Katniss Everdeen (thisgrlisonfire) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2014-12-05 20:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | allison argent, katniss everdeen |
Who: Katniss Everdeen and Open
When: After her arrival
Where: The edge of the woods
Rating: Potentially high for talk of death, drugs, trauma
Status: Incomplete, OPEN
Horror was in her eyes even as they closed thanks to the tranquilizer.
There is no District 12.
The words echoed themselves in her mind, until they turned into a soundless scream, one she couldn't get away from because she was sinking down into the darkness, unable to fight the drug that pumped its way through her system in tune with her heartbeat. There was always a drug, or a poison, or something that kept her from speaking up, saying what she desperately needed to say. White rose petals scattered on a windowsill, the scent cloying and sickening, causing her to wish for nothing but death, but that never came, only the faces, the people she'd killed, those she'd watched die, the one she couldn't save, and those who'd sacrificed themselves. Cinna. Mags. Effie. Rue. Prim. They were all dead in her mind, even Peeta - Peeta, who'd once been punished for an act of kindness, who'd been the best of them all, the one who had to survive, and who even now lay dead because she killed him. She'd killed them all.
There is no District 12.
It was a whisper in her mind, jerking her awake, causing her eyes to open with a start. Peering around, she didn't recognize where she was - oh, she knew what it was: The woods, but it was quiet. Which meant it had to be her own mind. But it wasn't anywhere she'd seen before. Her hands shifted, wrapping around the familiar - stretched wood, taut string, full quiver - then tightened. Breathe in. Breathe out. She sat up slowly, blinking in the light of a sun that seemed too bright for what she'd seen, for where she was. This was nowhere she belonged, and at the same time, she was practically home. Silver gleamed on her body as she moved to her feet with a surprising quickness, her wetsuit flashing in the sunlight, glinting and blinding no one by the dead. There was a sound behind her, then, a rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig. In a blur she had drawn and arrow and held it, pressed to string, having turned in the same movement to aim directly at the source.
"Who's there?"