.:|Like the River|:. [Inkling, Day One]

[Stare]

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me.
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating.
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When I was a little baby, my mom says that I always cried and shoved myself as far back in my chair as I could when she tried to feed me my least favorite food. She says that when I was a toddler, I'd crawl away from loud noises as fast as I could. When I was young and broke my arm after falling out of a tree, Luke says he found me kicking at the air as if I was trying to run. The moment after Luke left, I raced down the hallway and locked myself in a closet. After that, I was always avoiding my family by going off into the woods and only coming back for dinner. I joined the popular crowd to distract myself, and always ended up running from the crowd crying when things got rough. So I guess that I was always one who fled from her fears instead of fighting. I grew up running away from the monsters in my closet, and then later, the ones in real life.

I guess cowards really are born, not made.

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I don't think I can stop running.

Perhaps one wouldn't really call it running, though. More of stumbling, really. The shifting sand makes it impossible for my heels to propel myself forward so that I am moving at a speed one would call running. It would probably make things easier if I slowed down- if I relaxed my legs slightly and maybe even walked for a little while. But for some reason, even though my lungs are burning and I can feel my legs, I can't stop moving. Every inch of me screams for rest but my legs won't give it- they keep moving and moving even though I'm mentally screaming for them to stop. Maybe I'm going insane, and that's why my body doesn't seem to respond to my mind. Because I've lost it. But no, that can't be right. I can still hear Luke's piano playing and Imi's laughter, and it is impossible for me to lose my mind in a world where they exist.

Those fragile memories of them are the only things anchoring me to this twisted reality.

Frustrated with myself and the way I'm acting, I twist myself around so that my foot catches on my shin and I crash into the crimson sand, my legs still pumping for a moment before they realize that there's only air for them to hit. Moaning, I roll over onto my back, my chest heaving and sweat dripping down the curve of my jaw before falling into the scarlet sea below it. I close my eyes tightly for a moment, fingers digging into the shifting ground as I try to get a hold of myself. But no, the moment I close my eyes I see a flash of red and silver and hear the screams of those in pain, and my eyelids snap back open as adrenaline shoots through me just at the memory. How many are dead, I wonder? Many. I saw several already as I fled. I know that it was a mixture of luck and my own stupidity that got me out of there alive, but I can't help but whisper silent thanks, because it felt like something else happened in there. Like Fate was watching over me and was pleased with my performance, so my life was spared. For now.

After a moment, I prop myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the way the sand pricks at my skin. Miraculously, I am almost completely unharmed. I think I feel a bruise on my shin from when I slammed my foot against it, and perhaps a very shallow cut on my arm from a blade that wasn't really aiming for me, but other than that I am perfectly healthy. And I have items, too. Useful ones. My weapon, a morning star. I stare at it a moment, swallowing hard when I think of what it did back there in the Bloodbath before carefully laying it beside me and then inspecting me other three prizes- a satchel, a pair of socks, and an empty water jug. The satchel will definitely be of some use, holding all of my items instead of me having to carry them around myself. The socks... well, if it gets cold at night, I could wear them. And I suppose I could try and put them to use in a trap of some sort. So I keep them, stuffing them into the satchel. Finally, I grin at the empty water jug. A brilliant victory- water will mean life and death in this Arena. I also place it in my satchel, feeling proud of myself for a moment before remember how absolutely terrified I became and fled. I'm still terrified. Terrified of other tributes finding me, terrified of being attacked by a mutt, terrified of having the Gamemakers use some sort of cruel trick to hurt me since I am almost completely unharmed.

I can't stand how scared I am.

So I stop being scared. Or at least, I stop looking scared. I don't want to appear helpless, because I'm not. Not anymore. I dropped that act- now, I am cold and confident. Deadly. Dangerous. I shove myself forward, onto my knees, and make two little slits in my jumpsuit at the hip with one of the pointed edges of my morning star. Then, very carefully, I slide the handle through them, so that it rests comfortably there. Except it's not comfortable. I used this thing to hurt people. I will use this thing to try and take someone's life. It's horribly cruel, cold, and uncaring. Just like I should be, I silently remind myself. I lower my eyelids slightly and wipe my face of emotion, even going ahead and yawning slightly. "Well that was boring." And then I shove myself upward, into a standing position, and stumble forward, determined to get to one of the three towers. I can imagine the crowd's laughter with perfect clarity.

The problem is, I can also imagine my family's tears.



(OOC: Inkling Marling leaves the sands with a morning star, a pair of socks, an empty water jug, a satchel, and 0.0 damage. Also, the above graphic was made by the wonderful and amazing South.)

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