into void . jupiter / carmen, day 2

[pogue]

J  U  P  I  T  E  R

The ravine is something of a beauty mark on the arena, lush greenery bleeding out from the large crack in the sands, taunting them with what it contains. They'd walked for what felt like eons upon escaping the mutts, covered in blood from both themselves and creature felled before they'd come across the sprawling expanse of green and brown, red sands contrasting so heavily against what looked like a paradise. It was enough to make the newfound wounds on his body ease on their soreness for a moment, to forget what they'd been through and what was coming. Almost.

It's beauty is what scares him the most. He long since known that the prettiest things are the most deadly.

There's a twist of fate that waits for him as he goes to step forwards up the ravine, one hand wrapped tight around a loose hanging vine and the other grasping jagged rock and dirt sticking out from the cliff face. It's what leads to the demise of the action, strong area held in loose form, and it's before he can register what's happening that the ground beneath his feet gives way to nothingness, leaving him falling into a void of his own making.

A gasp shoots from ragged lungs into scratched up throat, clawing its way up his throat and dissolving into nothing as gravity pulls him down to the soil beneath. In the makeshift lines between events he feels it simmer, steadfast and truthful, dormant and spread through his veins with his own blood.

Crimson, scarlet, rage.

By the time he hits the ground it is there, coursing through his body with fight or flight, all the former and none the latter. Pain erupts from his knee at the angle it lands at, gash and bruise from beasts of burden turning back to their origin shade of bright red, flesh and sinew opening anew. "FUCK!" He yells out just to hear his own echo, anger and frustration snapping his limbs back into place as he rises from his position and gathers himself, thin sheets of red seeping from wounds old and new.

It's a childish tantrum, born of red and persisted by blue, a boy who can't control himself but to slip into uncontrollable rage with no chance of stopping it. Drowning in his own ocean, fist meets rock and knuckles split, knife finds its way into everything and nothing, jagged pieces of a fallen cliff face thrown into one another with enough force to send gravel flying from the dented pieces.

He torments the area, himself,  and everything in between- red eyes of cameras watch him unravel for what feels like an eternity.

By the time he is done there is still steam falling loose from his ears, sweat dribbling from forehead to cheek to chin to grass, breaths in and out and still so heavy, ragged. Shame comes next, he knows that, destruction of soil and self. "Carmen." He calls out to her, refuses to meet her gaze for fear of what might be looking back at him. "We need to grab our stuff and get out of here- soon."