I don't believe in friends. [Khan]

[Meghan]

I don't know about my dreams.
I don't know about my dreamin anymore.
All that I know is
I'm fallin, fallin, fallin, fallin.
Might as well fall in.

Narration Speech Thoughts

Why was it that fish chose to swim in the sea rather than fly through the air and be free? Was it the lure of danger that kept them swimming through the ocean and to the feet of their hunter? Or did they not really understand what it meant to die at her hands, a fate received by so many of their friends. Perhaps they didn't see her, perhaps they only saw the cool waters of District Four and the shallow flow of the shore. It was an easy mistake to make given the circumstances. Frances wasn't moving from her spot in the water. Her feet were firmly planted shoulder width apart, her back was straight, and her hair was blowing in the wind around her. Her arms stretched to either side of her small form as if they were wings about to take flight. A net mimicked the movements of her mane as she held it tight in her left hand. In her right rested a silver trident. It was the only source of tension that could be seen in her body, her hand gripped the pole of the weapon with deliberate determination. A minute passed, and she took in a deep breath and opened her eyes ever so slightly.

There was a fury of motion as she dropped the net at her feet and speared the creature within. If I could capture this moment on camera, I wouldn't hesitate. The taking of another ferocious beast. It gallantly gave its life to be my food. Oh, little one, if only you understood your role within this world. If only you saw your death as I did. Your scales are glimmering in the falling sunlight while your blood falls upon your skin in a decoration of falling crystals and rushing water. "Oh, little one, you're dead now. Close your eyes and go at peace. Swim with your friends in the ocean that is the sky. Forgive me." Frances gathered up the now soaking net and walked back towards shore. She dropped the silent creature into a bucket labeled Moreau and wiped off her trident with a cotton rag. Then she returned to the ocean and repeated the process of her capture, spear, and dispose. Her arms spread in the wind once more and her eyes closed.

[Sharkbaithuhaha]

Khan was late, which was nothing too unusual, but the circumstance in which the unfortunate series of events was occurring was complete and utter normality. Midday was slowly beginning to slide into a cool evening subjected to faint breezes as the sun began to slip in and out of a thinning mist constructed by pristine looking clouds. Usually Khan would have left by now, it was a prime time for fishing, the waters were just beginning to cool after the sun’s withdrawing figure retracted some of its heat and the scaled creatures would be flooding to the shallows, they would be easy targets and although Khan had no reason to participate in the sport, due to the fact if he really desired it he could buy them from a Fisherman, he enjoyed the hunt, it relaxed him and calmed the turmoil which seemed to feast upon his mind hour after hour, day after day. But when he’d arrived downstairs in their wealthy establishment he could neither find his double edged fishing spear nor his preferred self-made net. It wasn’t common for Khan to misplace things, he didn’t have many belongings in which to care-for so those he deemed important to him had their own spaces in which they were always placed after and before use. It took him a whole three seconds after searching the entire downstairs and over-throwing a chair in frustration to come to an obvious conclusion, Adrianna.

Without hesitation he’d marched upstairs, taking each step two by two while the tension continued to sore through the barging vessel which was his determined physique, the stiffening in his muscles obvious and the engorged agitation enflamed within his usually deceivingly placid eyes evident. ‘Adrianna where the hell are they?’ The words had slammed past his lips before he’d even thrown his foot against her door, the wooden obstacle whined in protest and flew open to give a noticeable tremble as it hit the wall which embraced the echoing collision with a supportive croak. Even as the sound continued to resonate through the walls, ricocheting into the foundations of their home, Adrianna didn’t flinch, her eyes remained devoted to the knives in which she was throwing hypnotically into the wooden wall. One. Two. Three. Each hitting the centre as the first bounced to freedom, the second clung for a moment before falling and the third lodged itself deep into the oak which wept as another chip from its damaged surface was flung into nothingness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Khany.” Her voice was sickly sweet, the emphasis placed on the final word which slithered from her tongue’s venomous tip only caused him to become more enraged, the single dimple carving into her cheek as she smirked idly to herself caused every nerve to tremble and took every restraint he’d ever known not to charge for the knife, mainly because he was more than aware that, that was exactly what she’d want. He knew perfectly well if he moved towards it, it’d give her permission to pick one of the fallen blades from the floor and shoot it, more than happy to cause a flesh-wound.

He considered insulting her, after-all only he knew her accuracy was actually poor, she couldn’t hit anything on target if it wasn’t right in-front of her face, but at the moment he was right in-front of her face and that wouldn’t be the wisest of moves. Instead he simply climbed over her, ransacking her room as he began to raid the cupboards in which she kept her own favourites, that was until her hand was around his throat in objection and suddenly they were both struggling against each-other on the floor. It was a blur, the feeling of her nails scratching the skin of his neck, the automatic reaction which included his hand tying itself within her hair and shoving it with cautious force into the nearest solid surface while her fist pounded in the floor missing his face by a mere inch. It was within the struggle he caught the light reflecting from the expensive metal beneath the bed and the entangled outline of his net. After managing to squirm out of the chokehold she’d acquired around his throat and pinning her back against the floor by his forearm there was a moment of complete silence aside from the heavy breaths and intense glares. ‘You’re a damn attention-seeking liar Adrianna.’ Permitting her release he turned his attention to collecting his prized possessions from beneath the bed while she busied herself with wiping the single bead of blood from her lower-lip. “Mm, that’s what Anna said.” The single sentence was enough to send an ache howling through his chest, a pain in which he was now a master at disguising as instead of reacting he scoffed a stifled, dry laugh and turned absently to smile cruelly in his sister’s general direction. ‘Don’t you have a career to go whore yourself around with?’ He wouldn’t admit it bothered him, his sister’s promiscuous antics that is, he didn’t agree with her using her sexuality to seduce other’s into giving her information and tactics, but he wouldn’t waste his breath lecturing her, instead he began to head towards the door, now fully prepared and damn-well late, though her voice peaked back up to caress the blood on his throat bringing shivers to devour his spine. “I do, I’ll say hi to him for you Khany.”

It was a relief to finally get outside, to be engulfed by the cooling air and it’s comforting veil. The calming breeze provided a consoling escort as he tossed the net across his shoulder where it balanced perfectly while he clenched the chilled pole of his beloved spear within a white-knuckled fist. He hadn’t had time to cleanse himself of Adrianna’s feline fingers and had left the shallow cuts on his throat to become crusted with the dry blood which had leaked to wet the upturned collar of his shirt, he was already in a rush, ‘his’ beach was often empty when he went at his normal time but he now feared the delay would have drawn another to abuse the free space and bountiful resources. Finally after what felt like an hour but was perhaps nothing longer than ten minutes Khan strolled onto the beach, welcoming the sensation of sand beneath his feet and the essence of salted air which burned his tongue and serenaded the depths of his throat with a cold, calming breath.

Straight away he noticed her, he could see another in his usual position, it was almost humouring to see a girl who he was positive was not a career, for he saw them daily in the training grounds, wielding a trident. She seemed mesmerized by her current duty, her stance radiated concentration and the faint muscle tone in her arms expelled experience, it was safe to assume she’d been introduced to fishing a long, long time ago. Scoffing back his laughter in exchange for an irritable sneer he wasted no time in destroying the space between them, encouraging the proximity as he stabbed the tip of his spear into the sand and called vindictively towards the undeniably radiant girl. ‘It’s time for you to leave now, you’re on my beach and those, those are my fish.’ His head jerked pointedly towards the bucket she’d collected, he wasn’t usually so hostile but he wasn’t having a great day and thus like always it was the worlds fault.

[Meghan]

I don't know about my dreams.
I don't know about my dreamin anymore.
All that I know is
I'm fallin, fallin, fallin, fallin.
Might as well fall in.

Narration Speech Thoughts

Are you calling me, dear father? Is it time to go in? Put our supper on the table and put my trident in its den? Are you calling me, dear mother? Until your breath is black and blue? Do you remember me, dear mother, do you know what you have done? I am standing in the ocean, the tide sits gently at my legs. The life I have been given circles around me in a cacophony of color and movement. In a second the sharp edge of my three teared weapon will fall down and spear the joy of living from another innocent creature. It's exhilarating, if I'm being honest, mother. You would have been so proud of me. I'm not mad at you, I forgive you, I am not bitter. I love you and I'm sorry you don't know that. You breathed the breath of consciousness within me, and I refuse to give it up simply because I'm frustrated. You left me, mother, but I forgive you. I will always forgive you.

The differences between good and evil are exceedingly clear within District Four. All one has to do to clearly see and understand these differences is observe the different type of fishermen. Type one has an honest sort of patient air around them, they fish carefully and deliberately. Food is never in shortage on their small tables. Their quotas are met each day with dinner to spare. The threat of peacekeepers bursting through their door at suppertime, eager to collect their share of the bounty and punish the wrongdoing rebels of the Capitol, is never a possibility that they consider. This attitude is unlike the freer actions of the careers and their fishing families. They dive in with little regard to their alacrity and the consequences that may result. Their thoughts were consumed by the show and the glamour and the "ohhs" and "ahhs" of impressed bystanders. Their quotas often went unmet, but that didn't concern them. They were careers and they thought they had the world in their pocket. Year after year they went into the arena and killed without hesitation. Little outward remorse showed on the mask of their face. They had the people of Panem right where they wanted them - thoroughly convinced of their strength and stamina and glory.

Frances knew from her time spent within the water on the ever-constant beach of District Four that these allusions the Victors used to play the people were oftentimes false. The careers did what they had to do to survive in the arena, but it was clear to her that they came out broken and regretful. Of course, the Capitol could never know of this behavior. Their victors would never do anything to give society the impression that the games were anything but good. They were delighted by the Capitols generosity and leniency in their lives. They had won fair and square, after all. Your victory is tarnished by failure. Not your own shortcomings, but the lack of control found in your victims. They failed to hold onto their lives while you excelled, while you stripped them of anything that claimed them as human. Or perhaps you stripped yourself of this title and gave freely to those who you murdered? After all, the last feat of a man is to die. His entire life led up to that very moment, as if it was pre-destined from the creation of this cruel world.

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The moments leading up to a kill were always the most peaceful for Frances Moreau. She could hear the wind rushing past her posed form. It believed itself a threat for her determined stance, as if it could knock her over and blow her far, far away. Frances tensed, ready to launch her weapon into the naive creature below her. She raised her net, her trident --

"It’s time for you to leave now, you’re on my beach and those, those are my fish." A cruel voice interrupted her calculated movement. Frances could hear the sound of a spear being jabbed into the invisible rocks of the sandy beach. She threw her net and trident down hopelessly, but it was too late. Her little school had left, and she was left empty handed. Cursing, she gathered her possessions and spun on her heel to face the villain. She was surprised to see a boy around her age (a fact made clear by the youthful glow of energy upon his twisted features), although he was taller than she could ever be. That didn't excuse his actions though, and Frances stepped towards him, wielding her trident in a threatening manner. She doubted he even felt an ounce of fear at the sight of her. It was beyond obvious that he was a career. If his heart really desired to, he could kill her in about a second. Still, she wasn't about to give up her turf before the job was done.

"Your beach? I'm sorry, I must have missed your name." She sneered the last word, hoping to allude an air of confidence and superiority. It was a pathetic attempt, really. She never had much grace in this sort of area. She preferred to stick to the shadows and let other people lead the world. It was safer in the dark. "Unless, of course, you don't own any beach and instead you're here to try to drive me from my spot simply because you couldn't get here in time to claim it. Well, I'm telling you, it's not going to work! Not today!" She went to cross her arms but forgot about the items she still held tight in her hands. They fell with a resounding splash into the water below her. She let out a sigh of frustration and bent down to gather them. "Let me propose a compromise, oh King of the Beach. You take this half." With the pole of her trident, she drew a long line across the shoreline. "And I'll take this half." She crossed into her makeshift territory and stared at him defiantly. How dare he tell her what she could and could not do. The girl from the poorer part of the district watched the career boy and waited for him to respond to this proposal.

Word Count: 1045
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[Sharkbaithuhaha]

Questionable tyrant took a moment to absorb the serenity of his surroundings, seizing each inch of outstretched sand, the grainy carpet of white and gold, into his mind and engraving it to memory. Each oversized rock, deserted tree and rugged stretches of scattered shrubbery drew a single gaze, fleeting perhaps but still a glance of appreciation, he envied this place, it would be far more satisfying to be a place rather than a person. It was completely calming, the sound of the sea as it stroked the shoreline, coming in to offer a passionate kiss before returning to its lover upon the horizon to hide such a scandalous affair. The echo from the distant cliffs as the sea rose from beneath its sedated masquerade to abuse the mountainous target was equally appealing, it was almost possible to feel the ocean’s spray as it shattered into ten thousand fragments upon impact and beneath the sun glistened like a diamond reflecting a million beams of concentrated light. It could consume any living being, the wonders of the ocean, the dangers it disguised and the pleasures it hoarded greedily for its own selfish gain, it could lure any into its vast expanse and sing them out beyond the safety of the shallows and take them within a current to the world of the deep, a peaceful, watery grave.

The attention he’d devoted to admiring his idolized surroundings was quickly banished, forced backwards into the labyrinth that was his mind where it would dwell for later satisfaction, for now his focus was demanded elsewhere. Peering patronizingly at the girl he took a split second to study her features, finding it undeniably amusing when Mt. Vesuvius appeared to erupt within her stomach and stain her expression with a look of sheer disbelief and annoyance, there was nothing he found more laughable than someone who was clearly annoyed but struggled to decide the winning route to avoid a brawl and he even had to make the effort to swallow his laughter, almost choking on it silently in the process. Khan was no crook, he had no need to rob the fish from the girl, he wasn’t some delinquent or convict, he was an athlete but he felt the need to certify himself as boss, this was his spot, his beach and every primal instinct which made up his rather primitive being demanded some form of dominance be shown. ‘I’d watch your tongue girl, or before you’ve got time to blink I’ll have it out.’ Threatening words from a threatening being, he didn’t blink as he spoke, his expression remained stiffened and completely sincere as he flexed absently, tightening his fingertips around the spear’s centre just incase the girl did decide to be brave an attempt anything fancy with her trident.

Another sentence was about to string from his confrontational mouth but vocals found themselves halted mid-flow, their exploitation retracted in confusion as he eyed the sudden movement springing into the girl’s limbs. Khan even found himself leaning onto his spear, allowing it to hold some of his weight in a relaxed position as he watched curiously, viewing her as entertainment as she fumbled to recollect her dropped belongings and then ventured closer to begin drawing borderlines, this wasn’t a damn democracy. While she drew the line he remained perfectly silent, his lips twitching every now and again as his brow arched and his features twisted in mock understanding, ‘Ohh, oh you want to share. Cute.’ The viciousness was back in his tone, that cruel vindictiveness which contradicted the evidently sweeter tone lost somewhere beneath the mass of aggression piled on top of it. Moving swiftly he side-stepped her, lifting his spear slightly from the shore so that the sharpened point grazed the sand with a phantom elegance, it appeared weightless, controlled, deadly. Within several steps he’d surrounded her completely, circling her figure like an animal, a creature of predatory instincts circling its prey, his eyes as wild as the beasts so often seen within the games, but it wasn’t a natural wildness, it had been forced there through subliminal abuse. ‘Now here is my deal. How about you take yourself all the way over there into that nice little corner before I take your fish, take your trident and consider taking your life.’ It was bitter, his proposal the words of a dictator and his mouth pronouncing each one with a patronizing slowness, when in reality he half admired the girl, it wasn’t often anyone would stand up to a career, especially not someone from the poorer side of the district, this girl had some courage and even he in his deranged state could appreciate a little bit of bravery.

[Meghan]

I don't know about my dreams.
I don't know about my dreamin anymore.
All that I know is
I'm fallin, fallin, fallin, fallin.
Might as well fall in.

Narration Speech Thoughts

Humans were a fickle sort of creature with a large number of odd habits and beliefs. Their arguments carried heat and color through the air in their fits of stubbornness. Although there was always a chance for a stronger personality to convince a weaker one, more often than not the two sides of the party would grind up against each other until they both forgot what started their little verbal duel. That sort of situation was much like this one. The villain and the victim once again were arguing over something almost as pointless as their favorite colors. Who cared about 'territory' or 'turf'? The fish were just as likely to swarm around one man's feet as the other.

Normally, Frances would just let this type of thing go, but this sorry excuse for a career seemed like the type to get way too much satisfaction from her defeat. She couldn't be the tool used to build up an already enormous ego, she wasn't sure if she could live with herself if that was the case. It was better to be dead and defiant than alive but inferior. Her brown eyes pierced into the circling boy, as if to say 'you couldn't hurt me if you tried'. It was true, even if he maimed her, she would still be able to say 'I won on my own terms'. She didn't think he would do that though, there was something about his tone of voice that reminded Frances of herself. He only wanted to threaten her, scare her, in order to make himself feel like more of a man. Frankly, she thought he was just put out that she had beat him to his 'precious beach'.

"Go ahead," She said, matching the slow draw of his voice, "Kill me. If that's going to make you feel better about the thought of sharing with a silly, little girl like me, then go ahead. Although I don't think that will make the atmosphere any better for you. My blood pouring out like a goblet into the very water you admire so much, tainting your dinner and your weapon. Do you regularly fish in corpse infested oceans? I would get that checked out, if I were you. I heard cannibalism was frowned upon among the careers." She raised an eyebrow quizzically and smirked. "Of course, you could also forget your little ego for a minute and behave like any other person would, and share. I promise I won't tell any of your friends. What a scandal that would be! The big, tough career submitting to the poor, weak girl. Oh no! He could have at least seduced her or something to make up for it." She laughed a loud, hearty laugh. She had probably provoked him enough to attack her, but she didn't care about that. She had to die someday, and at the very least, she could come to terms with that fate today. Come at me, bro.

Word Count: 450

[Sharkbaithuhaha]

Khan was both bewildered and surprised, a ruffian, well perhaps not ruffian but definitely a cretin not as well off as himself, had decided to have a voice, he couldn’t decipher whether or not she was suicidal. His mind considered it briefly, the temptation to lodge the spear through the column of her throat and watch blindly as the blood stained the steel and wept upon the sand in thick, gruesome beads. Just one swipe at the jugular and all those words which seemed to spill tirelessly would cease, there’d be silence, just himself and the sea. It was all rather positive, though upon thinking about deaths a familiar ache began to claw through his innards, shredding nerves and muscles alike within the confinements of his chest, the pain ruthlessly battering the cage which contained his wounded heart until it drummed and long-lost images twisted in his vision, the sight of Adrianna’s knife tight upon Annalise’s throat, the long droning echo of panicked breaths but not a single uttered plea. It turned his blood to ice, the sensation so cold it burrowed into the marrow of his bones, chewing on the white flakes until his whole body for a moment grew numb, the colour within his cheeks draining quaintly which only magnified the intensity of those enveloping blue eyes he wore with unusual sorrow. He silently cursed himself, what sort of a career’s stomach churned at the thought of a kill just because it was on a beach, he never had such issues elsewhere, what if the game’s had a beach, his greatest strength was becoming his fatal flaw and he loathed Adrianna for such a weakness. No, it wasn’t just because it was any beach, it was this beach, it was these stones, these grains of sand which had glistened a glorious red beneath a pitiful sun as he’d cradled the silenced blonde and had, for the first time in his life experienced true pain, not some physical injury which he could embrace to make him stronger, no, this was an incessant demon which day by day made a feast of the soul.

Inhaling slowly, steadily, he drew the air he’d forgotten to seek back into his struggling lungs, masking the dizziness he felt with the scene that had returned to haunt him, playing in his head on repeat like some demented film-wheel going around and around. Drawing his eyes upwards he sought the sanctuary of the stranger’s face, urging all his focus to be invested in her and nothing else, all of his attention devoted to ensuring his mind could not travel and with patience he watched the movement of her mouth, viewing each shape it curled to produce until the final word fell and his fist flexed around the spear’s body. ‘I don’t believe in friends.’ His response was absent of thought, the words quick to roll from his tongue’s tip while he mulled over the rest of her rant, chewing on the sentences she’d strung with quiet deliberation. ‘This beach has seen enough blood for my liking. Do what you want, just keep out of my way and watch what you’re doing with that, it’s not a toy.’ He idly motioned towards the trident, stating the obvious while he peered absently into her bucked with a muted scoff, his own hand reached to twist his fingertips into the fabric of his net while he turned slightly to begin venturing towards the ocean, remaining in ear-shot as the sea welcomed his skin with a lover’s caress.

[Meghan]

I don't know about my dreams.
I don't know about my dreamin anymore.
All that I know is
I'm fallin, fallin, fallin, fallin.
Might as well fall in.

Narration Speech Thoughts

If today was the last day of her pathetically short life, the day that she was going to die, then Frances wanted to say goodbye to the world in the way she always imagined. She wasn't about to let some ruthless career decide the vision that would run through her head as the life drained from her cold, limp body. For a short spell of frigid time, Frances believed the boy when he said he was going to murder her. She wasn't sure what about this particular scenario caused alarm bells to go off in her head, letting the briefest hint of panic to underlay her confident tones of finality.

She always liked to imagine that she would die by her own actions. Maybe her trident would miss its target and instead plunge unforgivably into her stomach. Your father always told you not to mess with your tools. Your safety in fishing was the of the utmost importance if you wanted to see another day of sunshine and salty air. Ha, if she cared about your safety, she never would have left! Or perhaps she would venture out a mile into the sea, and tread water until every limb on her body felt like lead and her will for life would slip slyly underneath the water, taking her consciousness with her. Father says to never go swimming when you are tired. The sea is like a lion. It lures its victims into a calm, serene bath, whispering promises like 'I'll never hurt you' and 'you're safe in my arms', before whipping its tail and gashing its teeth in a fierce storm, ready to drag down any soul unfortunate enough to be caught in its power.

If today was her day of death, then she ought to welcome her fate like an old friend. Her eyes fell shut as she squeezed her safety and guard in each of her shaking hands. The little bursts of panicked breaths that had escaped her shivering lips ceased in that moment, ready to dispel in the minutes she needed them the most. A tentative smile crossed her lips as she prepared for the blow that would wash away her soul --

The atmosphere in the tender yet bittersweet air changed from positively murderous to outright sorrow. The shift was so dramatic that Frances honestly thought he had already speared her and she was now floating towards death's door. She fancied a peek, perhaps to see his weapon sticking out of her fishing attire haphazardly, but was shocked to see the pointed blade still resting in his rough fingers. Her life was still perfectly in tact, and it was not her fate the boy was mourning. He seemed to be looking inward as he gazed forward, lost in some memory of some painful event. Frances wondered what had caused him to turn into this lost statue of a career. If anything, she would have guessed he would be gloating at his ability to scare her into her defiant submission.

A heavy rush of breath now left its holding place, and her pounding heart slowly resumed a quiet normality. What felt like minutes, hours, days, was only time playing a gentle drum of deception. Her words had hardly left her raspy throat before this boys pain and pity had washed over the pair of them, and he had given up on all hopes of murdering her. Frances almost felt for him, and would have whispered a consolatory word if his console didn't result in her untimely demise.

"I don't believe in friends." The boy said with an air of finality. She raised an eyebrow curiously, before retracting her brow into a friendly scowl. "What a coincidence," She responded, her voice still sour with the bitter acid of its own fright, "Niether do I. Friends are overrated, eh?" She only half listened as his words stumbled out in half-hearted demands and snide comments. Absent from directive thought, her feet retracted into her own territory as the cowardly snake set up his best platform within the gentle waters, in a hope to capture and control and kill his own victims. Frances was tempted to simply ignore him and go back to her business of gathering dinner, but his confident stance was too much of an alluring trap for her curious eyes. How did a boy such as this one partake in such a common activity? What was his technique? Frances couldn't help but watch him.

Word Count: 744