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Dec. 3rd, 2011 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
corediggerThe blood dripped into her eyes from her forehead, and he scrambled to brush it away, not caring that his sleeves and hands were getting bloodier every moment, not only from her face but from the seemingly endless flow of crimson that was slowly consuming her shirt. He mumbled under his breath, not knowing what to do, panic setting in--he didn't know what to do. How could he have let this happen, how could he have let himself care so much about another tribute, knowing she would die either by his hands or another's? How could he believe that there could be any sort of permanence between them? They had a few days, a few weeks, longer than they should have, and being able to hide had kept them well and alive--and he'd fallen for the illusion of permanence that they both knew didn't exist. How could he have let himself forget?
But he had, and he chokes out quiet murmurs--she'll be all right, just hold on, just be strong, keep awake, please. He sounds insane. He knows there's no truth to these words, he knows there's nothing, only dragging out an inevitable end. But he has to try. He's so much further from what he'd said. Winning because he could keep his head straight. Something had changed in the arena and maybe for the better, he's not sure. She just has to hold on.
She smiles, it's shaky and beyond the streaks of blood his hands left, she's pale as a ghost. The bent wire of her glasses gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, and he wondered, somewhere outside of his body, outside of the present, away from all the awfulness, if she could even see. She's getting cold.
"I know it is too much to ask... But..." she pauses, to take another shuddering breath. "I'd like to ask you to win."
He looks so startled. Winning? What did it matter now? There was no life outside of the arena. No future past these awful three weeks. It had changed him, and now he understood, 24 tributes went into the rings. A new person, forged by hate and blood came out.
"Please win. Please... I'd like to think you'll be happy."
He can't help but nod... knowing he'll be anything but. But this comforts her, and she gives him another quiet smile, her hand raising to hold his, still on her face. He pauses and lifts the hands to his lips.
She laughs, a tiny laugh, one more time, before she's still for good.
But he had, and he chokes out quiet murmurs--she'll be all right, just hold on, just be strong, keep awake, please. He sounds insane. He knows there's no truth to these words, he knows there's nothing, only dragging out an inevitable end. But he has to try. He's so much further from what he'd said. Winning because he could keep his head straight. Something had changed in the arena and maybe for the better, he's not sure. She just has to hold on.
She smiles, it's shaky and beyond the streaks of blood his hands left, she's pale as a ghost. The bent wire of her glasses gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, and he wondered, somewhere outside of his body, outside of the present, away from all the awfulness, if she could even see. She's getting cold.
"I know it is too much to ask... But..." she pauses, to take another shuddering breath. "I'd like to ask you to win."
He looks so startled. Winning? What did it matter now? There was no life outside of the arena. No future past these awful three weeks. It had changed him, and now he understood, 24 tributes went into the rings. A new person, forged by hate and blood came out.
"Please win. Please... I'd like to think you'll be happy."
He can't help but nod... knowing he'll be anything but. But this comforts her, and she gives him another quiet smile, her hand raising to hold his, still on her face. He pauses and lifts the hands to his lips.
She laughs, a tiny laugh, one more time, before she's still for good.
