To Kill A Mockingjay

ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ

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'ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴛɪɴ' ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀꜱᴛ ɪɴ ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴡ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ'
- ᴅᴀᴠɪᴅ ʙᴏᴡɪᴇ

The walls around her were clinical, painted a claustrophobic white that would cause even the slickest of hairs to curl. Her arms were decorated with goosebumps that made their debut the minute her name was announced. Breathing heavily, the young girl paced the room. Trying anything to make it feel bigger than it was. Her chest felt like it was caving in. So, despite her efforts, she couldn't seem to escape the confines of the room. Fear began seeping in as her nails found refuge in the crevices of her hands, buried deep within the crimson rivers that flowed freely down her wrists. Stuck in a state of neither here nor there, she hadn't realised her solitude had been broken.

'Anna.' A soft voice called. With stiffened shoulders and puffed out cheeks, she turned to face the culprit of unexpected noise. 'Anna, it's me.' Her father spoke gently, so as to not spook the already haunted girl. He edged closer until the pair met, arms clutching arms. He brought her deep within his chest, baring the private thud of his heart. Her body contorted as if in pain, silent sobs ricocheting down her spine. 'Listen to me,' her father spoke again, causing her eyes to meet his own, 'You need to be strong. Right now, it's okay to cry. But once you leave this room, you need to put on a show. That's what they want. They want someone to root for, someone to love. Make them love you, sweetpea. Show them you are kind and fierce. Make them believe you are someone worth fighting for.' He finished, looking at his daughter with a mixture of pride and pity.

'I don't want to kill anybody.' She managed through sobs. 'I know I have to, but I don't know how I'll live with myself.' She confessed. Annalise was always the kind to cringe when watching the games, lighting candles for each soul taken by their brutality. Her insides would churn at each drop of blood shed in the arenas, unable to find justice in their deaths. 'We can worry about that when you come back.' Her father replied, planting a delicate kiss on her forehead. 'For now, I just need you to live.'

A knock on the door interrupted their moment, causing the pair to reluctantly pull apart. One final goodbye and a crossing of hearts, the young girl took a final glance at her father before being escorted away. Being led to the train, Annalise repeated her father's words in her mind. She needed to come up with a plan that would show the capitol that she was worth rooting for. That she, out of the other 23 tributes, was the one to beat. Her mind was swirling with ideas and possible game plans as she was mindlessly boarding the death train. Barely paying attention to anything around her, only coming out of her trance when a hand was placed on her shoulder.

Colours of pinks, yellows and golds embellished her sight as fumes of roses and red wine attacked her senses. Looking up, she realised it was her escort that brought her back to the moment. Her face was a canvas of glitter and paint, swirling around her eyelids in a fashion unfamiliar to her. 'Come now, Anna, we're all waiting for you.' Anger, a burning sensation that sent flames into spiteful words. Annalise was riddled with a surging fire that singed the tip of her tongue.

'It's Annalise. You have no right to shorten a name you chose to die.' Her words were sharp, cutting through all who stood in her wake. With no further words, the young girl pushed past her escort and entered the train cart behind her. It was a lavish room with a cerulean sea themed design. Blues on the walls, curtains and carpets, the girl laughed. A sad attempt at a homely comparison was anything but the comforting intent it was meant for. Shaking her head, she seated herself beside the still shrivelling boy. She felt a great sorrow enter her soul as she glanced at him. An orphan forced to fight for nothing. No family, no home. No victory other than the accomplishment of impending brutality, provided for in a lifetime supply of trauma.