lost in this haze {charade}
Mar 16, 2016 22:46:42 GMT -5
Post by cass on Mar 16, 2016 22:46:42 GMT -5
OPAL
It was over. Once again she had failed. Opal Earnest buried her head in her hands, biting her lip as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Again. Another failure, two more children dead, the list was growing, a foggy memory in the back of her mind as she tried to gather the names she had forgotten. Too many. Too many names to remember now, too many children dead, children she had not saved. Again, she’d have to walk into District One and look at those families, again she’d have to stand by a grave and watch a mother and father sob, a sibling question why they weren’t coming home. Why did she fail so much? Why, no matter how hard she tried, did they still die? They had both been careers this time, was that not an even heavier blow, a branded title of her incompetency? She had no words for her inability to produce results, even when she had a head start over other victors.
Her chest ached, a pressure that was building, pushing on her lungs. It was always hard to breathe when that canon fired, when the last flame died. In all honesty she had not expected Scout to die, the girl had been so full of life, a fire that had oozed her want to be victorious. But it seemed that her snarky comments had fully come full circle, as painful to her own flesh as they were to others. These entire games had been a mess, from Scout aiding the sadistic District Twelve female in killing her district partner, to their twisted relationship and bloodlust to kill the District Eleven boy.
It took too much effort for her to drag herself to her feet, legs moving numbly as she slipped out of the room. Tired, she was so very tired, and that pressure was only increasing as she headed through the twisting halls towards the Eleventh floor. She knew, in these situations, who she wanted and needed to see, but each step was hesitant, also knowing and understanding how uneasy and uncomfortable it could possibly be. These games had turned her tributes against District Eleven, and Opal had been unable to do anything to stop it, hoping that Scout wouldn’t be the one to end her friend’s tribute, but simultaneously pleading with Ripred that Scout would not die.
She no longer cried, she’d cried herself out years ago, she did not believe she would ever feel pain again like she had. That pain was worse than losing her leg, then crawling on the ground, hand detached, deep wounds filling with sand and mud. She had no tears left to give, and she felt no rage, just a gaping hole of emptiness, of failure, of dread. Of knowing what was to come and being unable to bare it. She didn’t want to go home to it, she didn’t want to see the other victors.
Her feet halted in front of the heavy door engraved with District Eleven. Her knuckles smacked the wood gently, hesitantly, uneasy and uncertain if this was what they really wanted. She didn’t know.