Caged | The Hunger Games AU ✓

xxviii. ½ despondence

QUICK NOTE: surprise, guys. this chapter is from ROY FORKSHIRE'S point of view, in reaction to chapter 27. since he isnt in this book a lot and he's my fave, i decided to give you an insight to how he acted when you-know-what happened. happy reading!

twenty-eight and a half - despondence

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i stand up.

it's impossible to explain what i feel. it's a calamitous mixture of disbelief and anger, accompanied by so much shock that my entire body feels numb. i stare at the television as thalia watches the blood blossom from her stomach and drip onto the sand at her feet.

my chin trembles. i turn and face my parents, who are completely still. they sit on the overstuffed sofas with equally bewildered expressions. neither of them looks close to crying. i'm not sure if it has really registered in their minds yet that their daughter just got mortally wounded.

i hear matthias' scream of her name ring in my ears, more like a faint echo to me now. there's a sickening slicing sound and a splash. my parents' expressions haven't changed.

and then my dad speaks. "son."

i feel my heart plummet into my stomach at his single word. though his dark eyes are locked on the small television screen, i know he expects me to listen. but how can i? i just witnessed a sadistic monster of a girl jab a knife into my sister. i should be running for the hills right toward the capitol in protest. 

the tone in my father's voice is surprisingly steady considering the context of this situation. i thought it would be splintering under the weight of his sadness, but he barely seems to realize that thalia is dying right now, and instead of relishing in her final moments, he's wasting them by talking to me.

but he doesn't say anything else. his chapped lips stay sealed shut like someone applied glue to them. my mother touches her cheek with the tips of her fingers, but there is no reaction otherwise.

my eyes flicker back to the screen. thalia is now lying propped up in matthias' arms as he tries desperately to keep her alive for a little while longer. my mind is turning into mush. i can barely think as i watch the color drain from her pale face like water running down a drain. it feels like i've lost a limb. 

but suddenly, another emotion flares up as if someone lit a match inside of me: rage. i'm livid as i whirl around to face my emotionless parents, watching with no tears in their eyes as thalia lives her final moments.

"what is wrong with you?" i demand in a voice filled thundering with anger. my eyes narrow into slits when they don't respond, as i expected. "your daughter–" i find trouble in saying the next words "–she's dying. and you're just going to sit there?"

my mother's green eyes flicker to me. and now i see that they hold a pit of despondency in them, the kind that carves out your soul and makes it impossible to cry. but i don't pity her. i don't pity my father, who is still sitting, stoic and righteous.

i storm to my room. the door slams shut so furiously that the wooden house quivers and rattles. i pace back and forth in front of my bed, running my calloused hands down my face. my breathing steadily increases until it isn't so steady anymore, and soon i'm choking on my own tears and anger.

my sister. my baby sister. she's dying right now, bleeding out on a beach in an arena that the capitol constructed. the baby sister that i personally taught how to fight, how to hunt, and how to live when we have such little resources. i watched her change and develop from a hardened diamond to a broken girl who was much more strong than i ever came to realize.