Between|the|Raindrops [Semp]

Before I got here I never really noticed candles. They were pointless nonsense that were too expensive for me and my friends. Tempus couldn't afford much but costumes and food. But tonight, I can't believe I ever lived without them. The dancing flame on the end of the wick that almost goes out if you blow on it but flickers back up almost instantly. The flame is so unruly, untamed - beautiful. The dance the flame does is much more elegant than the lights that shine in through my window. I've had to throw piles of pillows over the window to keep the harsh, flashing lights of the Capitol out. These people never seem to sleep. I can hear the whir of car engines and the chants of some as they all wait for the Bloodbath to begin. And this year, I'm being forced to participate. But right now, the candle is soothing, watching the single flame flicker on above a pool of scented red wax. My mother never liked candles. I watched her throw them all out her bedroom window when I was young. The glass that surrounded the wax shattered, the wax mushing between my toes when I stepped on it. I asked her why, but she never replied. She only squeezed my hand and I watched as the tears in her eyes never fell. She was always strong like that. She could hold them in - lately I've been failing with that.

I ignore the few sounds that reach into my room from outside and turn my focus back on the candle. The room is not dark with all the candles I had ordered up here. I had stopped an Avox in the hallway and asked very politely for 50 extra candles to be brought up to my room. He looked confused, but like all Avoxes I suppose didn't say a single word. And when I got back to my room, there 50 candles, all the same scent , waiting patiently for me to light there tips. It took so long, but when they were all finally lit, I lay on my bed and stared at one, the one that seemed to shine the brightest. Even in the dark I could read the label: Blood Red Rose, as if the scent had been taken from a pure white rose they would've been different. When I breath in, I can feel myself drifting away on a bed of roses. The scent is overwhelmingly strong. Suffocating almost. But there is a comfort to it. I miss roses. Real roses. The rich people back in six always threw them up on stage after we had a nice performance. I miss their smell. I miss the way the petals felt between my fingers. I even miss the way the thorns on the stem prick my finger.

I miss home.

I've missed home since I left. And with so many candles lit around the room I can pretend that I am back home in the stuff old boxes of Tempus, trying to get some sleep. But I know I'm not. I'm not ever going to be home again. The thought has finally drilled itself into my brain - so much so that I have become quite numb to the fact. I can't feel a thing anymore. But I don't want to drift away from reality. So whenever I feel myself unable to feel anything - fear, hopelessness, despair - I make sure to cut my tongue open again until I cry. I don't think my tongue has ever stopped throbbing since that day in my private training session. I'm not sure the tears have ever truly stopped flowing from my eyes since the day my name boomed around District 6. My eyes have never stopped being puffy and red. It doesn't really matter how much make-up I throw on over them, they just seem to burst through anyways. Because I'm not sure who I am anymore. I have focused on staying who I am for so long, and then when something in my life takes such a dreadful turn I am suddenly lost. That girl that was at my interview scared me - but she also felt ... good. She scares me so much, worries me, terrorizes me, but feels so great. What the hell is happening to me?

And before I know what is going on, I feel myself pushing off my bed and my bare feet landing on the floor. I don't know where I am going, but I know I have to be somewhere. I have to go. Now. I breath in another burst of rose filled air and wonder if maybe I drowned in it. The scent is now carrying me away to the heavens - up into the clouds. I open my door and glance up and down the corridor. I don't want anyone to see my soul walking into the sky - they might think they can follow me. I don't want to be followed, not by anyone. I want to go away alone. I want to float away on a soft fluffy cloud all by myself - away to a secret place. A rose garden. An ocean. That special place beyond the Capitol that no one wants to know about. To the stars. Maybe I can even go back home. I step into the empty hallway, not bothering to close the door behind me. Now everyone who still has to suffer this world can enjoy the sweet tang of roses. I stop in front of a door. A big door, one like mine, and I can see the cloud just oozing from behind the door. I let my knuckles tap, tap, tap against the door. The sound echoes in my ear, so I decide to hold my head against the door. The grain of the wood flows up close - like a river. I want someone to hear me, but I know that no one will listen but the door, so I whisper as softly as I can. "Please take me home."

I can feel the tiny rivers in the door pulling me in, the current bringing my hand to the doorknob. I turn it slowly, not wanting to disturb the peace and push against the door. The silver hinges don't even squeak - I could've sworn all door hinges made a sound. The smell of roses is still strong just behind me- not far away I can see my open door. I step into the room, one that looks almost identical to mine, and that there is no cloud to fall into. No rose bushes or oceans or stars. A boy I know appears out of no where. Theseus. But I just want to go away from here, to disappear. This place, this horrible and beautiful place, I want to leave it behind. Why can't I go home? My heart beat is all I can here now. Where is that thing that will take me away? When can I go leave? I feel tears running down my cheeks and I let myself crumple onto the floor. Becoming a sniffling mess and really not caring who sees me. Because I'm scared of this place, of what it is doing to me, of what will happen to me when I need to pick up a weapon. I'm going to die tomorrow. I don't know what to do anymore - I've finally lost myself.

"Theseus," I swallow hard, ignoring how hard it is to pronounce his name correctly. "I wanna go home." It's nothing more than a whimper. Like I'm a wounded animal. I push my fingers into my mouth, forcing it t open, touching my tongue. Pain shoots through it when I press down but I couldn't care less at the moment. I guess I am a wounded animal cornered in a trap waiting to die.