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dahliambervale · 4 years ago

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SO THIS IS HOW IT ENDS. // SELF-PARA

Dying in an airplane had not been the way Ines had imagined they’d leave this earth.

They’d never had enough money to board a plane to begin with, let alone a hovercraft, let alone a train like the one they’d boarded on their way to the Capitol. Riches couldn’t buy a feeling like flying for the first time. There was no market where one could put the fear of falling for the first time on sale.

Their hands dug into the seat’s armrest like it was dirt they could take a fistful out of and fling it into water just to see it dissolve like a momentary temperamental anger. The plane rattled and people screamed while Ines forgot to open their mouth and do the same. Nineteen years of diligent silence and clenching their teeth to suffer through things with a clear head made you either too brave to dissolve into hysterics at a moment like this, or too slow to compute the true meaning.

It meant death. Falling, flying, burning, crashing. That’s what it meant, and Ines stayed silent while they stared into the camera right in front of their face with a slight furrow to their brows. As if they were confused by the notion that they were being watched at a moment like this. Like that wasn’t what the Games were about. A recorded show of suffering.

Ines wasn’t exactly putting on a show. They doubted anyone was looking at them when others were near them, screaming their lungs out while the plane plummeted towards the ground at a near vertical angle. It would be an uneventful death, a Games over in minutes rather than days while the Capitol would be scouring the remains of the plane to find their sole survivor. It might be me, Ines thought to themselves, startled that something like that would cross their mind. What a disappointment.

Was it strange, that it didn’t seem quite real?

“I won’t, Mom, I promise,” they’d said, with an annoyed roll of their eyes while their mother was looking at them with the same stern, knowing look as every other reaping day.

“You promise that every time, and you still come home late. When first we practice to deceive-”

“-oh what a tangled web we weave. Yeah, yeah. I’ll be home by six.”

It was way past six by now, had been so, multiple times over the course of days, and Ines had never seen the entrance hall of their house again, had their keys taken away from them as they’d boarded the train. But they were in a plane now and maybe that was as exciting as their life would get.

It plummeted, some people screamed, Ines finally let out a small, distressed whimper.

Then suddenly, everything stopped with a mighty jolt, the deafening creak of metal and the hissing of fuses, noisy zaps of electricity. Ines was thrown forward in their seat, almost dangled from the seatbelt that strapped them in, punched the breath out of their lungs and left them to blink forward, as though they needed to process the fact that this had been, well, a rather weak plane crash. They were alive still, after all. Not injured. Only left with a hammering heart that still fluttered healthily.

Birds sang overhead, undisturbed by the smoking plane wreckage, rolling thunder promising more rain than the gentle mist that fell through the opening.

Ines might’ve been terribly unresponsive when it’d come to screaming their lungs out at a plummeting plane, but when they heard the first clicks of seatbelts being unbuckled, they didn’t hesitate to follow suit, even when it involved noisily falling against the seat in front of them. They thudded against it with a grunt and a grimace, pushing themselves up until they could reach out and hold onto the backrest of their own seat.

The reapings were always uneventful at best. Ines rather looked forward to the parties afterwards, the alcohol that was handed around in a hush hush sort of manner that somehow managed to be the thing that made them less quiet, got them to laugh louder, boldly make jokes. Their foot tapped against the concrete underneath impatiently as the escort stepped forward towards the reaping bowls. If she’d just get on with it, all of them could get on with their lives as well, except two particularly poor bastards who’d never make it back home in any case. It was a curse, they’d heard somewhere. District Six was cursed with no victors since Auretta Cartwright’s victory and people were whispering about it, saying their last goodbyes to the tributes instead of wishing them luck. Ines had never been under the impression that one of them would make it back. It was unrealistic at best. If this woman would just get on with it-

“Ines R. Taina.”

They pulled themselves up, climbed over the seat, looked up in favor of looking down. A body bumped into them from the side but the weight was gone again as soon as it arrived, in the haste of the moment. Other’s climbed ahead, other’s had already reached for one of the fallen backpacks, other’s had already begun to scream in pain instead of fear. They momentarily considered reaching for one of them, but their stomach turned at the sight of a flying droplet of blood, and so they kept on climbing. Heaving themselves over seat after seat, frantically so, trying to get to the top of the cracked metal without pulling too much attention on themselves as an easy target.

District Six was always an easy target, after all. Sooner or later, one way or the other.

They emerged into the light, crawled out onto a platform with a rapidly rising and falling chest, a corner smashed to bits by the fallen plane. Ines panted, came to their feet. Were they the only one on the platform? They looked around to check, but all their eyes focused on were the towering trees around them, the way only a few feet ahead the ground gave away into nothing, a dangerously yawning void.

It was safer to stay back, turn to the rope at the side that they’d also noticed, to hold on, but Ines had never claimed to be as smart as they were curious at times. They stepped forward, one careful foot in front of the other, and once they stood at the edge, they peered over. The branches concealed the sight all the way to the ground but it was awfully obvious; it was a long way down, to lower platforms, through the thicket, to whatever was beneath. Ines swore they could hear a growl, a hiss, more zaps of wet cables, charged with electricity. Their skin was damp, the platform slippery from the rain and, holy hell, was it humid. There was nothing holy about this place but sure, hell it was.

Through a dry throat, Ines could taste their heart on their tongue as it beat rapidly, left them trembling. They should get a move on, they really should. Though first, their gaze flickered upwards at the sky, cloudy overhead.

So this was how it ended. With a sight as depressing as it was at home.

Then again, they thought, it might be me. Parties in the fancy Capitol without having to stand through a stupid reaping. The first District Six victor in ages. I’ll be home by six, Mom. I pro-

A screeching sounded from behind, farther up, descending down, and Ines had no time to turn their head. They were looking at the sky, unmoving as though in awe of the dreary, rainy sight, when razor sharp claws sank into their back and harshly pushed them forward.

Perhaps the sandals had been the joke of it all, and Ines had been the punchline. Their eyes squeezed shut as they tumbled forward into nothingness, falling, falling, falling- flying?

So this was how it ended, with their back spouting blood from between their shoulder blades as though someone had ripped out the wings they’d have needed to fly.

For a mere second, their eyes opened again and with it came the sinking realization that they were falling, falling again, never flying.

So, this was how it ended. This was the view from halfway down.

But at least this time, Ines screamed. Screamed their throat raw until the cannon made a quick end of it and the scream died down in a gurgling, watery sound as they arrived at the ground with a splash.

Not a day later, their mother called their grandmother, like she always did on a dreary day, searching for company in their boredom. “They’re home,” she whispered into the phone. “They came home.”

“Finally,” came the grandmother’s tired reply.

#— ines; about.#— games; 126.

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