Final Reality (THG Fanfic)

Chapter III

Someone shakes me awake. “Wren? Wren, you awake?” the voice says.

“No, I’m training how to die,” I retort. I hear a smirk and a snotty remark from behind me, and feel myself being boosted up from the cold floor of the Capitol train. I stand up, but I instantly regret it when I realize I have a throbbing headache. Out of instinct, I tentatively lift my hand to my forehead, groaning as I do. I almost collapse back onto the floor, but the person quickly catches me and carefully guides me onto a soft plush sofa. I hear him call for assistance, and I notice he has an accent but I can’t quite make out what part of the world he may come from. I know it’s not a Capitol accent since I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between an accent and twisted gibberish.

I feel a hand behind my neck, cool against my skin, they prop me into a sitting position and give me a light shake on the shoulder. I finally decide it’s time to open my eyes, but I instantly regret it when the blinding lights of the train chandeliers pierce into my eyes. I shield my eyes like a vampire protecting itself from the sun. “Woah, slow down there,” someone says, this time it’s a female’s voice. “Open your eyes slowly,” she advises, stretching the word ‘slowly’. I cover my eyes with my hands and open them, slowly parting my fingers like blinds. “You have very pretty eyes,” the lady with the thin blond hair comments as she pulls my hands away from my face.

I’m surprised how young this lady appears to be, but then I remember who she is. Her name’s Lorna Walker and she’s the victor of the 67th Games. But most know her for 1. never succumbing to the addictive drug we call morphling, 2. winning her year at the age of fifteen – making her the youngest victor of District 6 – and 3. as unbelievable as it is, Lorna didn’t kill anyone that year. I remember her year vividly. The arena full of poison, and the only things free from contamination only came from sponsors. I am most certainly lucky to have her as one of my mentors this year.

I give her a smile, and thank her. But I’m distracted by the boy sprawled across the violet sofa in the corner of my eye. Onion … No, Cathal is his name – Cathal Runyon. I’m not very familiar with Cathal; he’s a few months younger than me, but we’re the same age. We were in different classes, so we never really socialized, although we were aware of each other’s existence. Well, at least I was aware of his.

There’s a pale-skinned man and a few Capitol assistants bent over Cathal, trying to wake him up. “Baron hit the crap out of you two when you both refused and protested to enter the train without bidding farewell to your families,” Lorna clarifies as she grabs a cup of what I think to be tea. “Sean and I couldn’t do anything, I’m sorry, but Baron had to have the final say.” Yes, yes, now I remember. ‘New procedure,’ he announced when Cathal and I entered the Justice Building. It was ridiculous we weren’t given the chance to see our families before being sent off to hell. It’s just not fair.

But what turns my attention away from that matter is that one of my mentor’s is Sean. He’s our most recent victor, but he is a morphling addict. I think he’s twenty-six years old this year, being crowned victor eight years ago. Sean’s the one I hope to relate to most, even though he’s addicted to morphling, he was the oldest tribute in his year, as am I. I don’t remember much of his Games, I just recall him being strapped to one of the whipping posts behind the school for pulling a prank on the teachers. That was the most horrid thing I had watched since JD’s death. The principal gathered every class from every year to the whipping courtyard behind the school to humiliate Sean. Yes, we had a whipping post at our school – two, actually – and Sean was one of the few who have a survived a whipping in Six.

So, long story short, Sean had about forty whips before we were dismissed. After that, he shocked everyone in the district by volunteering for the Games. No one knows why but there were two main theories as to why he volunteered: a) he wanted to show everyone he was still strong, and b) he wanted to destroy his existence.

“Is Cathal alright?” I inquire.

Lorna hands me a cup of tea from a Capitol assistant, saying it helps with headaches. “I guess so,” she answers, staring at the unconscious boy on the couch, “You were hit first, so we were anticipating for you to come around initially. And you did. Cathal’s just getting more assistance because he took the harder hit from Baron.”

I glance at Lorna looking at Cathal, and a take a sip of my tea. “The harder hit?” I ask her as I notice how the tea instantly soothes my throbbing headache.

She opens her mouth to answer, but closes as the boy, lying unconscious, begins to stir. Lorna speedily makes her way towards him, startling me with her sudden departure. I hear Cathal groan the same way I did. Our mentors and the Capitol assistants rushing around as I silently drink my soothing tea. As I drink my tea, I am reminded of how JD and I or sometimes the whole family used to go over to Nan’s and drink her own homemade concoction of sweet tea. It used to put me right to sleep.

Cathal coughs a bit and I see him being helped into a sitting position. His light brown hair is all tousled, but it doesn’t hide the swollen bump on his temple. Sean applies a greenish cream to Cathal’s wound and signals everyone to leave the carriage, leaving just the four of us alone.

“Hey, you okay?” Lorna asks softly, gently stroking his hair down.

Cathal clears his throat. “Yeah,” he swallows hard, “Yeah, I’m alright. Is Wren okay?”

“Ask her yourself,” Sean replies annoyingly, nonchalantly gesturing to me with his thumb. And that’s when Cathal and I meet eyes; a flicker of remembrance rings in my mind, as he was the one who escorted me to the Reaping only hours ago. “She’s in a stable condition; still breathing, as you can see. No sign of abnormal behaviour, or any symptoms of any major diseases.” Sean glares at me, “Aside from the sarcasm, I’d say she’s okay.”

I ignore the comment and continue to drink my tea, but I hear Cathal let out a smirk. And I can’t help but blush a bit. Lorna cuts in before I can think up something witty, “I’ll help you to your room.” I see Lorna cradle Cathal’s arm, and he begins to stand, his head almost grazing the crystal chandelier overhead. “You guys need some rest before we send you two into the remake centre.”

“What about food?” Cathal moans childishly as I try not to laugh. To be honest, I am feeling a bit peckish – and when I say ‘a bit peckish’, I really mean hungry as fuck.

Lorna giggles cutely, “Of course. I’ll have someone run some food by in around five hours.” I hear Cathal happily sigh a yes! before the door shuts behind them.

All I hear now is the beat of my heart and Sean packing up all the medicine and tea. Sean and I exchange a few glances and nods, but we don’t talk. But all the while, I wonder whether or not he remembers my scrunched up baby face and my mousy brown hair from that afternoon in the courtyard. How hundreds of kids, young and old, watched as he screamed his head off in pain. I wonder if I’m the only one that can still hear the shrieks that whip caused to that cheeky, little boy. I wonder, after how many lashes, when does it stop hurting.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden, Wren?” Sean questions me, with his back facing me, “Out of insults and witty comebacks?” Instead of retaliating, I continue to wonder. Are there scars under that blouse? Is his back still red? Does it occasionally bleed when his back is stretched?

“Nothing,” I say. In my head, I can see blood seeping through Sean’s shirt, and I can hear the cracks of the whip – every single one of them – hit his naked skin. Sean’s screeching voice echoes in my ears. Men in white sniggering as a member of her posse lifted the whips once again. A few kids wailing, a few others begging teachers to make the peacekeepers stop. But what could they do? They were powerless to the stigma of fear the peacekeepers brought upon the district. They were powerless as us. “Nothing,” I repeat.