Je Veux Te Voir ~nylons's DP~

I just don’t get people.

Like—they actually look upset for some reason. I dunno why? I’ve been keeping tally of the deaths and no one’s died that they would have been traveling with. Omigawd, are they like—the incestuous ally group that’s all kissed each other at some point and now have the fee-fee feelings about how only one of them can make it home?

Seems like every games has one. My least favorite reoccurring theme. I had to write a paper on it freshman year you know? I got an A too, teacher really liked that I pointed out that victors that got attached to their allies consistently have lower ratings than the others. You know? Like how Nico Thorne was billed as an edgy dark boy his first year but the tabloids know all he really does is drink and avoid people.

Or like—Mackenzie is a family man, but wowie, the daddy issues on that one? I mean, I still have a poster of him in my room and middle school me was—distraught when he married Jacinta and ruined my fantasies of being Mrs. Pryce but that’s beside the point.

The point is there’s a lack of real victors. Mom made that clear to me. Thank God for Ridley Le Roux cause Beck Hailsham is an embarrassment to the title. But that’s probably because his mentor, Annie Morrison? Needs people to like her so she tries extra hard to be a special snowflake and just winds up being bland instead.

Poor boy never had a chance.

Me? Remaining hand on my heart, when I win this thing I’m going to be the biggest rockstar since Justice Fray.

Sorry not sorry Basty.

But when he slows down to hit Anita in the chest with his axe, its close enough for my arm to get tagged by the girl from five.

Seriously, what the fuck. Again with the arms. She punctures deep into my bicep, and I swear I felt the tip graze bone.

That’d be hot under a different context, but my blood’s just sprayed out and the muscles in my arm have started to seize up.

Good thing my legs are my best feature, but still. I’ve had enough of this.

“Fuck off five; isn’t running away like—your talent or something?” I shout.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to put a bullet in her too, but like there’s one thing you never, ever say to me. And that’s to dare me to do something. Jump off a roof into a pool? French kiss the girl next door? Steal a peacekeeper’s helmet and run down main street wearing nothing but the helmet and my underwear?

Five. Please. Dares mean fun. I’ve never turned one down. So why the fuck would I turn down this one?

“Hold on tight, Basty.” I purr as I clamber out of the backseat. I hoist myself up out of the sunroof and place my legs on either side of the driver’s seat, straddling Bastian’s shoulders as he comes around for another pass.

“You don’t want me to touch your girlfriend again?” I holler out as I bring the rifle up to aim down the sights.

“Make me.”

I think if I can get this lined up right I can splatter five with Anita’s brain matter. Extra points for style you know? Cause its four days in and I still don’t have a kill for my highlight reel.

The truck shudders, and I think Bastian must have hit a rock or something cause I almost lose my balance.

"Watch the road!" I bark, looking back up just in time to see

It takes a second and an eternity to process the javelin sticking out of my chest and the sudden flood of crimson that pours out of my mouth and spatters on Bastian's head. I can't believe I've been done in by a nobody from district nine. I mean, bitch? We both know she doesn't have what it takes to win this.

So what does that say about me?

"Bastian?" It comes out a lot weaker than I mean it to, and I can feel that my face is contorting in pain. But then I'm pitching forward out of the jeep, ass over head and the ground is rushing up to meet me.

***

Except it never hits. It falls away into darkness and I'm falling, down down down into the void.

I mean-

I guess I figured that was coming. Can you see me with a halo?

But like-

Fuck.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

It was supposed to happen ten years from now when I make headlines in a murder/suicide after I found out my boyfriend was cheating one me or like something to that effect.

What about my drinks with Ridley Le Roux  goddammit?

I swear to fuck I'm going to haunt this bitch Anita.

Except I don't think I get to be a ghost.

The void is starting to feel a bit hot.

And something's happening to me.

My hand is back. But like- my fingernails are looking pretty sharp. Talon like even. Also I'm not falling anymore.

Ohmigawd, I have wings?

I look down and- oh. This outfit is not PG-13.

I guess it makes sense. Me being a succubus through all of highschool anyway.

But like- that's not enough for me. If I'm actually fucking dead and in hell then I'm going to run this shit. There's more than one way to make your mark on history right? Maybe the devil needs a queen.

I sent that loser packing ages ago.

I-

The fuck? Who said that?

Hell's already got a queen, you silly little girl.

And like- suddenly, the void brightens and I realize there's a throne in front of me, spiky, black and red, and there's a girl that can't be much older than me sitting in it with one leg crossed over the other.

She's blonde, though the curly horns sprouting from her forehead are decidedly dark. Gotta say, I've never seen a depiction of the devil that looks like this.

Because I'm not the devil, you nitwit, I'm his replacement. Weren't you listening?

She stands up, and I think I can make out a scar ringing her neck. Kinda looks like rope burn.

My name is Cleo Burns, and I run this. Now bow to your queen bitch.

Huh. Guess I don't have a choice.  For now anyway.  That throne looks comfortable. 

See you soon Basty, I'll keep a seat warm for you.

FIN