Fic: A Violent Death [The Hunger Games]
Title: A Violent Death
Characters/Pairing: OC (Death), victors, tributes, President Coin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: spoilers several Games, mentions of forced prostitution, violence
A/N: a companion to Someday After Tomorrow. It would probably help to read that one first.
Summary: Death collects fro the Hunger Games.
The first one is a young girl from District 9, her heart stabbed through by a blade held by calloused hands.
“I’m Death,” she tells her. She is in her simplest form, with curling white hair and red eyes and pale blue lips. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’m dead,” the girl squeaks, trembling as she looks down at her body. Her killer vomits, choking as he wails. “I’m - I’m dead.”
“Yes,” she tells the girl. “You are dead.”
The girl’s form puffs out, quaking in confusion.
“Who are you?” the little girl whispers, and if she were human she would feel sorrow.
“I am Keres,” she says. She never thought she would use this form in a place like this. “A violent death.”
--
The Hunger Games continue and she reaps them all, the true reaping of living beings. Some plead to linger and she lets them, content to know they will come eventually. Some follow her instantly, fearful of the world they leave. Some cry and some glitter with anger, steaming into the air as they gnash their teeth.
“I hope he dies,” one boy snarls as he reaches at his murderer. The living boy doesn’t feel the fingers clawing at his eyes.
“They all die,” she informs him, and if she were human she would feel pity at the twisted pain on his face.
--
They continue year after year, but she collects more than 23 dead. Some she collects from the Districts, punishments to those who survived.
“Why?” one woman wails in disbelief as her children are slaughtered by those who should protect her. “Why?”
“Because you humans must conquer life in the effort to conquer nothingness,” she tells her. Two ghostly children float to the sobbing woman, one not old enough to crawl. The woman glares at her with curls of smoke where tears could be.
“Will they pay?” she hisses, clutching at her dead baby. It whimpers. “Will they pay for what they’ve done?”
“No,” she says and the woman’s face cracks open in a scream. Her elder child shrieks, bursting into smoke, and both regain form in agony. She ignores them, taking the smaller child as Persephone.
Light bursts out from her body, her skin shining with the anticipation of the new. She is a new life, a breath of warmth after the cold.
The elder child takes her hand wondrously and looks at her eyes, he and his sibling fading away like they were never there.
When she returns she is Keres and the mother is still there, weeping with tears that cannot form.
“You cannot move them,” she tells the grieving spirit. “You cannot change them.”
“Then what?” the woman moans, beating at the floor with her flickering hands. “Is there nothing just in this world?”
“They will all pass,” she tells her. “Is that not enough?”
The woman looks up with eyes glowing white.
“No,” she hisses, and they watch the corpses burn.
--
Maysilee Donner does not meet Keres. Rather she sees Hestia, comforter of those who have lost warmth and home. She sees a girl with long white hair and red eyes, lips tinged blue as flames pour out behind her in gentle waves.
“Are you Death?” Maysilee asks in a small voice.
“Yes,” she tells her and the girl cringes.
“I thought so,” she murmurs sadly and looks at her District partner. He is weeping.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks her. Maysilee Donner bites her lip.
“What’s going to happen to him?” she asks, gesturing at Haymitch Abernathy.
“He will pass as all things pass,” she tells her. Maysilee’s eyes tear into stars. “But not yet.”
“I’m glad,” Maysilee says and her voice is hollow. “I’m so glad.”
“You won’t be,” she tells her, and Maysilee Donner crumbles at her words.
--
She picks up the dead as Iris, shining millions of colors behind her as they watch their bodies fall.
“She killed us,” the boy from District 1 wonders. “That scrap from District 3 killed us.”
“That was clever,” his partner murmurs appreciatively. “Rigging the water to paralyze us all.”
“Bitch,” the girl from District 7 mutters sullenly.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks them and they nod, watching the dark-haired girl sob over their bodies. The anthem is playing and it’s a fitting way to go.
“What’s going to happen to her?” the boy from 6 asks suddenly. They all turn to her and if she was human, she would feel surprise at these strange sentiments. “How’s she going to die?”
“Another Games,” she tells them and they all gasp.
“Another what?” the girl from 1 shrieks in disbelief. Her face cracks open and smoke rolls out.
“The third Quarter Quell,” she tells them and watches their faces blacken. “The tributes will be returning victors.”
“Those fuckers,” the girl from 7 swears. The boy from 1 nods fervently.
“She will bring them down,” she tells them. She’s learned that humans like to know these things. “Wiress Cezik will help bring the downfall of the Hunger Games.”
“That bitch,” the girl from 7 swears again but this time it sounds like a compliment.
Humans.
“Well,” the boy from District 6 says with a gleeful grin. “Good for her.”
They laugh together as she takes them away.
--
She walks the arena as Keres, letting her face darken like the night as blood pours out onto the earth. Somewhere, mothers are screaming.
“Fuck,” the boy whispers as he looks down at his mutilated throat. He touches his ghostly neck, feeling at a wound that isn’t there. “Fuck.”
“She has sharp teeth,” she notes and turns to him. He flinches. “Are you ready to go?”
“No,” he whispers and he’s curling into the wind. “No, no, no.”
She leaves him there and collects the others, and it’s not until he’s seen his mother with hate burning in her eyes and spitting at Enobaria’s face on the television that he finally says yes.
--
“It’s not fair,” the girl wails, gnashing her teeth. Her corpse lies on a table, woven back together by men who do not care. “I want her to be punished.”
So she takes her charge down to a polished home and lets her watch her killer forced onto her knees, paid for by a man with too much blood on his hands.
“Satisfied?” she asks as Cashmere chokes, and the dead girl vomits ashes.
--
She follows Finnick Odair for a while. He brings her those who must go and they remain to watch as he suffers.
“I thought dying would be terrible,” one girl murmurs and her eyes glaze over with fog. “But look at him.” They all look as Finnick Odair cries, forced into beds that aren’t his own.
“I feel sick,” one girl whispers and she rips apart into mist.
“You can’t be sick,” she tells these humans who think they can feel. “You’re dead.”
--
“I can’t believe she killed me,” the boy repeats as he stares at his slayer. “I can’t believe she killed me.”
“She is smart,” she tells him. “She was a wolf in sheep’s skin.”
“Damn,” the boy mutters not in anger, but in awe and regret.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks, white hair curling out and her blue lips pursed. She’s quite sure of the answer.
“Not yet,” he says and his faded eyes briefly shine. “I want to see this.”
So they watch as Johanna Mason picks off the strong, laughing with blood on her teeth.
--
She goes to the kills of Annie Cresta as Amphitrite, water pouring from her arms as they welcome the ocean’s cold embrace.
“She was so nice,” the young boy whispers as his savior lays his body down. “She wanted to help me.”
“She did,” she tells the boy and does not speak of the horrors flying in Annie Cresta’s way. She takes his hand and looks with cool red eyes. “Are you ready to go?”
--
“No,” the boy hisses as he claws at his District partner. “Annie, no!”
Annie Cresta does not hear him as she screams over his headless corpse.
“I have to help her!” the spirit cries. His face crackles with despair. “Please, I have to go!”
“The dead don’t rise,” she tells him and he grits his teeth. She wonders what it is about this girl that makes the dead want to. “But there will be Finnick Odair.”
A silver parachute saunters down and the boy grows quiet.
--
“Thank you,” the girl murmurs with curls of smoke dripping down her eyes. She is from District 8 and she has just been killed. “Thank you so much.”
“He can’t hear you,” she tells the girl as they look at Peeta Mellark. Today, she is Hestia.
“I know,” the girl says and her fingers melt into his guilty face. “But I’m glad I said it.”
The girl pauses and whispers, “Will he kill anyone else?”
She means in the Games.
“One,” she tells the girl. “An accident through the fault of others.”
She will reap that one too, a sly girl who will smile scornfully and move on with ease.
The girl blinks.
“What happens to him?” she asks in a low voice, as if fearing someone will hear. “Does he…die?”
“They all die,” she tells her and the girl flinches like she didn’t know. Humans. “But his will not come for a while.”
“Oh,” the girl says and they watch him disappear into foliage. A metal craft soars above them to retrieve the corpse, but they are not disturbed. “Oh, okay.”
“Are you ready to go?” she asks and the girl nods. She fades.
“Thank you,” the girl whispers to her, and if she were human she would be surprised.
--
She greets the woman as the Furies, blood bursting from her eyes and snakes hissing from her neck.
“I’m dead,” the woman states flatly. She gives the woman a cold, cruel smile.
“You’ve reaped what you sowed,” she tells her, and if she were human she would feel pleasure at this funny twist of words.
“I did nothing of the sort,” the woman says sharply. There is no regret, no remorse for the lives she poured out of her hands. “I should have killed that brat when I had the chance.”
“You murdered for yourself,” she says and hundreds of dead flicker in. The woman’s face tightens with fear as a young girl walks forward, pale and sweet and so unlike her living sister.
“You wanted more Games,” Primrose Everdeen murmurs. Her eyes are cold and pained. “You wanted more deaths.”
“It’s reaping day,” a young boy snarls, and President Coin screams as she is ripped into shreds and cannot die.
--
They stand over the chair, his body slumped over with his face full of peace. Today she is Hestia, warmth and fire flaring from her back. Her red eyes take him in, the one who marks the end.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks and Haymitch Abernathy’s eyes curl with steam.
“Yes,” he gasps, and he is the last to be taken by the Hunger Games.
Characters/Pairing: OC (Death), victors, tributes, President Coin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: spoilers several Games, mentions of forced prostitution, violence
A/N: a companion to Someday After Tomorrow. It would probably help to read that one first.
Summary: Death collects fro the Hunger Games.
The first one is a young girl from District 9, her heart stabbed through by a blade held by calloused hands.
“I’m Death,” she tells her. She is in her simplest form, with curling white hair and red eyes and pale blue lips. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’m dead,” the girl squeaks, trembling as she looks down at her body. Her killer vomits, choking as he wails. “I’m - I’m dead.”
“Yes,” she tells the girl. “You are dead.”
The girl’s form puffs out, quaking in confusion.
“Who are you?” the little girl whispers, and if she were human she would feel sorrow.
“I am Keres,” she says. She never thought she would use this form in a place like this. “A violent death.”
--
The Hunger Games continue and she reaps them all, the true reaping of living beings. Some plead to linger and she lets them, content to know they will come eventually. Some follow her instantly, fearful of the world they leave. Some cry and some glitter with anger, steaming into the air as they gnash their teeth.
“I hope he dies,” one boy snarls as he reaches at his murderer. The living boy doesn’t feel the fingers clawing at his eyes.
“They all die,” she informs him, and if she were human she would feel pity at the twisted pain on his face.
--
They continue year after year, but she collects more than 23 dead. Some she collects from the Districts, punishments to those who survived.
“Why?” one woman wails in disbelief as her children are slaughtered by those who should protect her. “Why?”
“Because you humans must conquer life in the effort to conquer nothingness,” she tells her. Two ghostly children float to the sobbing woman, one not old enough to crawl. The woman glares at her with curls of smoke where tears could be.
“Will they pay?” she hisses, clutching at her dead baby. It whimpers. “Will they pay for what they’ve done?”
“No,” she says and the woman’s face cracks open in a scream. Her elder child shrieks, bursting into smoke, and both regain form in agony. She ignores them, taking the smaller child as Persephone.
Light bursts out from her body, her skin shining with the anticipation of the new. She is a new life, a breath of warmth after the cold.
The elder child takes her hand wondrously and looks at her eyes, he and his sibling fading away like they were never there.
When she returns she is Keres and the mother is still there, weeping with tears that cannot form.
“You cannot move them,” she tells the grieving spirit. “You cannot change them.”
“Then what?” the woman moans, beating at the floor with her flickering hands. “Is there nothing just in this world?”
“They will all pass,” she tells her. “Is that not enough?”
The woman looks up with eyes glowing white.
“No,” she hisses, and they watch the corpses burn.
--
Maysilee Donner does not meet Keres. Rather she sees Hestia, comforter of those who have lost warmth and home. She sees a girl with long white hair and red eyes, lips tinged blue as flames pour out behind her in gentle waves.
“Are you Death?” Maysilee asks in a small voice.
“Yes,” she tells her and the girl cringes.
“I thought so,” she murmurs sadly and looks at her District partner. He is weeping.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks her. Maysilee Donner bites her lip.
“What’s going to happen to him?” she asks, gesturing at Haymitch Abernathy.
“He will pass as all things pass,” she tells her. Maysilee’s eyes tear into stars. “But not yet.”
“I’m glad,” Maysilee says and her voice is hollow. “I’m so glad.”
“You won’t be,” she tells her, and Maysilee Donner crumbles at her words.
--
She picks up the dead as Iris, shining millions of colors behind her as they watch their bodies fall.
“She killed us,” the boy from District 1 wonders. “That scrap from District 3 killed us.”
“That was clever,” his partner murmurs appreciatively. “Rigging the water to paralyze us all.”
“Bitch,” the girl from District 7 mutters sullenly.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks them and they nod, watching the dark-haired girl sob over their bodies. The anthem is playing and it’s a fitting way to go.
“What’s going to happen to her?” the boy from 6 asks suddenly. They all turn to her and if she was human, she would feel surprise at these strange sentiments. “How’s she going to die?”
“Another Games,” she tells them and they all gasp.
“Another what?” the girl from 1 shrieks in disbelief. Her face cracks open and smoke rolls out.
“The third Quarter Quell,” she tells them and watches their faces blacken. “The tributes will be returning victors.”
“Those fuckers,” the girl from 7 swears. The boy from 1 nods fervently.
“She will bring them down,” she tells them. She’s learned that humans like to know these things. “Wiress Cezik will help bring the downfall of the Hunger Games.”
“That bitch,” the girl from 7 swears again but this time it sounds like a compliment.
Humans.
“Well,” the boy from District 6 says with a gleeful grin. “Good for her.”
They laugh together as she takes them away.
--
She walks the arena as Keres, letting her face darken like the night as blood pours out onto the earth. Somewhere, mothers are screaming.
“Fuck,” the boy whispers as he looks down at his mutilated throat. He touches his ghostly neck, feeling at a wound that isn’t there. “Fuck.”
“She has sharp teeth,” she notes and turns to him. He flinches. “Are you ready to go?”
“No,” he whispers and he’s curling into the wind. “No, no, no.”
She leaves him there and collects the others, and it’s not until he’s seen his mother with hate burning in her eyes and spitting at Enobaria’s face on the television that he finally says yes.
--
“It’s not fair,” the girl wails, gnashing her teeth. Her corpse lies on a table, woven back together by men who do not care. “I want her to be punished.”
So she takes her charge down to a polished home and lets her watch her killer forced onto her knees, paid for by a man with too much blood on his hands.
“Satisfied?” she asks as Cashmere chokes, and the dead girl vomits ashes.
--
She follows Finnick Odair for a while. He brings her those who must go and they remain to watch as he suffers.
“I thought dying would be terrible,” one girl murmurs and her eyes glaze over with fog. “But look at him.” They all look as Finnick Odair cries, forced into beds that aren’t his own.
“I feel sick,” one girl whispers and she rips apart into mist.
“You can’t be sick,” she tells these humans who think they can feel. “You’re dead.”
--
“I can’t believe she killed me,” the boy repeats as he stares at his slayer. “I can’t believe she killed me.”
“She is smart,” she tells him. “She was a wolf in sheep’s skin.”
“Damn,” the boy mutters not in anger, but in awe and regret.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks, white hair curling out and her blue lips pursed. She’s quite sure of the answer.
“Not yet,” he says and his faded eyes briefly shine. “I want to see this.”
So they watch as Johanna Mason picks off the strong, laughing with blood on her teeth.
--
She goes to the kills of Annie Cresta as Amphitrite, water pouring from her arms as they welcome the ocean’s cold embrace.
“She was so nice,” the young boy whispers as his savior lays his body down. “She wanted to help me.”
“She did,” she tells the boy and does not speak of the horrors flying in Annie Cresta’s way. She takes his hand and looks with cool red eyes. “Are you ready to go?”
--
“No,” the boy hisses as he claws at his District partner. “Annie, no!”
Annie Cresta does not hear him as she screams over his headless corpse.
“I have to help her!” the spirit cries. His face crackles with despair. “Please, I have to go!”
“The dead don’t rise,” she tells him and he grits his teeth. She wonders what it is about this girl that makes the dead want to. “But there will be Finnick Odair.”
A silver parachute saunters down and the boy grows quiet.
--
“Thank you,” the girl murmurs with curls of smoke dripping down her eyes. She is from District 8 and she has just been killed. “Thank you so much.”
“He can’t hear you,” she tells the girl as they look at Peeta Mellark. Today, she is Hestia.
“I know,” the girl says and her fingers melt into his guilty face. “But I’m glad I said it.”
The girl pauses and whispers, “Will he kill anyone else?”
She means in the Games.
“One,” she tells the girl. “An accident through the fault of others.”
She will reap that one too, a sly girl who will smile scornfully and move on with ease.
The girl blinks.
“What happens to him?” she asks in a low voice, as if fearing someone will hear. “Does he…die?”
“They all die,” she tells her and the girl flinches like she didn’t know. Humans. “But his will not come for a while.”
“Oh,” the girl says and they watch him disappear into foliage. A metal craft soars above them to retrieve the corpse, but they are not disturbed. “Oh, okay.”
“Are you ready to go?” she asks and the girl nods. She fades.
“Thank you,” the girl whispers to her, and if she were human she would be surprised.
--
She greets the woman as the Furies, blood bursting from her eyes and snakes hissing from her neck.
“I’m dead,” the woman states flatly. She gives the woman a cold, cruel smile.
“You’ve reaped what you sowed,” she tells her, and if she were human she would feel pleasure at this funny twist of words.
“I did nothing of the sort,” the woman says sharply. There is no regret, no remorse for the lives she poured out of her hands. “I should have killed that brat when I had the chance.”
“You murdered for yourself,” she says and hundreds of dead flicker in. The woman’s face tightens with fear as a young girl walks forward, pale and sweet and so unlike her living sister.
“You wanted more Games,” Primrose Everdeen murmurs. Her eyes are cold and pained. “You wanted more deaths.”
“It’s reaping day,” a young boy snarls, and President Coin screams as she is ripped into shreds and cannot die.
--
They stand over the chair, his body slumped over with his face full of peace. Today she is Hestia, warmth and fire flaring from her back. Her red eyes take him in, the one who marks the end.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks and Haymitch Abernathy’s eyes curl with steam.
“Yes,” he gasps, and he is the last to be taken by the Hunger Games.