Work Text:
Clarisse had never imagined cold like this. District 6 winters were warm. The district was hot all year round. This year the arena was a snowy forest, the days were bearable, the nights merciless. Her clothes were probably designed for the cold, long cargo pants, an under shirt, a jacket, gloves and combat boots, they were not nearly insulated enough for the night. Frost clung to her lashes, and her breath came out in ragged bursts. She tried to curl up tighter, but nothing helped. She knew if she stayed like this, she’d be dead before morning.
She willed each of her limbs to move, to get up, to live. She stood all stiff limbed, but she had to move and collect wood. She knows starting a fire would attract the Careers. She’s seen it in other games. Her mentor had urged her not to start a fire. “Fire is dangerous,” she had warned. “Only use it when you’re ready to defend it.” She couldn’t bring herself to care she’d rather be killed by the Careers than the weather. Each step felt heavier than the last. Her feet felt numb inside her boots. Her hands, God, she didn’t want to think about her hands. She wondered why the capitols liked this, liked watching children fight to survive, liked watching children die. Still, she kept gathering wood, her movements growing clumsier and more desperate.
By the time she knelt to build the fire, she could barely move her hands. She remembered the fire building station in the training arena. It took her nine attempts to get it right while it only took her district partner, Titus, two attempts. Oh, sweet Titus, her brother’s best friend, the boy who gave a little girl a piggyback after she got hurt, the boy who cried over a dead bird, the boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He probably was doing better than her. At least she hoped he was. She didn’t want to know what these games would do to him. She didn't want to think about what watch these games would have done to her brother. She felt sorry for her brother since he lost two of the people he depended most on in one reaping. She remembered looking into her brothers’ eyes when Titus’s name had been called the way his face crumpled at the realisation that his sister and his best friend were being sent to slaughter.
When the fire caught, it felt like a miracle. Clarisse cupped her hand around the flame, letting the warmth seep into her palms. Feeling returned in painful pins and needles, but it was a welcomed pain. “SNAP!”. Her head whipped towards the sound. It came from her left, sounding about six metres away. She couldn’t see anything beyond the trees. She tried telling herself it was nothing, but her breathing grew shallow and her heartbeat quickened. Another snap came for the opposite direction closer that time. Her pulse roared in her ear. It couldn’t be the careers; it hadn’t been long since she lit the fire. Whatever it was it was after her.
Footsteps approached fast and uneven. Clarisse spun around just as a figure on all fours burst into the firelight. It was a boy, dark skin, dark messy hair, wild unfocused eyes with a blood stained mouth. Titus. The boy who gave a little girl a piggyback after she got hurt, the boy who cried over a dead bird, the boy who looked at her like she was prey. What had the games done to him? He lunged at her pinning her down. One of his hands wrapped around her neck. She clawed at his wrists, trying to pull him off. With his other hand he grabbed a rock and raised it up to strike. But before he brought it down, he hesitated. Confusion flickered across his face, as if some part of him recognised her. This was her only hope, “Please Titus.” She mouthed. But it didn’t work, just as quickly as the look of recognition, came it left. Clarisse closed her eyes knowing there was no hope.
Tears fell down the sides of her face as he brought down the rock over and over again. This is how she dies; there’s no happy ending awaiting her. She died by the hand of one who was once so sweet but had been turned savage. If the circumstances were different, she would have been comforted by Titus’s presents. But all she could feel was a deep sorrow. Knowing that she will never grow old. Knowing that Titus will never be the boy he once was. Knowing she is just another victim of the games. All for the capital’s entertainment.