Ashes of a Victor

Ash.
Grey ash.
Black ash.
Ash.
He was close; he knew he was. He could practically feel the heat of the flames already. Just a little bit farther, just a little bit, and then it would all end. It would be over.
A blue through the trees, he skirted in and out, winding his way through and not daring to take a look back. He needed to focus. No break in concentration. No distractions. This was it. The final two. The final round. One slip would mean death.
A fallen log lay up ahead, and he barely had the strength to leap over it. The ground spun, the sky whirled… everything was beginning to get hazy. Dizzy. Woozy. The hot, sickening feel of blood welled at his arm; the dagger had been deep. The consequences were rearing their ugly head. Yet he couldn't stop. Not now. Not now… that would mean death for sure. The arm could always be fixed.
Thud. Thud. Thud. His head pounded like the drum of a crazed musician as he bolted through the undergrowth. Crunching leaves and the panting of the beast foretold the Career was just behind him. He couldn't stop; the thing would crush him like a mere eggshell. He would lose. He would die.
Not much farther…
The trees began to thin. The undergrowth turned to grey underfoot, and then the bubbling smell of hot magma wafted towards him. There it was; the red sea stretched out in front of him as far as the eye could see. He made it. To the edge.
Now to get close to it…
The trampling from behind grew; he couldn't waste a moment longer. At once, he charged forward, only coming to stop a mere inch in front of the molten goo. It was only now he finally did manage to will himself to turn and face his assailant. The brute burst forth from the green, the eyes of a wild animal skirting to and fro for its prey. Once they landed on him, a twisted grin crossed the Career's crazed features, and he charged.
Same move every time. Too predictable.
The gurgling from behind grew, and he knew he had only a matter of seconds to act.
He dove, and felt the rush of air as the dagger whizzed over his head in a lazy hand. The brute came to a standstill just in time; he practically fell into the sea. With cry that no longer sounded human, the tribute turned on his heel, looking as if he came straight from he11 itself with the organge illuminating from behind.
This was it.
This was the end… for the Career.
Tick tock… tick tock… One, two, three, four.
The gurgling stopped. The Career didn't notice. He never would notice. In fact, he never noticed a single other thing as lava leapt forth from behind, rising high into the air before crashing down, consuming every last piece of flesh.
He did it.
He did it… perhaps some things of the arena could be used to your advantage.
He was about to get up when he noticed one small flaw in his little plan.
The wave didn't finish. It registered both bodies.
By now, it was too late.
All he could do was stare as the red came towards him with hungry arms…
Nightmares. Fickle things they were, happening at any and at all times. Some were mere works of horror meant to jar the spirit and soul. Some did far worse… some stirred the wounds of the heart that lay dormant and alone, teasing the broken flesh until the pain rose forth as fresh as the day it occurred.
Rackal's eyes flew open as he shot up, sweat glistening over his skin. The flames. The fire. The red…
It was only a dream. A play of the mind.
A memory.
It was futile to return sleep, or to try to. The drugs blocked the pain from running through his veins at day, yet even if taken at night, they couldn't send the lurking demons away. His mind whirred with the thoughts, the memories, the moments he kept bottled within deep in his subconscious in the daylight hours. In sight of others, he was fine. A statue bearing not a shard of emotion. A mask hiding the truth within. But at times like this when the controls of his mind were absently handed about, the brain played the worst for the nighttime show.
It took him several moments to brace himself, staring blankly at the ceiling. White. No grey. No ash. No red. No fire.
Slowly, Rackal took in a breath, letting the stale air linger in his lungs for all of a moment as he heaved himself to a sitting position. What time was it? Far from what Marie had ordered him to awaken. Well, she'd just have to deal with it.
In a blinding fog, he bustled about the room without a clear sense of what he was doing, his vision blurred and his neck prickling as the dream still held firmly onto his sanity, refusing to release its hold.
Moments passed by, the only sound coming from the still dripping shower nozzle and the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Every chime signaled each grain of his sanity as it fell forth, plummeting into a drug-induced abyss.
An hour came and went, and finally he almost finished. Once again he found himself at the oak desk, the little clear bottle in hand, filled with the capsules that were the only things keeping himself together, although in reality they were probably doing far more harm than good. It was evident in his eyes, his brain, his soul, his body; he was worn and weary from use, losing his luster at a far-too-young age. Yet it was the only thing to hide the pain, to block it all out. To feel numb.
Fumbling with the cap, he spilled forth the pills, not hesitating to down several. They were sour, bland on his tongue, yet it didn't matter. Little mattered anymore. Little would ever matter if he couldn't live to see this through. Marie wanted him functional, and functional he would be.
Sweat arose on his brow as the medication began to hit him full on, working its way through his system. Hands scars many times over gripped the edge of the desk, the knuckles going white as he clenched his teeth. How long he remained like this, he hadn't the faintest idea, yet eventually the trial came to a cease and he was free of the pain. Completely numb.
Rackal absently wiped his forehead, getting to his feet with a wobbly step. He used the chair for support, then drew in a breath. Why couldn't one morning be easy? Because nothing is easy. Seconds passed, and finally he stood, gaining his balance. Finally.
Swiftly, Rackal strode across the carpeted floor, his shoes not making a sound as he slid his coat from the hanger upon the wall, the metal glinting in the light from the lamp above. He began to slip it on, but then, he caught something out of the corner of his eye he hadn't seen before. It made every nerve in his body freeze as he caught sight of it, a cold sensation washing over him as his eyes took in the sight.
It was a mirror.
A sheet of reflective glass. An inanimate object. A mere thing was all it was. Something used to dress up or to observe oneself.
To some, it was nothing but a piece of furniture. To him, it was a bringer of every horror imaginable.
The pills could mask the pain. They could hide away the dull ache his wounds gave to this very day. They could subdue his feelings, they could vanquish the physical torments, yet there was one thing they couldn't do; they couldn't render him blind. And unfortunately, they couldn't get rid of the knowledge of what he had done, brought to harsh realization as he stared back at himself.
What did he expect to see? The same thing as he had done every other time in the past. A sad, broken excuse for a man who lived half-buried in a pile of white capsules, trying to drone everything out. How old was he? 26? He didn't look it. Hell, it looked like he had given up on life entirely. His sin was pale and shallow, only matched by his sunken eyes buried in dark circles from the far too many sleepless nights. The ghost of who he was, what he used to be still lingered on his features, and perhaps if things had turned out differently, he would pay more care as to what he paraded around as. But he no longer had a life to live for. He had nothing. No family. No home. No love. All of it was gone… and THAT reminded him of precisely the reason.
It crossed his jaw with a twisted grip, snaking down the flesh of his neck, turning the once white skin a harsh red like the magma is was borne from. It curled down his chest, only stopping once it reached his abdomen, cutting across him in an ugly smear.
It was a scar. A scar that tore through every once of him. A scar that forever cursed him. Forever lingering. Taunting him on what he had done…
Never play the Capitol. Never try to get the upper hand in the deck of cards, for Craig always pulled an Ace. He always won. Never the tribute, no matter how hard you played. You lost. Simple as that.
And if you dared to try to change the result… the punishment was high.
Why did he do it? Damnit, why did he have to? The arena's edge was built to trap the tributes. It was never made as a weapon. Never meant for that. Never.
Yet he made it just that. He used it. He taunted Craig. He outsmarted him.
And then he paid the price…
Mother. Father. Clairice.
Gone in a blink of an eye.
Gone.
Dead.
He killed them.
If only he hadn't been so… stupid. If he only played the Games right, if he let it all be. If he had turned to fight instead of running, then perhaps it would all be a different story…
He was no longer standing; his body had not the strength, and the drugs could only do so much. On the floor, he clenched his fists, trying to block it all out, to regain that numb feeling once more. Anything but this… The charred flesh prickled, as if the lava from the blowback still hugged his form. To scream or not the scream? What good would it do? What good would crying do? What good would death do? Nothing. Not. A. Thing. It wouldn't bring them back, and it sure as hell wouldn't end Craig.
He had to.
There was no way around it…
He had to fight back, to strike the demon. To make Craig pay with every last breath of his life.
What did he have to lose, anyway? He had nothing left that he actually gave a damn about. He only had reason to push forward. To strive. To hopefully end this all…
His father's words echoed in his brain, and for a moment, he swore he was back in the woods. Still young. Still fresh. Still whole.
"That fence… one day, I'd like to see it go down. To be able to come here without giving a care about the 'Keepers. Eh… maybe it will happen."
Rackal clenched his fist, trying to regain hold on himself as he murmured faintly under his breath. "… that fence will be down." It was a promise he made long ago. It wasn't much… but it was the only thing he had anymore before he fell into the ashes of remorse.