Blame The {Night} On :Me: [kara!]

She was going crazy, she was sure, and the blood didn't help as it oozed over her white knuckles, down her fingers, spilling onto the soft dirt around the bare soles of her feet. Her shoes were sprawled a few feet away, abandoned in the dipping sun, and their worn patent leather glistened under the pinks and blues, the burning oranges of sunset that reminded her of fireplaces in the winter. Willa, herself, was leaning against the south wall of what seemed to be a small farmers-hut, her arched form slowly crumpling down into the merciful hands of the meadow, and she tried to clear her mind, close her eyes. Blades of green grass tickled the tip of her nose as she tried to lay still, to embrace the moist coolness of the earth, and there the sounds of the crickets came to her more clearly. She could hear the anticipation in their voices as they chirped for the crawl of evening and night, when the serenading sessions could finally begin, scheduled nocturnally and guaranteed satisfactory to quiet listeners. “A poor man’s concert”, her father had once called it. “For the avoxes and the outcasts…” They had walked to the border the day he had said that, on a family field trip to both enjoy the sunshine and pass the time. Willa had enjoyed the excursion immensely (while her brothers had seemed more interested in discussing broad hunger games statistics), and she peered through the coiled gates into the land beyond, the churning in her stomach both frightening and exciting at the sight of the foreign trees and grass, wildflowers. Everything so vibrant and full of color and really, really truly alive. But what, as she vaguely recalled now, had attracted her most, was the raw and unevenness of it, unlike the pots of trimmed roses and evergreens scattered throughout the district. This kind of scenery was different… dangerous, and untouched by human hands, and therefore indubitably alien.

It was the unknown, and irresistible that way. Overwhelmingly, beautifully strange to her, and she had to keep her fingers from reaching through the fence as father explained the laws and forbiddances of the outside world. How no one was ever allowed under or over the gate, meant to keep the claws of vicious animals away and civilians safe under capitol supervision. He told of horror stories about large brown bears and rattling snakes, and even delinquent runaways snarling at young children through the barbed wire, and snatching toddlers away from distracted parents if they made the mistake of drawing too close, and they were never to be seen again.
If the stories’ contents didn’t get across to the Jaciak children, it was the fervent, almost desperate tone of their father’s voice, and his sputtering, violent glare that had them on edge for the rest of the day. By time it was dark, they were asking to leave and return home, where it was safe and familiar. Anything to get away from the fence, and the animals and the criminals, and they all headed home jumpy and agitated, even their mother, Lauren, taking short breaths and long strides. Only father seemed to be at ease, with a small smile, and he even let them go to career-training a bit later than usual the next day: all due to his good mood.

After that, Willa decided she would never return to the fence. A long while ago she had learned to not trust herself, or at the very least suppress her initial instincts… always. They had only ever gotten her in trouble or worse, and for once she wanted to do the right thing. So every walk home from school, she would push her legs forward, and march back home, always on the right side of the street, always one foot in front of the other. And she would look straight ahead, and think about training that evening, and not even glance down the small paths that she knew would ultimately lead to the outskirts of District One. And in this way she made her way back home, day after day, until she gradually forgot all about the family trip, and the border, and the lush life behind the fence. One might even call it her… one and only true success in training… perhaps in will power and obedience, or the ability to tell herself “no”. And in the back of her mind, this newfound control quietly pleased her, the fact that she could place limits and follow through.

But that had all been a long time ago, before the nightmares and everything else. A time where she could only remember bits and pieces of things, grasping at them like marbles. It was odd, because the best memories weren’t particularly extravagant (for example… receiving large birthday gifts or having one’s first kiss); they were wonderfully average. Like sitting down to dinner, and practicing archery in the training center with her brothers, all shooting at the same target, together. Going to grade school and talking with kids her age, listening to teachers drone on and on about District Thirteen as she looked out the window, to watch the day’s events unfold outside. Remembering those things made her happy, despite the lack of luster. They gave her that floating feeling…

Finally, about a month ago, she had gone back to the border for the first time in a long time. During noon, when she’d seemed less suspicious in the broad daylight, just a curious teenager, as the peacekeepers ate their lunches and listened to the hum of the electricity running through the fence. It was just like she remembered… the twisting vines, the mossy rocks. The soft patter of squirrels and the faint chirping of mockingjays in the distance. It took her breath away, but soon a peacekeeper was peering over at her around the folds of his uniform, watching her with wary but unwavering green eyes, and she reluctantly pulled herself away and turned back.

She returned the next week. And the week after that. She had forgotten what really drove her to reunite with the fence and the border, but soon she felt herself addicted to the… the rush of standing so near to the other side, just out of reach. So she came again and again and again, until the idea popped into her mind.

Getting over the fence was harder than she thought it would be, and the metal spikes tore at her skin as she kneed her way through a small gap in a broken section of the structure; she had finally found that critical impairment after scouring and searching for something, anything, that she could use to get to the other side. There it had stood, alone and so obviously broken, that she wondered whether it was just a trap to lure would-be runaways to their imprisonments. But she knew she had to try anyway… and it seemed like the only chance she would get in a long while. So she set to testing the fence for electricity, coming back at obscure hours in the night to unsteadily lower tree branches and rocks into the electric field… but it seemed that that portion of the fence was broken (something that the peacekeepers were obviously aware of, as they continuously linked their shifts back to the literal hole-in-the-wall). Finally, after double checking for any sign that the power had been turned back on somehow, she built up the courage… and holding her breath as the peacekeepers walked by, she pulled herself through to the other side. Before she could think twice about it and turn back.

It was better than any drug, and amount of runner’s high… or anything else she had ever felt in her lifetime. The adrenaline coursed through her body, not unlike the voltages of electricity she was looking to avoid, and it was strange and unfamiliar, but wonderful, like a bath filled with ice. In the dark she could make out only the shapes of the trees, running her hands along the bark as she passed, although the ground under her feet was jet black. But she knew she had to keep running either way… staying near the fence was suicide, she scrambled away from the border into the real nothingness (the nothingness behind the plants and the trees near the fence… the nothingness she had never seen before in her life) away from District One altogether.

Surviving in the wild was also harder than Willa had guessed it would be. She was able to catch the slower animals, but most of them were quick and cleverly-witted, and she had to retrieve her knives and spears sullenly from the ground, where they dug into the earth, the animal already long gone and lost in the foliage and definitely not pierced under the sharp weapons meant to catch them. She once found a tree with a large enough nook to curl up in for the night, but more commonly she would have to climb into its branches and lay down to rest. It rained sometimes too, but the weather was warm enough that she didn’t need a coat to pull over her worn grey t-shirt.

She had walked for what seemed like months, in a large circle, or rather, a half-circle of considerable distance. She knew this when she found the fence again, because it wasn’t that of District One, smooth and well-cut like she remembered, and besides, she hadn’t been walking along the border for fear of unwanted attention. Yet… well, she couldn’t tell exactly which district it was. Overgrown trees and shrubs blocked most of the uneven barrier, although patches of rough barbed wire occasionally popped into sight as her eyes darted along the ridge. She quietly closed in, pressing herself against the trunk of a large oak, as she peered over the coils of metal. Rows upon rows of crops crept up into her vision, and she could make out the dotted outlines of a few small huts and shacks… she paused to put two and two together; this had to be District Eleven, the agricultural district. Images of girls and boys dressed in long robes made of carrots and stalks of celery, tiny pitchforks and bales of hay scattered all over their attire at the Opening Ceremonies… “The District Eleven tributes!” one would announce, and the District Eleven chariot would roll by in a flurry of colored vegetables and earthy tones. Yes, this was definitely that District. And she found herself wanting in, after travelling for so long without the will to keep going. She didn’t know what she had been thinking, all those nights ago when she had first stepped into the wild. She was not cut out to be a runaway. Not yet, anyway. And right now she needed to restock her supplies, and maybe rest a little on solid ground. Then she would leave, she assured herself.

The next week or so was much like those weeks of preparation to escape. She had to search for an opening of some kind, and then make sure the fence wasn’t pumped. The fence seemed to have more gaps that she had suspected, to her pleasant surprise, although most of them were either too small or too electric. Finally, she found a gap big enough to crawl through without the threat of energized currents, although it was a tight squeeze. There were also more peacekeepers standing guard, naturally, and she took note of their cycles until finally she was able to tip-toe through.

[wip]