miles rhodes; mentor, district six (milesperhr) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-03-05 11:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - capitol, victor: 49th miles rhodes |
WHO: Miles Rhodes [D6]
WHAT: Angst and other feels
WHERE: His bedroom in the training center.
WHEN: Sometime after the finale
STATUS: Complete
The bed creaked with life as Miles shifted on the mattress. Eyes slowly opened, weighed down though they were with gook. Light from the window was shut out by the display of enveloping space he had selected the night before. On that same canvas, stars blinked in and out of focus. He laid there for several long moments, stuck between a land of the living and of the dead.
Consciousness grew and with that, reality reared its ugly head. The high had worn off. The aftermath of his binge was as cold and dark as ever. His thoughts more vicious than before, punctuated by the incessant blare of the alerts and messages which had been left unheeded on his tablet. This was the tail end of his seventh year as a Victor, but these nights, and their mornings, had become more frequent as each one passed.
He knew why Terra hadn’t functioned much, even without the escape. Parker had the right idea, he thought. Miles could remember the vicious hunger he’d faced in the arena -- not for food, but for the comfort of someone else. As lonely as he’d felt in the arena, even that didn’t compare to the emptiness outside of it. Or how every year he had to watch kids from his district go through the same thing.
Miles had wanted to see Halle through to the end, but the mounting tension that built with each day she escaped death had grown insurmountably. The weights pressing down on his chest and making his head cloudy had left him little choice but to abandon her. If the tablet's beeping was any indication, the Games were over.
But he couldn’t face a dead tribute he’d left behind. Miles shut his eyes again and fell back into the black abyss of slumber.*
The next time his eyes opened, Miles reluctantly swung his feet over the bed, letting them rest on the cool floor for only a moment before bringing himself to stand. If it hadn’t been for the urgency in his bladder, he might have gone back to sleep. (That and the fear of tire woman rolling into his room at Shay’s request.)
After finishing his business, Miles ran his hands under the sink water, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Brown curls were matted and sticking out in random places, eyes red with dark bags, and his skin looked almost yellow in the dim light.
Pull yourself together. Shay was stalking his thoughts. He’d jump in the shower and then go to Terra’s room....
after that beeping was taken care of. Stepping out of the bathroom and picking up the infernal device from its place on the dresser, he slid open the security lock. The message icon flashed urgently, and his tracker for Halle was turned off.
Miles swallowed hard. As hard as he’d tried to convince himself she wouldn’t win, he still wasn’t prepared for her empty television feed.
But the messages weren’t consolatory. What he read were texts of congratulation. Miles stood there stockstill, dumbfounded. Cruel trick or reality? Launching the news, the whining high pitched voice of a Capitolite filled the room, as clips of the burning house and army of statues played behind him.
Wax Brutus killed in showdown read one of the tickers. Miles snorted.
Opening up his Games feeds, he rewound the last bits of footage and stood, mesmerized as he watched the finale unfold. When it was over, he continued to stand there in complete shock. He’d always thought that if he ever witnessed a tribute of his win the games, he’d feel happy. And he couldn’t deny the elation was starting to set in, but another niggling feeling plagued him too.
There weren’t winners. Only survivors. And he knew just how hard it was to accept that. Halle, he hoped, would be better at it than he was.