After The Storm (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

Mnemosyne's Twin Sister - 3

"Hello!" Ever chirps.

Boo lunges right at her; he's here to win, not to talk. But his muddy hands close around nothing where he is expecting her neck, and as he crashes into the box, something explodes in his head.

"I have a shovel!" a girl's voice shouts from somewhere. Ugh. Where is he? And why does his head hurt? It feels like it might be splitting, but when he reaches up to run a hand over it, it aches but doesn't bleed. Footsteps scamper, echo, and vanish into the distance.

Why is he covered with mud? And how did he get this cut down his hand? He stumbles to his feet, one hand on his forehead. Shards of light are poking over the horizon, digging into his eyes. But the horizon isn't the buildings that he expects. It moves. He frowns at it, but he can't see properly. And he can't see much anyway because he's inside something metallic and gold, which isn't a normal colour at all for a house. And wherever he is, it’s stacked with boxes and bits and pieces and it looks like a warped kind of store cupboard, except with weapons in it too.

Nausea swirls around his stomach and he finds himself propped up against the wall, vision spinning. This isn't District Three. It's nowhere he's ever seen before, except that out there it's maybe what District Nine looks like. Wait...is it Nine that produces tesserae, or Ten?

And who was that girl, anyway? The one with the shovel? Did she hit him? And if so, why? He's sure that he'd never have done anything to hurt her. Her voice sounded different to the crisp clean accents he’s used to as well; rough and gritty under the slightly squeaky tones.

It's not just his hands that are covered in mud. His whole body is, and when he runs a hand through his hair, flakes drop onto his face. He feels it split with every movement, his real skin starting to show through. Did he fall or something?

"I'm Beau Comberant," he whispers to himself, to prove that he still remembers something, at least, because his breathing is starting to quicken and he knows that something very bad is happening, but he doesn't know what!

Is it Beau, or is it Boo?

He won't get any answers sat around here. Using his palms on the wall, he stutters back to his feet, resting his head on the cool wall until the dizziness stops. His palm stings when he balls his hands into fists and he gasps; he’s hurt. Was that the girl with the shovel? Steadily, he opens up his hand to see the cut, weeping slightly and with the skin around it puffy and red raw. There are little marks where his nails have dug in. How long has it been since he cut his nails? He doesn’t like them this long; they scratch. His hand is shaking slightly.

He looks around the floor, confused by the stacked boxes. None of this is normal, none of it makes any sense.

If he finds out where he is, he’ll find out what is going on, slowly.

“Hello?” he calls out, half ready to run away in case it’s the girl with the shovel. But the only reply is a distant whispering noise that is probably the grass. It’s too fluid, nothing like the steady comfortable buzz of the factories back home. He’s sure that he’s nowhere near home now. How is he going to get back? His parents will be worried, his mother frantically rushing about the district, his father trying to calm her down. He can almost smell the soft powdery aura of his mother, clutching him tightly in a warm doughy hug; everything is okay now, love. Do they know he’s here? Does anybody?

Is there anybody else here too, or is he alone with the girl who obviously doesn’t like him? His forehead creases, more flakes of mud flickering past his eyes. He doesn’t like not being liked. He remembers that time when he’d flown at Jen for whatever reason – now foggy – and he’d cried afterwards, in case she didn’t like him for it.