The 1st Writer Games: Powers

Task #9 - Responses (Females)

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.: Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Edison :.

Tiamera’s body lies on the floor next to me and I don’t know how it got there.

She’s bleeding out from a wound in her side that once, a lot time ago, would have made me sick, but now it’s just normal. I have seen so much; fire and flames and mutts. I’ve seen people drowned, poisoned, burnt, stabbed, decapitated, killed in so many ways that I would never have thought of. So much blood, so little glory. How long have I been here? It feels like forever. Months, drowning out the life I had before.

And I’ve killed too, let’s not forget that.

The wound in Tiamera’s side matches the sword in my hand, but I don’t remember using it. I don’t remember much since seeing Benoit’s face in the sky.

That boy…the boy from Nine. I can’t even remember his name but he’s dead too; he lies bobbing in the water with one of my crossbow quarrels sticking out of his chest. He was trying to fly away. I don’t blame him. I don’t think he’d even seen me before I shot him.

I shot him.

It has been a night of bloodshed and all of it, my fault.

The sun is rising over the purple waves. It strikes my face, cold even though it should be warm. The waves are calm, ripples. The sand glitters under my knees, the colours sparkling. I dig my fingers in and more colours are revealed, subtle changes, like small gems ground down into tiny little grains. Behind me, the mountain is calm and the forest, the scene of so many nightmares, is peaceful. It isn’t just me out here, but I feel like it could be. Especially if I just look out this way. I am torn from my family, from my friends, and now even Benoit is gone. I am alone.

 It could be the last time I ever see this, the sun waking up the whole of Panem. Today the sun will shine on everybody. It will touch every district. Including home.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I just nod, the sun glinting off the metallic clusters in front of me. Orange and purple streaks across the sky, the last of the night’s stars fading away for the day. The fluorescent orange lights below don’t affect the sky; probably a happy accident rather than planning. Not many people here care about being able to see the stars. Just me and Watson.

“Are you cold?” he asks, sprawled against the vent. Air is blasting out of it, ruffling his hair and adding a low throbbing noise under the whole scene. The air is warm and I’m not even shivering, despite the thin, crumpled shirt that I wear for work.

“No,” I tell him, “Are you?”

“Not here.”

I look away from him, out over my district. I can see my own house, hunched in the distance, close to the fence. They’ll have been looking for me, but by now they’ll have assumed that I stayed on overtime at work. Well, I guess I have. I haven’t left the building, anyway.

“Reaping soon,” I mutter. I don’t mean to, it just slips out. Spark’s first reaping. My last. Watson’s second to last. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Eliza –“

“Lizzie,” I correct him, knowing full well that he won’t listen.

“Eliza. We’ll be fine,” he assures me. I lean back so he’s supporting my weight; he’s warm and solid and comfortable. He shifts so he can curl a strand of my hair around his finger.

“We’ll be fine,” I repeat, but it doesn’t make me feel less queasy. His other hand presses something into mine, something thin and red. It’s a wire, presumably stolen. I frown at it. He notices my uncertainty.

“Just in case. It’s for your bracelet.”

My bracelet, my only piece of jewelry. As he wraps an arm around me, I wind it into the coloured wires that represent my family. There. Now Watson is always with me too.

“It is beautiful,” I sigh, turning my attention back to the sunrise. The sun itself is half over the jagged horizon, lively orange. He laughs slightly. I feel it rather than hearing it.

“Just think. Whatever happens, the sun will always rise.”

“That’s so obvious that it’s meaningless,” I point out. He laughs again, the arm around my waist tightening. I allow myself a small, contented smile. If I could stay here all day, I would.

“Is it, though?” he asks, in that tone that means he’s trying – and failing – to be mysterious, “Is it meaningless?”

No, Watson. No it isn’t. The sun pokes its head over the horizon, fearful of what the day may bring. And so am I. But that doesn’t matter.

Whatever happens, the sun will always rise.

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.: Gemini Coinreed - District Eleven :.