Writers' Games - Free Falling {CLOSED}

Noelle Jenkins' POV

I hummed quietly to myself as I looked at the horizon, watching as the sun cast shadows onto the ground. There were pinks and oranges and yellows and all sorts of colours in the sky. I hadn't seen a sunset this beautiful in years, the last time I saw one this extraordinary was when I was 10. I still remember that day.

~FLASHBACK START~

I was sitting in my usual position on a Monday afternoon, carving crooked images into the wall with my knife - the only thing I could really do in my room - when suddenly a light began to shine from behind the boarded up windows. I stood up from my position, my muscles aching from cramps, and tentatively peered past the wooden boards. I could see pinks and oranges and the sun, silhouetteing the trees and creating a landscape that was, well, beautiful. I felt an immense sadness well up inside me. I never understood why exactly I was locked away in my room.

All I remember was little 4 year old me getting dragged into the attic, and sat watching, confused and wondering. Wondering why my mother was looking at me in fear, afraid of her own child. Wondering why my parents were boarding up my windows, cutting off the outside world. Wondering why, even when my parents left the room, I wasn't allowed to leave with them, and instead my tiny toddler body was shoved roughly back inside before the trap door was slammed shut. I spent my whole life wondering why I was locked away. Now maybe I know why. Maybe I am the devil, as my parents said. Maybe I am a freak, as the other tributes told me. Maybe I'm just wrong. Not right.

A mistake.

My small fingers closed around the wooden board and began to pull, and I grunted with the effort as my tiny 10 year old body tried to remove the boards. Finally, I heard a crack, and I smiled to myself. I felt so rebellious, so alive. My parents would punish me for this, but when I was in the moment I didn't care. All I wanted to do was to see the beautiful sunset - a sight I hadn't seen for 6 long years. I ripped the other board from the window, and threw the board to the ground. I climbed onto the window sill in my haste, and swung my legs out the window. I sat, on the precipice of freedom, and looking out at the picturesque landscape seemed to give me strength I hadn't felt for years.

'I could escape right now.' I thought. 'I could jump from here and be free.'

I looked down at the ground. It was a far drop, at least 4 metres. I edged closer to the outside world, preparing to jump. Just as I was about to leap to the ground, I heard a door slam. I froze immediately.

"Noelle?" I heard my mother's voice float up the stairs, nervousness apparent in her tone. I whimpered. If my mother knew that I was thinking of escaping, my father was almost 100% guaranteed to come up to the attic and beat me. Again.

"Noelle?" my mother repeated her earlier question, but this time I heard a hint of urgency in her voice. "Noelle, what are you doing up there?"

I didn't answer. I was sick of this. Sick of being trapped. Sick of being caged like an animal. Sick of my being confined to the attic. Sick of being fed through the trapdoor. Sick of everything.

"Noelle! Don't make me get your father!" I heard my mother threaten once more. I scowled. No. I was done with this. I looked up at the sunset once more, drawing strength from the beauty of it. I heard another door slam, and knew that my father was coming. My mother would make good on her promise, I knew that from experience. Even as I sat at the window, the multiple scars on my back and stomach burned from scratching against my cotton shirt. The same cotton shirt that was caked in dried blood.

I looked down at the ground below me. I was going to do it. I was going to be free. Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me backwards and away from safety. I screamed in frustration, kicking out and shouting. I was so close to freedom. So damn close. I was thrown to the ground, and looked up to see my father, holding a knife in one hand, and a whip in the other. His face was contorted in anger.