Page One.:: // Cass

[charade]

The sun dips towards the horizon as it heads towards the completion of its crescendo of illumination across the sky. It will be night soon, and as the evening hours find their way into existence, I find myself headed home with an armful of metal objects rescued from one of the junkyards near the district fence. They are an assortment of odds and ends that might prove useful for any one of the projects in my Dad's workshop. I found a couple of cogs and a cracked hourglass among the refuse today. The latter is just something to put in my room, but the cogs? I'm hoping that they can fit into the ancient grandfather clock that stands straight and militant in the corner of the shop like a silent sentinel whose clockwork heart has stopped beating to the rhythm of the district itself. I suppose that in the long run I might be just like that clock. Made up of little gears that form a bigger gear in the machine that we call district three. And that itself is just one of twelve pieces in the soulless entity that is the entirety of Panem.

As I walk, I note that the bustle of the city has quieted down. People pass by me on the sidewalk and they might as well be faceless for all the things about them that I am capable of remembering. Why should I? None of them know who I am, and sometimes, I wonder if even I know the answer to that question. I know they stare sometimes, and I guess if I was in there shoes I would too. It's not often that you see a girl in jeans and a leather jacket that's been patched with brightly colored scraps of fabric. Then again, it might be the odd things I'm carrying or the colorful state of my current haircut. They really should be thanking me. In a place as dreary as this one, color tends to brighten up the scenery. You'd get bored of dozens of shades of grey after awhile too. Dad has never said all that much about the way I dress, But I doubt he'd even notice if was walking around in my underwear; so absorbed he gets in his work. He is the one who taught me everything I know, except how to get along with people. It was so much easier when it was just me and him. But those days are quickly falling behind me and in just another year, I'll be a woman. Two birthdays, and the threat of the arena will cease to loom over my head like a sword hanging by a single unraveling thread.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, that I fail to see that someone walking in the opposite direction is also failing to pay attention to their surroundings and we collide, the things I'm carrying spilling out onto the ground in every which way. Thankfully, I manage to fumble for the hourglass before it shatters into pieces, and with a grumble I shoot the offender a dirty look. To my surprise, I somewhat recognize her.Hey you're that Gorerich girl right? I've seen you on screen. Think having a famous brother means you can walk all over people? A score of asinine insults flood my mind as I hastily pick up the items that have now been strewn about the ground. But all I can manage to sputter out is a husky, "Great. Piss off." She's got the look of a real girly girl, make-up, long hair and a look on her face that makes me want to punch it in. Part of me would be surprised if she even knew what the things she just knocked out of my arms are even called.

I collect a couple of the oily gears , stopping to wipe some of the grease onto the stains my jeans have already held for weeks, but making sure that I keep them off of the jacket. Can't muss up the only nice piece of clothing I own. To my dismay, one of the cogs has rolled between the other girls feet. With the rest of my things nestled in the crook of my right arm, I crack the knuckles on my left and give her a meaningful glare. "You want to hand that to me?"

[cass]

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

Today I got beaten up. Not even after fleeing school do the horrors that plague and assault me and chase me through nightmare after nightmare stop. I tried to shove away the screams, with every ounce of energy that I could gather I pushed them away, shoving them past battered memories and stained dreams. But they are stronger than I am.

[/i][/color] I tried to stop my mouth from opening and hearing Kofa’s name being thrown at full force into the air. I’m trying to stop it; I’m trying to forget about the girl that was once so real, the friend that had gotten me through my entire life. Today as that guy sent his fist towards my face her name was the first thing that managed to dance to the surface of a mind, tangled and over crowded with a billion, trillion different problems. Her name slipped past the cracked and broken walls of my mind, and past he scars and claw makes of the animal within me that always tries to beat me. The unexpected pain that comes with a clenched hand smashing into the side of your head would normally draw a choked up strangled cry from my lips, bur desperation brought out her name, and so instead of a scream I cried out Kofa.

Of course that only drove them on; their fists hammered me, their legs, and their words. And in my mind, the beast played with me, daring me to fall into the blackness of its abyss. Teasing me and tugging gently at my weakened hold to let go and just fall. My eyes would graze the blackness that threatened to engulf me and for a hesitant second my grip on sanity would give away, shrieking shadows would yell and laugh, and pull at me more harshly, all the while my body screamed, my mind screamed and I screamed, two wars raging within me at one time. I was looking here and there, my hair was tumbling around the new cuts and bruises that formed on my face and that darkness lapped at my skin, slowly climbing higher and higher, winding itself around my legs and reaching forwards towards my hands. My hands, the only thing holding me up, the only thing keeping me going on a scale so broken that it was bound to shatter.

An intricate and delicate tangle of webs is all that holds me to this world. There are claw marks so evident and bleeding in my head, there are scars and scratches that hide beneath my pale skin and yet if you would open your eyes they are so clearly visible. A shaky hand gently wipes the blood away from the corner of my mouth. Bee stings seemed to cover every inch of my body, and pain rumbled through each step, making me wince. Yet it could all stop, each second of agony would be out to an end if I simply let go, I could feel it now the very idea of tumbling backwards with nothing to hold. The cool hands of a thousand reaching upwards and grasping my worn down body, clinging to my skin, clinging to everything and never, ever letting go again. The idea makes me laugh. A hysterical giggle echoes into the street, where I know there is only me, where I know if anyone saw me they would see nothing and no one, because I wasn’t real to them all.

But then reality always takes hold, impatiently shoving its way past nay sort of defence I may have. It was always cruel and cunning, there to make me ache, there to make me want to seek pain and pleasure in forms I had not associated with those words. Or sometimes it was simply harsh, calling out words and questions that made tears tumble towards my eyes, which made me wail on the inside and stand frozen and solid on the outside. “Great. Piss off.” I hadn’t even noticed the impact, the feeling of another person on me, the feeling of skin on skin, heat on heat. The lingering touch of clothes upon my heart. There was nothing there, but a numb wall that separated this existence from my own. The first thing I reacted to was the contrast, the words that tumble from her lips, but my mind takes no clue, no insight as to what they mean –words seem to mean the same thing these days, there to punish me and for no other reason. Yet, this person had decided to use to words that contrast with one another, a small shrug plays at my shoulders and within seconds I go back to staring, everything forgotten. I have no reason to remember, bad only comes from knowing, worse comes from keeping it.

As though against my very will I slowly reach down and grasp the metal cylinder that lay between my feet. Its touch was like a cool kiss, seeping into my skin. And carefully I pull it out and away from my body as though it was poisioned. “You dropped this.”
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

[charade]

The word that comes to mind is simpering. Whereas I hadn't been paying attention because my mind was occupied with a whirlwind of thought, she appears to be empty-headed, sniveling and airy. Maybe she got her kicks off of inhaling paint fumes or something. The dirty blonde doesn't seem like she's paying attention to anything in her surroundings and if I was feeling really cruel I think I would tell her off fantastically. She moves methodically, like a wind-up doll whose crank has just been turned by a bored child, bending slowly, extending an arm and grasping at the ground before straightening up, offering it to me like a forgotten treasure; Which I suppose it is. My face twists into a wry and sarcastic smile as my free hand finds my hip."Of course I dropped it, you knocked into me you idiot. Earth to girly, you dumb or something??" I snatch the metal from her outstretched hand with a little too much gusto, because it scrapes over her palm and leaves a line of rapidly forming red, seeping out in droplets that are far too reminiscent of the crimson sands that trickled onto tributes heads three years ago.

Almost mechanically, I glance at the damaged hourglass nestled in the crook of my arm. No one knows how long I've been searching for one. But judging by the girls reaction, I doubt she'd care t hear it at all. I didn't mean to cut her obviously, but what's done is done and my dad always says that anyone that doesn't fix something that they broke, isn't the kind of person that can be trusted to ever do the right thing. And so though it pains me, I know that I now have to right the error that I made. I take a moment to study the girl in front of me and take in the grey eyes that regard my gaze with something that I can't quite place. I'd say that her eyes were hollow and that they bore into me like twin pools of gutter water that reflect the things that they've seen, but I don't scare easy and I force myself to keep a steady gaze at her face, the merest hint of a condescending smile gracing my lips and hopefully showing her that I really don't give a crap.

I find my voice with a slight cough. "My Da's Workshop ain't too far from here. There's a first aid kit If you want it." I've just given her a way out with my words whether she realizes it or not. Unsure of what else to do, I shrug and unapologetically push past her in the direction of the shop. If she's smart she'll follow me. Otherwise, she'll prove me right. In any case, i'm already bored and I want to think about things that aren't as taxing on my personality. I don't look behind me and I don't give her the satisfaction of a backwards glance. You can never tell with victor family types. There are always an odd bunch and my dad's always said they aren't to be trusted for any reason. Something about unpredictably. Sibling rivalry since they aren't the famous one. I'm an only child so I wouldn't know anything about that. And the only teen to share my last name burned out before I ever got a chance to meet him.

[cass]

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

For a moment I simply stare, the infinite balance that sits so delicately in my mind spinning and spinning. One wrong step would send it crumbling, shattering into so many pieces that I wouldn’t even be able to cut my hand on them because they would be that small. I take little notice of the girl in front of me, but it is never because I am simply being rude, it is because I don’t know how to. I don’t see what is there; there are no words that leap forth to the front of my mind when I see her. Nothing slips between the cracks and drags itself forward, no words leap to my lips at her off hand comments. I find nothing wrong with what she says; her sassy upfront attitude is similar to what I always receive. Like always the words glance off of a barrier that I had built up to defend myself, yet there was always a hole, there was always someone who could punch through and injure me in more ways than one.

My eyes flicker downwards towards my hand, a crimson streak appearing right before my eyes. Instinctively I flinch away, drawing my hand up towards my chest, the red dancing across my vision, pain blooming into my mind. In a few short seconds I have taken a step back, my eyes widening as I stare fearfully at the small cut. Punches echoed through-out me as though it is all happening again, as though those people are here hitting me and making me scream. Laughing when I do and smiling at my pain and terror. Each hit making me cry out and each word calling for their more of their laughter, more taunts, more pain, more blood and agony. Tears had run down my face, countless times I had pleaded for them to stop, but it had only egged them on. I don’t know why I did it. It was always the same, ten years and it was always the same. Never for one second did they hesitate when they threw a punch, never once did they cringe away from my screams. Pleasure seemed to fill each taunt and hit. A drop of blood would splatter the ground and soon it would be raining with it, my nose would clog up, my eyes would stay closed and my breathing would be shallow and desperate.

I clench the wound closely to my body. The girl doesn’t seem to notice, sarcasm dripping from each word she said. I don’t mind, I don’t care. Well at least I wanted to believe that her need to call me dumb was sarcastic. Dark trendils slide up my body, reaching into every crack and crevice, caressing my clothes and grasping onto anything loose enough for a strong hold. Glancing downwards all I see is blackness, and yet I can feel the warmth that the cold tingles bring, I can feel the care that goes into each touch that it gives. My hands slip further down, my hands slip further away from reality, further away from it all. I don’t know why I keep holding. There is only pain in the place where my hands are, there is only pain with each breathe that chooses to leave my lungs. Sometimes I can make it into good stuff, but other times it makes me cry.

I don’t like crying.

Her condescending smile again doesn’t faze me; it is obvious that she is the better person here. I am no one; I have no nae to most people. Those that give me a second look can often tell who I am. Klaus’s sister. It is always his sister, his thing as though he owns me. I hate Klaus Goravich. Klaus Goravich is not my brother; he was, once upon a time. I remember the day he came home. The door opening, everyone smiling and I remember –perhaps it is the only thing I truly remember, me screaming and hitting him, telling him he is no brother of mine. I don’t love that thing that replaced him. I don’t know who he is and I’m not sure I will ever be sure. Darkness clouds every memory that I have of him as though that thing has tainted my mind, twisted with each fond thought and delightful smile I can remember of him.

"My Da's Workshop ain't too far from here. There's a first aid kit if you want it." Some part of me registers what she says and another part just lets it float by, just lets it go away like everything else does. She walks away. As though attached to some invisible string I turn around and begin to follow the girl with the funny hair, my eyes trailing over her clothes. She looked odd; she didn’t look like those other people. She sounded like them, but didn’t look like them. Maybe that would make her safe. ”I don’t need no first aid. I’m alright.” The ghost of a grin flickers across my lips and with my next step I begin to hum a sinister and ominous tune filling me and pushing the shadows away.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

[charade]

Sometimes, people can surprise you by not being as dumb as you already thought they were. Sometimes, they can read the drawl in your voice or actually manage to pick up on your dismissive body language. I hate it when people can't take a hint and yet it seems like most citizens have their heads stuck so far up their bums its a wonder they can see anything at all. At any rate, I find it hard to not let out a sigh of relief as the girl informs me that she doesn't want any help, taking the out I gave her instead of potentially turning the situation into an awkwardpalooza. I give her a small nod and keep walking towards my destination, ready to get on with my day before it gets too late. I don't like being outside at night, but I'll stay up until the sun rises tinkering away on projects. Da doesn't mind, since he gets home way later then I do and then just wants to get some sleep. And he is a man that won't be awakened for any reason other than he wants to be. Explosions, cursing, hammering, drilling. I've lost count of the noises coming from the workshop that don't ever bother him in his room above it. I think I'd even be able to throw a party without him waking up, but seeing as how I don't associate with anyone that idea doesn't have much merit at all.

I take several more steps before I realize that there is an odd trilling noise somewhere behind me. I wave at the air by my ears in annoyance, thinking it must be a mosquito or a horsefly. But insects don't keep a rhythm and so I glance over my shoulder to see that the girl is following me and humming an strange little ditty. My eyes snap forward and I narrow them in rising anger. So. Looks like she did want something for her hand and was just too much of a prick to say so out loud. She's an odd duck alright. I mentally chide myself for not paying more attention to the road, because otherwise I wouldn't be in this situation."We'll be there shortly." I say tight lipped. I measure my footsteps out carefully, making sure not to bump into anyone else, or drop my items again. And indeed we arrive soon. I draw the key out of my pocket and unlatch the door, hearing the tumblers groan in protest as I do so. If they were living things, I'd say that they could read my feelings and know that I have an unwanted and unwelcome visitor behind me. I shuffle inside, motioning for the girl to follow and hoping that she won't make things harder for either of us.

"Well. Come in I guess. I'm...Jackie. Just wait here and don't touch anything!" I add emphasis on the last three words and leave her there as I move to deposit my things in the backroom. Where I left the girl is the counter where my father deals with people, fixing whatever they bring in as best he can. All around the shop are the gutted remains of mechanical things, bits and pieces littering the floor and piles of odds and ends in every corner. Grease stains painting an oily picture of sight and smell. I don't want her to see what's in the back room, which is why I told her to stay put. I doubt anyone would understand and I don't want anyone to make fun of me either. I drop the gears in the center of the backroom and bring the cracked hourglass over to a stool that I'm using as a pedestal, placing it in the center. There are nine stools of varying sizes in a small semi-circle near the back. Each holds a diorama of an arena finale. I've been building them since I was eight, improving my skills with every year that passes, but it was so hard to find a usable hourglass that it took me close to three years to find one.

I'll fill the hourglass with flour dyed red later, since I can't get sand anywhere in the district, and I take a moment to appraise the little mock ups on the stools on either side of the hourglass. To the left, there is a box I shaped to look like an iceberg and painted white. Atop of it are little metal figurines, one lying curled up on the ground and the other two trading blows. Off below the iceberg is a little walnut shell canoe with orange paper flames sticking up from the center. I've gotten better at making them as I've gotten older, because on the other side of the hourglass, the model ship I lucked out in finding has been made up to look much older, tiny facsimiles of Klaus and Fitz in battle on the deck. A tiny Mahlah propped up a little ways away from them. They are of a better grade of statue, pins and needles welded together with more precision than previous ones. I glance at some of the older finales, dried chicken bones instead of elephant skeletons, or the bowl full of saltwater and rusting figures on the stool labeled the fifty-fifth. I shrug and turn towards the cabinet, taking out some gauze and bandages and wondering what mischief the girl has gotten up to in my absence.

A sound startles me and I look in the direction of the backrooms door.

[cass]

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

After walking for what seemed to be only a tiny space of time in a world that is overflowing with nothing, but it, I found my feet halting. I found the ground beneath them change from the cruel, harshness of pavement to the more dark, smooth, caring concrete. It was the kind of concrete that held stories, so smooth to the point where it was glossy. It had been stepped upon many times, and it shone in the light that managed to seep through and into the room. My eyes flicker upwards and away from the floor, it takes a moment for me to draw them away from the ground, where I felt so fixated on the beauty that something as simple as concrete can hold. The light was through many different patters across its cool surface, and it made me smile. It was just a small smile that teased the corners of my lips.

There was stuff everywhere. But the first thing that hit me was the bitter, oily smell. It didn’t have that smell of a place that I was familiar with. Normally I hung around the grave yard where the air was clean and crisp and if you were good enough you could almost imagine the smell of decay and rot that seemed to cling to each grave. It was the kind of smell that clung to each tree that stood in the graveyard and it made even the living feel as though it was dead. But then people often believed I walked with the ghost that inhibited the graves. They didn’t really see me as living, I suppose I had stayed so long at the grave yard that sometimes I even mistaken myself as one of the dead. It was awfully hard not to. I was thin, pale and scrawny; my limbs seemed to barely hold any life. My eyes were dead, lifeless and dull and each time I moved I felt like it was robotic, as though it wasn’t really me doing it. I talked with an airy of a person who knew little about what they were saying. My words lacked emotion and for anyone who did not know me I was dead. I wasn’t sure that I was truly living.

This girl’s home was not much like some of the place I like to be in, and yet I felt drawn to step into the threshold and follow her. It had no clean smell, it had no smell that made me want to stay and yet I liked it. It was different and unique and it made me feel nice. It made me stop. It made me open my eyes and really see what was there. Grey eyes scan the room, slowly drifting from one object to another. The place was cluttered from head to toe with an assortment of items I had never seen. With things I never thought I would ever see and I found myself just staring. Unable to let it all sink in. My eyes wouldn’t register; nothing would sink through the thick fog that often hung around my head.

[/i][/color]

She walks off. I hesitate for a moment unsure of myself. Some part of my tugged at my memories, wanting me to remember something and I was sure the girl had said something before walking off. I was almost ten precent positive that she had warned me or even told me something. I shrug my delicate shoulders, my eyes gazing absently across the room and slowly I take a step forward. Tentatively I reach a hand forwards and it gently brushes the surface of a bench. My fingers trail over the wood, sliding over the dust and lumps and I barely register the touch. I barely feel what is beneath my fingers. The gentle grab of the wood against my fingers makes me ache; the gentle and soothing touch that seems to vibrate from within me makes me pause.

Slowly I take a finger off of the wood and close my eyes. And in that instant the world seems to leap before me, the shop seems so much more real. And I can’t see it, but I can. I can hear the place, the gentle, but persistent sound of a clock, the cool breeze that rings through the room. My feet feel incredibly numb and I am sure that if I was to step forwards right now I would fall. I would slip. My body unable to hold what is left of me. I know that in this moment my grip will tighten, that even though I am falling my mind is stronger and my hands tighten ever so slightly on that ledge.

I can feel it.

I can feel the way I tug myself that little bit more forward. I can feel the darkness that licks my legs draw backwards; rear away as though my touch now poisons it. With my eyes close I slip into my own mind, I run away from the reality of the world around me and let myself sink into the protection of sanity. And I know I am a little less insane, that this little world, this whole room is something that isn’t like the rest. It is filled to the brim with life, with work and each little item that sits in there has purpose and reason. No one in this house is insane; no one in this house is dying. It feels normal. It feels like such an incredibly normal place that I feel out of whack as though it can’t be.

I fall. With a gasp I open my eyes just in time to see the ground rush towards me and I slip my hands forward to protect my frail body. But it does nothing and I slip face first into a pile of –what I can only call, monsters. The monsters clatter around me loudly smashing against the ground, hitting the floor; some things seemed to bend in a way that makes me think that they are broken. Other items slip and smash into a million pieces and pain splits through my skull as something digs into my head and I stare at the million, billion smashed little pieces and through it all, through the new cuts and blood, through the mess and the small cry of pain that I let slip a smile plays across my face. And I stare dully at the shattered remains of whatever it had been, a gentle light glances off of the shards and it looked beautiful. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size]

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

[charade]

Clockwork.

I expect everything in my life to go like clockwork. I can count the seconds with my fingers, punch a time card with a closed fist, and let the sands of time slip through my grasp while counting every individual grain that falls away to be lost to eternity. People take time for granted more than anything else; they think that they are invincible. That the rules don't apply to them; but when you've added enough years to one side of the scale, they have a tendency to be reminded of their own mortality. Too many people take tomorrow for granted, focusing on yesterday instead and trying to fit the broken pieces together without the proper equipment. Which is why they are caught completely off guard when time runs out.

It can run out for any number of reasons. Getting reaped of course. Old age. Disease. A misstep, an accident. Simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Pissing the wrong person off. I think about this sort of thing often. Sometimes I like to think that time moves at a different rate for me than for the rest of the world; because I take the time to appreciate the little things. Because I choose to learn from the past instead of dwelling on it. I don't understand the preoccupation with reliving the past; especially because its never as good as you think you remember it. The things you ignored with childish ignorance come roaring back to the forefront of your mind when you get old enough to understand just exactly what you were witnessing.

Take my childhood for example. It wasn't until I was fourteen that I realized the reason my Da liked to take frequent 'naps' was because of the beverages he likes to drink. "Do as I say, not as I do." Yes, I remember the seven hundredth time he said those words, and their meaning remained as hollow as ever. I am my own person and I promised myself at a young age that I would not repeat his past, but forge my own. I'm still forging my past even now. When you take the time to micromanage time you come to realize that even an hour ago is now naught but a page in the annals of your personal history. I've made my mistakes sure, but its only now that I know that bringing that Goravich girl into the workshop was one of them.

I rushed to where I had left her, almost as soon as I had heard the clatter crash tinkle of breakable items hitting the floor. The sight that awaited me was one that I had never expected to see. The girl was on her knees, surrounded by glittering shards of former snowglobes. Somehow, she had knocked an entire shelf loose and the orbs and the wooden plank they were on now decorated the ground with their pearly insides. That is, the globes, not the plank. But among the glass, the false silver and golds I could see the stain of crimson spreading in tiny rivulets that reached towards me like tongues of flame. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts; a thousand and one variations of various expletives come to mind, but all that comes out is a strangled hurk of disbelief.

I'm still clutching the gauze and bandages from the first wound that the girl suffered and I have to wonder if she's doing this sort of thing on purpose. Setting my mouth in a grim line I make my way over to the disheveled lass and help her to her feet, giving her a hard look as my eyes sweep up the damage. I'll have to get this cleaned up before Da finds out, but I doubt I'll be able to fix and/or replace them soon enough. I'm a tinkerer, not a glassblower. "Now you've gone and done it." I mutter the words through clenched teeth and pull her over to the counter. I unwind some of the gauze and dab it none too gently on her cuts and scrapes, before tying a bandage off around the worst of it.

"You're a real piece of work ya know that? I invite you in, offer to clean you up and you go and injure yourself and the shop. You got anything to say for yourself?" My eyes search her face for the answer; an answer I hope is forthcoming. It's not often that I find myself in a position like this. I avoid people. They aren't what I'm good at fixing. They aren't made up of gears and cranks and bells and whistles. No, they have emotions and feelings and thoughts and scars. It's not as clear cut with people as it is with clocks. Its not black and white. It's grey. I don't know what to do with grey. Grey is the color of the clocks metal insides, not the parts that make it work, but the parts that keep everything locked away so tight that the only thing that can be heard is the soft ticking of a heartbeat.

I don't know what my heartbeat is doing, but its nothing good. I'm stuck somewhere between a slow fiery anger that's building in intensity, and a cold fury that wants nothing more to let out all of the aggression I usually relegate to the occasional sarcastic remark. I can feel the telltale signs of caustic words starting to dance their way across my taste buds, acidic to the ears and venomous if done correctly. I almost have to bite down on the offending muscle to prevent their escape. I don't really want to vent of this girl, but she is doing a swell job of testing my patience. She has to know what she's done, and I want to know what she plans to do about it. Whatever the case, it had better involve some form of apology or she is really going to get it.

[cass]

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

When I look up into the sky I see a world untouched by man. People believe the silliest things, they have come to understand and even believe many lies as truths. The sky was once said to be an impossible feat. It was always believed to be a world better left unsolved, like the puzzle with pieces missing, you'll never be able to finish it, just as the sky -no matter what anyone says- will remain free and pristine, a place where no human touch can taint its beauty. I have always believed that the thousands of leagues that separate this world from another is the space where only time can co-exist with freedom. Humans were never made to roam that world. We were created to dwell in the ground in the lowest places. In the earth and the sand, the world both made by us; the world that is so carelessly and waste fully being used and destroyed. It appears that we don't understand the beauty that stays hidden beneath the night skies, the clouds and the rocks that layer the earth. The true world remains separate from us all -just as it should be, humans were never made to be as they are now. The world was never created to be unequal. It was never meant that one race of animal should be so much more superior to another. We were meant for stability and a place where we are all one.

In this room there is no space for the sky. There is only a clattering of rubbish here and there. A roof sits atop the building, blocking out any view I might have of the world above it. So instead I turn my attention to the ground before me where a thousand different shards of glass litter the uneven surface of the ground. My hands move over them, experimenting with a light touch. Feeling the sting as something as fine as that glass cuts against my hand. And I could feel the experimental tug of a smile drawing itself across my pale face. The blood drips to the floor, but I ignore it, instead focusing on the way the glass and it fall, focusing on how they all mix together and that it looks just beautiful. Slowly I stir them around, mixing the small shards of glass with the blood, it looks like snow and, but red. If I close my eyes I can imagine it to look just as the stars look, bright lights on a contrasting background. I didn’t like the stars, though. The stars were to different, to controlling and demanding. No that was not a good idea to think about them. Thinking about things I did not like made me slip further over the edge and into the pleasant arms of insanity. It was better to not think at all.


It is wrong that we, humans, no longer -unless for scientific identification- even categorize ourselves as animals. We are 'a cut above the rest' no longer the four legged, hairy beasts that are so ragged and aggressive. Apparently to be defined as animalistic is now offensive: to be called an 'animal' is no longer just stating you, it is to be called a brute, primal, even feral. In other words being an animal is disgusting, something no one should aspire to be. It amuses me in some ways that we have tried so hard to push ourselves away from the beings that we actually are. Sometimes I wonder if there are ways to fix that or maybe with have fallen into such a comfortable state of belief that even the slightest inclination of another truth astounds us. If that is so then I can see no inevitable future where the world survives. We shall all continue in that endless cycle of destruction where ultimately there will be no more earth. No more world, pleasure and dreams. We appear to be so far lost in this path of righteousness that the ever shrinking whole of hope for the future is slipping from our grasp.

I look upwards as the girl comes back into the room. I can instantly feel the anger dripping from her skin. It was coming closer and closer to me. I stay where I am, my hands too absorbed in the work before me. She was not as interesting and for a moment I did not care that I had broken everything before me. Just like an animal. I was an animal, why should I stop acting like one. I was feral. When I fight I kick, and claw and bite at my attackers. I hiss sometimes and that always makes them laugh. "Now you've gone and done it." she made it sound an awful lot like she was scolding a naughty puppy for ruining the furniture. She treated me that way to, grabbing my arm and roughly pulling me to my feet before drawing me away from the shattered mess I had created. "You're a real piece of work ya know that? I invite you in, offer to clean you up and you go and injure yourself and the shop. You got anything to say for yourself?" Roughly she begins cleaning the cuts, jabbing gauze over them before tightly and again roughly wrapping the bandages around. I wince, but otherwise say nothing.


By the end of time I hope to be gone as well. I don't want to have to fear what children of this devastating future shall have to face. So maybe by then this limitless life will have seen its fill and as the world crumbles before my eyes I shall do the same. I close them again, the world spinning, the sky dancing before me. The roof blocking out past images and a girl who seemed to be an a rather awful mood. “You could be a bit more gentler. You know, you are that nice either.” I reply, my lips barely moving to form the words. I wasn’t even sure if she hear anything I said.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

[charade]

Now this is something peculiar. Generally when someone is in the wrong, I think the correct thing to do is to apologize, not tell the person they've offended to be nicer. I drop what I'm doing and glare at her, letting the bandage roll thump to the floor and roll away. Are you freakin kidding me right now? This girl not only destroyed a rack of snowglobes and created a huge mess, not only injured herself to the point where I have to waste precious supplies on her, but she has the audacity to tell me off as well? I'm so stunned I just stand still for a minute. She's a weird girl. But she doesn't take anyone's crap. Am I any different? I cup my chin in my hand and ruminate, letting my brow slowly travel up my face. I'm still mad, heck I'm was ready to bite her head off a moment ago but now I just don't know.

I grimace, taking a deep breath as I feel anger starting to boil in the back of my throat. But there's something about her continued silent defiance that reminds her of... me. A smirk creeps along my mouth and a small chuckle worms its way out of my lips. "You know something Goravich? You're alright. You made a huge mess of things and I'm still considering slapping you upside the head... but...I think we understand each other yeah?" I retrieve the roll of bandages from the floor and tear off another strip and wind it around her hand, a bit more gently this time, and end my gesture with a shrug. The glittery liquid from the globes is running in rivulets down the floorboards and creating gossamer patterns in the walk space, glinting as they spread. "I'll clean up this crap before my da gets home, so lucky for you." Her face remains unreadable, and not for the first time, I wonder if she's actually been listening.

"Anyway Goravich, this has taken enough time already. Just.. Clear out to the victor village. Maybe I'll knock into you again sometime." Its unceremonious, but I start to shove her towards the door. She's caused enough trouble already and I have to clean before da gets home. I'm not sure what this encounter will cause down the road. After all , time is fluid and ever changing. The one constant is that, like her time in my workshop, its going to run out. I don't know what she thinks about this, but there comes a time when you just want to get over the awkwardness and the emotions in the fastest way possible. Even if it means stepping away from the first person who might stand a chance at becoming a friend.

[cass]

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

I’m not like a lot of other girl’s. Hell it would be more correct of me to say I am nothing like any other girl in this entire district. I’m wild, free and feral. Most of the girls here are held on a leash, where they do as they are told, act a certain way and are forced to be a certain someone. Some girls break those rules, but they never get far enough away to be their own person. Then there was the girl in front of me. Short cropped black hair. Spiked up and all over the place. Dark forbidding eyes and a glare that was good enough to match my own. But hers held a more sane edge, a more dangerous edge whereas mine was less fearful and more uncontrolled. I couldn’t stop that or prevent that from happening, though. You see I’m not in any way stable. I’m not healthy or in good condition. I’m a broken, beaten down girl that has learnt that the only way to survive and to keep going is to fight back in any way that you can, whether that be using nails, teeth or hands. Whether it be words or simply pretending the world around you no longer exists. Because as long as you can block out all that awful it should stay away from you and leave you alone.

Doing that kind of thing takes its toll on a person. It isn’t easy to forget the world around you. It isn’t easy to let yourself get beaten and beaten and just get up again. Sometimes I just want to stay down on the ground and never ever have to move again. Let the world trample me further into the Earth, let everyone around me slid out of mind and out of my life. Maybe it would just be so much easier if none of them were there. Maybe it would just make it so much easier if I was not there. I could just let it all go. End it. But of course I can’t. It isn’t that simple, if it was I’d have done it already. But my mind and my body just wants me to keep on going so I don’t give up. I keep on fighting, because maybe that is all I have left to give to this world. To show people that no matter what happens to you, no matter how many times your jaw is broke because people hate you, no matter how many ribs break and no matter how many times you scream in pain because people just keep hitting and hitting you, you have to keep going. I might not be much, hell I’m sure I’m little more than nothing, but I’ll always fight. That, at least is something I’m capable of doing.

"You know something Goravich? You're alright. You made a huge mess of things and I'm still considering slapping you upside the head... but...I think we understand each other yeah?" I look upwards surprised, my wanning attention once more focused on the girl in front of me. A ghost of a smile finds its way to my lips. She grabs the bandage once more and keeps bandaging my arm. This time it is a lot gentler, and I look at her once more, not quiet understanding where this came from. If anything I thought she was going to hit me. People often did that. "I'll clean up this crap before my da gets home, so lucky for you." Normally I would have offered to help –well actually no. I’d never offer to help. I don’t do things for other people, I hate letting people do things for me. I was a self-reliant girl. And yet I was standing in another person’s home while she helped me. This was an add situation.

"Anyway Goravich, this has taken enough time already. Just.. Clear out to the victor village. Maybe I'll knock into you again sometime." And suddenly I’m being dragged to my feet, before being prodded towards the door. I pause at the door, turning to face the girl with the whacky hair, snarky words and all in all poor attitude and I smile. She reminded me of me. To be honest that is a really bad thing, but in this case, in the circumstances before me I don’t think it is as bad as a deal as normal. “Thank you.” I call, before turning and fleeing into the street without looking back.

{end of thread}

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.