the fall of the summit } { VT summits/kirito

I'd only ever half expected the rise of a District Seven victor once in my lifetime. For when four was replaced by two, and the odds were mostly in our favor, as though it was destined to be etched in the Capitol records. Though, District Seven is a cursed land, where tributes don't survive, don't win. Only becoming the victors of coffins, marked with their name and rested six feet below the surface, never to be seen again. And, I'd never even accepted, let alone considered, the fact that Stella could ever have the chance to survive.


The halls of the Justice Building had grown silent, just as the corridor of the house had. Silent footsteps wandered about in the disappearance of a girl who'd never even been found to begin with. Her presence in the physical realm may have been stolen, diminished along with every single memory that'd never once existed. Memories are simply nothing more than a recollection of something remembered from the past. Something that is significant enough to be remembered, for those who'd even put the effort into creating them. But memories never existed in this house, not without the whole family, not without Stella. For Stella was nothing more than a ghost, one that we'd always pay attention to, however in her mind, we were the ghosts. In her mind, she'd never noticed us, and therefore, we'd never existed in the physical realm. Perhaps, we were the ones who never existed in the real world. Perhaps, we were the ghosts all along.


Stella was a girl with problems.
Problems nonetheless, but she was a human being, filled with emotions and twisted memories. Ever since the day our father'd died, was the only time she had voluntarily unlocked herself from the large, wooden door that kept her trapped. Her face was as stoic as can be, and her mind had finally hit reality, for once, but she couldn't feel. A girl without feeling is a dead girl, and Stella truly was a dead girl who walked among the living. A parasite that fed off of us, while in return, gave us nothing but broken spines and cut tongues. And I count my tongue on words that were never spoken towards Stella, even in all my attempts as a young girl for her to finally notice me. But she wouldn't, she couldn't. Her mind was in a far better world than the one she resided in, and she was sent to a place where promises were kept and she'd fallen in love. She'd slipped too hard, and crashed at the touch of the shattering sensation, but in her mind, it was bliss.


[My eyes grow wide at the screen as the fight unraveled all within the very few days- hours- minutes- seconds. Unable to yank them away, the screen displaying the fourth games day was intriguing, however, not in the good sense. It was a neck and neck fight that was battled out with their doppelgangers, the perfect images of a girl who was less than anything perfect. One with a fire that'd ignited in her heart since the start, and the other with a broken mind, one that could not be fixed.


Perseverance became a new found friend to the girl who'd pushed her way through the games, despite her difficulties. However, those who rage with fire seem to be the ones who get quickly extinguished. A plea for help rang from the girl who'd noticed nothing more than a handful of others, towards the girl who became her sister. A sister that was beyond blood relatives, for those aren't the ones that clearly matter. But a sister through a bond shared within the limited days of her young existence.


The irony found within a girl begging to be noticed in her time of need, within her last few seconds of life. I'd spent a life time trying to find a place to become apart of her mind, with the acceptance being very little to nothing at all. My heart begins to sink at the thought, and when the light begins to shine brightly on the situation, even in the littlest bit. A spear to the forehead of the broken girls spitting image of perfection, it was returned with a knife that bit deep into the chest of the girl. The blade diminished the flame that'd flickered into existence just as fast as it had come.


My heart dropped and shattered along the floor of where I was standing, the shards flew at my body as my mind traveled to somewhere else. The shattering pieces grabbed the attention of everyone around me. They were all just mere faces in the crowd, ones that threw out their condolences at the fall of the thirteenth placed tribute. One who goes by the name of-

"Stella!"

My voice cracks and the tears force their way through the tough barrier that'd always held them back so tightly. The faces of confusion and pity surfed through the crowd, as I struggled to shove my way to the front, only to come meet ends with the sight of Stella being dragged out of the fight by her only ally that remained. Kiena Ward. The girl who risked her life to give Stella one last chance to say her farewells. The girl who had ended Stella, but refused to leave her behind. The girl who became Stella's true family, all within the span of days. The girl who left the rest of us in the dust, becoming the only family Stella noticed, even within her final moments.]


And then we were left, standing upon a stage that rested facing the Justice Building. The spitting image of the most beautiful girl flashing upon the screen just behind us. Representing the family that never once existed, it didn't feel necessarily right to stand upon a stage when we were only mere ghosts.


The arrival of Kirito Miristioma, the Survivor of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Undeserving of the title of Victor, undeserving of praise. He was nothing magnificent, nothing impressive, only the one who stood last having the odds in his favor against the others. Nothing special about him, nothing. A little boy with blood laced upon his unwashed hands, Stella died for him to win, a magnificent girl died for a tawdry boy from Eleven to go home. And although death was Stella's true home, where she lives the most among the dead, I cannot feel presence, hear her silent footsteps coming from her bed room no longer, and that was all I want in this troubled world. And any speech, any spiel or any apology he could ever feed to us would never be sufficient.