Oh, so this is it? (Quintness)

[cinder]

One does not know the time of their death. Even in the nearly-always Hunger Games, where Tributes walk a fine line between death and life, nobody knows exactly when they will die. Sure--theres a facebook application that 'calculates' when, why and how your death will come about, but in the real world of Dittany Briar Grey, there is no facebook. No way for her to know that she was currently walking the same line as the Hunger Games competitors.

No way of knowing she was a dead woman.

Three months ago, she had celebrated her seventeenth birthday--and in all her age and wondrous wise-ness, Dittany had come to the conclusion that she was middle-aged. Dittany only had a third of the quantity of life she wished to have, but the quality of her life was fantastic. So many things she hadn't expected to be in her teen years, and she was. Dittany was soon to be an aunt, which seriously was as close to a mother as the sweet-hearted girl wanted to be for a long while. Her marriage to Trand Owen was pretty much a done deal, what with them living together and going steady (aka Dittanys sister, no matter the fact that she had met her babies father at a younger age than Dittany had found Trand at, would freak if Dittany started wearing a nice little ring, and calling Trand her love, or worse--fiance)

With all said and done, life was pretty great. One would think if they had a perfect life, they would eventually get bored of it, and Dittany had. Why else would she be ever-so-dangerously walking outside, alone and undefended at night. Dittany had become like some fat, rich housewife. She had everything she wanted, and more, so things like walking alone, or flirting with a food-vendor when she went to the market, became something edgy and fun to do during one of her endless, long, boring, did she mention boring, afternoons around the casa Owen.

Sweeping a long strand of brown hair from her face, Dittany paused. She was looking for something sketchy, not suicidal. Suddenly the darkness seemed a little too dangerous for her taste. Maybe Dittany shouldn't have left the comfort of her nice warm life to throw herself into the first high-risk situation that came along, even if it was just a long walk on a dark, moonless night in the middle of winter when somebody had just been kill--

"Oh gahhhd," she uttered softly. Dittany had forgotten all about her fine Districts latest news. Death. Usually the Capitol would have their Hench men, the Peacekeepers, cover up the news that somebody had been found hung from a tree in the most grotesque way possible, but with new evidence that it was most likely part of a ling chain of murders seizing the nation, foul play was suspected. The thing was, District Eleven was used to pain and misery and death, but they also were always able to face their misery-makers eye-to-eye. Peacekeepers, small rowdy teenage gangs, thieves--never God-Forsaken murderers still loose!

Grey pupils swiveled around. Dittany never moved her body and inch unless you counted the violent shivering that had grabbed ahold of her body. Besides her eyes, and the soft stirring of hair brought on by a gentle, caressing wind, Dittany Grey was absolutely still. Trand will come get me, somebody will tell him I took a walk and hell get worried and find me and tell me everything will be alright, because it will be, because no matter what, if I turn around now--there will be nobody standing behind me. No murderers ready to cut my long hair off and strangle me with it, nobody, nobody...

nobody...

The thing is, life starts, it happens and it certainly ends in most peculiar ways. Nothing you can do, but turn around and face it full-on.

[Quint]

Unknown

The figure slithered through the trees, watching the girl. She must have been brave to come out tonight, knowing that there was a murderer lurking about.

It's funny how easy it is to kill a person. So many ways given out. So easy that someone's death could start.....with a snip of hair. The girl was quiet and still. Possibly dead, even. Or at least soon.

He held the knife in his hand, already used to its signature coldness. His under-taking footsteps as silent as air that inhabited District 11 at nighttime.

Merciless. None forgiving. Revenge.

But why? Why did this figure want revenge? And more importantly, why them? Why these innocent people? How did they tie together in all this?

[cinder]

"Ridiculous thoughts. So unreal..." she muttered, angry with herself. Of course there was nobody behind her! If--if Dittany opened her recently shut eyes and turned around she would not scream because there would be nobody there. Heck--maybe Di would laugh her head off and start crying because it was so ridiculous and then maybe she would sprint home and never look back because it was all ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous!

District Eleven was a hard place to grow up in. That was obvious enough because everywhere you turned you saw children and teens and women and men and for gods sake, babies wailing and clutching their stomachs in hunger. Luckily, or not so luckily Dittany was an orphan, and her parents had worked hard for many years. They had planned and saved and when the awful day came and finally there was only her older sister left to care for her, Dittany had not gone to sleep with an empty belly.

Ever since the death of her parents, Dittany had been pleasantly plump by District Eleven standards, and shockingly, envy-inspiring-ly skinny by Capitol standards. She had been passed along from her sister to her boyfriend and never worked all that hard in her life. For years Dittany had wandered the District giving food and water to people. That had all ended--Dittany was a selfish pig now, sitting and slowly gaining weight and watching workers with a bored expression on her face.

Maybe I deserve to die.

But that was ridiculous, she was just a girl, all teenagers were selfish, there were worse people in the world. there were worse people in a five mile radius (not counting the non-existent murderer who was most likely standing behind her, privately laughing at what a weak fight she was putting up or something like that) Yet even with that small comfort, her breathing was shallow and strained, and her eyes were still shut closed like a child just woken from a nightmare. If you don't open your eyes, then the monsters get bored, they go away and bother other children.

That was the way things were supposed to be, but like every other rule in the world it was meant to be broken. Careers weren't supposed to train, but they did, senseless killing was not supposed to occur but it did, the Hunger Games went against every moral code in the known world, but every year it came and went, haunting the Districts, tormenting families of fallen young women and men forever. Rules were as ridiculous a notion as a murderer being right behind Dittany right now. Just ridiculous!

[Quint]

Unknown

The girl was alone, but he wanted to get her somewhere he would do his work more quietly. Didn't want to bother the neighbors, do we? He walked over, observing the sky as if she wasn't there.

"Nice night. Isn't it? I mean, we've haven't had it this good in a long time," he greeted, still gazing into the sky. He slipped his hands out of his hoodie pockets, allowing him to stretch them out before the kill.

He examined the girl. Good looking. Brown hair. Somewhat pale. And--oh!--a ring...

A wedding ring.

[cinder]

Her breaths were numbered from then on. Every beat of her young, strong heart, every blink every shuffle of her feet was important.

The first thing Dittany noticed about the stranger, was that he was one of those people that later, maybe weeks or even months in the future, she would think about. The teen would have trouble calling up an image of him. Wasn't there some saying about the people who impact your life being the ones whose names and faces you cannot remember? Dittany squinted her already slanted, olive shaped eyes and tried to take him in, simply to humor the part of her mind that had a feeling this guy would be one of those people that she would try to think about later. Later, she wanted to be able to conjure up an image of him along with his name, and whole life story.

She shuffled her feet, that would only happen approximately three more times in her life, and brushed hair away from her face, noticing the way her hands shook as she did so. "Uhm, I'm sorry, do I know you?" Dittany asked, smiling. Within the last few months she ad made an effort to get to know the Owen Estates neighbors, but her new home was large and neighbors were sparse. Sprawling fields and orchards separated one home from another and somebody could walk hours before they arrived at another one of the houses. In her six months of living with Trand, Dittany had met only two other households of neighbors. The point was, it was entirely possible that this easily forgotten if you don't care man lived near here, and she had yet to meet him.

But what if he isn't a neighbor? Oh stop it Dittany! You're so ridiculous! But it could be true, you don't know this man, hes a complete stranger. So what! Trand took you into his home and you were a stranger... That was different. She blinked, trying to clear her head but the battle being waged over the identity and trustability of the guy was just so darn head-consuming. "I'm Dittany by the way, Trand Owens girlfriend. I live with him, just a mile or so down the road." She pointed in the general direction of casa Owen. Finally the war had stopped. Dittany was no silly little dreamer, this man was no murderer. Everything was fine. Her tense muscles relaxed as Dittany thought of that so very obvious fact, then smiled semi-brightly at nameless stranger.

today could be the first day of my new life. No more being fat and lazy. I could do charity work again, I could make a difference...

ooc- ah, now we see the reason I getting rid of Dittany--no muse for the poor girl. Shes just too darned predictable and ordinary.

[Quint]

Unknown

"Oh, you're with Owens?" he faked to realize. He was playing along. So she didn’t get too suspicious. He stepped forward. “He’s a good man. He’s lucky to have a good girl like you,” he added, hiding every lie behind his deceiving, yet friendly smile. He took a step forward. “Such a lovely girl…” he whispered, stroking her hair.

Though, as he went unnoticed, motioned over behind his back, carefully and slowly pulling out the blood stained knife.

[cinder]

Oy. I really don't think I can handle an intense death, so just say what you need to, but this is my last post.

Four hours later.

Drip. Drip. Drip Drip. Drip.

Samantha Blackwell heard it before she saw it. An annoying drip-drip sound--probably some water falling to the ground fro ma plant, after somebody watered it. Maybe even some rain left over from the storm a few days ago. She looked up, squinting her near-blind eyes toward the setting sun. Sunset had always been her favorite time, because thats when Samma knew that all the colors in the sky were supposed to blend, and it wasn't just her eyes acting up as they did. Her father often told her that sunset was the most beautiful time of the day, that everything was peaceful and nice.

She took a deep breath and picked up her pace, sensing the electric crackle traveling along her spine. It was a suspicious feeling Samma often got right before a thunder-storm, or her father decided that she had been a bad, bad girl and needed to be punished. A lot. Her head shook, and her eyes crinkled up thinking about that dark time, all the pain...

Speaking of pain.

Samantha Blackwell tripped over something mooshy. Her bare ankle brushed against something smooshy that felt like plastic, or skin She slipped backwards in a puddle of some unknown substance, and fell on her back with an ooph. Her eyes stayed closed for a few minutes as Samma tried to identify the substance she was in. It was obviously the drip-drop water she had heard, still more small splitter-splatters were so loud in her aching head. She used all the strength in her small body and pushed up, rubbing her head as she stood. Finally the eyes opened, slanted and golden flecked with dark spots and ringed with black. Nice looking eyes, bad for actually looking.

They focused on the ground approximately two feet away, and five feet, two inches below her. A blob of white, mixed with red was visible even in the hazy twilight-hour, and suddenly Samma wished she had the courage to ask her father for the four dollars and ninety-nine cents it would cost to get her some regular glasses. That would at least help her see something more, just something to help her out a little bit. Finally the senseless, chaotic mess of white started to sharpen. The mushy thing below her was obviously long--almost six feet in length, and about a foot in girth. She squinted, noticing a line of red across one of the skinniest parts of the mysterious item, the way that small droplets of red drip-dropped into a puddle of red that Samma had fallen into. A big, fat puddle of a mysterious, red liquid.

Samantha Blackwell sometimes pretended she was mute, because being a nearly sightless, most likely psychic, shy nineteen year old was hard. It was better to just stay away from people so they wouldn't notice the way she always tripped over her own feet, and sometimes even when she was staring right at you, her face was still blank. The fact that she never, ever asked to be called upon by the teachers when they asked who wanted to read out of their six inch by twelve inch paged textbook in history.

But somehow, on the murky, hazy, twilighting day she found her voice. A hoarse, ugly scream clawed its way out of her mouth, because she had just tripped on a dead girl, and her clothes were stained with the blood of a freshly murdered innocent.

~sometime later~

The Peacekeepers found her, Samantha Blackwell, sitting at the side of the road staring blankly into the night, quivering with shock--and they found the other one, Dittany Briar Grey, age seventeen, resident of the Owen household, drowned in her own blood. Some of the Peacekeepers didn't even bother to go and look at her mutilated body. The girl was dead, and it didn't really matter how it happened--thats how Naomi Jackson, a scientist with the Peacekeepers felt as she dusted the clothes of the stiff for hand-prints. The old hag didn't even bother to look at the girls face. She sighed, then turned back to face her fellow employees of the Capitol. "Nothing. No prints--not anything really."

Miss Jackson walked over to the only suspect so far. The teen, just turned nineteen--just free of the Hunger Games, and asked her a few standard questions, but she got no answers.

"The blood was warm, like a blanket. I hadn't expected my own blood to taste and feel so good and warm, but I guess blood is what keeps us alive, so it must be great and all. God, my head hurt, it aches but thats to be expected after I hit it on the ground. What had that guy said his name was? I don't care, I don't know. Maybe I should ask him though, but my eyes are closed and everything is sealed shut. I really cant open up my mouth hand take a breath. When I tried, it hurt and nothing happened and so I guess I'm just about to die and thats all there is to life. I should have been a better person, but life was so short and I should have, but I wasn't. I wonder If Ill see my parents and grand-parents and my little baby-brother that I'm sure I was going to have, but then he died before he took his first breath. Just like how I'm going to die, before I get a dramatic last breath. Shoot. Wait, its not just like, its sorta like, or not at all like. Whatever, my head still hurts and life is short right, so why should I waste my last few seconds wallowing in my own misery. I'm already laying in a puddle of my own blood. Ive got the wallowing down. Wait--Okay, so I love my sister, and my boyfriend, and my sisters boyfriend, and her kids, and my friends, and all the people Ive helped, and the other ones I didn't help. Should I say a prayer? Is that what you do before you die--sing to a mockingjay, or pray to god that you'll go to the good place and not the bad. Life is so--oh, well. Its over now... I should go to sleep if I'm not already, life is so still, are my eyes open? Is everything always this dark, but look! Theres a little light, or is my mind imagining things? If I'm dead, how am I imagining a light..."

[/i][/color]Naomi watched the girl recite her little shtick for the next three hours, her mouth wide open. Samantha Blackwell seemed to be channeling the victims last few minutes on Earth and everything was so strange.

The woman turned back to Dittany, noticing how dull her grey eyes were. Naomi recalled seeing the orphan around town before. She had been a sweet girl, the poor thing. But even though her death was sad and all, she just couldn't help but feel like if what Samantha Blackwell, the only suspect in the murder of Dittany Briar Grey, was right then maybe Dittany didn't really want to live--maybe she was just fine in heaven with her family and friends...

Introducing Samantha Blackwell! A shy, moody nineteen year old self-proclaimed pyschic with some issues. Maybe a lot would be a better way to describe her issues. Shes about to run away--bye bye District Eleven, hello someplace else! Life sucks, and finding yourself standing in frotn of a large, dusty mirror staring at your favorite outifit coated with red, icky, rusty blood is just really, very sucky. Whatever... [/blockquote][/size]