|Blank White Walls| [Cici]

[arx!!]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; -webkit-border-radius:0px 0px 10px 10px; width:336px; padding: 0 15 0 15px] Hey girl I’m waiting on ya, I’m waiting on ya Come on and let me sneak you out And have a celebration, a celebration The music up, the windows down I see her there against the black backdrop of nothingness. It's not her though, not really. She's been dead for two whole years now. You'd think I would be able to forget her face by now, the dimples in her cheeks and the curls in her hair, but the Capitol just won't allow it. They just keep flashing her face across my television screen. My sister, the Keeni twins, and now these next two. ("District 6 is due for a victor, don't you think? Top 10 appearances for 3 straight games ... Impressive really.") At least, that's what they keep saying, that maybe we might just catch our big break, that this Hartmyre girl and Mikhail boy have a real shot. But I know better than that. These two will die, just as all the others have. They will become headstones in a graveyard, nothing but a memory, a sore spot that the Capitol will keep rubbing in our faces. That's just how they are. And I guess that's the point, isn't it? To make us burn and ache and hurt for the rest of our lives? And I suppose that's why I am seeing Naveen now, her lips sewed shut and her face and hands a bloody mess. And like I said, it's not her, not really, but the Capitol has given me no other way to remember her. They have engraved her in my mind as a deranged and broken girl, not the smiling, brilliant, and beautiful girl that I knew to be my sister. They've made it so that even in my dreams I cannot see her the way I want to. The memory I want of her is dead and gone and I have forgotten the sound of her voice and the way her eyes glimmered with joy. Now I only see them flash with fear and anger as she lashes out at me where I lay on the ground ... And then my eyes fly open and everything fades again, back into the deep, dark recesses of my mind and the bits of her soul that had seeped into my dream returning to the little spot in my heart that I have left space just for her. I will always hold a piece of her, a good memory, no matter how hard the Capitol tears at my heart. I blink once, my eyes adjusting as best they can ... except I realize I am only blinking one eye. I move my hand to my face to see what the hell is blocking my view, only to find myself groaning and grimacing as pain fires through my shoulder - hell, my whole body seems to be on fire. I blink with my one good eyes again, trying to adjust to the bright light that filters through a nearby window. (Apparently ... I'm still dreaming?) I go to raise my hand as a shield against the light, only to find that my hand has a needle jabbed into it and tubes taped to it. "The hell ... ?" I mutter, tasting the blood in my mouth for the first time. I sit up straighter, groaning as the effort sends another set of painful and rippling shockwaves through me. This isn't normal. Ha! Even for me this isn't normal. I've woken up on top of roofs, on a floating mattress in the middle of a pond, in girls' bedrooms, face down on the sidewalk, in a dumpster, stuck to a pole with some fuzzy, pink cuffs (I was wearing assless chaps too ... I have no idea what happened that night), in a pool of my own vomit, with a girl drawing pictures with her lipstick on my chest, and, of course, with my face in a toilet. But this new hospital gig, I think it tops all. I glance around the room, the window filtering in bright light, various beeping things and curtains and liquids and tubes seem to be ... well, everywhere, and the walls are blank, completely white, only seeming to make everything brighter. My head begins to throb and I squint to ward off the light as best I can. Obviously I had a little too much fun last night ... not that I can remember any of it. I start to slowly go up and down my body, moving all my limbs and joints, flexing my muscles, trying to figure out what hurts and what doesn't. 1.) My right eye is completely swollen shut. It aches to move my jaw, and I can feel bandages wrapped around my forehead. 2.) My shoulder. Damn. I have to look closer with my one good eye to see that I definitely got shot. Fucking shot. I feel myself start to panic a little, my mind a blank slate as to how exactly that happened. I mean ... I could've died, right? I move on, focusing my mind on my arms, aching but seemingly unharmed, my knuckles bruised but not aching too bad. 3.) My chest aches, my ribs feel like they have been crushed and stomped on by one of those nasty Combustiphants they have terrorizing tributes this games. When I look down my (whoa, hey, cute baby blue hospital gown) gown, I see purple, black, blue, and yellow bruises up and down my entire torso. Which means I definitely got trampled by some Combustiphants. I don't remember volunteering for the Games, so why the hell do I look like I've been through them? I should just sew my lips shut now and give someone a sword so they can cut my head off. I swallow hard and move on to 4.) And my nether regions seem to be intact. 5.) My thighs are sore as hell, my calves ache when I flex them, and when I wiggle my toes, I find myself crying out in pain. I look down to find my foot wrapped tightly in clean white cloth, and the sort of pain and aching I had felt in my shoulder. Did I ... shoot myself in the foot? In the literal sense!? I grumble a, "Ripred, damn it all," nice little curse, before looking around the room again, wondering if anyone here can explain to me what the hell happened to me. I look around, feeling my insides twist when my mind drifts to my brother, home all alone, probably thinking I ran away from him just like Naveen did. Shit. I shift again, twisting to begin my long, slow, painful journey out of this hospital bed. But I can only manage to have myself sitting on the side of the bed, my feet dangling over the edge, poised to hit the floor, before I feel too tired and in pain to move any further. But I have to go home. I can't just stay here. I have a job to keep up with, I have a brother to look after, a life to live. "Hello?" I call out, my voice cracking a bit. "Does anyone work in this damned place? 'Cause you got someone who wants to talk to ya." I clutch the bed tightly as my head begins to spin, and it seems to take all my mental and physical power to just keep myself from falling over. Maybe I should quit getting shit-faced so often ... But I know without alcohol to numb all the pain inside me, I would probably end up laying next to my sister in the graveyard. "Showing up any day now would be nice, thanks." K a l y a n Casovnik