breaking point {Eva & C'rizz}

[Arrows]

Eva
Tidestone 

    Songs of steel rise through the surging center. Clangs clash and thuds thunder calling forth the eyes of death. In crippling crescendos breaths berate beaten bodies pushing themselves to the brink of capability. Sweat sticks hair to skin and blood burrows into the canyon creases of the cold white tiled floor. Before the silent girl of District Four unveils the chaotic creation of an inhumane opera. Each person plays their part with particular precision. The cruel careers sending shocks of terror through the hearts of those untrained. The survivors of their lives standing strong while struggling to learn and to excel. Even Eva, as part of those weaken by the forces of fate, stands within her shining spotlight waiting. Waiting for the light to dim to darkness. 

    Directly before the girl hidden behind the bends of  her dense black hair, bodies bend within the twists and turns of an obstacle course. Eyes angle from a viewing deck above but cannot pierce the panic which riddles Eva's existence. Inside the chamber of her chest her heart hammers infinitely increasing its speed. Her breaths break sending severe shaking through her skin. Within the mists of her mind the false whispers of paranoia begin to add in to the sadistic symphony surrounding her. She searches suddenly for an escape, an alleviation of the sheer stress devouring her as images of her shins shattering after a hard jump in the course cripple her thoughts. 

    The line before her winds further forward and she freezes, silence sweeps over the apex of the opera. Air becomes entirely unavailable as swiftly she's shuddering backwards through the line of the ready, of the physically fine. Back meets chest in a brutal bump and a screech of shock escapes Eva's lips as she whips around to face the unknown figure. Her heart holds within her chest and her tongue pretends to swell stopping any sound wishing to escape her lips. The fierce fires of fear entirely engulf her as instead of speaking she  sprints from the stares of those who will surely slaughter her. 

    Away from all the crude chaos and severe sounds she finds herself collapsed into a corner a glass of water shattered to the floor from her shaking. Her forehead finds her knees heavily pressing into their protruding peaks as her fingers interlock within her forest of hair. Slowly her shaking subsides and no longer does it feel as though the world is going to crush her. Tears begin to trickle down the curves of her cheek in aggravated agony. She knows she is stronger than this, better than this. She's survived this long, raised her siblings herself. Yet here she sits so fallen into the depths of her fear. 

    Her fingers free for a hand to find a shard of glass taken from its glinting pile. She stares into its shattered existence watching the woman in its reflection, her free hand's fingers follow to curves of her face. The words of her mother seem so strong as they seep through the silent space and into her ears. "You're so much stronger than you know Eva. They don't have to face what you overcome everyday. Never forget that my little star."

    If not for the sound of approaching steps fresher tears surely would have sewn themselves down Eva's face. Instead she finds her normal center calmness as her eyes turn to the shaded figure filling the doorway. Her throat tightens before she is finally able to speak softly as though one of the songs spun from her fiddle. "Something I can do for you Moon?"

[mat]

The cold breeze that was placed in the Capitol this morning brought my feet to the floor and my body awake quickly. The sheets and pillows that were stacked and stacked upon the queen-sized Capitol bed had not protected me from the wind here, despite one bed sheet and a blanket back at home doing wonders, almost letting me sleep in too late. There is something about the Capitol that makes restless nights much more common. It’s as if a grisly tension is present at every step, a reminder that whether we are content with it or not, death is surely upon our every footstep.

I was advised early on in my journey to the Capitol to be very well-rounded when it came to the Training Center. The escort told me that there were perhaps no bad training courses: from practicing melee and ranged with swords and throwing knives, to learn survival from plant identifications and firemaking, to even sharpening my agility through obstacle courses.

The latter was the area I decided to work on for the majority of the morning and afternoon. Each tribute was made to go separately so there were no two in the obstacle course at the same time, which made the speed of the sequence go much slower. Jumping over hurdles, ducking under branches, pushing through various items. It was enjoyable to watch tributes of all sizes and genders and districts and speeds flail their way through it, one by one.

Ahead of me, a girl with short black hair has a body that looks uneasy. Slowly, instead of advancing to the front of the line or the course, she instead moves backwards. Only instantly her body crashes into my own. I try to apologize for being in her way, but by the time I find my words, she’s running away.

Instead of taking my turn in the course, I fall back on my feet and chase after her instead. The girl, who had a four stitched onto her uniform, almost seemed afraid to come in physical contact. And for that, my heart sank. Nobody should fear another’s gentle hand.

The girl stays in a corner when I reach her again.

{“Something I can do for you, Moon?”}

I bring back the words I planned on telling her before she ran off.

”Wanted to apologize for bumping into you,” I say, quiet enough as I realize her fragility. ”Didn’t think I’d scare you too much.”