tell me when you hear my heart stop .} aspen oneshot

[Deleted]

[presto] aspen rose male district xi [/presto]

It has been three days since I watched the Hunger Games. I was too terrified to watch, because I was afraid that my sister, Moss, would die. I could hear fragments of the Games through my door. (screams. yelling. clangs of metal meeting metal. the eerie boom of cannons.) I could hear the cannons firing, signifying a death, and I balled my hands into fists, my knuckles turning white, willing that it wasn't Moss who died, that her face wouldn't be in the anthem. The Games are halfway over. You can make it, Moss. (will she be coming home?) (you'll have the watch and see.) If she had her allies, Aurora Villela and Luke Davis, I would wholeheartedly believe in her. I want to her to come home, but there is a part of me that doubts she will. I want to embrace her warmly again and play with her in the fields. I want to see her breathing, alive and well. I want to see her smile and live a happy, full life. Moss deserves so much better. She doesn't deserve to be forced into the Arena, to be forced to kill children, innocent, naive children who also deserve to have long, happy lives. But twenty-three of those children must die if my sister is to come home. I would rather see Moss mercilessly steal away the lives of children than to see her body being lifted off the ground by the hovercraft. I sit in my room, conjuring images of several ways Moss could die. (mutts. tributes. starvation. dehydration. blood loss.) I am consumed by my own thoughts. I am drowning in a deep, dark, merciless sea during high tide. I am being eaten alive by my thoughts. Each thought is a beast clawing at my mind with its claws. They are beasts who have no sympathy, who only care about their own survival and take pleasure in inflicting pain on me. (torture. kill. eat. kill more. torture more excruciatingly.) Boom. My heart skips a beat. My thoughts shatter into a million pieces like glass. I tumble frantically out of my bed and I hit the floor with a smack. I feel like a sack of stones is in my pocket, but I pull myself from the floor. I open the door and sprint towards the TV to see who perished. The girl on the screen is missing both of her arms. Gashes mar her body and her fair skin is coated with thick scarlet blood. A pool of blood pours out of her mouth. Tears stream from her eyes. Her blonde hair is strewn on the ground. Her blank, lifeless green eyes stare up at the sky. A beautiful corpse, although mangled and bloody. It takes me a moment to recognize her. Moss. She looks . . . different. (wild. hungry. predatory. like a wolf.) The girl from One (francesca levroux) stands over her. Blood is smeared on her mouth (moss's blood?), as if she had bitten someone or put her lips to a wound. Francesca loots Moss like . . . like it was nothing. Like her death meant nothing, and only opened up an opportunity of getting more supplies. Francesca must have killed Moss. How dare she. How dare she steal the life of my sister like one would steal coins from someone's pocket. How dare she strike her down. How dare she destroy Moss's future. How dare she. A scream summoned by rage and despair escapes my mouth. I grab a lamp from the table and thrust it onto the ground. It shatters into hundreds of pieces, just like my heart. I can hear my own heart beating like a hammer. I don't stop with just the lamp. I flip over a dining room chair and punch the wall. I kick the couch with so much force that I may have injured my toe, but I don't care. In this rampage, I scream and scream and scream. My throat hurts after all of the screaming, but I don't care. "I'll fucking kill you, Francesca Levroux!" I scream. "I swear, if you come back alive, I'll fucking kill you! And if you die like a bitch in the arena, I'll laugh!" There is no one but me to hear my screams, but I don't care. Moss, Moss, Moss, Moss. I'll avenge you somehow. I don't care if it's the last thing I do. I will avenge you. I promise. Boom. Another cannon is fired, but I don't look to see who died. I don't care about anyone else in there but my sister. She's gone now, and she's not coming back. Her body will return to District Eleven, but not Moss. Moss's smile, her laugh, her voice, will not return to District Eleven. She's gone forever. Hot tears pour down my cheeks rivulets and I can feel the heat in my face. The walls of my throat are sanded, as if I swallowed a gallon of salt water. My body trembles like a weak tree in the winds of a hurricane. I am weak. Moss is - was - strong. But that wasn't enough to save her. Even the strong, the courageous, can die. Moss was slaughtered like livestock, like her life held no value. I'll show them. I'll show them that she meant something. Somehow, somehow I will show them that Moss was more than a piece of their Games. I won't let her die unremembered. May the memory of Moss Rose haunt me, Francesca, and everyone whose lives she touched. And may I someday make the Capitol pay for it. ________________________________ template by briar rose.