me and my demons [Soap vs Willis - Day 8]

[rook]

willis keeni


afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

My hand clenches into a fist, and then spreads open again. I repeat the motion again and again, my breaths becoming deeper and more stable. I sit with my back leaned against the Cornucopia, Claude Aeger's burned corpse in front of me. Clench, spread. Clench, spread. I am in a senseless state, drunk almost, yet still I shake badly. The gravity of what has just happened hasn't hit me. I'm not sure if it ever will. I brutally slaughtered this boy, cutting him down and setting him alight. I stood and watched his hair burn and his skin blister. I watched the boy from Five turn to ash, and I smiled. Better him than me, right?

"Heh..." Pyrian would be proud of me. He always liked fire, I suppose that's rubbed off on me. I like the way it dances, like the red-orange tongues are actually alive. I think Py was more attracted to the concept of things combusting, whereas I seem to have an appreciation for the fire itself. I gotta be sick in the head to think that this boy's death is aesthetically pleasing. His distorted features are difficult to look at, and the smell of his charred skin invades my nostrils - My stomach grumbles and I want to throw up.

I continue to clench my fist irregularly in a desperate attempt to get the shaking to stop. If only Laila didn't go and smash the damn Whiskey, this would be so much easier. I'm gonna die sober now, for sure. Ungrateful brat don't know what's good for her. I still feel awful for leaving her to fend for herself, but it seemed to me like that was what she wanted. It was always her and Eye, I guess. Still, I can't help but think about her. My chest feels tight and I sweat profusely whenever I think of that little girl being torn to pieces by that monster of a Career Ares, or that girl Francesca, or even by Soap. I feel like it's my job to protect her, at least that's what it felt like before things got bad. Ain't gotta look out for no one but yourself, right? Always was like that before any of this Hunger Games shit went down.

I forgot about the cannons. I have to refrain myself from jumping out of my skin when Claude's cannon cracks like thunder through the sky. Calm down, you're unstable. I focus on my breathing - Doctors always said that would help some. Doctors said a lot of different things, but nothing worked quite so well as the potency of alcohol. My one remedy and it's gone. I truly am a plagued man.

The sky is licked purple, and it isn't long before an armada of black follows. The sun sinks so quickly that I begin to wonder if the Gamemakers are speeding things up. They want their Victor, and sooner than we'd like. We ain't ready for that yet. There's four Tributes left. I never imagined I would get this far. Day I was Reaped, I accepted my death. I was certain that I'd be cut down before I was even given a chance. I wanted to die innocent and pure, despite being tainted by my many flaws. Here I stand, a murderer, a failure and a survivor. I've done shit I ain't proud of, but I'm alive. We've all had to do stuff we didn't want to, to get where we are now.

The anthem hums through the thin night air, lighting up the Cornucopia and the surrounding areas. Claude's face is the first to come up - An industrial crane-arm swoops down from above and grabs his corpse. I watch as he is lifted up towards the giant projection of his face. I hope they make his body a little less disfigured when he's sent back to Five - I ain't proud of what I did to him.

I'm so relieved when Anni's face comes up, and the sky fades from neon-blue to black. It confirms to me that Laila is still alive. Thank Ripred for that. Lyric's face also comes up, and even though she killed Eye, I still feel bad seeing her dead - She was all I had of home. Four left, right? Laila, Colgate, Francesca and myself. Ripred. I might actually get to go home. I might see Zebera again, or Bear. What I'd give to share a drink with Malforce or Insanis, shout at Felix, playfight with Flo. What I would give. Ay, don't forget that they refused to see you, Willis, kiddo. That's true, but I don't blame them. I was always the anti-social, aggressive drunk. I swear, if I make it out of this alive, that's gonna change. I'm gonna be there for them - Provide for them. For once in my life I'll have a purpose.

It's weird how I've degenerated into a murderer. I've adapted like some weird Capitol experiment. I wonder if they single in on the weak Tributes and make them survive, so that they are forced to change. Do they like moulding us into killers? I think of the four remaining Tributes - The shy kid, the little girl, the strained Career and the alcoholic. Let's face it: We're all weak. Ain't no such thing as natural selection, because there's no way in hell that we're the fittest of the bunch. Ares, Argonite, Eye, Mizar - They ain't here. Nah, the desperate have survived, because the desperate will do anything to stay alive. Anything. What will we be willing to do next? I'm scared of what my desperation might bring my enemies, and even more than that I'm afraid of what I'll do to my friends.

No more will I adapt to my flaws - I will embrace them. If this is to be my last stand then I will not die without first accepting who I am. I wouldn't be the same person today if I wasn't an alcoholic, or if I didn't tremble uncontrollably for no reason, or if I wasn't physically abused as a child. I'm not going to be ashamed of who I am. I'm done making excuses now, I've broken some of my own rules to get this far, that's my own fault. I shouldn't feel bad for doing what I've done. Weren't too long ago I thought murder wasn't an option. But now it's more a case of doing what I gotta do to stay alive. The desperate survive, and I have to stay desperate.

Yesterday I rushed in on Claude without thinking, but today I am more calculated. I spend most of the morning circling the Cornucopia, looking for any supplies that Soap and his unethical crew might have left behind, to no avail. I then go about trying to figure out a blood stain in the grass. It's pretty fresh, for sure. Not my blood, and not Claude's, so who's is/was it? Looks like there was another fight here, probably before Claude and I arrived at the giant golden horn. I have to assume from the sizeable patch of crimson grass that it's someone who died - So Anni or Lyric. There are red footprints heading west - I'm no tracker, but you don't gotta be a genius to figure that one out.

I walk for a long while, keeping my right hand around my leather belt, my index finger pressing against the flat of a shuriken. Ari Newton's spiked disks have been invaluable to me - I find myself getting more and more lethal when I throw them. I knew from the off that this was a skill I had to take advantage off, and now that I have a throwing projectile in my possession, I have a much better chance of killing someone. Ripred, Willis, you shouldn't think about it like it's a sport. I do though. I have to think of this as some sick game. That's the only way to win it.

The blood trail runs dry pretty quickly. I hit dirt and the footprints smear into the ground, fading with my chances of survival. I swear, carrying on blindly. After several hours of walking through the Earth section of the quartered Arena, I eventually find someone. It's Colgate O'Leary. Soap. Great, I've ran into him, or one of his gang, for the past three days. I'm getting sick of seeing hostile faces. They're all hostile at this stage. I don't know if the footprints were his, but I ain't passing up an opportunity like this.

[Willis uses Flint and Tar to light his Shurikens.
Willis attacks Soap, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
DGGCUSkF200+9000
[Knife in Thigh -- 6.0 damage]

range 1-50
[Extinguished -- 0.0 damage]

I unleash a shuriken, arching my arm to give it bend and direction. It curves, slicing the boy across the leg. I break forward into a run, bracing myself for a fight to the death. I gotta keep killing, gotta stay desperate, else I'm dead.

And I ain't dyin' sober.

i’ve gotta know - can we work it out?
if we scream and shout ’till we work it out. can we just work it out?
but you say "oh, when love is gone where does it go?"
and where do we go?

200+9000�range 1-50

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

But I'll still believe though there's cracks you'll see,
When I'm on my knees I'll still believe

The most intimate thing I’ve ever done with a girl was watch her die in my arms.

I’m sick. I’m so so sick. It’s like.. it’s like my mind keeps jumping back to the moment my axe struck her in the back, and I felt relieved. For a split second, I felt like I would be safe, that I could breath for just a few more hours, that nothing and nobody could ever bring me down. For just a moment, I saw a future for myself that wasn’t paved with sideways insults, calloused hands, and gaunt cheekbones.

And then reality hit.

I saw the way she stopped in her tracks, saw the sudden flash of pain etch its way onto her face.

I did that. I did that.

Back home, I couldn’t even look at a girl without blushing. I’d always avert my gaze somewhere else – the floor, my feet, the ceiling, you name it. Back then, I wouldn’t hurt another human being, not with my own hands or an axe or even a cruel word.

Now I’m crueler than any of them. It’s like I’ve spent all of my life being crapped on by the rest of my District, starving and working till my hands bled while wise-ass old farts called me Soap, and now.. and now everything bad and evil and terrible has leaked out, and there’s no good left to hold onto.

On Reaping day, they called my name:

Colgate O’Leary.

It sounds like the name of a president, or a soldier, or a wise old man who spends his life wandering around, praying and feeding the hungry. I always thought it was funny when people called me that, especially teachers. They’d call on me in class by saying ”Colgate,” probably in a bored voice or an annoyed one, sounding for all the world like they didn’t really care at all. The thing is, though, I wouldn’t turn around. A teacher could call out my name for ten minutes and I wouldn’t answer to Colgate; I’d just keep on doing whatever I was doing, lost in my own world or counting the number of tiles on the ceiling. Only when my teachers yelled out ”Soap!” would I finally respond, because that’s what the kids called me, even when I was young. At home my family just called me Col, and for a few years before school started I thought it was my actual name.

I feel like Colgate now. I feel regal, and strong, and cruel.

The truth is, despite everything, I feel like a Victor.

And I try to forget everything Lyric Woulf said on her deathbed because it only makes my chest hurt, but her last words end up rushing back anyways, living and breathing things that almost make me forget that the girl who said them is no longer of this world.

"But... as shitty as I am, I'm all you got, Bubble Boy. So you better make it outta this. For all of us."

With her words still in my head, I walk away from her burned and battered body and let the Gamemakers take her away, thinking about everything I've done and everything I've yet to do.

I would have been alerted by now if I were the last one left, so clearly there are others still prowling around the Arena. Will one of them be Claude? Yes or no, either answer to that question is unfavorable, because now we've reached the point in the Games where all bets are off. I don't know if I could send an axe through his back like the way I did to Lyric, but I don't want to find out.

I also don't want him to be dead.

I'm all you got, Lyric said to me. Maybe she already knew something I didn't - maybe she killed Claude herself and I just didn't notice, or she sent him off to die while I wasn't looking, or -

No. Lyric wouldn't do that. Would she have killed him? I don't know. Obviously she wasn't hesitant to defend herself against me, but if Claude made a move against her life? They were.. well, together, at least before they entered the Arena. I don't know what that means to them and I don't know if it affected anything, but they had to have cared about each other. I saw the way Claude looked at her. I just.. okay, I can't pretend to know anything about romance or love or whatever they had.

My mind drifts away to other things, and after hours of walking (away from Lyric, away from the Cornucopia, away from all of the blood) the sky - already dark and ringing with the sounds of thunder - becomes dim. No stars peek through the clouds, but I don't mind much. I like the way the lightning looks, all violent and bright, crashing through the sky like nothing else can. The only problem is, I kinda worry I'll be struck by it, especially now that I'm out in the open and the tallest thing in the area except for the piles of rocks and boulders scattered across the dirt. I hunch down and lay my head against my bag, hands resting on my chest as I look up in wonder at the sky.

It's so beautiful, I forget where I am. I forget that I just killed a girl I've lived and talked with for the past few weeks, forget that Savannah isn't with us anymore, forget that I murdered the nameless tributes on the first day, forget that I ever felt powerless.

I feel the thunder in my chest, and the lightning bounds through the air even as the anthem begins to play.

Fuck the anthem.

I turn over to look away, but I can't help looking up at the faces when they come into view.

A Career boy. A young girl.

And then - oh no.

I guess I knew.

I feel the same way I felt when that axe went into Lyric's back - like an awful weight has been lifted off of my shoulders, except my stomach churns as if I'm going to throw up the contents of my stomach. I turn over to retch into the dirt, but nothing happens. With nothing to do but lay there, I curl up into a ball, all 6'7" of my giant frame wrapped up tight like I'm bracing myself against the cold of a gale-force wind, limbs wrapped around each other in a lonely embrace.

Lyric was right. I am alone.

It's silly to feel like this, I know. Nobody pulled my name out of that bowl - nobody forced me into this. I put myself in this situation, and now I've got to face up to the decision I made.

I am alone in this Arena, but I've got so much to fight for. My family, my life, the people I killed in order to live. What would all of this mean if I were to die?

Answer: my family would just starve faster than usual.

Fuck it all.

I need to fight.

I need to kill the rest of them.

I need..

I need..

...

I need to sleep.

----------------

When I awake, it is because I'm being nudged.

I don't notice anything else but the rush of adrenaline as it fires into my veins. I gasp and throw my legs out in protest, trying my best to scramble to my feet before I realize that.. that it's not a person who's touching me. It's a thing, a muttation.

It's not even one thing. It's a whole horde of creatures with their weird, white arms pressed up against my legs and my back, lifting me into the air like a human sacrifice, as if they mean to take me to their leader to be gobbled up.

They're kind of adorable, though, and upon closer look I recognize them from another Games. I don't remember what they're called, but they're a kind of mutt that never attack people. In fact, they don't do much at all, if I remember correctly - they just kind of sit there and.. stare.

Except now they're carrying me deeper into the area with all of the dirt and giant boulders, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I try to fling my legs down to release myself from their grasp, but they surround me. Every time I make a move to get away from them, they just shift gears and move a little to accommodate my movement so that I remain in the middle of the pack. A few of them are even carrying my bag and my weapons - which is very nice of them, considering - and the only thing I can do is stare up at the sky or turn my head to watch them.

A part of me should be concerned about where they're bringing me, but these creatures are so calming that I don't even feel worried. I find that I'm smiling as they carry me along, and I think my sister would like watching this. Mutts are terrible, awful creatures.. but these things? They're like pets. Better than pets, even, because dogs bite and cats scratch, but these creatures don't hurt.

After a while, I pull the bottle of bubbles out of my pocket. I haven't touched the bottle since one of those first days, and now I wonder why. It's so much a comfort that I smile even wider, untwisting the cap as the creatures carry me through the morning. I dip the bubble wand into the bottle and breath, and they float up, up, and up, greeting the sky like old friends. After a few rounds, I turn my head and blow bubbles in the direction of the white creatures. One bubble in particular sticks to the side of one, and it sorta turns to look at it, all confused. I can't really tell if they're happy or sad - in fact, their faces are a tad creepy - but I keep blowing bubbles in their direction nevertheless.

Time passes slowly, and I'm not sure how long we've been traveling before the creatures finally deposit my feet into the dirt. They climb over top of each other to push me upright and drop the items by my feet, but they don't leave when they're done. They stand behind me and turn their gazes forward, as if waiting for something.

Nothing is there.

The adrenaline kicks in again, even in the face of a threat that hasn't arrived. I take action and cover my axes in tar and set them alight, facing forward as the gentle muttations stand behind me like a silent, useless army.

He sees me before I see him.

Before I can react, a knife glides through the air and lodges in my thigh, and my breath pulls sharply inward.

My smile's long gone now, but I can feel the happiness resting somewhere safe in my chest. When I look up and pull my arm back to throw, I hesitate, looking at the face of my attacker.

The same boy who killed Savannah.

Just the thought of her death makes me hurt, but I remember those words she told me, remember everything about what she thought of I was.

She said to me: "You're amazing. You're bloody amazing, okay? No matter what you think or what anyone else has ever said, you're a handsome, caring, incredible person."

And you know what? I fucking am.

I can be all those things, and I can be a killer.

[attacks Willis, throwing axe]
luI24J|fthrowing axe
10094 -- Severed Finger -- 8 damage
(Thrown Axe)

Lights axes on fire w/tar
1-50
Moderate burn +4

And when I've hit the ground, neither lost nor found,
If you'll believe in me I'll still believe

throwing axe�1-50

[rook]

willis keeni


afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

I'm unbreakable. My whole life I have been fragile, but now things are different. You can't break what's already broken. I'm not sure if I'm stronger because of everything I've been through, or if there really isn't anything left to break. My heart broke when Pyrian and Gypsy died, they were the only two people in the whole world who I could talk to. Now they're nothin' but ash. My mind broke when I was Reaped, and it's been downhill ever since. My drunken episodes both in and out of the Arena haven't put me in good stead, and have almost gotten me killed several times - And yet I still want to get drunk now. My soul broke when I killed Ari Newton, and went beyond repair after I cut down Savannah and burned Claude alive. I'm a murderer, plain and simple. My sins are a part of me now, tattooed into my conscience.

I suppose the only thing left to be broken is my body. Guess that's where Colgate O'Leary comes in. Soap they call him. 'Cause he stinks, right? That's what they said at the Training Centre. Mock him all you like, he's gotten this far, and I ain't surprised. He's a monster of a kid, towering over me - Gotta be nearly seven foot tall. He's probably sinned as much as me. You don't get this far without killing, that's for damn sure. I've killed two of his friends - He knows about Savannah, but he can only speculate as to how Claude died. I want to tell him right now, but it's too much of a risk. Yeah, it could make him break down and become vulnerable or it could send him into a frenzy. Don't he have a right to know, though?

He grunts, throwing a short-axe at my head with admirable accuracy. I see it coming by a longshot, and not wanting my skull to be split in two I dodge to the side. A sting and a flash of red tell me I was still too slow. I cry out as the index finger on my right hand splits open, bone severed and all. I left my damn hand trailing. It dangles awkwardly, hanging on by a tiny bit of skin. I dart to my left, circling Soap. My hand is screaming at me, jolts of pain shooting up my arm. Do it. Just do it quickly. I grab my index finger with my left hand and rip it off.

"FUCK!" I throw the finger on the floor and shove my hand under my armpit, trying to compress the bleeding. I back away from Soap, mind rushing and heart pounding. I've fucked up. I'm wounded and now I'm a much easier kill. Nah. This ain't over, not by a longshot. Still got my other hand, and I'm left handed, so it could have been a lot worse. This is the second time I've lost a finger - Ari Newton severed my middle finger on my right hand a couple days ago. I know this pain.

We've both lost so much, and now that we're close to the end, we're more dangerous than ever. I plant my feet into the dirt and grit my teeth. Cut me down, Soap, but I won't fall. You hear? There is so much more to lose, I will make damn sure of that. He swarmed Eye, killed him. It was Soap and his gang from the start, jumping us at the Bloodbath - We spent days running away from them, avoiding them, doing everything we could not to have to fight them. Can't run forever.

"You-..." I pause, for every breath could be my last, "You killed Eye." I lick my dry lips, like that will help get my words out. Pain jabs at my brain, a constant nagging that I have lost a finger. I squeeze harder, trying to clot the sever, like they taught me in the Capitol. Gonna go into shock pretty soon.
"I'm g-gonna tell you what I did..." I laugh. Why am I laughing? A grin so sick that I wonder what I am becoming. Is revenge really that sweet? Is this world one that makes us relish the murder of others, regardless of their sins? I'm sick in the head, I think we all are. I smiled as Claude's body burned - Must share that gene with Pyrian.

I'm just as fucked up as they say, then. The Keeni's are mad. Caesar asked me if I was like my cousins, and I rejected that notion, claiming that I am my own person. Truth is, I ain't my own person. Sure, I've had my own demons, but I have been influenced by my family, and I'd by lying to you if I said I was nothing like Pyrian or Gypsy, 'cause I really am. I'm a pyromaniac, I'm a sadist, I'm everything the Capitol wants to be - And why? Because the Gamemakers made me this way. They made me kill - They took that fragile drunk from District Six and they turned him into a natural killer. They forced me to struggle for my life, and it has changed me into something that I never wanted to be. The bad guy.

I'm not a bad person, I'm just a person who's had a lot of bad things happen to them. In the eyes of the Capitol, and to Soap, I am a villain. How can I not be? Drunk, ragged, bloodthirsty, petty, hungry for revenge, mad! They got their wish - They made me into their perfect antagonist. I suppose every pantomime needs a villain, else where would the conflict be?

"And then... I'm gonna kill you!" Quick as a flash I turn on my heel, twirling on the axis and throwing a shuriken with the momentum.

[Willis uses Flint and Tar to light his Shurikens.
Willis attacks Soap, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
M2shNV9f200+9000
[Knife in Stomach -- 6.5 damage]

range 1-50
[Minor Burn -- 2.0 damage]

I let my hand drop, the blood dripping from my right hand into the dirt.
"And you will listen..."

i’ve gotta know - can we work it out?
if we scream and shout ’till we work it out. can we just work it out?
but you say "oh, when love is gone where does it go?"
and where do we go?

200+9000�range 1-50

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

But I'll still believe though there's cracks you'll see,
When I'm on my knees I'll still believe

I pull the knife out of my gut and toss it in the dirt, cringing.

The armored vest isn't there to protect me anymore - the boy's blade sailed straight into my torso and lodged itself in, and I almost didn't expect the pain. I expected the protective cover to block the pain away, as I've been doing this whole time, but too late I remember that the vest was destroyed beyond repair, ripped and torn to shreds from the constant barrage of attack.

Blood quickly begins to run from the open wound, but I press my free hand firmly against my skin, as if that will keep me from bleeding out.

My mom once told me that the human touch is a pain reliever in itself - that if you gently put your hand over a cut or bruise or touch your head if it aches, the pain will ebb away.

I wonder if it works for stab wounds.

Too late, I realize that the knife wasn't my only worry. In an instant, fire slowly begins to crawl over the cloth of my uniform, burning a patch of skin near the site of my wound. I take my hand away from the bloody flesh and stamp out the flame as quickly as I can, but it eats at my skin with a pain that feels like a bunch of tiny needles puncturing me wherever the fire touches.

In my preoccupied state, I almost didn't notice what the blonde boy with the messy hair did to cater to his own wound - a severed finger on one of his hands - by.. gross.. he must have pulled what's left of it off of his hand completely, tearing away the attached bit of skin. I can see the way the blood pours out of the wound, can see the way he tries to keep it from bleeding.. but he's paying attention to me, not his hand. Or at least struggling to pay me his attention; pain flickers across his face every few seconds, and I need to strike in those moments when he is vulnerable.

I wait for a few seconds, wait until his mind drifts back towards the pain. We stand across from each other, poised to kill, searching for the right moment to strike.

In my wait, I recall the words he said to me, words that don't mean anything. They're cryptic and pointless things ("I'm g-gonna tell you what I did...") and others make even less sense ("You killed Eye") and all I can do is shake my head and force out a laugh.

(Who the fuck is Eye?)

"I don't care what you did," I say, grinning at him circling around. "If you think the things you've done are awful and evil and worth my time, you've got another thing comin'. Nothing terrible is ever going to surprise me, not anymore. Believe me buddy-o, I've done worse."

And if he thinks he's gonna kill me, he's wrong.

Standing strong and tall, even with blood slowly dripping out of my gut, I spring into action.

QH5MJP3Xthrowing axe
10168 -- Shallow Cut on Back -- 4 damage
(Thrown Axe)

Fire 2/6
1-50
0

And when I've hit the ground, neither lost nor found,
If you'll believe in me I'll still believe

throwing axe�1-50

[rook]

willis keeni


afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

"Where have you hidden it?" I was frustrated, the words I was saying I would later come to regret . That's the beauty of hindsight, I guess.
"You mute fucker... Don't try and tell me, just point. Can you do that?" I was such a dick to Pyrian, and yet he put up with it. He was only looking out for me by trying to put a cap on my drinking habit. It was just a habit back then, huh? I never really saw it from him point of view. I only saw red rage and withdrawal. He was trying to make me go cold turkey, by hiding my small stash of liquor. I must have been, I don't know, about fourteen years old? No, I was thirteen - Pyrian died before I turned fourteen.

I can still see his brooding expression and dark features, and they are as haunting to me now as they were when I could see them in the flesh. He would watch my lips as I shouted at him, and then there would be a pause as he tried to piece together the fragments of my desperate rant. It was like waiting for a computer to process. The output came eventually in the form of a middle finger. I hated that boy most of the time. I really did.

Of course his outspoken redneck of a twin sister was never far behind. Oh, the arguments I had with her. They were vicious. Gypsy didn't give a fuck about my drinking, she only ever cared for Pyrian. If he wanted to try and help me, then she would do everything she could to make sure I wasn't an ass in return. She was good like that. She made me so angry, but she was good. I know that now.

The night they were Reaped, I went out drinking. Thirteen years old and pumped full of bitter ale. It was therapeutic. I told my Keeni cousins that drinking was the only way to get rid of the nightmares that followed me since leaving the McGee house, but that changed. I drank because it made me numb. I didn't have to think about Gypsy or Pyrian killing each other. I didn't have to think about anything. That's how it jumped from a habit to an addiction, I guess.

My life has been a downward spiral since they left. For three years I've had no one to talk to, or to vent at. The other Keeni's were there sometimes, but I was quite distant to them. If I somehow win these Games, I'll make damn sure I'm a good brother to them. They never came to see me the day I was Reaped, and I don't blame them for that. Who'd want to say goodbye to me? I don't blame any of them. I'll return to them as a hero, or die trying.

Since Laila smashed my whiskey, I've experienced one of Pyrian's cold turkey runs. I had the same thing early in the Games, before I got sponsored the precious alcohol. Heightened psychosomatic shaking, nausea, headaches. Kind of like a hangover without the alcohol. Laila's so naive - She has no idea what she's done to me. I hope I see her again - Cause I'm gonna make sure she understands what exactly she had done to me. Ain't dyin' sober.

The shooting pain up my arm persists. I need to stop and properly dress the severed wound. Cauterise it somehow. Something tells me that Soap's not gonna let me sit down, have a rest, and dress my wounds. If I want that luxury, I have to kill him first. It has to be earned.

I hear a cannon in the distance. Someone has died. Laila or Francesca? Something tugs at me inside. If it's Laila, then I am alone. I don't want to be alone. Three left. Somehow I am in the final three. My desperation and broken promises have led me this far. There's no reason why I can't go on and win it. I just have to kill Soap, and then it's just Laila left. Can't kill Laila, can I? She's just a little girl. Can't kill the only friend I got left.

Soap laughs. It's not a nice sound. Is he mocking me? I'm trying to mess with his head - Trying to tell him what I've done to his friends. It ain't working. Soap doesn't care what I've done, he only cares about killing me as quickly as possible. He thinks he's done worse, maybe he has, maybe he hasn't. I felt like he had a right to know how his friends died, but now that he's being an ass, I'm not so sure.

"Have it your way."

Because despite my alcoholic infected mind, my pyromaniac tendencies, and my urges to kill, I am still Willis Keeni, the polite kid from Six who bottles up his troubles and pretends everything is okay. Truth is, I'm scared of Colgate. He's just a normal kid from Seven, and that's not good. I don't fear the traitors, drunks and pyromaniacs, nor should anyone. It's the normal people you should fear. You can always predict what someone with a specific madness will do. A normal person is unpredictable.

"Ain't much of a fan of small-talk anyway."

[Willis attacks Soap, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
7|UPMnbm200+9000
[Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage]

range 1-50
[Extinguished]

i’ve gotta know - can we work it out?
if we scream and shout ’till we work it out. can we just work it out?
but you say "oh, when love is gone where does it go?"
and where do we go?

200+9000�range 1-50

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Fuck it.

CLM6hfWBthrowing axe
Split skull - X

1-50
+2

throwing axe�1-50