Final Reality (THG Fanfic)

Chapter XXIII

After watching Jaeda happily dive back into the water with the fishes, I decide to swim back to shore, trying to keep myself composed along the way. Cathal whacks a whole lot of water at my face and I respond the same, only without bliss. No one questions me as I walk back, which I’m glad about. I have no reason to retire back to shore. I really would like to stay in the water, but … I just can’t. Quent keeps a watchful eye on me as I rearm myself with my knives and take a seat next to him in the tree line. My eyes are trained on the cornucopia but in my peripherals, I can see Quent staring at me quizzically. I hug my knees to my chest and watch Jaeda jump onto Cathal’s back.

I bury my head into my arms, still hugging my knees to my chest, and feel a comforting hand on my back. It’s no question whose hand it is, and I don’t bother to retaliate. In fact, I welcome it. I accept it as a distraction. Here I am again, searching and chasing for distractions. “Wren, what’s wrong?” Quent softly asks, soothingly stroking my back. I really do wish I could tell him what is actually wrong, but instead of being my usual honest self, I have to lie to keep my dying friend alive.

Lifting my head from my knees and turning to face Quent, I realize I’ve been crying as tears stream down my face. He notices, too, and wraps an arm around my shoulders. When I don’t answer, he lifts me onto his lap and begins to rock me back and forth like an injured child, which would describe me almost perfectly. Quent makes me lean my head on his chest, stroking my head as I listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I try not to think about it stopping. Everything around me keeps reminding me of death, and how unavoidable it is. People may accept their death here and now, but I can never accept their deaths for myself. I can accept my own inevitable end, but accepting others’ deaths is beyond my capability, let alone the deaths of the innocent children I have grown to trust and love.

I feel Quent lift my chin and then his soft lips against my own, perhaps an attempt at stopping the tsunami erupting from my eyes. It doesn’t work to his surprise; all it does is stop me from breathing for a bit. I finally pull away and explode into a round of sobs and frantic breathing. At this moment, I am over the moon only because the rest of the group can’t see or hear me breakdown. I wouldn’t want them, especially Jaeda – everyone, in fact – to see me broken. The thought of Fletch and my parents seeing me like this sends something piercing through my heart. No matter how annoying he gets, and I may regret saying this later on, but for now it feels like the most honest thing in the world – I will always love Fletch.

“Shh, shh,” Quent interrupts, caressing my cheeks, “What’s going on?”

Although I can’t see his face through the blur of tears, I can tell he is more anxious than I previously assumed, so I manage to let a few words to escape in hope of calming him down. “H-Hey, everything’s … okay,” I stutter out. I try to act calm by stroking his cheek, but he catches my hand and warms it in his own.

“Stop lying,” I hear him whisper. I’m not sure he meant for me to hear it, but I do and agree with him anyway. I really should stop lying, especially to him. After what seems like forever, Quent softly pushes my head against to where his heart beats and orders me to sleep. Unlike Jaeda, I do as I am told and go out like a light.

Something familiar suddenly happens to me, more like déjà vu. The stench of oil, metal and blood makes my nose flinch and I finally recognize why everything seems so familiar. Around me, gravestones are erected, and a young elm tree is standing in front of me. It feels odd, something is very wrong with this scene. Where I stand now is where my grandmother and older brother should be buried, and over there, just a few gravestones away, should be the grave of Katri’s sister, Wynter. Instead, the land is flat. I kneel down and feel the ground beneath me, assuring myself what is happening is real. All is confirmed to be real. Still panicked, I climb the elm tree and take a look at my home district – or at least what seems to be my home district. I’m too scared to call it home.