And that was the thing about her, she kept on surviving. With bullet holes in her lungs and knife marks etched in her back. She never let anything get in her way, resilient. A fighter, not by choice. But a warrior at heart.
| the hunger games |
| pr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
───── · ° ➶ ✧ ➶ ° · ─────
The journey back to my District concisted of me freaking out. I knew what I did wouldn't go unpunished. President Snow was going to kill me, that much I knew for sure. I was half way expecting to be killed on the spot as soon as I stepped off the train, but instead I was greeted by peacekeepers who always escort me back to the Victor's Village.
The sun was setting, I had spent the entire day in the Captiol. An entire day wasted. I give a small smile to the peacekeepers as I near my house and they walk away. The lights in Nolan's house are still on and I wonder if he knows that I've been gone. Willow's lights are already turned off.
Making my way up the stairs to the porch, I turn the doorknob and instantly I know that something is wrong. A feeling of uneasiness washes over me and I get the feeling that I am being watched. I quickly turn to look behind me but I see nothing.
The feeling doesn't go away even after I enter the house, instead it gets worse. It's like the feeling I had in the Games, I'm not safe here. There is danger around the corner, hiding in the shadows, waiting for me to fall asleep. I slowly make my way into the kitchen and wrap my fingers around a knife.
I know better than to call out for my mother. I wasn't sure if there was someone in the house and if there was then I didn't want them to know she was here. Unless they had already found her.
Closing my eyes, I try to calm my heart rate, telling myself that everything is fine. I almost convince myself that I am home alone, that there is no intruder and then as I leave the kitchen and enter the living room my eyes land on a small pool of blood laying on the floor. The grip I have on the knife tighens as I slowly follow the blood trail that leads down the hall.
I am scared to see what it leads to, or who might be in here. But the rational part of my brain is telling me that maybe my mother cut herself and she went to the bathroom to get supplies to bandage her cut. That theory is gone as soon as I think of it as I see the blood lead into my mother's room.
"Mom?" I whisper. I hestiently place my palm on the handle of the door. "Are you okay?" My voice was barely above a whisper, as if I am afraid that if I speak up then someone would hear me.
Turning the handle I pull open the door. Stepping inside, I don't see anyone at first glance. But as I look around I see the bookshelf that my mother keeps against the wall by the door that is filled with things her mother made and a few things that she added to. Mostly drawings and stories that she would read to me. The bookshelf is thrown down onto the floor with the books and pages scattered around the room.
Walking further into the room I see my mother's bed is not made up like it usually is. The sheets are all thrown off of the bed. My eyes glance away from the bed towards the floor by the door that leads to the bathroom connected to her room.
