and I am not sorry [Hanaa's end]
Apr 5, 2020 23:43:43 GMT -5
Post by pearl mcclain d4 [ryan] on Apr 5, 2020 23:43:43 GMT -5
HANAA DARTON
I didn’t even have a chance to blink. It was quick, at least, that is how I remembered it, watching time pass as I tried to evict the emotion from my psyche. I did not deserve to die here, not when that asshole had still been running around the district. Terrorizing people that had no clue what was in store for them. He ruined lives, and as much as it saddened me that I had to do something like this, it would send a message? Right?
Maybe I was just a stupid girl for thinking that he would give a shit about me. I knew better. I knew the extent of his treachery, each end of the district had been soiled in a way that made it hard to walk on. Unhallowed ground would collapse under my feet after all. I was a bastard child that he never wanted, right? Like there would always be that one child that he would always take care of. The rest of us, however many there really are? We could all rot in the sun for her cared.
I did not want to die, and I definitely did not want my final words to be something that I would regret. I would be known as just another dead girl. Fayre was right about that. But dead girls don’t have legacies. They are forgotten in the stars they look up at when the life is leaving their body. Their souls look down at them as they transcend and wonder if there was anything else they could have done. Sure, I’m sure that there was so much more I could have done. So much time I could have spent not throwing myself into a fire. Fighting for Sullivan, or Alfie, or even Blue. Instead, here I am, getting a fucking laser to the side and being told that I will never amount to anything anymore.
Why?
Because I am apparently fucking dead.
Sullivan tries to talk to me, but there is no point. Right? I would not blame them if they ran from me. That would be the smart thing to do after all. As much as I cared for them, they needed to survive. They needed to go on and get out of here and tell my father that he needed to go fuck himself into the next eon or something like that. They needed to find the others that shared my blood and tell them that they matter, that they are not worthless, and that they don’t need the love of a man that obviously couldn’t even love himself.
I could tell Alfie was still lingering, and I did not mind that one bit. My hand reached out for a moment and grabbed his, caressing it slightly before giving him a very weak ”Go.” I didn’t want him to suffer the same fate that I was. I did not want to die in front of him. I had so much more pride then that. The rest of them vacated quickly, and I was thankful for that. It gave me a moment of peace. I could at least die at my leisure.
I guess I really would be the dead girl.
Alfie left, and of course, I am stubborn.
I knew this from the day I was born. I was not going to die in this place. I was going to die somewhere I could at least feel close to home. I heard loud clicks amongst the doors, and slowly, I watched them open. I wasn’t far from them, it was like Elite Hops did leave me with a parting gift.
I left my mace behind, what was left of my bag was still clinging to my arm, but that was not my worry. I gritted my teeth as I flipped my body over. It burned, and I could not stand upright, but I would not let that stop me. I was Hanna fucking Darton, and nothing stopped me from getting what I wanted. I had learned that about myself at a very early age. Its how I survived this long. Right? That’s what I thought as I began to crawl on the cold metal floor. I could feel blood pouring out of my body, and the pain was nothing I would wish on anyone but my father, but I would keep going.
I needed to keep telling myself that this is not where I wanted to die.
That just a little more effort, I could bring myself some sort of peace. That I deserved more than just being the dead girl from seven. I knew I deserved more than that, but obviously, it would not be earned in this life. Maybe I would be reborn again, in a future where my father wouldn’t exist, even in ancestry. Maybe there wouldn’t be any Hunger Games and everyone would mind their own fucking business. Maybe Elite’s mom wouldn’t being a hoe then.
I am in pain, but I can still laugh.
Finally, I see nothing but green and I couldn’t help but feel my body energize in the weirdest way possible. I am sure the game makers are fascinated with my stubbornness. I’m surprised they didn’t put me out of my misery at this point. Maybe one of them is telling the others to at least wait to see what I am going to do next. But its obvious to all of them, I am going to die.
I use my backpack as a pillow as I plop it down and turn my body over. The plants in here make it smell like home, and as much as I hate to admit that, I miss it. I really do.
I lift my arm up where my watch still was, and I tried to rip the watch off. However, I realized that I still had something to say. My words would not be silenced, even in my death. I would go on to be the girl with a sharp tongue. I would be known as the girl that always had to last thing to say. Even in death, people would remember me for calling everyone’s mom a hoe, and believe it or not, I was okay with that.
Because everyone’s mom was a hoe, and I made sure that everyone in that weird games chat thing knew it.
And after a couple moments of giving my last words and my final goodbyes, I realized that there had been some flowers growing by the place I laid. I would be upset with myself if I did not lay them across my body. After all, I was a martyr for a cause. That’s how I saw it. Whether everyone else would realize that? That was another question for a different life that I did not have any time to worry about.
I ripped the flowers right from their home, just like I had been ripped from mine, and I tried to think of a time when I was happy. When my mom would come home from a long day of work and try to tell me in the nicest way that she hated her job. I would spend so much time just not listening to her, but I think she didn’t mind that. She was just happy that I knew nothing about how I came to be.
I wish I could have went back to those times, when everything was simpler. However, this was my burial ground, and I hoped I would dissolve into the earth. I wouldn’t know. My eyes grew heavy, but before I gave up, I lifted up my arm one more time and typed something into the watch.
Hanaa: Dear Gamemakers, when you send me home in my casket, make sure my grave stone says, ‘Hanaa Darton’ “She said your mom’s a hoe.”
I smile, let out a small laugh, and then let my eyes close.
And I transcend.