girls of the wildest kind ; amber & october [10th]

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

{ amber bosch }

I wonder — is it bad that I can so easily pick out who is and isn't fortunate?

My eyes flit to shiny things on impulse. The things I could never have, and the people I could never be. Even in the worst possible moment of my life, I can't seem to stop myself. It's not like there's much else to look at in the cramped, dreary space they've shoved us all into. A tire swing sways back and forth in the breeze, a steady creaking sound underlining my thoughts. What am I supposed to do? Who can I dare to trust?

Fraser's off somewhere in a corner, out of my sight. Part of me regrets that fact, but the other half is grateful for it. I didn't mind our conversation on the train, and there are still things I would like to say to him, but he distracts me in a way that I have to rationalize is unwell for me. At any moment, some voice could come crackling out of the speakers, a gong ringing through the air. "The 10th Annual Hunger Games have begun!" I am like a rabbit preparing to bolt at the first sign of danger.

But when I glance at her for the first time, I am nothing but raven-eyed and envious. Someone untrained might not see what I see on first glance — she's as disheveled and hungry as the rest of us, but her hair is long and clean. And her face is smooth and bright. There's something about the way this stranger holds herself that reminds me of the rich girls back home. The ones I never had the courage to speak to. The ones who only ever seemed to stare straight through me. Even still, I feel that anxious knot in the pit of my stomach.

Just because we share the same tragedy, does that mean there's a chance to bond? And is it stupid of me to even care about trying to befriend a girl who could very well kill me? Just like the day my name was called, and my fate was sealed, I tell myself to pick and choose my battles. I'm already in the thick of it, and it can only get so much worse. My feet are guiding me towards her before any of my senses can kick in, until I'm standing right in front of her with a small smile on my lips and a tiny wave in her direction.

"Sorry to bother you," I start, and then I try to follow it up a little more confidently. "My name's Amber. I was wondering if maybe you'd mind some company?" I tell myself: the worst thing she can say is no, and affirm all my beliefs to be true.

But I know that's not entirely the case. Whether or not my metaphorical self is a bird, or a bunny, I can see this girl clearly for the apex predator she is. And here I am, red faced and starry eyed, revealing myself as prey.

[d1f october rhapsody fray ❁]

o c t o b e r      r h a p s o d y      f r a y

o c t o b e r      r h a p s o d y      f r a y

at first, when they threw us in here, i didn’t understand it.

i thought i might scream. this was not the show i had been preparing for; we, like animals, trapped within glass, to be leered at by those who walked by like dancing monkeys. it was dehumanising, not to mention disrespectful to the generations of frays who had come before me. i felt my great-grandmother winona fray turn in her grave. i wanted to shout, to cry, to argue, to tell them exactly what i thought of whichever useless intern had made this decision. it was a sick joke, and not one that i personally appreciated the humour in.

you’ve got it wrong. what i need is a stage, not a cage.

i hoped that soon, someone would show up that i could argue with. i’d tell them exactly what i thought. they’d come, soon enough, to provide the food and the water, and the fresh clothes and linen. i waited, quite patiently, sitting on a tree stump, seething, trying to keep my skin out of the sun. mother always said it ruins a perfectly good complexion, to let it see too much sky.

nobody came. it was only then that i realised what was happening.

they were testing me. something i’d read about once, something called adversity. put a person in the worst possible situation and take a step back, watch, see what they could do. i peered through our confines at the audience, understanding. they were not here to mock me. they were here, it was clear, to see me shine. i couldn’t believe i’d nearly fallen at the first hurdle. this was not a demeaning joke, but rather, a chance. this was my time to make them all love me. this was a spotlight, just for me.

i rolled up my sleeves. it was time to get to work.

. . .

as though the universe knows i am now poised and ready, a girl with muddy brown hair and plain features gives me a little simpering wave. like a moth to a flame. i relax into myself, offer her a glittering smile in return. “my name’s amber,” she says, “i was wondering if you’d mind some company.”

she looks exactly as a girl in a pit awaiting her death should look: abashed, terrified, her feathers all ruffled and her hair messed up. the poor thing. i bet she was just devastated to be plucked from her life of oblivion, so sad, to die now instead of later, after ruining her body ploughing fields, or something similarly awful. she looks like she’d shrivel up if you gave her too much attention.

“my goodness,” i say, “thank god somebody asked. i was about to lose my mind staring into this stagnant pond.” i gesture to the place beside me on the log. “sit with me! do you want me to braid your hair? here, it’s all messed up!”

on the other side of the glass, several of the spectators turn their heads to watch us. a man dressed as an oversized budgie taps the shoulder of the woman beside him, and she presses her face to the glass. we have caught their attention. good.

“i’m october. i’ve never killed anybody before, so i’m pretty nervous. have you?”