The Reaper | F. Odair

Thirty-one

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Aaron
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    Two things have changed in the past twelve hours.

One; they gave me a fucking gun. They gave Peeta and I rifles, and as much as it pleases me to be armed, I have a bad feeling about it.

Two; they took the bindings off of my wrists.

My wrists don't hurt as much as they did yesterday because of this decision. For some reason that woman who seems to hate me so much came up to me this morning and took them off entirely before Boggs shoved a rifle into my hands. Their excuse for doing this was so I 'didn't slow anyone down if we got into trouble' but, honestly, that doesn't make sense to me because how would that help?

I'm probably being stupid.

My mind has been a mess since last night. Some things are clearer now, others are just as fuzzed, but others are newer to me and it's one or the other. I can only wonder how many things I've forgotten, how many things have been stripped away from me just to hurt me. But it's making more sense -- some of the things are realer than others. I can remember literal brutal fights between Finnick and I, fights that ended with one or the other covered in new small bruises or cuts -- and I don't mean full on fist fights, I mean just shoving each other around like children -- fights from when we originally met. Other fights, such as the one Finnick mentioned last night, I can't remember and I can only assume there's a good outcome to it.

At least I remember hating most of the people from the Capitol. I remember how disgusted I felt just having to look at certain ones.

I shake my head and sigh maybe for the hundredth time. It's hard to breathe with how long we've been walking. I'm not used to walking, I'm not used to standing for hours like I once was. Months of bedrest have practically killed me, but supposedly laying in a bed when I'm perfectly fine is better than actually trying to help me recover my fucking memory. Oh yes, showing me videos of myself in the Capitol covered in makeup and pretty dresses will sure help me remember the personal things.

"Aaron." Finnick's voice mumbles next to me, my eyes flick up and I frown, "are you--"

"I'm fine for the hundredth time, Finnick." I mumble as I look back down at the floor.

I can hear him frown, "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

"But, I really am."

"Mhm. Yes, yes you are." I say. He won't shut up about the dog comment, he won't shut the hell up on being sorry about it. He was angry, right? My eyes drift up to him and he looks like he's just been slapped across the face.

"Pod!"

Everyone freezes in their tracks. I think this is the third pod we've run into today -- pods being traps the Capitol have set up to slow us, the 'rebels', down. Ahead of us are a few pillars and a sort of closed hall -- I silently go to the right pillar with Finnick and Peeta and push myself against the wall next to it as hard as I can and crouch down.
My eyes drift over barely and I can see Boggs throwing some round object -- immediately my eyes sting and my ears hurt from sudden gunshots and bangs. I snap my head away as rubble starts to fly out with a cloud of dust following it. I want to cover my ears but the last time I tried I accidentally dropped my rifle and almost got a stray shard stuck in me. I'll go deaf at this rate if this keeps up.

At least I know sign language.

The gunshots go rapid and even louder and then suddenly go quiet after a few seconds. Everyone is silent as they look around. Boggs peeks first and gives the 'ok' signal.