One Small Step Towards The Void {July Cartwright One-shot}
Sept 23, 2014 16:45:13 GMT -5
Post by Loki on Sept 23, 2014 16:45:13 GMT -5
Being led from the stage to the Justice Building, July felt tears prickle behind her eyelids and a weight pressing on her chest stifling her breath. No matter what, she thought, she could not let herself cry. Nothing would be worse than that. Somehow, though her breaths were now coming too rapidly, July managed not to cry, focusing on the back of the boy tribute - she had already forgotten his name, another sign of her terror - walking in front of her, both of them surrounded by peacekeepers.
She knew the boy was as frightened as she was, and she would have felt badly for him if she wasn't numb to anything besides her own fear.
The short walk seemed to take forever, and then she was inside the building, and being shown into a small, plain room featuring a couch and table and several chairs. Fine furnishings, but the wallpaper was starting to peel in the corners. Trembling, and unable to sit still, July paced around the room several times before the door opened and her three best friends (Moira, Anjou, and Birch) came in, distraught, in tears as well.
All of the girls hugged her, she hugged all of them; all of them assured her, "You can win," and "You have to try." Though she knew these words were said out of friendship and not fact, July nodded, and mumbled that she would, violently swiping at her eyes with a hand, refusing to let the damn tears fall. All too soon, not a minute too soon, a peacekeeper opened the door and called the trio out.
As she was alone again, July felt nothing for a blissful moment, and then, her family was ushered inside.
Nothing in the new tribute's life had ever made her feel half as bad as the expressions on her family's faces: the two younger sibling openly weeping, and the look of dread she saw in her father's eyes. She had never seen him look like that before, and being the cause of it, however much it was not her fault, was horrible. All three of them hugged her at once, and her dad said, "It's going to be all right, you are going to come back to us." July could tell he was saying it for the benefit of little Marrissa and Davyd more than for her.
She said her lines, then, the only ones she could say, trying to protect her beloved sister and brother a little while longer: "Of course I'm going to come back." She sounded, to her own ears, brave and confident. It was almost enough to make her laugh, but she didn't, instead the girl forced a smile, as she kissed both siblings on their foreheads. For once, Davys didn't wipe the kiss away, making her think that he might not be completely believing the lie her father was telling with her.
She almost burst into tears again at the thought of their sorrow when she failed to come home, except in a coffin; she desperately tried to think of anything else, and an image presented itself from July's memory, last summer beating up an a bully, a boy, who was tormenting her little brother. He had been a real scrapper, and July had ended up with plenty of bruises, but she had won, too. She had won based on a sheer stubborn will more than the strength of her fists.
Maybe... just maybe. Anything is possible, right?
Then the peacekeeper was opening the door, and telling her family it was time to leave, and they hugged and kissed one last desperate time, and then July was alone again. She wondered if a certain boy would miss her, and how long it would take her friends to get over the loss, anything to avoid thinking of her family. Nothing kept coming back to her mind as much as that, though. July clenched her fists, refusing to cry still. She waited for the door to open again, if it would, and forced herself to think about the horror that was about to face: the walk among the cameras to the train. Determined to keep her head up and her eyes dry, July thought that maybe if she faced this one terrible bit at a time, she might just be all right.
She might just even, she dared to think it, win. Nothing about that thought distressed her, she found. She supposed, vaguely, waiting and pacing as she was, that killing someone else would be a terrible experience, one that she might come to dread, but at the moment she wasn't bothered at all. Right now, all she cared about was getting through this, and getting to the Games, and doing everything she had to do to win. She felt a fierce determination fill her, fighting the fear, telling her she could win.
Nothing else mattered.
She knew the boy was as frightened as she was, and she would have felt badly for him if she wasn't numb to anything besides her own fear.
The short walk seemed to take forever, and then she was inside the building, and being shown into a small, plain room featuring a couch and table and several chairs. Fine furnishings, but the wallpaper was starting to peel in the corners. Trembling, and unable to sit still, July paced around the room several times before the door opened and her three best friends (Moira, Anjou, and Birch) came in, distraught, in tears as well.
All of the girls hugged her, she hugged all of them; all of them assured her, "You can win," and "You have to try." Though she knew these words were said out of friendship and not fact, July nodded, and mumbled that she would, violently swiping at her eyes with a hand, refusing to let the damn tears fall. All too soon, not a minute too soon, a peacekeeper opened the door and called the trio out.
As she was alone again, July felt nothing for a blissful moment, and then, her family was ushered inside.
Nothing in the new tribute's life had ever made her feel half as bad as the expressions on her family's faces: the two younger sibling openly weeping, and the look of dread she saw in her father's eyes. She had never seen him look like that before, and being the cause of it, however much it was not her fault, was horrible. All three of them hugged her at once, and her dad said, "It's going to be all right, you are going to come back to us." July could tell he was saying it for the benefit of little Marrissa and Davyd more than for her.
She said her lines, then, the only ones she could say, trying to protect her beloved sister and brother a little while longer: "Of course I'm going to come back." She sounded, to her own ears, brave and confident. It was almost enough to make her laugh, but she didn't, instead the girl forced a smile, as she kissed both siblings on their foreheads. For once, Davys didn't wipe the kiss away, making her think that he might not be completely believing the lie her father was telling with her.
She almost burst into tears again at the thought of their sorrow when she failed to come home, except in a coffin; she desperately tried to think of anything else, and an image presented itself from July's memory, last summer beating up an a bully, a boy, who was tormenting her little brother. He had been a real scrapper, and July had ended up with plenty of bruises, but she had won, too. She had won based on a sheer stubborn will more than the strength of her fists.
Maybe... just maybe. Anything is possible, right?
Then the peacekeeper was opening the door, and telling her family it was time to leave, and they hugged and kissed one last desperate time, and then July was alone again. She wondered if a certain boy would miss her, and how long it would take her friends to get over the loss, anything to avoid thinking of her family. Nothing kept coming back to her mind as much as that, though. July clenched her fists, refusing to cry still. She waited for the door to open again, if it would, and forced herself to think about the horror that was about to face: the walk among the cameras to the train. Determined to keep her head up and her eyes dry, July thought that maybe if she faced this one terrible bit at a time, she might just be all right.
She might just even, she dared to think it, win. Nothing about that thought distressed her, she found. She supposed, vaguely, waiting and pacing as she was, that killing someone else would be a terrible experience, one that she might come to dread, but at the moment she wasn't bothered at all. Right now, all she cared about was getting through this, and getting to the Games, and doing everything she had to do to win. She felt a fierce determination fill her, fighting the fear, telling her she could win.
Nothing else mattered.
