This is my entry for the Catching Fire Contest :)


1. Freedom


Prickling pines, harsh air, the smell of death.

Feet pounding the ground, scratched and bloody squishing in the mud.

I was going to die.

It's an odd feeling, knowing when your life is going to end, knowing that you'd only take so many more ragged, burning breaths, that you'd only see the glistening winks of the sun for seconds longer, that you'd only hear the honeyed melodies of a bird's song for moments more. I felt peaceful, frightful, vexed and exultant, a torrent of emotions storming in the very depths of my soul...

Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Nothing.

I fall.




Swimming from the sky at a breakneck speed. Screaming. So much screaming that curdles the blood, rattles the bones, constricts the heart. Drowning, choking in unbounded coldness. I feel the knife slide into my heart, puncturing my memories, love, life. Gushing out my very being, the heat migrating from my body, my vessel. 

My name...

I'm trying to remember my name.

Hot, muggy liquid crawls down my cheeks, carving little streams like the ones I used to fish in. They wriggle into my mouth and settle on my tongue filling it with the well-known metallic salty taste. 

Blue. My name is Blue and I will not die like this. I will not fall with the monstrous humility of being week and unknown, of being a grey cloud in a cloudy sky, of being a shriveled blade of grass in a dying field. I will not.

Skeletal fingers massage my neck and run through my nutmeg hair, tugging at the distinguished peacock colored lock and I remember, I remember him.


His name is a fish of a memory but I manage to catch it, just before it dives into the depths of my murky mind. I grasp onto the wriggling thought with all of my strength, the one name that is just as important as my own.

A flicker or warmth spreads through me like a faint spark of a fire. Swimming in the lake, covered by trees, rays of light blooming on my back as we fish, catch, reel. Fish, catch, reel. Suddenly I feel something flutter on my face. My eyes open with as much impossibility that I will win the Games and I see a blurry veil of light as my vision swims with disfigured shapes. My lungs burn, my heart beats painfully slow but I think of him and I feel as though I'm on cloud nine despite the current circumstances. I remember.

His soft lips on mine, his hands cradling my back, his velvety, throaty voice whispering that we could leave and we could start anew.

Impossibly delightful.

I don't know where I came from. I have no known family, or at least biological family, that is. They found me, the villagers, lying by the water on coarse, white sand. No name, no story, no nothing. I grew up by the water, flitting from house to house, scavenging morsels of food from wherever I could. Of course, the minute I was old enough, a fishing pole was thrust into my hands. No life, no choice It wasn't much different from when I was a baby. 

They called me Blue. Maybe it was because of the blue blanket I was found in, or the fact that the water was blue. Maybe it was the rainy color of my eyes. But I knew why. It was because of the ever so mysterious streak of water in my hair.

He was my age and put into my division. We fished on the Northern side of Lake Syreni from 3:13 AM to 9:11 PM every day. I took my pole, he took his trident and the day I met him was when he pushed my into the lake because of a squabble over who's-fish-was-who's. Of course, I pulled him in right after me. 

We hated, we teased, we ultimately loved. Beckett.

It was the day of my sixteenth birthday when they called my name. It was the day of our wanted escape. It was the day I knew I wouldn't be coming back. It is more commonly known as the Reaping.

He had yelled my name over and over again, he had pushed and fought with the peace keepers, he had fallen down to his knees and cried, his soft tears mixing with the dirt and soil on his calloused hands. Lovely, loving hands.

They shouted my name, over and over, a sea of "Blues!" filling the pavilion. I had turned my back from my infinite family and never looked back. 

Tick, tick, tick.

Drip, drip, drip.

"I love you Beck."


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