Kendria Parstons has never been a normal District 7 girl. After losing her mother at the age of four, and being forced to take up the mantle of a role model for her younger siblings at a young age, she has layers of hurt and sorrow behind her seemin...
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"People prefer sugar-coated works because the truth is bitter like poison."
𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 Three - 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗲𝘀 and Snow
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When I open my eyes, my first thought is wow, that's a whole lot of white. Everything around me is white. And this isn't a cool and calming white. Something about this white is evil and sinister. It's the white that is so often found in hospitals and government buildings. Evil, feelingless, and worst of all, merciless. This room reminds me so much of the room that I woke up in after my first hunger games that I almost look to see if Blight is sitting there, right beside me, waiting to tell me that I'm back and safe.
He's not. The thought of Blight brings back what has happened withing the past few weeks. A whole new hunger games: one which I was a tribute in, even though Snow promised me that wouldn't happen again. The thought of Snow brings in a new wave of emotion, raw rage. And this raw rage is the reason that I'm in this mess in the first place, isn't it? The rebellion. Even after all I've done and cutting Peeta's tracker was a pretty open declaration of my alliance with the rebellion, it still feels illegal even thinking about it. I think about the ending hours of the quarter quell, and how after that, the rebellion must've started. I can't help but wondering if I succeeded. If Katniss and Peeta are part of that. And if they are, then where am I? Did the rebels pick me up? Or is this how hell looks like?
I'm surprised that I remember everything that happened. I'm also surprised that my body leaves no trace of having received an axe wound to the stomach. I feel along my stomach, under the white shirt that I've been put in, and sure enough, there isn't even a scar.
The door to my white hospital room opens. The door is so well camouflaged with the white walls that I don't even realize it's there until it opens. A nurse, by the looks of her, marches into my room, and adjusts the IV that's flowing into my veins. She doesn't look at me. Her eyes hover around me, but never land on me. It's like she's scared about acknowledging me.
Then, the radio starts to play.
It's president Snow's voice.
"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the capitol, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of Victors."
