rixton | d7 | fin

The burning liquid made it’s way down you throat, causing a grimace in disgust. God, the you happy. thought runs through your mind at the taste of the liquid. It burned, it made it’s way down their throat as the pleasure of the drink makes you shiver in pleasure. It’s been sixty nine years you’ve been alive in this world dancing with lies and secrets, dancing in the velvet red substance in liquid form that files out of someone’s body until a cannon would sound signaling their death. One of those people was a person that you’ve known throughout their childhood, they were a sweet one, that one.

Stella Summit. The bane of the millions of problems that have filled the family. Once upon a time there was a kingdom, held in the center by one mother and her children, known as the princes and princesses of the kingdom. The Summits were not just a family; they’re almost a kingdom, how many there are of them.

Your wrinkled old skin would reveal the undeniable age, the sixty-nine years that were filled with pleasure, happiness and even the source of depression. Sixty-nine years that were filled with the millions of rebirth in the family of Summits, the years were long at first but now they seem to be flying by, almost as if you were to be racing towards death. Death is not the most foreign thing to you, having faced the death of your granddaughter; Stella Summit. It was a devastating day for everyone, and for weeks and months it seemed that there would be no speech to be erupted from the house and just the pleads, begging the one request that they all wish for.

Stella Summit, please come home. That’s all they wish for, and every single wish that was mumbled upon them failed to come true. Wishes never come true, this is something that you’ve learned as a child. As a child you had many friends, ones that you loved and kept in touch with. There were other friends that you never spoke to again; as people said you used to love with a love like no other. The love erupted from a smile full of joy that filled your heart.  They were the best person that ever came into his life, and they had gotten killed for stealing. They got careless of their actions, despite the smile always upon their face.

They said they had nobody that cared for them, but it was a lie that screamed from her mouth in the form of a whisper because it had spoken directly at you. because, in fact, someone did care for her. A slight breath escapes your lips, remembering it as a moment that stabbed you in the heart; telling you that love is definitely a fairy tail, definitely a wish.

Wishes don't come true in Panem.

Your iced blue eyes would look down the bottle in hand, however refusing to shove more of the burning liquid that burned your throat down. It was almost like medicine, taken often and to make them feel better, the pleasure is almost melodic to you. The memory of her, the memory of one of your own family going into a battlefield of screamed fears and hushed pleasures. The pleasures of being able to kill another, to make it known that you are going to try to go home-- But, most of the time those thoughts are crumpled up and thrown into the trash can from the firing of a cannon and the very end of a heartbeat. One of those heartbeats belonged to Stella Summit. She died too quick, her heartbeat quickening down to none almost as if it were in a race to stop beating even though you knew that she didn't want to stop beating. She wanted to keep breathing, keep beating.

You have a large home. A large family, even. The need for a victors home is useless, the size of the family can fit into the home you live in anyways. What had happened to the family that was bustling with happiness and joy, the family that you loved so much? How did it just go all to dust and whispered secrets and horrified silence as there is one less person in this household. One less person to feed, but one less person that brought a love that nobody else could bring inside of the house.

Another seizing moment of the fiery liquid rushes down your throat, reminding you of all the wasted time spent on wishing upon those silly stars, the stars that shot across the sky and mother would tell you, "Well, look at that, Rixton. Make a wish! Maybe someday it'll come true."

"Do those wishes really come true, 'Ma?" You asked her, looking up at her with the innocent eyes that you owned.

"As long as you don't tell anyone what you wished for, Rick, they'll come true." 'Ma had said, looking down into your eyes with her brown eyes and chocolate brown hair resting down her shoulder. She gave birth to you at the age of seventeen, and even then she was older than the Hunger Games itself. You would always ask her about times before those games, times before the world had resulted to killing off children to keep peace. You always were hopeful that there'd be peace again, peace like the days 'Ma had told you about. That was what you'd wish about, for times to go back as they were before. Peace. For one to be able to trust another with a blade in their hand and not be forced to attack in order to claim a crown and some lousy house and food where the rest of the people in your home are starving.

"'Ma, why don't some of my wishes come true then?"

"Some of them you just can't earn, the things are broken, expelled from the possibility of becoming real."

Wishes don't come true in Panem.

Though, you can make a wish. You can waste your time, your hopes and dreams on that wish. You can dream of it not being a wish and becoming a reality. Panem's too broken and expelled from the possibility of becoming peaceful.

Go ahead, time is waiting.