If I had a voice {Chaske Oneshot | Day 4}

I walked all I could, and I have no idea where they are. Mason, Prism, Wyatt. They probably ran off without me leaving me behind to die by the stupid mutts that are still roaming through the arena prepared to kill anyone that stood in their way. My entire body was on fire. My heart weakly pulsated behind my chest sending the blood I needed for life throughout my body, yet it didn't make it far. It gushed from the huge laceration across my thigh. It spurted from the gaping hole in the middle of my chest. I'm going to die. My eyes rest on the throne sitting in the midst of the castle. A place to sit. A place to rest. Leaning forward, I allow my hands to shift through the rubble looking at the smaller pieces, for ones that could sit on top of my head for only a moment. A crown made by my own hands. One that nobody could take away. Tiny pieces forming jagged edges like a spike of a crown catch my attention. Grabbing a bunch of them I place them on top of my head as I continue fighting against the pain, and I sit in the throne.

A plaque labelled King Chaske should sit above my head. It's enough to make me laugh. It would only be better if peasants would kneel before me proclaiming "All hail king Chaske!" I know it won't ever happen because I'll either die in this place, or fight with my remaining strength. I inhale sharply, and it hurts. My lungs scream loud enough to remind me of the pain lurking in my body. Thud. Thud. Thud. My sound of my heart echoes through my mind as a fire ate it's away across my body, and I don't know how I didn't collapse from the pain. It was a pain I was used to. One that I could control, but nothing in this frozen arena would take away the pain flowing freely throughout my entire body. It hurt. Every breath. Each time my heart beat blood shot from the gaping hole in the middle of my chest. My lungs were on fire, and I felt like I was drowning on my own blood, but that wasn't the worse of my problems right now. Blood poured down my leg, and I stared at it for only a moment. My eyes fixed on the huge gash running along my thigh. Father and Mother forced this kind of pain upon my body every single day of my life.

Yet a pain lived inside my body that wouldn't go away. One that Wyatt caused when his ice pick sliced down my district partner before my own eyes. I'll never forget watching her fall to the ground as her cannon sounded. Her blood is still caked against my body and my clothing. I can't wash it away because it's all of her that I have left. Her scent still fills my nostrils with every gust of wind. "I love you." Those three words bounce around my skull in the same tone she spoke. "I love you. I love you. I love you." Love was such a powerful word. One that build a person up, but it could also send a person crashing down into the depths of a living hell.

Bloody hands reach inside my bag rummaging through my items looking for my medkit, for my plants, for anything to stop the pain. For anything to help alleviate the pain moving through my body. Somehow an egg hides in the corner of my backpack. One I've never seen before, and I have no idea how it got there, but one thing I've noticed: my spiked shoes are gone. Fragile fingers wrap around a set of plants inside my bag, and I bring them to my face allowing myself to eat them. Hopefully they'd take care of the pain. Hopefully it would offer me the motive I need to get up off this frozen ground, and move on, but nothing takes the pain away.

I take the bandages from my bag remove a bunch of them and bind the wound on my chest. Pressing the bandage as close to my skin as possible making the blood stop because without it my blood will rest around me, and I'll be gone forever. I remove my needle and thread. Gritting my teeth I force the laceration on my thigh together before shoving the needle through it. It hurts, but I keep myself calm. Screaming now would only draw those things closer as well as any tribute in the area. It'll bring them towards me. It'll kill me, but I'm alive. I'm alive and moving, but I don't understand why.

Why am I alive?

Why did she have to die?

Why didn't I die?

Why was it her and not me?

"It's all your fault, Chaske! It's all your fault!"

I keep rummaging through my bag looking for my medkit. Bandages to wrap my wounds up. My needle and thread to stitch my chest up, yet I don't know how possible it is anymore. I want to die. I don't want to be here anymore. Mystic left. She's probably already home now as her family mourns her life, yet I'm still here. I'm still alive, and giving up would only make her death in vane. She would've died without a cause. I'm the only one left from district nine now. I have to fight for her. For everyone that's back home. For Colgate. Has he ever forgave me for being rude on the train towards him and Mystic? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Apologies won't help now. She's gone, and I'll never see her again. The only way Colgate will know I'm sorry if is I win this thing and make it back to the Capitol alive, yet with every passing second going home in a box sounds so much more welcoming. How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that I let him kill her? That I let people around me die? I've witnessed death. I helped kill the tiny girl from twelve. Her face visits my dreams every time I close my eyes, and her face shines brightly in the reflection of the ice on the palace. Her face mixed with the face of Mystic. Two girls who needed my help. Two girls who died because of me. I didn't kill her, but it's my fault. It's my fault they're all dead. Every fperson here deserves the chance of living.

I deserve to die.

Like Mother and Father.

Like sister.

Like Chance.

Like the tiny girl from twelve.

Like Mystic.

Yet I'm alive. I'm breathing, and the agony grows more with every passing second. The cold weather does nothing but burn my skin. My toes are numb. My body aches. Cuts and scratches cover my entire body. Scars growing larger and deeper cutting past the flesh. I can't look at a wound anymore like Oh this is just a flesh wound because it's not. Blood spills across the snow. It's no longer pure like each of us. We were all innocent, but the moment the gong sounded it changed. Everyone of us tried killing people. We fought for survival, and now there's thirteen of us left.

Thirteen of us alive.

Boom!

Make that twelve.

The games are halfway over. They're halfway done, and somehow I'm still alive. Somehow my brothers are all living and forcing each other into ultimate survival, but in the end eleven more of us have to die. Eleven more. I will win. I'll go home with the crown on my head and sit in my palace with my walls built so high that nobody can penetrate them. Every kingdom has walls, and the strongest of men can push knock them down with the right amount of strength and skill. Mine will be made of metal. Metal that won't bend or break. Metal that won't crash down when someone comes knocking. I'll stand tall and proud. The thought brings me to my feet as I set out to searh for them.

But I can't find them.

Wyatt. Mason. Prism. All of them ran away, and now I can't find them. I'm lost staggering through the snow like a drunk person. Father drank so much I couldn't miss it. My eyes search through the area as I kick through the rubble of my palace floor. My fingers run along the stains of blood caked against the inside of the walls. If only I saw what it looked like before the walls crashed down. Broken fingers wrap around tiny pieces of rubble, and I dig my way through it looking for the bottom, yet something in the back of my mind screams I'll never find the bottom. I'll never know what it looked like before a storm tore through it. I sigh throwing the piece of rubble through the air as hard as I can.

Maybe the rest of the building will crash down around me ending my life forever.

Or maybe they'll find me. Maybe Mason will show up at any possible second to rescue me, but I doubt it. A brother is only a brother for so long. Chance was my brother. My twin brother, and he accused me of something I wouldn't ever do. Mother and Father are dead because of me. "It's your fault! You're worthless!"

No. I'm not worthless.

I'm a fighter.

I'll stand up for what I believe in.

And in the end the crown will be mine.

My palace walls will stand high as the praises rain down beside me.

The crown will be mine.

Because I am the king of the world.