caustic// katrina day 6
Dec 2, 2022 2:18:18 GMT -5
Post by charade on Dec 2, 2022 2:18:18 GMT -5
I don’t know where the fuck I am.
I see fragmented images of the other tributes in my head.
Blood. There’s a coppery taste in my mouth.
I should be dead, I think.
Still standing, but it’s a hollow victory.
I want to say I’m the big bad wolf, but ain’t nobody here scared of me. Coach warned me about this. I look good on paper, but the follow through? It ain’t there.
The grunt that escapes my lips when I roll over onto my side is one of pain. Talk too damn much. The problem with pretending to be a piece of shit for too long is becoming one.
Fuck man, this ain’t me. I decide goddammit, not the beast in my head. I decide who I am.
I’m the one in control.
Except I’m not.
The others are nearby but I’m too tired to be surprised they lived this long. I’m a wreck. Arms hurt. Legs hurt. Stomach is a bloody mess. I got the tools for it, but I’m numb.
Fingers, claws whatever the fuck.
Can’t hold’em good.
I always thought I wouldn’t need help, but that don’t make me a lone wolf, it makes me easy meat.
Fuckin’hell, where did these burns come from?
We fought. There was a fight.
Everyone— she spat blood in my face and then—and then—
Nothing.
Something in the air tickles my nose and I sneeze. Big mistake. Every wound seizes up at once. I see stars and then I’m on my back, choking, bleary eyed at the night sky.
It passes and I take a deep breath debating how in the hell I’m supposed to recover.
Ain’t felt this bad since the time I got the flu in the middle of summer.
“Fuck me, I think I’m gonna die.”
I laugh, but it doesn’t sound right.
-does maint-
