sand in every crevice | slay [day 1]

[d7m fraser birk ♚ frankel]

The back of Theo’s head is my guide away from the madness. Sand is dug deep between my fingers, there is a coarse irritant in my nostrils and I can feel the sand everywhere. I have only been treading in it for a couple of minutes.

There is an awkward limp in my gait, thanks to the fists of the two girls that were hurling at me. My fingers are hesitant to loosen on the handle of the knife, its blade now carrying the souvenir from the tribute that got in its way. Is there something I should be feeling right now, after maiming a fellow human being? Because I do not feel anything, just my mind is locked on the quest that brought me here. Determination to find the home that I deserve. By any means necessary. Adrenaline has yet to ease though, especially while I can still hear the grunts and shouts of the tributes that are still clashing behind me. Maybe the crash will come soon. The realization of what I have just had to endure.

”You look terrible Theo,” Finally my district partner stops running, we are far enough from the fight that the tributes are just a spec on the horizon. ”Maybe we should have got out of there sooner. Looks like the others are catching up though…” Honestly Theo looks battered, the courage that is crumbling. I guess the courage forced him to stay put, his treasures match mine but our wounds are far different.

Elm and Svetlana catch up with us and their presence is far from a beaming light. The brains are fully functioning while the heart is barely beating. ”You too Elm! I think you and Theo need to sit down. Svetlana please tell me you listened during first aid training as I have no idea how to help them!” I throw my bag on the ground, its contents far from anything useful. ”I have paper, a bag and a knife. Has anyone done better?”

Pogue

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[jackson thomas [d6m] arc]

others "me"

His body has never felt so broken. It was never thought that his body was a temple of athleticism, but he always thought it could take a punch. And then a blade, and then another punch. Theo’s mother never taught him to give in. That ”if you wanna rumble with them-”” the BASE, ”you can’t back down. They aren’t worth your worry.” Her authoritative confidence gave him hope, gave him the edge that said fuck it, because who’s gonna say it for him?

The undaunted nature she gifted from it became his downfall, as most know. Through hands slammed on the table, clapping, and the dared whooping of teenage boys, Theo was lured into a sense of competition. That he wouldn’t come last, and back at home, he was used to a competition that teetered the edge of killing oneself. Edged it but never entirely gave in to the human nature that death becomes. This was no game that he could escape, though. Nothing that he can rely on Woods to square them away or run to his mother’s home in hopes they won’t take the game there. In the arena, Theo can’t tap out.

He’s there until he can’t be, dead or alive, and he’s already close to the dead part.

Theo took a moment to slow down, attention caught by the glimmering reflection of a hilt. The hilt of the blade was short, but the sword was almost as tall as his ally. It had a shine to it, with a red, gemstone like accent to it. The hilt also held an inscription, begging for the founder to inspect it. The Sword of Life Stealing. Captivated by the weapon, he decided to claim it as his own.

If he lived, he wonders if he could take it home. That looks like the kind of elegant sword a medieval knight would hold above the fireplace.

”You look terrible Theo,” his crippled rib rattled from his low laugh. Thanks, as if I needed to know that, he thought to himself. He felt it. The gashes on his thigh and hand left a trail. Not a solid line, more of an assorted treasure map. He did not hold any treasure, though; the boy hardly stayed long enough to be able to. Theo felt his eye wink with pain. ”Maybe we should have got out of there sooner. Looks like the others are catching up though…” as Dorothy speaks, he watches the other two of their group arrive. Svetlana was okay, but Theo noticed that Elm received a bludgeoning too. The girl from eight notices too, speaking up once again. ”You too Elm! I think you and Theo need to sit down. Svetlana please tell me you listened during first aid training as I have no idea how to help them!” Theo found the panic amusing. Sure, he did not hope to die first, but he wouldn’t be so frantic about someone else dying.

What good does a vase of ashes have to him?

Dorothy then throws her bag on the ground, obviously not deeming her contents worth caring for. She asked the group about the worth of our bags’ contents, and Theo wasn’t too confident. In his bag rests a small, wooden, paper mache-dressed doll. He doesn’t remember picking it up himself. It was a retro, yellow-pink-colored doll. It had a small face, holding two blank white eyes and a beard. Theo had a glimmer of wonder from his father’s attention to artistic detail as to what the color meant. What the doll was - because it certainly wasn’t something a child would take to bed for comfort.

The other contents were a knife, something that he was used to, but it also had some chain that allowed it to be waved around. He wasn’t exactly sure what use the waving part would have, though. Seemed too unreliable to build up momentum to get a decent enough hit while trying not to cut himself in the process. There was also a roll of bandages neatly tucked inside. Providing a glimpse of survival, he was glad he grabbed something of use. "I’ve got nothin besides-" His body winces as he put weight onto his scarred leg, quickly shifting it back onto the ofter. "These damn bandages.” Theo scoped out their surroundings. He couldn’t stay on his feet much longer, he needed a moment to sit and let his body rest. "We got any-” His breath catches for a moment, trying to get used to the rib that tickles his lungs. "Anywhere we can sit down? My leg is fuckin’ killin me."

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[ryan]

running as far as she could from whatever was going on in the cornucopia was not what she was expecting to do. she was willing though, after watching both elm and theo take a beating in the blood bath. elm was at her side, their body seemed to be just a but more bruised, but dorothy seemed to have theo, who was just as broken.

she is curious to know exactly what all the other tributes were thinking when all the chaos had erupted. the movements were something biblical, each tribute trying to either run from the explosion, or brace through the aftermath.

svet felt vindicated that she got out with nothing more than a gash.

maybe her plan did work. get to know as many tributes as possible in order to create a perception about her. maybe that six was a blessing in disguise. no thought she was a direct threat. she wasnt too good at anything either, just skilled in more places then other. she played her cards right and she didnt have to fold the first hand.

now she had to try to help the others pick their own cards. everyone always started with poor hands, they just needed to draw the right cards.

maybe a couple silent prayers would do the trick.

"i got it dorothy." she leaves elm for a moment and walked up to theo. "sit on the ground, hold out your leg." she is just trying to make sure that they get to the wound as quick as possible. "a roll of bandages will always be better than nothing." svet waits for him to put it in her hands.

this was all about survival anyway.

[actions in maint]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

e l m  -  e r r i n g t o n

A realization settles in as we flee the bloodbath on this first day– the realization that I am lucky to have made it out alive. But I can’t fully process that thought, not really. It’s impossible to think of much else aside from the pain.

I didn’t even see the tribute whose weapon pierced my chest, but now I have this wound so deep, so red and bloody, that I can’t imagine it will ever heal. I feel torn asunder. But even past the pain, there is only movement, only the view of Svetlana running ahead of me, only the feeling of my feet dragging through the sand.

How long do we move for? It feels like only seconds, with each breath searing over the pain in my abdomen. This is a hell, I think, where each second lasts too long for my own good.

But we do stop, eventually. Dorothy and Theo are up ahead, and somewhere over the pain, I can’t help but feel the unease and anxiety that we haven’t gotten far enough away from that bloodbath.

Then I notice the blood staining my uniform, and I change my mind.

Dorothy directs me to sit, and I do. My chest is in such excruciating pain that it’s hard to focus on what any one person is saying, but I hear something about gear, about first aid, about healing. In answer, I use my good hand to pull items from my bag to display next to the blade I don’t remember picking up. There’s some corn, a medical kit, more bandages… then some less useful things, like paper and an umbrella.

I can’t seem to get my mouth to form words about any of this. My mouth feels sewn shut with the shock of it all. And then I feel silly for feeling so useless right now, because Theo looks horrendous, with deep gashes on his hand and thigh. He’s bleeding even more than me.

My mouth opens to say something to him, to offer some solidarity to make it all better, but no words come out. I look down at my feet and instead turn my attention toward the medical kit I plucked from the fight, and I think: maybe I wouldn’t need it so much if I’d just run away.

I’ve never sewn up a part of a person before, let alone myself, let alone with a broken wrist. I think of asking for help, but…

I look at Theo, the blood seeping from his wounds.

I grit my teeth and take care of my own.