we are so alike, you and I

As she watches Justice’s leg fall to the ground with a defining thud, her breath catches in her throat. There’s pain in a part of her that no longer exists, and she’s clawing at the plastic that covers the scarred, mutilated flesh beneath. She can’t breathe, her lungs aren’t functioning. Once more she’s drowning in her own pain, any sense of the world fading out, her screams filling that bright fake sky that was her prison. Xanthus is before her, her dear best friend, and he’s bleeding, he’s dying. His face shifts and suddenly Roger is there, and before she knows it the flickering beauty of an Opal blinks in her direction. A strong, blood-covered hand shakes within its grasp.

”But don't make me suffer like she did?” The tormented words are a knife to her gut.

She gasps, shifting upwards to stand on shaking legs. Sweat beads at her forehead as she sucks the air in, the lights in the room flickering against her vision. This isn’t happening.

”Opal…” The pleading in Xanthus’ voice is as thick as Roger’s. ”Stop, I don’t want to kill you,” she chokes, the words little more than a whisper. She doesn’t want to do this, not again. She’s so tired of it all, why can’t it just end. She steps closer to the television, Xanthus’ broken body siting on the screen. Stop. The ache in her bones wants this to be over. Stop. And she swings once more, swinging, hoping that it might be the end. Why did she have to go through this again? Roger’s body falls to the ground, and the canon fires, jolting her back to a messy reality.

Opal’s on her knees in front of the television, watching as Justice moves, watching the pain that mirrors her own. Gasping for air she scrambles to her feet, fingers digging into her palms as she closes her eyes. It’s not the same. Biting her lip she drags herself over to the wall, the cool surface a welcome relief for her unsettled mind. It’s not the same. She repeats, but it doesn’t stick. Because even now she can hear the chants of the crowds and even now, as Ceasar Flickerman pops on screen to commentate, she knows. Suddenly she’s standing in that wasteland once more, her opponent a fierce female from district seven. Suddenly that weak girl is holding the weight of her family’s name, because how dare she lose this last fight. Suddenly a title she had never wanted was so close.

Oh and how she knows it is the same for him. How she has watched him struggle the day his name was called, the weight of the word Fray, a stain on his soul. How she has watched him struggle and not want to be here and cover it up with humour just as she had.

With a trembling lip and shaking legs she slids downwards. Her eyes burn, because she knows that it is more then that. The pressure is building in her chest and she isn't sure how long she sits there, staring aimlessly ahead. Not even the Anthem playing on the screen can draw her attention. The tears slip out, one by one, because she knows that it is more then this. She knows that the weight of her own name -even buried beneath Earnest- still stings. Even now she can feel it, knowing that it is what made her greedily need and want this new victor. Even though she wanted Justice to come home for all the right reasons her parents had taught her the wrong. She couldn’t help, but want to fulfill those desires as well. Sixteen years of conditioning was impossible to break.

She drags herself upwards, silencing her tears. No. She iss better than this, it is just the pressure she is under, her reasons are not evil. She thinks about Potato, knowing that she is stronger than this, knowing that even when she had two tributes of her own and that name against her, she still fought for what she loved. She wants Justice home because he is her tribute. She thinks of Katelyn, of the woman who fought tooth and nail. Of the woman who helped and helped and helped. Of the woman who put everyone second and herself last. The person she admires and respects. It is why she is where she is, it is why she had ran around like a maniac, scraping together money for Justice to get him everything he needed. She’d decided that she’d always put herself second to those tributes. She wants him home because he deserves it and she’d be damned if she let him die.

He’s just a kid.

”Fight, Justice,” she says. ”Come home.”