six feet {down} and I'm still falling - Day Two

[laphae8ash]

It wasn't that I didn't like Fawn, it wasn't even like I really knew her, but as the group of kids isn't that what we all are really? jumped on her slashing and stabbing I didn't see the point of risking my life for hers. I'm sure it was a coward move, I'm sure some people won't understand, but in that instant all I could picture was the chance to see my kids again and if it meant she had to perish they there wasn't much I could do. We were all going to die in the end.

Like buzzards in the field over a dead cow carcass they swarmed around, flashing metal cutting into flesh, the whizzing of the blades through the air, her screams echo around us. Slamming my eyes shut I wrap my arms around me curling into a ball, clutching the weapon close to me and wait for the pain to begin. I just don't know what to do. I don't know if I should fight back or if I should just take it.

How can anyone find this amusing, how can anyone on the outside of this look in and think we're having fun. We're dying, we're killing each other, we're screaming and staining this beautiful land with the crimson dye of our blood. How is this fun? My eyes crack open as I feel the movement of sand around me again and I hear the a girls voice crying out that she won't attack Pandora and I don't understand. Wasn't she like them? Blood thirsty and cold inside? Why would she attack Fawn but not him, when we're all just walking corpses in the end? Would his haunt her more than hers? I can't understand...and then Pandora stands and challenges her like he was king of the world, like their spears and spikes couldn't hurt him. Like they wouldn't slice through him like warm butter...Instead the girl runs into his arms, lovers comforting each other in the grim remains of battle. Its not fair, its not fair that I'm still alone, still here on the sandy ground wanting someone to hold me, comfort me, wanting Jack to be there when I open my eyes...but when I do I'm still here alone.

The screams of Fawn are cutting through me, churning the bile in my stomach, making me swim in a sea of anguish. I hate this. I hate every f-cking moment of this. Thoughts of just pulling my weapon and shoving it into my heart race through me. Maybe I shouldn't let them have the satisfaction of my "kill"...maybe I should take that joy away from them. As the thoughts race through my mind and I feel my hand gripping the weapon tighter I unfurl myself from the fetal position to see Cyrus racing towards Fawn. His district partner, the one person who had started this with him, the one person that could relate to his life back home. Without warning he swings his weapon down at her as well and I stand up and lunge for him.

His weapon misses the killing blow and his body trembles as he stands, harpoon in hand like a Shepard over his flock. He knew that this was the end for her, she had to know as well, but Cyrus would be loyal till the bitter end. I stand next to him and lock my fingers through his on his free hand, "Cyrus, we have to let her go, don't do this, Cyrus...please..." I tug on him trying to pull him back, trying to urge him to come with me and let this be over, stop prolonging her pain. More than anything though I just want him to be near me. Take care of me. Not her, me. I just don't want to be alone anymore.

Looking down to Fawn I notice her chest is no longer rising and falling in its shallow and labored movement. She's still and I know her heart is as well. Fawn has passed, and we are all to blame. My eyes travel up to Cyrus and his wild and confused expressions, all he wanted was to make her better, all he wanted was to stop the pain...Instead we both stand here now over her rapidly cooling shell. Cyrus's eyes haven't left their following of the others around us, but I squeeze his hand pulling him in close. I'm nearly a foot shorter than him but right now I can feel his frame shrinking as I whisper against him. "Cyrus, Cyrus she's gone." Almost like a punctuation to my words the cannon fire echos through the palms.

The tears on my cheeks aren't for Fawn, they aren't for Cyrus, they aren't for anything but the burning notion that this mangled pile of flesh is what is coming for me. I press my face into Cyrus's chest trying to hid the weakness and waiting for the others to attack us as well. I know that there isn't any reason they won't, that we're sitting ducks while we stand here, but I can't move from the embrace. I'd rather die in a place of comfort than a place of fear. Cyrus didn't smell like Jack, he didn't feel like Jack, He wasn't anything like Jack, but in that moment he was here and Jack was not, and for that I couldn't thank him enough for not shoving me away.

What a strange little collection of kids we are standing around this beautiful dead girl. Kids from all different Districts, all different lives. Some Careers, some wranglers, some lovers, some enemies, some friends and some rich and some poor. Yet, none of it mattered. We were all here to die and in death nothing else counted. Not our friends, not our wealth, not our families, only that we were no longer here, no longer in the way of the others, and soon enough our own cannons would sound.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[wimdy]

For years, my life has depended on death. I used to believe that my brothers were just going out on pirate adventures with my father late at night, sailing the high seas and bringing back little treasures like gold buttons and thick jackets made of heavy wool. It was a fantasy dipped in cloudy dreams of adventure, each spun tale that seeped from my brothers’ mouths drawing me tighter into the illusion and wrapping me in a covering of gossamer innocence. I was desperate to join in on their journeys, sail out across the high seas, and bathe myself in the golden light of euphoric triumph over a felled sea-beast. Those were the dreams of a young boy brought up in poverty and without a real path to follow. Those were the dreams that kept me alive in times of malnourishment and desolate circumstance. It was all supposed to come true. My brothers and I were supposed to sail into the sunset one day and never return to the sandy shores of District Four. We were supposed to live forever.

Not once in my many years of dreams broken by shovels and wooden boxes had I ever had the misfortune of seeing the Dark Lady take her chosen one in her pale arms and slowly unwind the stitching that bound them to this earth. Her cold demeanor was passed seamlessly to her fading child before she’d carry them away to the shores that held the Ferryman’s dock. Once a person was with the Ferryman, there could be no return. I’d never once seen someone taken before my very eyes, not until the Games. Here, I’d already seen several people pass from this life onto the next, their rag doll bodies lying limp and their seams come undone. The Ferryman made a fair bit of money from the Games, it seemed, though no one ever seemed to have their coins at the ready. I suppose they could pay it off in service.

Here, as Fawn lies against the ground, her body and soul a patchwork mess of red and despair, I cannot help but think of the girl she must have once been. I can see her smile, the echoes of a past that can never be restored to the present lingering within the corners of her gentle grin. She is no different than the rest of us, the victims of unfortunate circumstance and dreadful situation. She could be me. I could be her. What has made me any different than her? What gave me the chance to live and thrive for one more day while she lies broken on the forest floor? My throat closes in on itself at the mere thought, my heart beating for her, praying for her last moments to end without agony. She does not deserve it, though it seems at this time that we do. We have all killed now, the four of us who count down the days till the end must come.

I stand on the edge, watching Fawn in careful silence as the world churns around me with harsh words and broken cries and tense movement. Everything continues as the girl below us ends. I can only watch her as her final moments come and pass, the Dark Lady fading with her wounded child. My spear lays forgotten on the ground as I let my weight fall to one of my knees, my breathing shallow and labored as her boat drifts away from our shores. Without even meaning to, my lips form the quiet words of an old Ferryman’s blessing. “Fear not the Ferryman, his cloak as dark as night. Let his boat carry you far from harm and plight. Fear not his silent row, his shoulders hunched with pain. Let him take your every hurt, your suffering to wane.”


[Fitz grabs some firewood and works up a crackling fire.
Fitz fills both of his water jugs and purifies both of them.
Fitz drinks from one of them and then refills and purifies it.
Fitz collects one bundle of edible plants and eats them.]

Graphics credits to the wonderful South<3

[florentine, d4b ❁]

KLAUS GORAVICH

[/center]

♕ DISTRICT THREE ♕

[/b]

For somebody so bright, you're awfully stupid.

[/color]

"'YOU SWORE YOU'D BE HERE 'TILL WE DECIDE THAT IT'S OUR TIME- "

"'-BUT IT'S NOT TIME, YOU NEVER QUIT IN ALL YOUR LIFE."

[/center][/b][/color]

Once, there were good people and there were bad people in the world. And then there were neither, just those who cared and those who didn't. For a while there was the insane and the sane. But now... but now there are the people who are kill and the people who do not. There is no longer any justifiable way I can be grouped with the pure people of the world. It matters not that I have been given the sword and told that if I do not kill I must die. That if blood is not shed from the veins of others my own blood must spill like the rain into the sand until it is washed away with high tide. None of that matters. It was my hands that brought the blade down upon her arm, slicing it clean from the rest of her body. What sickens me is that I did not even hesitate. I just swung at the poor defenceless girl as if it were okay. As if somehow that would be just and right and fair, to hurt her. This, I know, is something I never would have done weeks ago. I never would have been able to face myself, because murder is not something I can ever, ever justify. Not by situation. Not by The Games, as some do. Never. It doesn't matter who this girl is or what she might have done to me if I had not attacked her first. That does not change the fact that I took life from a girl. I took breath from healthy lungs, blood from a pulsing heart. I took a child from their family. This is not who I wanted to be when I met my end. I wanted to be able to smile, to look into the sun and think you're still a good person, Klaus. You are still kind and fair and pure. The little boy who cried whenever he saw a dead bird, fallen from it's nest. The child who pleaded with his siblings not to crush that ant that trekked too close to their clumsy feet. What did it ever do to you, Jamarion? But what did Fawn do to deserve death at his shaking hands? What could she ever have done for death to be the right punishment? I can feel tears forming in my eyes but I shake my head because how is it fair for me to cry when she never even got the chance?

Murderer. Killer. If I recall correctly, the word killer has only two meanings. The first - a person, animal or thing that kills. The second - a formidable or excellent person or thing. I am not excellent, that is for sure. As the crimson blood leaks into the sand, poisoning it with it's bitter trail, everything around me blurs. I barely see the others, who lunge toward the girl and miss. All I see if that there is a child dying right there on the sand, her arm already in my backpack, and she will not make it until the sunset because of me. I have read about what happens when a limb is detached from the body and just left to bleed. Nothing good, nothing good at all. The girl, if not dead, is as good as. Fawn. That was her name. I think about the life I have just stolen from her grasp and wonder why I cannot even make use of it. Why I cannot save it up like a second chance. Because it was never mine to begin with. It belonged to the earth and then it made a girl and then I took it and now it is just the earth again. Everyone seems to know that the girl is dying, yet they do not turn on each other. I think maybe they are speaking, but the voices blur in my mind. I do not care for their words, I do not deserve anything. At the same time, I do not want to cry. Because how is it fair that I can cry while this girl cannot? That I can feel? That my family can still watch me upon the television screen and perhaps feel that lie that is hope. My brief moment of feeling content with myself is replaced with a desire to be anyone but me. Anyone but Klaus, the boy who was always so easily swain. The boy who killed.

Suddenly all that is left in my world is myself and the girl. I don't even know if she is looking at me; I am too afraid that her eyes will bore right into my soul in a final plea I cannot answer. I regret not leaping from my plate before the gong even sounded. My family mean everything to me; but not this much. Not enough to feel the terrible weight of murder upon my shoulders again and again until I am free. But already, only moments after the blow I dealt, I feel suspicion begin to creep into the corners of my mind. If I've done it once, what more will another kill be, if it stands between myself and Hopper? After all, I have already taken innocent life. All at once I hate myself again, and this time I cannot hold back the tears. I let out a sob that shakes my whole body and I realise that I am indeed shaking all over. Weak and frail, my face screwed up so tightly with emotion I feel it will never smile again. Anyone could hit me now, and I know I would not have it in my to fight back. Whatever comes next, after life - I deserve it. I do not deserve to stand here on the beach, listening to the waves draw in and watching the sun creep across the sky. There is blood on my sword, I know, but I cannot bring myself to look. I slide it into my rucksack, chocking on my own words, and I kneel down to the girl I have just done the unthinkable to. I do not apologise. I cannot bring myself to speak words. How could anything I ever say be enough? I slide my finger across her forehead, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. I want her to see, if she still can. I want her to see the world one last time exactly as it is. Not shielded or shadowed by anything. I want her to know that no matter how caring you are, how sweet, it is possible to corrupt you. Easy enough to break the glass beneath your feet and send you tumbling down into a place you will never return from again. Whether it is insanity or death, it hardly matters. If I was this girl, I would hate me for stealing my future and my past and my body and my arm. For helping the life seep from me. For ending everything. But it's okay. I want Fawn to hate me in her last moments. She deserves that, at least. I deserve no forgiveness. I don't know if the girl can feel it or not, but I re-adjust myself so I am sitting cross-legged in the scarlet sand and I lean right towards her and plant one small kiss upon her bloodied forehead. My lips barely brush the skin there but I hope she knows the thing I am thinking so hard I barely manage to contain myself. I just want to fall apart right there beside her, never open my eyes again. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Fawn. You didn't deserve this - none of us do. You were supposed to grow old and have children and a husband and look back upon your childhood and think it was the beginning. I ball my hand into a fist and slam it into the sand. And it is only then that I see the star there, the colour of amber, latched to the back of my hand. "This wasn't supposed to be the end." I say, and just let myself cry for a moment, let the tears fall into the sand and mingle with the blood and sea water until I cannot see the difference between them. My chest is racked with cries I cannot scream, the lump in my throat feels as though it will burst it. Surely I am a distorted, hideous mess. Inside and out right now, I am a monster. But a monster who can pull himself together and perhaps live for Fawn because she couldn't live for herself. Her death might not be wasted, after all.

So I pick myself up from where I was sprawled beside Fawn and turn to the others. I look at them, but I do not know if they see me the same way anymore. If Klaus was a picture of caring and love, what is it now? Just an empty shell of what it once was - yet somehow deep down still the same person. Still able to feel overwhelming pain. That is the only thing that reminds me I am human. The only thing that makes me get up and brush the sand from my hands. It does not matter that it fills every other part of my body, as long as it does not cling to the blood on my palms. Now I am standing, my eyes cannot help but be drawn back to the star outlined on the back of my hand, the colour of the sunset. A starfish is planted there, and I know without trying that I will not be able to remove it. It clings to me like Kofa once clung to Marina. Before she gave her to me. I do not panic as the possibility of poison enters my mind. It is as though death will come easily to me now I have pushed someone else into it's lands. Within a glance I can tell that it does not mean me any harm - the star simply hugs me too tightly for this to be true. And then I glance into a pool of seawater shimmering close to my feet and I see that there is another of these coral stars in the center of my forehead. Another on my stomach. Latched onto my skin, not letting go. It doesn't matter. They are here for me just as Kofa is, just as my family is back at home. They, at least, do not care that I am a killer. "Thank you," I whisper. And then I shake my head because I am speaking aloud to three starfish while a dying girl lies at my feet. There is an arm in my backpack, and I think perhaps I still feel the nerves twitching inside of it. Crazy. A mentally deranged person. Queer. Strange, odd. Klaus. How do I define myself, how do I define myself now? The killer falling so deep into despair and guilt he cannot fight anymore? No. I cannot afford to be that boy. I need to remember who I am and what I love, and I need to remind myself why these starfish cling to my body, why Marina gave me Kofa. Who I am does not have to be the deeds I have done, the people I have slain. Maybe one day I can smile again.

I look up and begin, slowly, to take everything in again. Destiny is apologising to Pandora, whispering a plea of forgiveness. Her arms wrap right around him, holding him together. Right there, I want to shout, to stop what is happening, to stop her sorries getting through. She hasn't killed him, she hasn't taken his life! What more is there left to be sorry for in life? And then I remember there are far worse things than taking a life and I begin to feel Kofa surrounding me again. Feel the ground forming beneath my feet to hold me up for just a little longer. And then the boy, Cyrus, he turns to look not at me but at us the people of the world. And he says words that make me want to run and run and run until I reach the edge of the arena and then just keep running until my legs give way. "Are you happy now?" He says other things, too, but these words stick in my brain, bouncing off the sides of my mind. They hurt. They pound against my skull and threaten to break it. I swallow, careful not to let myself scream and shake and cry out for Panem to have mercy upon us all. But Penelope steps in and I look at her and I don't know what to make of it. Are we playing for the same side, or are we playing for the same title, the only title? Are we working together to live another moment, another day, until the end, or are we just a wall built to stop the weapons flailing, a fragile line yet to be crossed? Are we enemies, allies, friends, or all just victims of the same terrible games? It's hard not to believe every single one of those things until she speaks and I know it can only be the last. "No, we're not happy." she says, and although I cannot bring myself to nod I cannot agree more. We are not happy; I am not happy. How could anyone ever look at the body on the ground and the blood trickling toward the sea and feel pleased with this mess? I do not know much for humans, but I know enough to believe it impossible to be that terrible. "We're just sorry."

I begin to speak words - words like we we're supposed to grow up, we were never supposed to meet; it was never meant to be this way. But they jumble as they pass over my lips and all that comes out is a gurgled sob. Even in my mind my thoughts are not clear and precise as they once were; from my mouth the words never stood a chance. I look around - at the forest tall and shadowy, at the sea glimmering blue. There has never been a place so beautiful. Never been a place which makes my heart ache more than the sun that burns at my cheeks. And then the girl - the one with the babies - she turns to Cyrus and I can hear the pain in her voice as she speaks about Fawn and I feel all alone, here. Destiny has Pandora, and Penelope has Fitz, and Cyrus has the girl with the twins. All I have is the corpse of the girl I killed, my sister's imaginary friend and three lone starfish clinging to my sunburned flesh. This wasn't how I pictured my final days. I find myself yearning for that boy, the boy who is probably dead already, the boy who's love would be as forbidden as perfect.



[Klaus collects one firewood and makes one fire.
-He then boils sea water one and drinks it.
-He then boils sea water two and does not drink it.
-He then collects edible plants.
-He then eats edible plants.
-Klaus refills his empty water jug at stream.
-He boils the stream water.]

"SO JUST TAKE MY HAND, AND KNOW THAT I-"

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"'-WILL NEVER LEAVE YOUR SIDE."[/center][/b][/color]

Speaking
Thinking
Expression
Body
Headings

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size][/color]

[rook]

p a n d o r a + w o o d a r d s

<sub>this is a call to arms
gather soldiers
time to go to war

this is a battle song
brothers and sisters
time to go to war</sub>

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

<sub>I'm starting to feel a little uneasy. My breathing is heavy and shaky, the lump in my throat feels sticky and causes me to sweat more than I already am in this damn heat. The confidence I had from my cocky speech is fading quicker than Fawn's chances of survival. Destiny's snappy comment to me, telling me not to try her patience, the way the others look at me like I'm insane... It's making me feel like the idiot I am. How are my family taking this? Is Rubik tearing his hair out in frustration that I'm not helping an Ally, that I'm standing weaponless as a human shield? Is Hope in tears? Is my father laughing at me? I see my odds on the Capitol betting center, rapidly dropping to 1/20, falling further still to 1/50. My sponsors would be going mental. My face turns redder still, a concoction of rage and embarrassment.

They turn. My heart leaps as Destiny leads her group, her face unforgiving with an expression of inward pain and anger. I've pissed her off, clearly. I'm playing on her emotions in order to keep myself and my allies alive, something that would be frowned upon by any neutral. I can only imagine what she'll make Klaus, Fitz and Penelope do to me. Crucify me on a palm tree? I know they're ordinary kids, but kids have an imagination... And in here, that imagination is dangerous.

"That's it!"</sub>

[/i] She says, raising her Axe. Penelope follows suit, raising her spear and I see the others prepared to kill D8M. The number.
"You asked for it, Pan."[/i] Her voice is a vicious murmur that tears me up inside. My death is going to be at the hands of the one person I thought I could trust in this Ripredforsaken place. I feel so stupid.

I hold my position, arms wide and open. I try my utmost to hold the neutral expression. It's how I want to die, blank. Out of all twenty three people in the arena who could potentially kill me, never did I once think that Destiny would be the one to kill me. Never did I think that she would choose to kill me. The girl who chose to approach me in the training center, make conversation and abolish my loneliness. The one girl who made my last days mean something. She's the one to end it.

Her arm is raised above me, ready to strike me down in one swift motion. I let her, my eyes wide open. It does not come. The hesitation in her eyes tells me there's something more, something much more than a kill. After an eternity, her arm drops to her side, she crumbles. She does not kill me, she doesn't even harm me.

"I... I can't," She stutters, her voice a different tone to before, "Ripred, Pan, I can't." And then, surprisingly she wraps her arms around me in an embrace. She presses her head against my shoulder and clings to me as if I'm the last thing she has. She's shaking, visibly. I hang there, still not responding, my hands at my side. Then, after a few seconds, my arms slowly wrap around her. Relief has replaced what was once doubt. I see the others from her group lower their weapons.

"I'm so sorry, Pan," She whispers, her voice much more dainty than the death threat, "So, so sorry." I don't respond, I just squeeze her a little tighter. What is she even sorry for? For threatening me? Sure, I was a little scared, but part of me knew she saw me as a friend, not an enemy.

"Y'know, for a second there, I thought you were actually going to kill me..." I say, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. This entire situation is a little messed up. Fawn is writhing on the floor, still slightly alive. The group has ceased attacking her due to Destiny's sudden change of heart, but my ally is still alive. Cyrus takes the time to put her out of her misery, whilst paying her a spoken tribute.

I sigh, breaking away from the hug.
"Where do we go from here?" I ask, knowing full well that she's not coming with us. Her group is established, planned and secure. Ours is patchwork, made from any tributes who are on their own, and now that we're one member down, no doubt Cyrus will try to fish out some scared kid from somewhere. Four is better than three, I guess. I look at Destiny, we'll have to part ways and I'll never see her again... Odds are one of us will be killed in the next twenty four hours... And the odds are never in my favor.

I walk to where I dropped my Rapier and bend down to pick up the beautiful weapon. Whilst on one knee I assess my wound, the gash is more infected than before, I make sure to massage it, but there's little else I can do to help it without a needle and thread or some kind of bandage. I walk back over to Destiny.

There is peace, but it's still tense. Cyrus morns Fawn's death, whilst the others watch me and Destiny... Are they twitching to slice my throat open? I can't hear what Noreen says, but she's crying, Klaus too sounds upset, his words a murmur in the heat.

It seems although faced with death, I'm the most stable person here.

• Pandora retrieves his Rapier, but this doesn't really change his inventory.
  
• Pandora uses First Aid on himself for -3

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---

<sub>narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: -
theme: “Vox Populi“ - 30 Seconds to Mars.</sub>

[Stare]

Now I wonder what you think of me
Don't know why I break so easily
All my fears are armed surrounding me
I can't get no sleep

He pulls away before I am ready to let go, and he asks a questions I do not want to answer. For just a moment there, things seemed right. Like they might actually be okay. But of course, they won't be. Not in this lifetime, anyway. It's time to face the reality of it all - there is no hope for us. In the end, one or both of us must die. I know it sounds foolish, childish, and cliche, but I don't want to die, almost as much as I don't want to have to see his face in the sky one quiet night. I want him to always be there for me, to be something solid in the sea of despair I am swimming through. I want his protection from the cruel world closing in, something I can never have. Not now that we have been thrown in here to slaughter each other. I press my lips together helplessly, gazing up at him with a new sense of absolute hopelessness. Why is it that just when I've found a friend, I must lose him? Why do I always have to lose the people I care about?

"I don't... I don't know," I say, closing my eyes and tilting my head downward in a feeling that I recognize, to my surprise, as shame. I shouldn't be surprised, though. I have everything to be ashamed of - the fact that I killed someone yesterday, the fact that I have allied myself with a group that's goal is to take every other tribute in the Arena down, the fact that I've just hugged one of my worst enemies, and the fact that my worst enemy just happens to be my best friend. My cheeks burn, and I am horrified to feel tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. This is no time for a stupid move like crying - I'm walking through a minefield, and even the slightest step in the wrong direction could blow my whole world to pieces.

I look back up at Pan, and my eyes soften ever so slightly. I'm not going to say that I'm madly in love with him. I'm not going to say that my world would be over without him. But I will say that he makes me feel safe, and in this time and place, that means the world and more. It's just a tiny development beyond friendship into something else entirely, and I want a chance to be able to explore it. To decypher the meaning of it all and end up with a message that makes my heart swell. I want to get to know him, to joke around with him, to be a friend to him. I want time, and time is the last thing we have right now. I don't have months or weeks or even days to try and understand him. I have minutes, maybe even seconds. If I don't figure it out now, there'll never be a next time. After all, what do I have to lose?

I've never kissed a boy before, which is why it surprises me how natural it feels to wrap my arms around the back of his neck the way I did just two nights ago when we danced, stand on my tiptoes, and press my lips into his. And in that moment, everything steadies. I don't hear the angels singing or feel a surge of heat, like I've read in stories. Instead, I feel myself stop trembling. The world stops spinning, and suddenly it's like we're dancing again. It's just me and him and that makes me happy in a way that it shouldn't, not when we're out to kill each other. It isn't a long passionate kiss, but it isn't brief, either. It's somewhere in between, something so average and simple that it doesn't feel like it belongs here in this whirlwind of emotions that are the Hunger Games.

I draw away abruptly, eyes wide but body no longer shaking. Stumbling back three steps, I stare at him in terror. What on Earth did I just do? I met that boy two days ago. Two days. Maybe a small part of me just wanted to know what it felt like, and wanted to rush things forward before they were snatched away from us. I won't call it love, because that word seems too strong, but it is beyond friendship, if only a little. "I'll miss you, Pan," I say, my voice strained. "Don't forget me, okay?"

And with that, I flee.

Why am I so afraid to crash down and lose my heart again
I don't know, I can't see, what's come over me
Why am I so afraid to break down and lose my mind again
I don't know, I can't see, what's come over me

(OOC: Will code later, I promise. ^^)

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[cyrus]

-----
Take everything that we've had
Take it and burn it to the ground
Some things were never meant to last
Take it down down down
Take it down
-----

[/center]

“No, no, no… she’s not gone… she’s not gone…[/b]” Cyrus wept as he looked up to the sky, away from Nonnie’s embrace. His chest shook as he stared up at the canopy of the forest. All these things crept up into his brain, swirling images of Fawn, of all the other children that were dead, and he couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t pull himself away from where she’d fallen, even at the words of one of his allies. I can’t leave her, not like this, I can’t leave her. Why can’t you understand? Why can’t they understand? What makes this okay?[/i] He pushed away from Nonnie and stepped forward. He was dizzy, his head hurt, and he was taking quick breaths. He dropped to one knee, one arm holding his harpoon as he brought his fist up to his forehead. Mucus dripped out of his nose, his eyes dripping out more tears, and his voice upped an octave to that of when he would have fits of anxiety. “Why, oh G-d, why? Why, why, why? What did she do, what did she do to deserve it… G-d… please… I just… I just don’t… I don’t understand… why her… why her…[/b]”

His heart burned. He could try to make sense of it, he could try. He would have to do something other than sit and weep. She wouldn’t have wanted him to lose himself for her death. She would’ve wanted him to be strong, like she was. And yet the horrible pain of death—the reality of it—was too much for Cyrus. He had only seen death from afar at this point. His simple naiveté had promised him that his little ragtag group was promised safety, that they would see it through to the end. They wouldn’t just disappear like this. Perhaps that was the hardest part for Cyrus. She can’t leave me, she can’t make me do this by myself. It’s not fair! It’s not FAIR!

Soon she would fade from him. He would start forgetting what she looked like, just like he was beginning to forget Tatum, Naif, his mother. They were shades now, distant and out of focus. They were so far gone and with so little faith that he would ever see them again, it would be easier for him to just forget. But he didn’t want to forget who she was. She wasn’t meaningless. She wasn’t just another sick number to go up on the board, another face to write up and a bet to strike down. Maybe to these children she was. Maybe to them it was kill or be killed, maybe they were afraid, they were lawless, and they were wild. Maybe they just didn’t want to forget home either, they wanted to get home. He could never know. He didn’t want to try and understand, not now. And their whispers crept to his ear as he sat, chest heaving, eyes wild.

Sorry. They were sorry.[/i]

Wasn’t that fair? It was nothing but a game, a ruthless, unfair, terrifying game that pitted friend against friend, child against child until one of them stood, battered and bloodied atop a pedestal. Could he be so vicious and naïve to think that there would be anything fair about what they were forced to do? He was a volunteer—he had spared another’s life to risk his own—and he had done this because he had wanted his freedom. But here was Fawn, lifeless and pure, and what had the games wrought her? What freedom was there, other than death? Other than being surrounded by strangers and watched by hateful, frenzied eyes all over the world of Panem, it brought her nothing but an end. A life unfulfilled.

But what about me? What about me? I don’t want to do this alone… I don’t want to finish this… alone…[/i]. But there were not two spots, or three, or even four when all was said and done. There were not parades held in multiple honors. There was just a lonely spot atop the pack, from which he could look down and see what he had to forget. Was this freedom poisoned? And now his precious view of the games had been cracked. His luck wasn’t blessed. He wasn’t safe or surrounded by love. He would have to pay his own penance if he were ever to escape from the arena, whether aboard a hovercraft or a garland in his hair.

But they were sorry. Sorry. Sorry that she’s dead. Sorry that we murdered her. Sorry that we took her arm. Sorry that she’ll never see her brothers again. Sorry she’ll never have children. Sorry she’ll never love again. Sorry she’ll never run havermyer street in the rain. Sorry that she’ll never see the gray brick buildings or the district walls. Sorry that she’ll never just be. Sorry. We’re sorry. We’re so sorry that she’s gone and we’re still here. Sorry.[/i]

Cyrus couldn’t ever put together words the way that he wanted to, and he was having trouble even speaking. He knew enough though of what he wanted to say. He knew it would hurt, that it would hurt and that it would be cruel. It wasn’t fair. But they hadn’t been fair. And he was hurting too. He hurt worse than he had ever felt. Was this what it would feel like if Pandora or Nonnie died? He hoped that he would never have to know. And the rage in him grew as he stared at this children, now falling over themselves to feel something for her death. To feel as though they weren’t guilty. That they hadn’t just done the unspeakable. That they would somehow be free from scorn or hurt if they managed to see this through to the end.

“Sorry! You’re sorry?! You killed her! You just killed her, you didn’t even think. You just killed her and you took her away from me! You stabbed her and cut her and you took her… you just…[/b]” He wiped his arm across his face as he tried clearing his throat. He was wild now but he didn’t care. He wanted to hurt them. He had never felt such hatred in his life, but he hated them. He hated them for what they were making him feel. He hated them for what they had done. “You think that’s enough! You think that’s… that’s it? That you can just be sorry… that’s not going to bring her back… it’s not going to bring her back… you’re sorry…[/b]” Cyrus’ voice broke then as he was wracked with sobs.

“You’re sorry… you’re sorry…[/b]” he repeated over and over again as he wept, moving away from Nonnie and Penelope, the girl who had moved toward Fawn. Away from Klaus, her killer, that attempted to absolve himself from what he’d done. From Destiny and Pandora, forced to fight but refusing. He wanted to leave, though he knew there was nowhere for him to go. He made it to the base of a palm and rested an arm against it to steady himself. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s get out of here… please, let’s just go… let’s just get out of here… I can’t be here anymore… I’m sorry…[/b]”

He let the last two words hang in the air. I’m sorry I can’t be braver. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.[/i]

-----
And I've grown accustomed to the way
You hurled us into space
I'll never make that trip
Tears all rusted on my face
I'm just an empty place
Where your love used to fit
-----

[Cyrus Malloc has walked away from everything]

[Cyrus Malloc eases his mind by:

Drinking his purified water
Collecting firewood
Gathering more water
Making a fire
purifying Nonnie's water
purifying his own water
Collecting edible plants
Performing first aid on Pandora for -3
Giving Pandora 1 bundle of medicinal plants to use]

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[L△LIA]

( P E N E L O P E C A L Y P S O L I B E R T I N E )

Oh
Penelope
Are you filled with air?
Swallowed oxygen
That made you float up?

[FILLER FILLER EW FILLER. I'll try to rewrite this tomorrow or Friday into a reallll post instead of a random filler blurb. I think Pen is going to make a last second semi-snide remark about volunteering, aimed at Cyrus, implying that he's a hypocrite for judging them when he's the one who ASKED for this... then she's gonna remember that Fitz is a volunteer too and have this inner angst guilt moment of self-destruction where she tells herself it's different and argues with her own thoughts for a while eventually coming back around to the virtues of volunteering. AKA: She's very self-involved and I want to push her to start contemplating other people's perspectives apart from her impulsive and selfish first judgments.]

Is it dropsy?
Where your lungs swell?
It's depressing me
To see you
Struggle

[Penelope uses first aid on Destiny Lenstil for -3 damage]
[Penelope fills, purifies (using 1 iodine tablet), and drinks one jug of water from the stream]
[Penelope then fills and purifies both her water jugs (2 more iodine tablets) from the stream]
[Fitz helps Penelope collect 1 bundle of edible plants and she eats it]
[Klaus gives Penelope Fawn's cutlass]

[laphae8ash]

This is a filler post because I had to deal with my kids being in the ER yesterday and didn't have enough time to do a real post.


Nonnie does stuff and comforts Cyrus.



[uses first aid on Pandora and uses bandages for a total of -4, eats medicinal plants herself, collects 3 edible plants bundles, eats one. cyrus purifies her water jug she drinks it and refills it . Gets firewood Picks up the discarded eye patch. Walks off with Cyrus]