Practice writing thingy

SETTING: a girl has just won the Hunger Games. These are the events immediately following.

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The hovercrafts that came for the tribute corpses and the victor seemed a bit more hurried than usual, given the critical condition of the victor. Korra Francisco was clinging to life just barely, and it was clear that if she did not receive immediate attention, that she was going to lose enough blood and die. If there had been another tribute alive, then perhaps the Capitol would not have cared for her life at all and they would have let her die, but since she was the last remaining tribute, they had to keep her alive. She was rushed into the hovercraft, and she blacked out.

When she awoke, she found herself in a white hospital gown. She tried to move her legs but couldn’t, and so she panicked. Throwing the sheets off of her, she saw her legs were all bandaged and that she couldn’t move them very well. She tried anyways, attempting to stand up, but all that happened was she fell flat on her face, moaning in pain. She looked up and saw the base of a wheelchair waiting beside her bed. Was she really in such a wretched condition that she needed that? No; no she couldn’t be. Her arms were still mostly intact, and so she attempted to pull herself up using only them, but the critical state of her body had also drained most of her strength, and so all she really managed to do was flop back down onto her stomach and groan.

Tears ran down her face as she quietly sobbed, realizing what a helpless wreck she currently was. Korra could not stand by herself, and now that she had fallen, she could not get up. That strong, athletic, able-bodied girl that had brawled her way to the tribute stage less than a month ago was gone.

Korra cried out for help, pleading for someone—anyone—to come and help set her right. Agonizing minutes flew by without a sign of any aid, and in this moment, Korra felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Losing Victor, Saki, and Koshu in the arena was one thing, and even when she was lying in her own blood atop Garrett’s corpse, she had not felt this forlorn.

Fortunately, after a few minutes her cries attracted attention, and soon a tiny, dark-skinned girl stepped inside, a frown creeping over her face as she saw her pitiful successor curled in a miserable little heap on the floor, quietly sobbing.
“I was worried about you, kid,” the voice belonged to Amy. “you were out for a while. We’ve landed, but we didn’t exactly want to take you to the prep room while you were unconscious. They were contemplating amputating your legs—”
“NO!” Korra shrieked, panicking and trying to use her arms to pull herself away from Amy. “No… please… don’t let them take my legs!”

“Korra, relax, I didn’t mean—”
‘DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME!” she begged, crying fiercely again at this point.
“Korra,” Amy grabbed the older girl’s hand. “calm down. They’re not gonna amputate you. I’ll make sure of that. But if you’re not gonna take the Capitol prosthetics, you’re gonna be in that wheelchair for a long time—possibly all the way to your victory tour. Even Capitol technology can’t just patch bones and joints together in a matter of minutes with how badly yours were shattered.”

“how… how bad was it,” Korra whispered as Amy grunted, hefting the larger girl into the wheelchair so they could sit up instead of Amy talking to Korra as she was lying on the floor.
“your kneecaps were cracked in several places, your thighs and shins suffered multiple compound fractures, and your ankles were shattered.” Amy explained, “Really, it’s amazing they were able to even give your legs a chance at restoration at all.”
“I… I want to see the footage,” Korra stammered a moment later, “Of the cliff—of Garrett.”
“Already,” Amy tilted her head. Most victors despised seeing their games, especially when the horrors were so fresh in their minds.

“Already,” Korra insisted.
“unfortunately, this is probably the one time in your life where you can’t see them yet—you’re needed in the prep room as soon as possible so we can get you ready for tonight. Delun and the stylists are excited as they always are—they’re oblivious to your suffering, Korra.”
Korra sighed. “I wish I had died. Anything would be better than being a traumatized crippled wreck.”
“I know who you need,” Amy noted, “she works as the District 12 Escort, but she’s also sot of unofficially a victor therapist, so to speak. You need to talk to Junichi—but first, let’s get you dressed. Hopefully they can spare a moment or two before your interview.”

Sure enough, Zakuya and Misaha were silently efficient, and before Korra knew it, she was outfitted in a fiery red dress that seemed to change shades and intensities based on what angle it was viewed from.
“Damn…” Clove quipped when she and Amy finally saw Korra wheeled out to them, “now I really wish you could walk again, kid.”
Korra sighed. “I wish I could too. I can’t bathe myself, I can’t dress myself… I can’t stand, I can’t walk, I can’t do anything! ughh… just…” she trailed off, clenching her fists loathingly as she let it sink in just how helpless and weak she was.

“There’s an hour or so before your interview,” Amy added, “I can take you to see Junichi if you wanted. She’s usually still around at this point.”
“That might be for the best,” Korra sighed.
Amy wheeled Korra down a couple of hallways until they ran into the exact woman they were looking for—Junichi Thatch herself.

“Jun,” Amy spoke up, causing the older blue-haired woman to turn around. She gasped in surprise at seeing the girl in the wheelchair wearing such a vibrant and fiery dress, and it broke her heart to see her glum expression.
With a nod, Amy simply left Korra in Junichi’s care, knowing that she would know just what to do with the injured, crippled victor.

“I know just where to take you…” she indicated, stepping behind Korra’s wheelchair and giving it a push to get them moving. “But in the meantime… what’s on your mind?”
“Everything,” Korra shook her head, “less than 24 hours ago I was fighting for my life against a crazed, deranged guy who looked like he was going through withdrawals of some kind. Now I’m here, and my legs are practically useless. Everything that I’ve ever lived for was a lie.”

“Why did you volunteer for the games?” Junichi asked calmly, leading Korra down a set of halls and elevators that she was not aware existed.
“The usual District 2 excuses, mostly,” Korra admitted, “fame, glory, that sort of thing.”
“Well then…” a smirk appeared on the corner of Junichi’s lips, “I think you’ll like what I am about to show you.”

Junichi took the tired victor into a large hallway lined with statues, walking past most of them while humming a little tune. Korra recognized it as the same one that Saki had sung in the arena.
“Did you know her?” she asked,
“know who?” Junichi glanced down at Korra,
“Sacajawea Kwan,” Korra muttered.
“I did not know her as well as I would have liked,” Jun admitted, “but I knew her. She was a good woman—and so are you, Korra. You are kind and strong and selfless and compassionate. Panem needs more people like you around.”

“No they don’t” Korra sighed, “I’m a sadist and a murderer… I volunteered for the games out of a desire for nothing more than personal satisfaction and self-achievement.”
Junichi stopped wheeling Korra as they reached a certain statue. Turning the younger girl so she could see the pedestal and inscription, and Korra realized that it was an image of her, with her sword in one hand, and a District 2 seal in her other hand, which was outstretched above her. The pedestal bore the name “Korra Francisco” and a large number 93.
“and how do you feel now?” Junichi asked, to counter Korra’s complaint.

“I feel worthless and miserable!” Korra cried out. “I’ve never felt so weak and pathetic in all my life. My legs are all but amputated, almost everyone I’ve ever cared for in my life is nowdead, I can’t do anything by myself anymore, and what do I have to show for all of that torture? A stupid statue and a fancy crown? Jun, I don’t want any of this. I just want to be able to walk again… more than anything…” Korra leaned forward and softly started sobbing into her hands. “…to be able to stand… on my own two feet… like everyone else…”

Junichi stepped in front of Korra, gently taking her hands, mentally cringing at seeing Korra’s despaired expression as her green eyes were now tinted red. Junichi hoisted Korra up onto her feet before wrapping her arms around her, shifting her arms to Korra’s back and hips to hold the girl close, but to let her ‘stand’ (even if her weight was being put onto Junichi’s legs).

“You are strong,” she repeated, using the hand on Korra’s back to softly caress the distressed victor over her dress, “few people would have tried so hard to take the the long recovery route instead of the easy fix. Few would stay with a tribute that they knew was on the Gamemaker’s hitlist…”
“How did you know about that?” Korra whimpered,
“I live here,” Junichi replied, “I know a lot of things. But, it is for reasons like that, Korra Francisco, that you are one of the strongest women I have met.”

“I’m not a kind person though,” she argued, “or compassionate. I murdered that boy… I crushed his skull in. I stabbed his partner through the throat not too much earlier. She was just a little kid, and I saw her anguished face as I drove my sword through her. Where is the kindness in that, Jun? I don’t see it.”
“You said yourself,” Junichi sighed, “that it was just business. You fought out of desperation, and you prevailed. But… look at how you treated Koshu… look how you treated Victor, and Vivian, and Cobalt, and especially Sacajawea.”
“they were my friends though…” Korra protested, “and I—”

“And even when they made fun of you, you laughed with them…” Junichi cut her off, “you were optimistic—you fought to keep your alliance together, and you fought to protect Saki. You are compassionate and selfless, and it showed in the way you so viciously defended those you loved.”
Junichi gently sat the larger girl back down, before crouching to Korra’s level and putting her fingers under the injured girl’s chin.

“I have never seen a stronger or more beautiful woman than the one sitting in front of me.” she continued, “Amy Zavala and Aveline Togisala are special to me in their own ways, but you, Korra, are more special to me than any victor I have ever met. I know you will recover—and when you do, you will stand brighter and taller than you ever dreamed of.”

“But until then,” Korra moped, “I’m just a pitiful, helpless shadow of my former self. Jun, that statue is a mockery of me. It raises its hand triumphantly, as if I’ve done something amazing and worth lauding, with its feet firmly planted on the ground and an expression of confidence upon its visage. It depicts me the way the Capitol prefers to envision me—not by who I really am.”

“Does it?” Junichi was admittedly impressed with Korra’s eloquence. She wondered where it had come from, because she would have honestly never guessed it herself. “I see a fire in your eyes that that image in front of you also possesses. It holds the same passion in its expression that you do now. It shows your strength, your courage, your passion. You are a beautiful and powerful woman, Korra, and don’t you forget it. You still have friends—you have me to add to them too, no less. Clove, Amy… they will be there for you, and so will my brother Delun.”

“Can I ask you something?” Korra whispered.
“Anything,” Junichi promised,
“Don’t tell anyone about this…” tears filled Korra’s eyes again.
“Don’t tell anyone about what?” Junichi paused before she was pulled into an embrace, where Korra sobbed into her shoulder. Junichi shifted to kneel in a more comfortable position, and then simply held the larger, crippled girl where she sat, letting her real feelings out for one of the first times.