dangerous woman | { lux vs. nakom, day four }

The beast takes the force of my blunt before it swoops down and sinks it's teeth into my skin. It is thirsty for my flesh, my blood; a fetish for the gore, I figure that there isn't much differences between my dreams and this creature's dreams. We have the same hunger, we are greedy for the same sensations.

I spin around, eyes fixated on the beast's beauty that mesmerises me. I cannot give in to the Capitol's illusions and see the mechanisms underneath that are programmed to kill; I guess that I'm similar in that way, too—except I am the product of Four's past and present.

Four's homegrown killer, I hope to be their future. It has been too long since faith was restored in Four. We have seen turmoil and brutality and we have been on the receiving end. Hurricanes and tsunamis that threatened our lives so easily and bitterly. They added salt to our wounds and it stung, but we put on brave faces and were resilient. For ourselves, for each other and for the greatness that we know we can forge.

Gone are the days of doubt and insecurity—time has severed me from the weakness and stitched me into the strength that was always there, and always welcoming. I was ignorant, I was too proud and wanted to be the missing piece. Little did I know that I was the missing link.

Career—when I didn't deny it, I wrote myself into life's chapters with ease.

The butterflies stick to my skin and I become a figure of vibrancy in the Capitol's dark. I do not let myself feel the pain and concentrate only on escaping this calamity so that I can find my own calm, and find Hero in one piece.

I dart around to try and mislead these creatures but they are like a shadow and mimic my every move. I figure that there is no escaping this even if I wanted to. Surrender is for lovers and I am a self-proclaimed fighter who just wants to live and breathe in peace.

Life's sweet nectar forcing me to be to the harsh, domineering battleaxe that brews destruction in her mind and proves it in her fingertips. I am not afraid to kill the Capitol's creation, not after I've killed a real girl, an actual human person.

It probably makes me a monster because I choose not to dwell on the aftermath of sending a girl into the depths of Hell, but I do not care. Sometimes the monsters are the things that win, and I have a desire to be alive in one week's time with a crown on my head.

I am Four's dangerous girl, a dangerous woman like those who has prospered before me. I don't want to be like them, though. I want to be the one to tell my story.

The beast tries tastes my tale before it is complete, I can only respond with conflict and combat.

Fire in my veins, blood in my eyes—all storms come to an end, no matter how brutal or beautiful.

I cut deep once again, the creatures swooping and squirming under my reign over the waterfall. It flies higher, feeling the wind beneath it's wings; blood dripping slowly from above like rain onto my skin. It is not like my blood, it isn't red that denotes danger or destruction—it is black.

Absolute like the black of night shadows on dark waters; I inhale the scent of the creature's coming death, feeling the power in my lungs before feeling the surge of energy in every other part of my body. Stark and true black is a reminder of the differences between the beast and I; similarities are quickly cast aside to make way for the qualities that cut through to divide.

Heart, mind, emotion, sensation, love, lust, passion, desire—creatures lack the traits that would make them human. They lack the heartstrings that are so easy to tug and cut, the mind that is complex enough to communicate effective strategies and comprehend the call of a cuckoo. And mutts are free of emotion; the things that ties itself too tightly to the things you want not need, the things that mislead and misguide you through life with such ease.

Though I am no slave to my emotions, I have heart and mind; not a beast, no, I'm a girl.

The animal still manages to hit hard after being slashed and broken and bruised by my strength; it's teeth digging deep into my chest until I see blue and red. With each breath, it feels like the pain is amplified, as if my consciousness is in limbo. The black bullets continue to rain from above and they come down hand in hand with brutality.

I can't think about the pain when the beast is not slain.  I cannot think of the hurt when it is still able to fester on my flesh and my mind; playing games with me in the worst way, second-guessing my capabilities and past successes. But I always find myself back at square one with the conclusion that I am a career and there is nothing more than that in the Hunger Games.

I am the fuel to my own fire, the passion and adrenaline curling through my veins and into my bones until I am fury personified.

And whilst some people, some tributes are born into light and find the darkness, and whilst some are born into darkness and find the light; I was born into darkness and stayed there.

It is my edge, it is my Heaven, my Hell—I stare at the beast and I sin.

Some rise by virtue, I rise by sin.

The creature comes apart even more, nothing would be able to bind the wounds my mace has caused. They are deep and delicate; dripping with the beast's dark blood which looks like liquid that has captured soul and shadows. Perhaps it is comprised of the great waterfall's first few victims who dared to get too close to the beauty—beauty is pain, after all.

Lashing out in anger yet the animal absorbs every one of my attacks; it can't have much strength left. It has fought a good fight but all battles reach a conclusion. Some end in life but I am determined to ensure that this one ends in the death of the being that tries to hurt me with deadly allure.

The beast's teeth tuck into my right arm and that is the last straw—the anger is ignited and becomes passion like fire, spreading through my skin, muscles and bones like a forest. We are here all alone in our universe and I have to beat to the sound of my own damn drum if I have any hope of making it out alive.

And living is what I plan to continue doing; for myself, for Hero, for Four and to honour Jacob.

I fake right, break left, watch out for the creature and keep an eye on my own defence; my head is in the game and now it is time to prove that I am committed and that death, killing, murder—it's all just child's play.

Butterflies are proof that darkness can become beauty and I am proof that beauty can kill.

I remember being told that the flutter of a butterfly has enough power to change the world; change one thing, change everything. It's the butterfly effect and when I swing, I pray that the repercussions of this attack work with me and not against me.