share the wealth — starlords v bog boys

[fox]

◆

When she was thirteen, she often dreamed of a wolf the size of a hill, the slope of its spine shaking as it bared its teeth. She stayed awake for four nights straight, until she saw auras behind her closed eyes, an exhaustion deep enough she was on the brink of blacking out. The doctor in the facility gave her two green pills at night, and she took them, slept well for two whole years.

Two years worth of dreams, subdued in her medicated state, returns with a vengeance.

First night in the arena, she dreams of a ruby-hilted knife.

She swims in aqueous layers, haze of ethanol. Dust-worn shelf, the smell of the market in Two, merchants with their stalls sitting in the ruthless sun. There's a rust coloured stain that eats away at her belly like necrosis. The knife floats without a puppeteer, dark and oozing. It slices through her, again.

A wolf becomes a jar becomes a knife.

A wolf wears different faces and yet she knows it to be a wolf, after all this time.

She wakes up.

She stares at the sky for a long time, and it turns into a hazy lavender soup, dull with the prelude of rain.

For a second, she thinks it's the sun, the colour of honey, breaking through the clouds. But the little orb of light grows bigger and bobs down from the sky, soft bubbling that sounds so much like the stream that she doesn't realize it's coming from the orb until it's low enough to touch the foliage of the lower branches of he trees. Her hand clutches the glaive by her in reflex.

But it gets closer, eye-level, little sun. It's a funny looking thing. Its ears spin as it hovers near her, and she suddenly thinks of honey cake in its warm butter yellow, sweet taste of childhood. The creature evades her blade artfully. It tucks itself in the folds of her bag and hums.

She lets go of her weapon slowly. She stares at it and feels her chest untighten.

♦

The light mist of yesterday turns into a thick fog. Half-way through packing up camp, it starts to rain again, static hum in the sky. The bright branches of lightning look like ancient trees, pure white, dazzling, terrifying, then gone.

She understands now, the heavy boots that dropped from the sky in the early morning. Karl stares at the puddles that form at their feet, crackling with infinite pools of energy. There’s that curious expression on his face, like a permanent faint bemusement. She wonders briefly what would happen if someone touched one with a bare hand. 

It’s like the weather is an animal too, its painful hunger, roaring through the arena. Whatever it came prowling for – it sinks its teeth into the earth and takes it. The storm slowly clears by late morning. The sun returns, satiated.

They keep following the stream down.

Yael listens to Johnny ramble on and distinctly avoids him at every turn. On her stomach, the line of stitches are clean and straight, a single relief when she touches them and there's no more blood.

But more than anything, it feels like a debt, a new pain that's long and serrated. He should expect something from her now. She gave no indication of gratitude, but there's an agitation that sticks to her skin. The law of nature, you cull the weak. He must want something in return.

She halts suddenly.

The constant bubbling is interrupted by faint voices. She locks eyes with Calamity. Anticipation unfurls itself, instinctual violence curled into her fists. She catches sight of them – tall boy first, looking haggard, blue eyes flitting over their bags. She knows him, her district partner.

Well, she's not fucking sentimental.

yael attacks pierce | naginata (glaive)

3KOhBEuBA7glaive

13043 -- 4.0 damage

glaive

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

Relegation. The process of reducing something in rank or position. Unfamiliar creatures, some friendly and others malign float through the air, welcoming us and warning us at the same time of the dangers here. The glazed mist and gentle rain remind me of the pictures of now-unattainable biomes in our earth science books. The ability of the Gamemakers to engineer a past memory back into reality has piqued my interest. We move slowly and together through the arena, mindful of the environment and the secrets within them until it's time to rest.

I've never slept without a pillow and a heavy blanket to ground me in the bed. There was some peace, then, having a mattress underneath to keep from the discomfort of an insufferable wooden floor. The protection of something manmade that belonged just to you is something that I never realized I would miss until it was taken. Now, the only manmade thing I have to protect me is myself: a brain of knowledge, two underworked fists, and a couple of ounces of likely misplaced confidence.

I keep the chest piece from the rock's pedestal close to my chest, wrapping my arms around it for a little extra security. I should really ask Haze or Ama, maybe Pierce if I wasn't so nervous about what his response may be, to huddle up for some extra warmth. To keep myself from distracting them, I turn and face the opposite way. Best not to be a burden in moments like this where the arena is so confined. Anyone could be watching, lurking, ready to take the first shot. Instead, I shut my eyes and pretend like I'm going to fall asleep, hoping that I might even trick myself into doing it.

Whispers flow through the wind's currents and put an end to any sort of rest I was hoping about getting. Light sleepers may as well give up while they're ahead in here. Haze and Pierce are both talking, something something about trust and betrayal. Haze tries to calm Pierce down an inch, but echoes in the ground of shifting bodies suggest that it hasn't fully worked. One thing, perhaps the only thing, that Pierce and I have in common seems to be self-doubt. Why haven't Pierce or Ama or Haze killed me yet? I don't contribute much more than being another person they have to worry about dragging along and feeding. I want to think of them as my friends, but I learned a long time ago that a friendship isn't always mutual. When I was younger and too naive to notice, I'd call everyone my friend: classmates, neighbors, the other kids at my parents' get-togethers. I blinked a few times and realized that the people who I thought were friends kept me at arm's length, playing a delicate game of agreeableness until I would go away. Acquaintances and associates, not friends.

They stop talking, and all I hear is the heaviness of Pierce's breathing, probably wishing there was a cigarette to keep his cool right about now. Right now, what's best for Brennan is to keep him calm. I start to turn back around and face them.

"Pierce, I can hear your angry face in my dreams," That didn't come out right. "Err.. I mean."

I pause, pulling myself up to get my head upright. Just reset. "Even if any of us wanted to fight you, which we don't, I don't think we'd stand a chance." I stay up with them now, a little more uneasy with Pierce feeling insecure in this moment. Insecurity can lead to making poor decisions.

We're already relegated to be killers, we can't be relegated again to be the killed.

**

The first moment of peace and quiet is the moment that I realize we need to be on alert. I stuff any belongings of mine scattered on the ground back into the bag and prepare to move. When challenges are too easy, it's only reasonable to assume we're missing something. Or something is coming.

It's but a few minutes later when we're moving that flashes of purple and bangs of thunder douse the entire arena. The cover of the trees does not stop the shocking sensations every time a charged piece of the environment transfers some of its energy onto my body. "Nope! Definitely don't like that!" I yell through the thunder to the group and release a middle finger to the skies above.

The stress subsides, at least partially, when the clouds begin to clear and thunder and lightning come to an end. The weather in this place flips on a dime, and I'm quickly beginning to regret not grabbing one of the umbrellas from the Cornucopia. Although, if I did, I may very well have just blown away with it or lost it in the wind.

"I can't believe they can make stuff like that but, I don't know, stop the hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, blizzards, tornadoes in the districts." I press forward. "Or maybe they just don't care enough to… that's probably what it is."

My focus on today's storm is enough to distract me from the incoming tributes. It's too late to pull out my katana and make the first move as Yael swings toward Pierce.

Calamity is the closest on their side, and I move my sword toward them. Of our group, I take the first shot. Better second of all than never.

Be the killer or be the killed, our modern-day relegation and teenage class warfare.

[brennan attacks calamity | katana (sword)]
YRE4L8291Csword
[X]

sword

[Deleted]

She didn't realize how hungry she would get come nightfall. The moment where she was asleep became lighter and fewer as the gnawing made its way; Haizea had never skipped dinner before. Although her first day went as good as you can ask for, it still wasn't anywhere as comforting as being home would be. As if as soon as she could, she found herself homesick, craving to join her mom and abuelita in whatever they would be eating. Instead, she sat curled in a ball somewhere far off from the cornucopia. As serene as it all was so far, she kept notes of the storm that circled in the distance, purple in its nature. 

There are no dreams she remembers, only the gasp at opening her eyes and being met with Pierce's. Please don't kill me, she says in the way she backs up on the ground just a tad. Quick to trust, quick to scare, Haizea's wide eyes reflect the moonlight. She had hardly felt him shake her awake, but waking up to Pierce Littleton kneeling beside you is enough to come to. 

"What time is it?" she asks, rubbing the fatigue in her eyes.

"Oh, I 'unno," Pierce responds, looking up at the darkness enveloping them both. For a second she remembers the sky isn't real, that it isn't the same one her mother is looking at right now - in fact, she wasn't even here. As beautiful as this place was, weren't they inside an entire projection dome? It's easy to lose herself to it, but that makes it so much harder to remember this is all a game. 

Ama took first watch, and now both she and Brennan are asleep. It must be shift change, she pulls her knees to her chest as she talks with Pierce - the longer he stays up, the less she's alone for, at least. "How long have you been up?" 

He shrugs, boys. 

It must be hard to keep track of time, she'd simply been trying to sleep it all away. Part of her was hoping she'd be so dead asleep they wouldn't bother waking her at all for her night watch. "Okay," Pierce pipes up, and she tucks her chin into her knees as he talks, "we won the wealth but what does that mean?"

"I think that means, uhh, we're the ones to beat," she responds, unsure if it's a good thing or not. 

"No, I mean, why haven't you stabbed me in the back yet?"

"What?!" She huffs out in the dark, astonished Pierce was worried of the same things she was. Truth be told, it was mainly him she was paranoid of - her family, Harbinger, the trainers, everyone told her to beware of those careers, but she, Ama and Brennan weren't strong enough to do this alone. They needed him, and in part, needed to trust him.

Just like he needed to trust her, "I don't think-" she looks over to the two sleeping before continuing. "I don't think any of us are the type of person to do something like that," and she meant it, she could have went with Karl if she wanted any old meathead, but she wanted people she knew she could trust.

Haizea stretches as she stands, feeling the blood flow as she squints trying to get a look through the darkness. She could hear it better in her dreams, but there's got to be a sizeable stream not too far from here. Careful not to step too far, she returns to the group as Brennan and Pierce settle into one another. Haizea keeps watching from when they start talking it out to well after they're asleep, her right hand on her shuriken. 

---

The sunrise of day two comes, eventually, even if she prayed for it not to. Just let the arena malfunction one good time and she'd be gone, out of here the second she could. Instead, it pours in on itself, the purple calamity of a storm creeping up on them from the cornucopia and pushing them out like trailwater to a stream. They wind up face to face with Karl and his alliance, and she clutches her bag first, my knifes.

Shit. She packed everything so quick she hadn't thought of keeping a weapon on hand - Haizea pillages through her bag as quick as she can from the back as Pierce is stabbed by his district partner. She recognized her, District 2, the one who had gone missing at the reaping. And Johnny was with them, the heartthrob of Flynn Garner himself. She isn't quick enough though, nowhere near as quick as Brennan is with his sword as Calamity Grace's neck is skewered right in front of them. Haizea gives up with the zipper and grabs her stomach, feeling her gut tighten at the sight of what her friend just did to District 12. 

"Karl!" She yells out as she puts her komebukuro on again and finds herself back to her feet. They seem distracted enough by the body that the fight can end here, and she's relieved enough to have avoided having to draw blood herself. 

Just spooked that she ever ran into Karl again, especially so soon. 

[ haizea gets the fuck outta town bye yall ]
[ flees ]

[lance]

﹙    a m a t e r a s u    y a m a m o t o    ﹚

She volunteers for first watch because she knows that's all she's good for as the sun goes down. Not that she shares that out loud, mind you - it's much better to cultivate the reputation as a night owl, or perhaps even an insomniac, than it is to admit that when it comes to scenarios in the dark, she's practically useless.

All she has is her eyes, so might as well make use of them, prove that she's at least somewhat trustworthy, that she won't stick a knife into the others' backs as soon as they're all asleep. Some tributes would do that, sure, but the mere thought of sneaking up on Pierce or Brennan or (gods forgive) Haize turns her stomach and threatens to bring the fancy Capitolite waffles she'd had for breakfast that morning a one way return ticket back up her system.

But the others? Even if Ama thinks she can trust them (and at this point, she's relatively certain that she can - wouldn't she have expired her usefulness at this point, now that each and every one of them are armed to the teeth?

Logically, she's the liability of the group. Logically, she could be as trained a fighter as Pierce or as naturally beautiful as Brennan or as effortlessly badass as Haize, and it wouldn't matter because all of the skill in the world goes to shit when part of you doesn't work the way it should. It's why only a handful of victors are amputees, why in the last forty years of the Games there's only ever been one victor who wasn't disabled in some way, shape, or form (and Arbor Halt was blind in an arena that made it impossible to sneak up on him, so did that even really count?)

And maybe it's stupid to keep going back to her inability to hear whenever she gets nervous about the Games, but in her mind, it was a valid concern? What if she got stuck in a place where her sight failed her? What if she wasn't on her guard twenty four seven and something snuck by her because she couldn't hear it? Back at home, it was an annoyance at best; here in the arena, that could mean the difference between life and death.

It's an uneasy thing, being stuck with her thoughts, and only when she drifts into sleep does her head quiet down for good.

---

They've arrived at a shimmering stream (which, like everything in this arena, is mesmerizing beyond compare) when disaster strikes.

And it's not because of her, at least she doesn't think so. She doesn't appear to be any later in noticing the rival alliance than the rest of them (at least, she doesn't need to be nudged by anyone to be like 'Hey, stupid, we have enemies sneaking up on our six! And we don't mean you') yet when looking back on it later, she wonders, not for the first time, what could have happened if she'd noticed just a bit sooner.

The sequence goes like this:

The group, without a care in the world, tenses as one. She looks up, confused.

Her gaze flits to Haize first, to find the girl from Eleven's eyes wide open, hand clutching her bag in a death grip. It's wholly unlike any expression she's ever seen her wear before, so it takes a second too long for her to realize oh, shit.

She turns her head, and indeed, there's something to be worried about - four rival tributes right in their vicinity. And her heart spikes for just a second, because everyone knows what happens when rival alliances meet and has she mentioned she feels like the weakest link lately?

But then she recognizes some of the faces - recognizes Johnny, who she barely interacted with due to her own manic attempts at survival but is one, from home, and two, dearly special to Flynn, recognizes Karl, who she'd just helped the day before and parted with on amicable terms - and relaxes. Surely, if there was any other alliance in the arena they could meet and part with without spilling blood, it'd be them, right?

So she steps forward towards the front of the group, already prepared to initiate diplomacy. "Hey, it's okay," she says to both her friends and strangers alike. "I know Johnny, I know Karl, we can get out of this peacefully, ri-"

But maybe she wasn't loud enough (she'll never know for sure). Maybe she wasn't fast enough. Maybe she had misinterpreted how her district partner and the boy she'd met at the fish pond yesterday would react to seeing her again.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Whatever the case, it finishes like this:

She steps out, and for one reason or another, her words are too slow, too little, too late, because before she's finished her sentence, Pierce is bleeding from a strike from one of the girls (Yael, from Two, his district partner - and had she, Haize, and Pierce all found so much in common with their counterparts when it came to likeminded personalities). Whether or not it was unprovoked or not, well, who knows.

Her attempts at peace die in her throat, and then Brennan ensures that Twelve (Calamity, she remembered, because every now and then some tribute or another had a truly striking name that just stuck out) dies from piercing her throat, and any attempt at peace has gone unheard.

And just for a second, before the weight of the situation sinks in and shock drops her jaw, she can only think one thought.

How ironic, that when it truly mattered, I'm the one that went unheard after all.

ama flees

[d10f ekta ram // [earthling]]

〖    p i e r c e    l i t t l e t o n    〗

He hadn't meant to start a fight. That's the part that really bugs him in the pre-dawn light. He'd lost control. One minute he was taking inventory, preparing to tease Brennan for his caution, and the next thing he knows he's right in Haze's face. Why her? He couldn't answer that in the moment and hours later, he still can't. Except that Hazeia feels the most like a leader.

And the most like someone who could, maybe, stab him in the back.

"I don't think any of us are the type of person to do something like that."

It's less what she says -- though the words are reassuring -- and more that she genuinely looks as though she's awoken from a deep, untroubled sleep. She trusts him. They all do. And he just doesn't know if they are delusional or if he really is trustworthy.

Brennan's voice is equally sleepy. "Even if any of us wanted to fight you, which we don't, I don't think we'd stand a chance."

That had made him smile. "Sweet dreams," he'd said, once the adrenaline had ebbed. And then, more quietly, "hopefully of my face."

He had slept, not well. But he'd trained for this. By morning it was the gnawing hunger that made his thoughts sharp. A craving that no food would ever satisfy. Their camp breaks apart with the dramatic shift in weather pattern. Gamemakers gotta gamemake, right? "Or maybe they just don't care enough to… that's probably what it is." Brennana arrives at the logical conclusion which is a relief; Pierce slowly releases the pucker his mouth had screwed itself into to keep from saying something biting.

They're thundered and misted towards the stream. He can hear it and sort of feel the shift in the atmosphere. This is where the Gamemakers want them to be and he's willing to oblige, especialy with the reassuring weight of the Longbow in his right hand.

When they spot the other alliance, Yael's name is on his lips. It's a stupid instinct. Why should she remind him any more of home than the redheaded boy at his side? But he wants to warn her or scare her off.

She obviously does not feel the same.

The glaive stings. He should have led with a smaller weapon. The Longbow is suddenly awkward and he's got to notch it and he doesn't like the way Yael is looking at him like he's a stranger? "Hi?"

It's all he has time to vocalize before Brennan dispatches Calamity.

He is so swift and so sure and they fall.

Pierce lowers his bow, leaning on it as though it were a walking stick. He uses his free hand to clap Brennan on the shoulder. "They say the best Careers have good instincts."

Haze bolts.

Pierce twangs the Longbow string. "They'll be highlighting this tonight on the recap. You getting the first kill of the Games and me with my ass in my hand. Shall we?" He squeezes Brennan's shoulder, hoping to stir up some survival instinct, and takes off after Hazeia and Ama.

[Pierce flees.]

[max jones d6 ☠️ kiah]

◆

Yael was avoiding me.

Not outright, she stood close by, listening to my endless chatter about absolute bullshit. However, the vibe between us was different. I found it rather difficult to meet her gaze, mostly because she seemed to refuse to look at me. I had no idea what I had done to turn her off me... But maybe I should be pleased by this new attitude, grateful that she wasn't blatantly glaring at me. Though, I had just started to get used to the vicious, soul eating, stares.

I try to approach her, my orange seelie bouncing cheerfully by my side. But she see's me coming, putting Karl between us. I only wanted to ask her what her problem was. But with each pointed move to avoid me I felt the urge to know lessen, until it was gone.

Shrugging I move on, pulling out the rather peculiar stone that I had found the day before. It was different to the stones that had been scattered on the waters edge around it. Unique. Shiny. It glittered like hidden treasure. So pretty, I think to myself as I smooth it soothingly with my thumb. I wonder what would happen if I threw it at the back of Yael's head. Maybe she'd look at me then. Smirking to myself I slip the stone back into my pocket, before I check myself, let it fucking go.

Karl was a few steps behind me, Yael and Calamity taking the lead. However, they had stopped moving, and I quicken my pace to catch up. I arrive in time to see Yael charge towards a group of four, weapon in hand, the lust for blood written across the delicate features of her face. "Shit," my hand goes to the hilt of my sword as I step forward, instantly recognising Ama among the 4 who approach them. "Shit."

Suddenly the air around us falls silent. It was a familiar silence, one the caused my body to chill. It was deaths touch. I look up, my eyes catching the last moments before Calamity falls to the earth, their blood spilling like wine from the slash that ripped open their throat.

Yael stands over Calamity's fallen body, but she glares at the boy who had dealt the blow.

Yael's district partner celebrates the strike, applauding his ally.

Karl stands a few paces to my right.

I glance at him. He was standing so still, a darkness overwhelming him that had me putting a few more paces between us. He was a surging storm, and we were standing in the eye.

My eyes find Calamity once again, their broken body, lifeless eyes staring up into the sky, almost like they were praying to their god. I think they would have liked that.

After another moment my gaze also joins the other's, staring at the boy whose sword dripped with Calamity's blood. But when I looked at him all I saw was the next body. He was reaching his expiration date, fast.

[ Johnny doesn't move ]

[calla]

◆

The seelie flies directly into the back of his head.

It feels like getting smacked with a particularly soggy pillow. Karl turns slowly, with the strangest sense of bafflement.

He moves slowly to the side. It bobs unsteadily to follow. He goes in the opposite direction. It spins lazily and toddles after him.

It doesn't zip around like Johnny's does and it doesn't have the same musical quality or bright glow like Calamity's. It emits a sickly grey-green light, barely brighter than a candle. It doesn't fly quite right either - keeps drooping to the left and clumsily dipping up and down. The chatter it makes is more like a clicking, stretching into a long creaking sound like the groan of a smoker's throat. It moves itself in gelatinous sections, sluggish and strange and unnatural.

Karl tries to bat it out of the air first.

And then when that doesn't work, when it just bounces off of a rock and lingers near his ankles, he tries to push the edge of his scythe down into it and pop it like a water balloon.

It only squishes in a little, makes that pathetic creaking sound like an old door swinging open. It slips out from under the scythe and haphazardly floats back up, sliding upside down and staying like that, wobbling.

He stares at it.

It doesn't have eyes, it might not even be facing his direction, but it feels like it's staring back.

There's an echo of an imprint beneath his eyelids. Light generated from oxidation of natural decay; methane and vegetation and sudden ignition. It's a scientific phenomenon that they prove in science class but it doesn't stop the fact the wisp stories are what kept him out of the bogs at night, way back before the bodies and the rot and the pocketbook list.

Books of fairy folk, tapestry shreds, words that he doesn't know the meaning of but he knows the feeling of - this is one of the threads wrapped around his smallest finger:

Drunk Jack was a wanderer who tried to trick princely Aed of the afterlife into letting him live longer. Aed, so deeply offended by the act, granted him his wish and banned Drunk Jack from ever entering the underworld. When Drunk Jack finally died, Aed turned him away at the Gates and only granted him an ember from his hearth to carry, to keep his dead body warm.

Karl remembers the words whispered from behind a window pane, the stories, the childhood fear - careful a stór, that's the teine biorach. That's Jack out there over the bog, waiting to lead you to the Gates so he can slip his way in behind you. That's Aed waiting in the light of his lantern, reaching for your soul.

Those are the Ghost lights. Corpse lights. Stars over the graveyard. Spirits turned away.

Don't go near them.

Don't go near the bodies.

The swell of the stream water feels like touching radio static. Karl can practically taste the electricity coming from it, lowering a hand so his fingers stop just shy of one of the stray puddles.

And then deja vu; he glances up and sees Amaterasu across the water. The outline of her is hazy, like her shoulders have been smudged by an oil spill. He has a weapon thanks to her, and now they're standing on opposite banks of the stream.

But he doesn't look at Amaterasu. He doesn't even look at Haizea. Everything narrows down to the one little place on the ground where Calamity falls.

The story of Aed ends and begins with two horses. Twin stallions, white and red, that spend the night dragging his body across the water and pulling it down to the underworld where Aed would be reborn to rule. The water became something special, it was a place where the dead gathered to follow him.

That's why the bog was always so full of bones. That's why the lights formed.

Little Aed the ghost light does a lazy spin in the air above Calamity's body, like it's showing off a party trick. Like a hunting hound finding a felled pheasant.

It creaks and loops around the body and then turns back to Karl.

The strangest feeling comes over him.

[karl ominously stays put]

[fox]

◆

The glaive glides across his back. Pierce turns, funny look on his face, as if indignant that she could be attacking him. He stares at her like it's betrayal that's sliced through him, pain of a righteous man.

One of the girls starts to speak – "I know Johnny, I know Karl –"

There's a delicate web of morality she doesn't care for. Good or bad, she did things to survive. For herself. It doesn't make Pierce a better person because he didn't attack her. He'd still kill her in the end if it came down to it. It doesn't make the girl a saint for wanting peace. It makes her stupid in a place like the arena.

She reminds herself of this.

Her whole life, her mother asked her to be kind. Sometimes she wonders if it was her nature not to be. It must be from her father, the way it's just so easy for her to be angry, lit like a match against the slightest agitation.

They had wanted to tame this temper, bound like a dog, loyal to the Capitol. They honed out the kindness she learned as a child and maybe that was the easier part.

She moves in, lunges for the legs.

The other boy gets there first. That's how it is in the end.

His katana impales right through their neck. And Calamity stands for a moment, still upright, swaying gently like a petal in the breeze. There's the soft, wet noise of an exposed organ. The air sharpens with the scent of blood.

She feels herself move suddenly, instinctively. When they fall, she's already there, staring at the body. She looks at the dripping sword, up its length and to the boy holding it.

Karl's seelie flutters by idly.

no flee

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

The katana releases with an underhanded arch through Calamity's neck. There's no chance for else, aside from Yael, to take a shot. I don't know quite how to describe a fatal blow to an otherwise uninjured person, blade meeting flesh to end it all quickly. Stiff, maybe. The neck is a relatively vulnerable part of the body, a lethal point for any combatant to target. I can't stop the blade's momentum as it pokes through their backside.

With the horrified looks from those in front of me and the heat from those behind me, I struggle to pull the katana out. Mortified and shaky, I grab the handle with my other hand and start to pull. They still stand there, motionless as if waiting for me to finish my move. I'm thankful, at least for this moment, that the other three seem to put their focus on Calamity and not me. They could easily pounce if there wasn't a stunning recognition that their friend is near their end.

I hear a couple of my friends retreat, but I'm still holding on, attached to Calamity by a chilled bridge of metal and blood. Eyes are lasers upon the wound. I did that.

"They say the best Careers have good instincts." Pierce's grip on my arm frightens me forward an inch. He seems impressed, giving my shoulder a shake, "They'll be highlighting this tonight on the recap. You getting the first kill of the Games." He lets go and retreats with the others while I stay with the blade stuck still.

I did that.

Karl, Johnny, and Yael all look up in my direction. Shock is a momentary effect in war. It runs out eventually, and they'll be comfortable to act again. My feet drag against the pebbles and stones of the weak-flowing stream. I'm careful not to drag Calamity down in my direction, terrified that if I make any sort of contact with them, like physical touch, I won't be able to recover. It's a balancing act, almost, like holding a tower up by the pull of a rope.

I did that.

"Uhh…" Nothing seems right to say here, but I can't stop myself from speaking. My jaw has been open for long enough that something needs to make way. "I didn't know that that was going to happen…" The blade detaches itself and falls out of my hand. Knee on the ground, I reach for the katana and anything else I can. The pebbles bounce in the air and into my shoe. "That doesn't… matter though."

I bring myself up and look at them, but all I see on their faces are anger, sadness, and a fading surprise. And I take it as a sign to turn and run.

I'm a killer, now. I suppose you're just as shocked as me, huh? As I run to catch up with Pierce, Haze, and Ama, I can only wonder one thing: am I shocked because I didn't think I would or didn't think I could?

It's painful either way.


[ flees ]