same hurt in every h e a r t'' [D4 train]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

Annie cant breath.

She never could when she tried to take the night off from the constant terror that was her mind. She was lost in it most of the time, because she couldn’t find a way to push the memories to the ends of her brain. Instead, they manifested into plagues that left her mind in disarray. She wished every night that the memories would go away, that she would have a chance to never think about the games again, but the fact that the reaping was the next day, she wouldn’t have that chance.

She would have to relive it again, and again, until the day she died.

And she wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone.

---

However, she knew that she wasn’t alone, and that there were 23 others who shared similar nightmares. She wondered if they screamed the way she did when she felt like she was being followed. She wondered if they woke up at night thinking about opening the window and try to find out if they could fly. She wondered if this was ever going to get easy, for her and for them, because whether Annie wanted to admit it or not, they were all carrying this baggage. She was not alone, and as much as she wanted to bear the weight of this grief by herself, she did have others that she could easily rely on.

Wander Sibley would always be one of them.

Annie took to ver for many reasons. Ve reminded her of home back in the arena. Ve cared about her enough to send her a rose while she was fighting for her life. They shared a moment together before the Gold Mines collapsed into oblivion. She cried the moment she saw his face in the sky, even though Angel wished that ve died the most painful of deaths. She hid. She ran to the HO__ WOO__ sign and carved ver name into the splintered wood and screamed at the top of her lungs over him. She won. She came back to the capitol and she was told that ve was alive. She cried, she was reunited with ver, and she silently told herself that she was never going to let ver out of her sight ever again.

However, Wander was turning sixteen, which meant that ve would still be eligible for the reaping. The thought of any of them going back into the games brought the nightmares. They did not have the luxury that Annie had. They were not victors. They were pawns in the capitol’s clutches which means if ripred willed them to go back in, then that could be the fate for any of them.

---

She got lucky though, and she did not hear ver name called. She took a deep breath as the girl stepped up first. Her name was Finley, and from the looks of it, she seemed like she was ready for whatever was going to come.

Annie did not know her, not one bit. Annie had trained in the academies of four pretty regularly, and she would have remembered a girl with fiery red hair, as that was a pretty rare look to have in District 4. The amount of time that most people would have spent in the water here, Annie knew that had to have been her natural hair color because the salt water would have muted the color if it was some sort of dye. Regardless, Finely O’Hara was not Wander Sibley, and Annie could at least breathe a little easy.

However, the boys were next, and of course, ripred would play the cruelest of jokes on her. She watched as the escort pulled the name out of the bowl, and time froze. In those moments, she prayed that Wander Sibley would not be on that slip, and when she felt the earth rotate once again, ver name was not called. Instead it was the boy who shared the name with the Mayor that had been elected. Verne Perch. Annie looked at him for a second before turning her gaze away, it was obvious that she wasn’t interested in him, because the moment that his name was called, another boy had volunteered in his place. Annie simply looked at the other and wondered if this boy had the guts to do what it took to win the games.

Flashbacks to her reaping came back in full force, but she kept her smile plastered on her face. She could not show how broken she was, because she already knew that everyone had seen it for themselves over the last year. However, she could at least breathe easily. Wander Sibley was not ripped away from her.

For now.

---

Annie was escorted to the train, being told that they were to settle in first before the tributes arrived. She understood. It was the same for her when she was reaped. They wanted the tributes to say their last goodbyes, and Annie didn’t need to wait around for that. She had a feeling they would be quick anyway, just like hers was.

After all, the only person that came to see her was Angel Mer, but she promised him she would come home. She felt silly, thinking about how she would have come home no matter what, but the irony of the situation still set in like a stick of butter being sliced through by a hot knife.

She would never get used to being a victor.

She settled into her room, wishing that she didn’t have to be away from the ocean for a long period of time. But seeing as she had dual residence in both four and the capitol, she knew that she could come and go as she pleased once the tributes were in the arena. Of course, she would be watching, it was almost expected at this point. The moment the tributes went into the arena, she would have to do everything she could in order to make sure that one of them came out on top.

And that’s when it all set in.

Only one of them could come out.

There was no twist this games. There was no chance for a saving grace. There was a strong chance that both of her tributes could die, and Annie had to somehow face that reality.

She looked at herself in the mirror and splashed water in her face.

She would deal with it when the time came.

---

She walked out of her room and up to the alcohol, Annie already developing a small tolerance to wine. She flipped her hair for a moment, her right hand feeling a little odd since the reaping had occurred. She figured that was normal, seeing as it had almost been a year since she lost it. However, the prosthetic they gave her was still in tip top condition. She knew that at any point, she could have them regrow a hand for her or something, but she didn’t want that. Not right now.

She wanted to keep her prosthetic as a reminder of the hell that she had gone through last year.

She would never be ready to forget.

She poured herself a healthy glass of whatever wine was available. Of course, she didn’t care too much. Just something to take the edge off.

She sat against one of the benches in the car that everyone else would enter and turned her body to the side, looking at the front of the car and keeping her eyes on the window that she was next too. She wasn’t sure what was going to come of the games, but she had to try her hardest to be there for the children that were going in.

After all, she knew exactly what it was like to fight for her life.

She was just lucky enough that the capitol showed some mercy and she was quick with her knives.

[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Leon does not cry out from his dreams.

He wishes he could say that it's an art, this skill he's attained in ripping his consciousness out of the nightmare and into a locked-limb body that for too-long minutes is not his own. It's a little more terrifying than simply awakening: to begin with, his senses seem to stretch out to the four corners of the room when he knows his eyes are closed. He can see every movement, every shadow; he can hear every sound he could ever imagine, from Glamour's sleepy grumble to the drag of nails across the walls to every final, gasping breath. 

To his credit, he has never once woken Glamour. To Glamour's credit, Leon tries very, very hard.

He eases out of the paralysis like a trapped animal eases out of a net -- with clawing desperation and the knowledge that if he allowed himself a moment of rest, the dream would return with a bleeding vengeance.

When he finally, finally opens his eyes, Leon sucks in a lungful of air, hand scraping across the sheets to find Glamour's.

He's not there. Of course.

The wash of waves over the beaches at District Four greets him instead.



It has been years. Years, Leon reflects, since he'd had to awaken so violently, to the roaring in his ears and a skittish heart. But then again, he'd never had his once-dead tribute returned to life, like deja vu, like Anatalia Morrisen never won the 80th Games at all. Leon drags his hand across his face uneasily before looking over the Reaping crowd. 

He finds Wander Sibley with unnerving ease, as though a single Games was all it took to put ver on his radar. He'd struggled in the Bloodbath to keep track of the two, yet now he's able to pick them both out of any crowd. Of course, Annie didn't have to sit with her peers anymore, the only difference between this year and the last. She, like him, will have dreams of dealing death, if she dreams of the Games at all.

But Wander. If Leon dreams of death, then he cannot even begin to imagine what nightmares Wander has to suffer.


For the first time in so many years, Leon is not the first in the dining car. The door hisses shut behind him, locking out the light rattle of the train racing along its tracks, and he has to physically stop himself from startling at the sight of his fellow victor. Pressing a hand to his chest, he clears his throat gently and says, "Good to see you." Not good afternoon, not good day -- Reaping days were never good. Just... good to see her.

It was.

Leon crosses to the food, helping himself to a small bowl of soup. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Annie pour herself a glass of wine, and before he can stop himself, he says quietly, "That road is not one you want to follow, Annie." He looks at her, balancing the soup on his good hand. "Trust me. You'll want to make better mistakes than I did."

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