Out of the Ashes {Rolf One-Shot}

Hands balled into fists as they pound against the moldy wooden floor. Droplets of rain fall quietly through the ceiling pattering against the ground. Wind howls through the night sky taking away all of the pain with it. A puddle forms on the floor reflecting the face of a tired man. One who hasn't taken care of himself in several days. Rolf stares into his own eyes as they glare back at him flooding his soul with pain. He's truly all alone. Trapped in a ran down house without anyone to care about him. His aunt, uncle, and cousin never speak to him anymore because it's his fault Chaske died.

The amount of guilt living inside the teenage boy won't ever fly away. The words he said. Worthless. If anyone was worthless, it was him for putting down the only person who ever cared about him in the entire world. Rolf didn't protect the man who turned into a monster. A demon lived inside him, and now he's gone. Taking a deep breath, he reclines in a broken chair. Nails dig into the wood scrambling for something to grasp a hold of. A piece of his heart flew into an abyss leaving a gaping hole no stitching could ever heal, yet it was nothing compared to the wounds she inflected on him.

Katelyn Persimmon.

She killed him. She survived. Wasn't that the entire purpose of the games? To destroy every living being in the way to return home to a life where everyone suddenly cares? And to forget about those who perished ‌in the games? It's been so long since they've spoke their names. Chaske and Mystic. Right now their focus was on the lone district nine tribute this year.

It made no difference. Rolf refused to stand in the district square to watch the games. He refused to acknowledge them, but the memory wouldn't ever fly away. It sat on his shoulders pushing him down as emotions spiraled out of control. Especially when her name shot through his mind. Katelyn was a murderer, and her name will never be clean. Blood stains it along with her hand. If he had the chance, Rolf would break that pretty face of her's. Not a single person would recognize her.

Yet she was so far away.

Violent howls flew from his lips while his fist pounded into the table over and over until it splintered into millions of pieces. It crashed onto the ground. Larger pieces breaking upon impact. Slowly his fingers wrapped around pieces of wood before launching them across the room. Pieces flew through the air as the toes of his shoes connected with them. His blood boiled beneath his skin. Pale cheeks burned bright red. Nostrils flared with each breath he took. It's been over a year since his name was called. It's almost a year since his death. Since she killed him.

Ripping a piece of paper from the towel rack, he slammed it down against the counter before shredding it into pieces allowing the wind to take them away. Gathering the pieces of wood, he forced them all to the center of the room. Stacking them and stacking them until all the pieces of wood were in that one pile. Clenching his jaw shut tightly, he removed the tiny pack of matches from the counter. Striking a match against the box, his eyes fixed on the flame before tossing it onto the pile of wood. He repeated until every single match from the box was gone.

Flames danced higher and higher. Smoke traveled through the holes in the ceiling. His home. A home of broken memories and shattered hearts caved under the flames. Inhaling sharply, he walked from the house. His eyes never left the flame as it grew larger and larger. As the house burned, so did the memories associated with it. Of an angry, drunk father. Of a mother who never cared. Of a brother who didn't deserve what he was put through. Of himself as he spoke to the victor of the sixty-ninth hunger games.

And from the ashes grew a new Rolf. One fed with vengeance and hate. One who would follow the footsteps of his brother.