen? How did Rue die, twelve years old, burned and suffocated, in this arena? Just another dead tribute, soon to be forgotten.

No. I can't let that happen. They can't forget her.

Taking shaky steps around her, my feet still unstable from jittery nerves and all that running, I find a clump of flowers a few paces away. Prairie fire, I believe they're called. Perfect. I gather as much as I can carry in my arms and crouch down beside Rue's body, beginning to lay them down, one by one, until her small body has been covered with a blanket of flowers.

I stand back up, observing. Rue looks like an angel, peacefully sleeping under a cover of prairie fire, protecting her from harm. She didn't deserve to die.

No one did.

Satisfied, I look at her one last time and turn, striding away from the scene without looking back. I hear the whirr of the hovercraft, picking up her body to be carried back to Eleven.

So fast. It all happened so fast. Two allies, gone in two days.

I'm finally aware of the pain consuming the side of my face and stop, wincing. I tentatively ghost my fingers over my left cheek and recoil from the sharp, white-hot burst of pain. It's nothing like I've ever felt before, this searing, screaming sensation. I grit my teeth, knowing the cameras are watching. Don't show weakness.

I stumble along until I'm back at the stream. The water rushes too quickly for me to see my reflection, and I sit there feeling sorry for myself for a moment before realizing cool water might help the burn. Is that obvious? I think that's obvious. Snap out of it.

I put my hands in the water and splash some on my face. It feels like the heat is evaporating, steam hissing out of the burn, and my cheek feels strangely hot. I hope that's a sign it's getting better.

What else can treat my burn? Medicine? I scramble to my feet, looking hopefully at the sky. Would people like me enough to sponsor me?

The pain, the pain is forcing my thoughts to spin in dizzy circles, the pain is giving me tunnel vision. I splash more cold water on my face, but it feels warm, too warm, and stings painfully. I feel helpless.

And then I look up at a sound further downstream and realize the true purpose of the fire. It wasn't just to kill a tribute, no. The Gamemakers want the tributes to kill each other. That is the ultimate entertainment factor of the Games, after all.

I figure I have about a three-minute head start before Dana manages to catch me.

"Hey!" I hear her shout from behind me, voice hoarse. I guess she must've gotten caught in the fire, too. "Get back here!" The last word breaks off in a gravelly cough, and I don't stick around to hear the rest.

All lingering thoughts of pain and fire and Rue leave my mind as once again, I run. What am I going to do? Rue is gone. There are eight of us left. Dana will catch up, she'll kill me, and if she doesn't then Clove will.

I need to go home. I need to win. Two promises weigh heavily on me now, one to Rue and one to Xavier. You need to win.

I slow to a stop, realizing Dana isn't chasing me anymore. I only caught a glimpse of her before I turned tail and ran... She was leaning against a tree, bloodied and coughing. I feel a pang of sympathy for the harsh girl from Four before shaking myself out of it. Compassion does not have a place in the Games.

I try to distract myself from the pain by walking aimlessly along the stream. It doesn't work. I feel like I'm just stumbling along in a fog-filled daze, the seared skin on my face drying and peeling, my lips cracked and parched. 

Water. Simple tasks. I fumble for my backpack, the top half singed but thankfully intact, and pull out a half-full flask. The water is uncomfortably warm, but it tastes clear so I drink it anyway.

Then I realize it's not just the gloom of my own mind making the forest darker. The sun was already setting when the fire came... Has it really been that short a time since Rue's death? It feels like I've been staggering around for ages in a nightmarish haze.

Forcing myself to stop and breathe, I ignore the pain in my face and focus on finding a spot to camp. Eight left, I remind myself. Marvel. Cato. Clove. Gavin. Me. Dana. Nicola. Peeta. Sorting them into a neat list in my head, my mind feels considerably clearer.

Eventually picking a tall tree with a lot of leaves, I climb up with some difficulty—I sorely hope the cameras are focused away from my clumsy slipping and sliding on the trunk—and tie myself to a branch in my sleeping bag, which isn't completely necessary since I'm a pretty still sleeper, but it makes me feel better so high up in the tree.

Next. Set snares. I rummage around my backpack for the rest of the rope and set up a simple twitch-up snare that will leave prey hanging in the air, next to the closest tree. I'll have to toughen up and learn how to kill a rabbit eventually, I guess.

I set a few more further down the stream to catch fish. I know how to start a decent fire, and fish is fairly easy to cook. Pleased with my work, I climb back up my tree (much more gracefully, I'm glad to say) and settle into the sleeping bag, feeling very much alone in the middle of the woods at night in this giant arena.

The anthem plays, and the Capitol seal appears like it always does. Rue's face appears for a second, projected across the night sky, and then fades away for good. For a moment I wonder about the cameras, what the audience is thinking of me. The Capitol citizens, dressed in their sparkly outfits and eating fancy food, and the districts living in poverty and starvation.

I killed Glimmer. She probably has a family, friends, lovers who hate me.

And Rue, with her many younger siblings. What's it like to be them? Working in the fields night and day, never truly having enough to eat, always on watch by harsh Peacekeepers. I stare at the artificial stars, eyes wide, face stinging, thinking, thinking, thinking.

You're glowing. What does that even mean?

That's how I go to sleep, dreaming of raging flames and exploding fireballs, of dying allies and dying mothers and prairie fire.

I wake the next morning to the sound of someone screaming furious curses the next tree over.