Someone, Anyone {Erik DP}

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Why so afraid to fall?
That was then, and this is now.
Horizons look different in a modern age.
Are we all lost, are we all lost again

This is the way that Erik Strauss dies.

It began when he was seven years old and an idea took over his life. An idea that quickly grew into an obsession and consumed his life. It had started out so well, so innocently that by the time he realized what had happened, it was far too late. He had wanted it all, and had found himself left with nothing. As he sat propped up against the expansive trunk of the Banyan tree, he replayed the events of his final hour. Things had looked rocky from the start, with six insanely large muttations dropping out of the tree and forcing an ill-fated alliance between Motel, himself and the girl from six; a girl who turned on Motel as soon as she saw an opening. At the time, Erik had been incensed, even outraged, his anger only doubled when she ran as soon as she was able to. He had held his own for a little longer after that, screaming obscenities and raving like a madman. He was so full of a rage that he hadn’t thought possible when something slashed across the side of his neck, neatly severing the strap of his pack and opening up a new wound.

Fall asleep alone.
Safer than the off-chance,
Of getting your heart attacked, one more time.
Will you ever come, will you ever come alive again?

As he had fallen to his knees, he saw the fleeing form of his district partner absconding with his stuff. It was a cause to laugh bitterly, for the fear he had carried with him since watching the fifty-ninth games at the age of twelve had turned out to be a very sensible fear indeed. And so, he had managed to crawl to the base of the tree, and was waiting for the beating of his heart to still. His anger had cooled, like the blood slowly drying from more injuries than he could count. In retrospect, he supposed that the girl had only done what made sense to her. Whereas Erik had always tried to do the right thing, the girl from six had been more concerned with doing the “smart” thing. But one thing Erik had learned was that while those who did the “smart” thing, usually got away with it several times, their choices would eventually catch up with them, leaving them with innumerable burnt bridges and no one to rely on when their number was up.

Don't we all, want to belong?
Don't we all, write our own song?
Let our silence break tonight!
Don't we all, learn right from wrong?
And don't we all, want to be loved?
Let our silence break tonight!

Now true, he was dying and she was alive and well stocked with supplies, but she had no one to turn to. Erik had had Motel, and as he continued to draw shuddering breaths he decided that it was better to die in the company of a friend, knowing that he had tried his best than to live alone and in constant fear of reprisal. Lifting a shaking hand, he gripped his token and looked at it as his lips curled into a tired smirk. “I...guess you were right...the first time we met Dandy. I did go and get myself killed; Without thinking about the...ones I left behind.” The token felt heavy in his hand, heavier than it should have been. “I just wanted to make... a difference. Leave... my mark. Was that too... much to ask...?” But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that in his own way, he had. To Sam, he had been the hope that maybe decent people could still be found, that they wouldn’t all come after him because of his weight. To Motel, a friend worth dying for. To his sister, an example of what not to do. And to a girl with unfailing optimism..?

Come now, elusive sigh.
Open up their eyes to see,
So many of us, are just the same as you.
Have we all hid, have we all hid ourselves from friends?
So much else to give.
This is her, and that is him.
Close your eyes, imagine they are holding you.
Will you ever find, will you ever find the words again?

A listening ear. Though if perhaps he had truly heeded her, he might have been much, much more. And that was why he had started dying when he was seven years old. For in his growing obsession, he had lost sight of what was truly important. And in losing sight, he had lost his family, his life and the chance to live that life to the fullest. His breaths were shallower now, though he hardly noticed it. What he did notice, was that things were starting to get blurry, and that he was tired. So tired. A few feet away, he could see Motel, and the sloth that his friend had killed. The rest of the mutts were nowhere to be seen, and he was dimly aware of an approaching transport, come to take Motel and him away as soon as his cannon fired. In light of that, his last thoughts were of his sister, and of the girl that had tried to warn him. It all seemed so meaningless now; the time spent fawning over famous people who didn’t even know he existed, the time spent in preparation for the arena, the time spent worrying about winning what his society claimed was a game. Ironically, the only thing he found that he wanted in his last moments was more time.

In the end, that’s all anyone can ask for.

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Don't we all, want to belong?
Don't we all, write our own song?
Let our silence break tonight!
Don't we all, learn right from wrong?
And don't we all, want to be loved?

FIN

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Real late I know, but I've had this sitting in a google doc for like a month now and just wanted to get it out there; luckily the games aren't over yet. Thanks again to Kay for filling in while I was dealing with a couple of personal things.
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