It is said that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying. Sebastian Smythe had always prided himself on being vastly superior to most people though, maybe that was why he saw several lives. It was this, or perhaps it was simply his mind was always running several scenarios and how he could turn events to his benefit, and was so used to doing so it refused to stop, even as it shut down.
Three pinpricks, maybe four. Not too many. He was fine. They were just bugs. He wasn’t the one anyone should be worrying about. Well, that’s what he thought before the “pinpricks” turned into spouts out of which all of his insides poured out. Blood and bone (How did they fit through the holes? They had been such small holes.) floated through the air, unhindered by gravity, and were soon join by feelings and memories and thoughts. Sebastian made a mad grab, desperately trying to snatch them from the air. Someone was yelling; screaming at him for something he had done. Always yelling that voice was. He used to yell back, but he was too busy now, chasing thoughts. Those were his, flesh and bone meant nothing but his thoughts and secret feelings were supposed to stay hidden. He had to catch them.
Yelling. Yelling. Two voices yelling and so much buzzing.
Water? No thank you. I’m not thirsty.
The river was ice cold. When had he entered the river? For that matter, which way was up or down? How was he breathing underwater? Was he a fish? He must be. That made sense. He wouldn’t need all those extra bones if he was to be a fish now. He wouldn’t need the rest either. Fish don’t love or hate or have regrets . Fish just swim.
He wasn’t breathing though. He was drowning.
Oh well then. I had a good run. Goodbye fishie life.
Someone was trying to pull him out of the water now and there was more yelling.
“It’s alright! I’m a fish! ”
He tried to tell them. They didn’t listen—maybe because he wasn’t actually speaking words.
There was a magic kiss and he became a boy instead of a fish again. True loves kiss always breaks the spell.
“Quinn!” he yelled—or rasped at least—in between vomiting gouts of water. “Quinn!”
Didn’t whoever had pulled him out of the river know Quinn was the most important one to save? Even Fishbastian remembered that.
“Quinn,” he made one last weak attempt to insist. The face above him kept coming in and out of focus, but it was always there, checking to see if he was alright, pumping the last of the water from his lungs, inspecting tracker jacker bites (The bites were fine. It was the patches of lava Fishbastian was worried about). It was his favorite face, and he didn’t really want it to go anywhere, but…there was Quinn. There was always Quinn.
There wasn’t Quinn. Quinn wasn’t there. Quinn was gone.
Sebastian was gone too—not for good, just for awhile—and, while he was gone, he dreamed.
When he woke up, everything was different.
If you did you know I would crawl after you and slit your throat in your sleep.
I asked you to kill me out of mercy, but no. Now I have a little strength left and can fight you off if you come near me. Go ahead, drop me here. I can fend for myself.
As charming as the martyr act is, this is where I stop arguing before I’m tempted to call you on your bluff. Whether I think you can fend off a light breeze much less a legion of tracker jackers and twenty other tributes is irrelevant. You obviously know best. I’ll just be quiet until we reach the water.
Oh, because you’re just a little pure snow fairy who does no wrong and acts graceful and sweet at all times.
If Panem is hearing this, one of you rich ass bitches better send me some drugs! Any kind of pain medication!
Shut up or I’m going to drop you. I mean that in the nicest possible way.
Seriously though, was a little appreciation too much to ask? I could have just as easily left you to die. I still could easily leave you to die. I never would…but I could.
Asshole!
Oh joy, you’re awake again.
That’s a great way to talk to the man that saved your life by the way. Are you seeing this, Panem? Quinn Fabray, class act.
Anonymous
Why did you vanish? :C
Well, as you can plainly see if you are actually watching the broadcast, I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m a little busy right now, running from tracker jackers with my arms full of ungrateful bitch, so excuse me if I didn’t jump to your beck and call right away, whoever you are.
If you care so much, you should send me something to actually, you know, help with the situation. Sweeten the deal and I promise I won’t vanish again…or not. It’s not like I can go too far anyway. I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter at this stage in the game.
Kurt wants to laugh, wants to find some way to convince himself that what’s about to happen isn’t has horrid as it seems. But he really can’t bring himself to, no matter how many jokes Sebastian tells.
She feels a huge wave of fear crash over her as her arms and legs are restrained, but barely makes a sound. She needs to keep herself together- at least until the procedure actually starts.
One noise cuts through the haze of surreal circumstances and swirling, shifting, freefalling conflicted emotions, carrying above the pathetic (Oh and doesn’t Sebastian hate himself even more that that is the only way to think of to describe himself?) noises emanating from deep within Sebastian’s chest and Kurt’s sad yet wrenchingly sincere sounding “I love you”s. A droning hum, at first barely discernible above the muted night noises of the arena forest, but soon sounding much closer, louder, and—somehow—angrier. A persistent harsh buzz that took Sebastian several moments to place, especially in his current state, especially because he had never heard such a sound in real life, but, once recognized, sent a chilling pulse of terror through the District Two’s spine.
As the two mentors raged in their give and take of kind against callous Puck focused on the press of Sebastian’s hand against his. He hadn’t restrained a smug grin as the other teen had hissed in discomfort then casually laid bare their deeds of the night before.
Sebastian was vaguely aware that it must look like he and Noah are putting on a show for their mentors, two stubborn teenagers stupidly focused on trying to prove their point, but nothing could be further from the truth. This isn’t for their mentor’s benefit. This isn’t for anyone else but him and Noah, because nothing else existed in the world at that moment.
What a way to wake up…were the first of Puck’s coherent thoughts following Sebastian’s personalised alarm system.
The simple, light press of Noah’s hand on his arm makes the hard lines melt out of his posture. Sebastian is still prepared to fight, but Noah’s touch reminds him that not everything needs to be a battle. Why let Schuester steal the happiness of the morning? Better just to block him out and not let him sully what was supposed to be one last perfect moment before he was forced to fight for his life, before he was forced to wonder what he would do if…best to put that out of his mind as well. One last bright moment. Make it last.
