Shipping containers [Train thread : blitz : Wander]

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

The shining metal bullet stands in front of you. You have never been on a train before and the thought excites you in a way- until you remember that it was transporting you to the Capitol, which was a whole new dimension closer to your death. You hand’t wanted to step forward, to take that girls place but your body had done it anyways. Your mind, the mocking voices, had made you do it. Ruby had told you that she would protect you, that she wouldn't let the voices hurt you- but she was wrong, she had lied, just like everyone else in this cruel world. This world was harsh, was cruel, was merciless. Your mind races to the moment you had stepped forward, to the moment your voice had rang out around the square. You had been shaking like a leaf, you could barely sought out your thoughts, all you could hear was them laughing at you, those voices that had dominated your whole life. They were finally getting what they wanted: for you to die.

The peacekeeper behind you shoves the butt of his weapon int your back, forcing you to take that first step onto the silver bullet. Your bare feet touch the metal surface making your whole body drain cold. You shiver. You take your next step. Then your next. and after a bit you find yourself in a room that had a table that was filled with an arrangement of different food things. You tilt your head to the side, you feet sliding onto the carpeted floor an over to the table blessed with food you had never seen before.

Hastily your thin hand reaches out to touch one, your singer, long and windy, clinging to the first things that they touched. You are about to pop it into your mouth when a sound from behind you slips into your ears. You jump, your whole body jerking in an upwards motion causing the delicacy in your hand to go flying across the other side of the room. Your eyes follow it as it lands in a mess on the floor. Instantly you feel an apology climbing onto your lips, “ugh, I am so sorry, really I am sorry.”

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

I'm trying to wake you up,
To pull you from the liquid sky,

Coz if I don't we'll both end up,
With just your song to say goodbye.

******

Goodbyes are awkward.  I knew they would be, but still.  Who do I care about?  That's the thing, really - no body.  I can't tell them that, yet, though.  I gotta think about sponsors now.  Funny how that happens.  Finally, I'm leavin' this place and I still have to fake it.  My life depends on fakin' it now.

I smile and wink and wave at the watchers. Somewhere, there could be a camera and won't they just love it. I don't know how I move my arms or my legs or my face, though. I can't feel a thing. It's a habit, I suppose. I've been faking emotions and reactions for as long as I can remember - always.

I have wondered what it was like for the others. What do they feel? How do they feel? I only feel cold. Ever since my name was called in the school... well, I never thought it was possible to feel colder.

The train is silver, sleek, and fast. At least, if I'm going to die, I'm gonna do it in style, I guess. I've always wondered what it was like outside of District Six, now I get to find out. I get to go to the Capitol. Curiosity - it's a luxury I can afford now. It's one of the few I have left.

Inside there are fine things I've never even imagined. I think it's expensive - that I could never afford to have that kind of wood for a table or that smooth fabric on my chairs. All the askin' in the world, wouldn't get me these fine things. No, but if I won the Games I could buy them. I could. I could afford things like this.

I run my hands along the soft fabric, my fingers sinking into the cushion before I turn and sit. Luxury is comfortable. I might never get up.

I might not have, too, if it weren't for the food. I don't know how I walked past it - right past it without even seein' it! My whole body vibrates from the rumble in my stomach, and I stand automatically, scanning the table to see what's available. I hadn't noticed how hungry I was. I don't recognize most of it. I didn't even know there were this many different kinds of food out there.

Testing the waters, I reach for what looks to be a piece of bread - fluffy and white - but my hand, still shaking from my earlier shock, which has apparently not worn off, knocks into a glass.

The food flying across the room grabs my eye, and I watch it arch over the table and a chair before landing with a splat on the floor a few steps away from my feet.

“...ugh, I am so sorry, really I am sorry.”

"No harm done," I say, smiling at the girl in the room - a habit, it's all down to an instinct now. I'd forgotten she was there, so lost in my numb inner world.

We're both nervous. Nervous - so that's somethin' I can feel, too. ...interesting. Apparently, there're some emotions that even I can't escape. The thing is, this commonality between us doesn't give me any more queues on what to say. We're competitors now. Sure, every other body and mouth in District Six had been a competitor for food and money before, but the competition between us will soon be for our lives.

No, I can't think of anything to say to the person who will soon be trying to kill me... or who I will soon be trying to strip of her life. I just stare at her silently for a few moments, my smile frozen on my face.

******

OOC: Apologies, that was longer than I meant it to be.

{Lyrics from 'Song To Say Goodbye' by Placebo}

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 6 1 4

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

The words escape your guard and you almost fall over your feet chasing the food which had gone air borne moments earlier. But you stop, your eyes coming in contact with the boy who was chosen to be your partner in death. Vaguely you wander what he must think about you choosing this path and not being forced down it. He hadn't chosen to die, he hand been picked, he hadn’t gotten the choice on weather he wanted to live a long life or not, but you on the other hand, in his eyes anyways, is that person who choose to die. You weren't like him, you was different, an outsider.

Swallowing hard you stand up straight. He smiles at you gently and you are taken back by his kindness. “No harm done,” he says casually, his voice deep. You duck your head shyly and turn back to the food. You have never been one for social interaction, you were more of a listener. When it came to actually talking to someone your words often come out awkward and out of place. Maybe it was because you never really got the chance to talk to people where you lived. No one visited you in the hospital, and the people who used to live in the rooms next to you were gone, they were just empty space now. Spaces waiting to be filled. Just like your room. An empty space. A space that had been filled only a few hours ago.

This time, with a great deal of hesitance, you reach out one of the other small delay which were perched in front of you. Your fingers close around one and with a carefulness that you hadn’t had in a long time, you pull it from its home and transport it to the open abyss that was your mouth. As soon as it touches your tongue your testbeds are dancing with an arrangement of flavours that make you smile. “Wow this is so guud!” Your words muffled by food. "Never tasted anything like it..."

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

The silence between us is awkward. I soon find myself looking at the piece of food in my hand, curious and hungry and unsure. Glancin' back her way, I notice that she's choosing another option from the table, and watch from under my eyelashes as she places it into her mouth. She could eat. She had no problem eating.

I look down at the bread in my hand, forgotten as I'd stared at her. Right, my stomach had been growlin' just a second ago. I know I'm hungry. I lift the square to my mouth, take a bite, chew for a moment, lettin' my mouth get a handle on the flavor, and then nearly spit it out.

It's sweet - so sweet it makes my jaw cramp. I drop the square of food back where I found it, and search for somethin' else, as I press the offensively sweet thing - cake, I suspect - down the back of my throat with my tongue, my nose wrinkling and my mouth tryin' unsuccessfully to open, as I press my lips closed. I know I need to eat.

“Wow this is so guud!” Your words muffled by food. "Never tasted anything like it..."

I can't say I agree with her outburst so I remain quiet, picking up a bottle of somethin' orange, and taking a sip - testin' it. The slightly bitter, somewhat sweet tang of it hits my tongue like a welcomed bosom brushing against my chest - delicious. I take long swallow.

Turning, I look across the table at whatever my partner is eating, reach over, and grab one for myself. Placin' it between my teeth, I take a small bite this time, testin' it out, and this time it's really not bad.

"You seem to know your way around," I tell her before sticking the rest of the food into my mouth. "What were ya gonna try next?"

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 2 9 9

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

The sweet flavours of the cake dance on your tongue for a moment longer. At the hospital food you received was probably better than the food civilians received- after all it was the hospital, a place of healing, thus placed high on the list of priorities for things such as food and materials. You smile to yourself as you sip the last of the crumbs off on he white material of your dress. Your fear of dying was no longer floating around in your mine, at the moment the only thing you could think of was the range of different things in front go you. Things that you had never seen before- things that you had never expected yourself to see.

My district partner- Cystine, if I remember correctly- picks up the same cake as you had. His pale finger fishing it from his perch ad releasing it into his mouth. He only takes a small nibble at first, testing the water, before shoving the whole thing into his mouth with a satisfied mumble. "You seem to know your way around,” you turn my green gaze to him once again and somehow manage a weak smile. Your smile was nothing but a mechanical movement, it had no feelings behind it, it was almost like your face was a canvas and the smile was painted on with careful streak, but the artists wasn't enthusiastic and the result showed his lack on interest. “What were ya gonna try next?”

Dropping your gaze from his you let your eyes search the range of different foods infant of you. Your eyes come across a dark green one with a steak of what looked like to be some sort of cream in the centre. You point to it, “that one, I think.” Your voice is small shy even, as you reach out to grab the oddly coloured snack. One it is safely tucked away in the yards of your fingers you wander over to a chair, your bare feet enjoying the feel of the carpet against your pale skin. In the hospital the ground was only tiles, always cold. But here is to soft- so instead of sitting on the chair, you take a seat on the floor, our free hand running though the long fibres that constructed the ground. “Cystine, Cystine Crystal, right?”

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

I follow her lead, grinnin' at her as I pick up the piece of food she suggests, though it looks like it has rotted all the way through. It's the wrong color. I don't wanna stick it in my mouth. I nibble the edge, again, to be safe. It's alright. It doesn't taste rotten, but it's still too sweet for my likin'. I stick the rest of it in my mouth, anyways. I hadn't realized how hungry I was 'til I started eatin'.

Without waitin' on her, I start makin' my own choices, again. Maybe a nice brown one would be more to my likin'. I take a bite, more confident now, and, yeah, it's much better - not sweet like that other stuff. I grab another and stick it in my mouth so I can grab the bottle of tart, yellow liquid and bring it with me while I circle the table lookin' to see what else is available.

“Cystine, Cystine Crystal, right?”

"That's me, darlin'," I say, the sound of my own name makin' look at her, again.

I was a little distracted before, what with that unanswered thing I was wishin' for so hard, but it'd be hard to forget someone volunteerin' in our district. It wasn't exactly unheard of or anythin', but it was uncommon. I prob'ly won't forget her name anytime soon, anyway. No. After all, she'll be my dyin' - er trainin' - partner.

"Can't forget your name, can I, Sonja?" I say, turning my big, curious eyes on her and tiltin' my head, just a tad, to the right. "Don't see many volunteers in District Six... did you know her? That other girl - the one who got reaped."

I have to admit - I can't help it. I'm curious.

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 2 8 8

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

The name feels odd on your tongue, a name that you handy heard until only a few hours ago. Vaguely you wander what his life was like before this nightmare was thrusted into his face. Did he have a family? Were there people he cared about? A mother? brother? Sister? You didn't know, and a part of you wanted to know, but the other part wanted to have nothing to dow tin the boy. You didn’t want a connection with him, because you knew that once this little honeymoon stage was over you would be trying to run from him and his killer hands. You didn't know if you would actually be able to kill anyone if the time came to it, but you knew that you weren't ready to die- so maybe you would, maybe you would leave behind your innocent self and evolve into the mister that the capitol was waiting for.

“Can’t forget your name, can I, Sonja?” Here it comes. You knew what he was about to say. He was going to question your choice, ask about why you did it, why you took that girls spot. His head tilts to the side slightly and you watch as the words you don't want to hear slip out between his full lips. "Don't see many volunteers in District Six... did you know her? That other girl - the one who got reaped.” Hastily you drop your gaze once again your mind fighting for a way to answer the question but your body fighting a way to avoid it.

Thats a nice looking piece of cake, you think to yourself, trying to push his voice out of your head. I think it is, don't you Sonja? Reeaal nice. “I didn’t know her,” the words slip out without any conscious thought and you fight back the urge to cover your mouth with your hand. “I didn't know her, but they told me to do it. They said if I don't they will make my life a living hell. So I did it.” “They” who are “they” the boy must be wandering, you would too, if you were in his position.

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

Her answer takes me by surprise, to say the least. I don't know what to make of that.  I feel my eyebrows knit themselves together as I look back down at the table, tryin' to locate more foods that are in colors I think I can stomach.  Still unsure of what to make of that, I stay silent for a long moment, picking up a few more foods - a few thin slices of somethin' salty that are easy to role up and stick in my mouth.  

I wouldn't've understood it if she'd said she knew the person she'd volunteered for.  I know that.  I can't think of a single person I'd've done it for, but Sonja - she didn't even know that girl!  Besides which, who on earth were 'they'?  

Then it came to me - Sonja had been threatened in some way by someone to take that other girl's place.  Well, that's somethin' I can relate to.  

I nod, lookin' back over at her.  "Yep," I say. "hard to keep away from them people who're gonna twist yer arm. If it ain't the Peacekeepers, it's someone else."

People like my father or my brothers or those random people on the streets who thought they could push me around just because they were bigger 'n me. I hate those kind o' people. "Least," I continue, selecting another piece of food from the table and passin' it between my hands as I continue, "they can't reach ya where we're goin'."

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 2 4 7

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

"Yep," What? He was agreeing with you? He understood what you meant? A pitiful sense of hope begins to flutter in your chest "hard to keep away from them people who're gonna twist yer arm. If it ain't the Peacekeepers, it's someone else." The ball of hope that had been forming in your chest shatters. Your shoulders drop and you look back at the floor. he didn't understand. Of course he would not have understood. No one understood. To them, little lamb, you are a creep. You are insane. Did you not realise that? To them you look like a girl who is wasting her life, a girl who is begging for that swift kick to the neck. Trust no one little lamb, no one but me The voice is louder than ever and it takes all you have not to scream out in response. I wont trust you. you think back determinedly.

"Least," he picks up another pie of food, "they can't reach ya where we're goin'." How wrong could he be. There was so little this boy knew about you, he had no idea what was really happening to you. He just thought a few people had gotten the worst of you, when in fact it had been your inner conflicts that had lead you to this situation. You swallow hard and wand back over to the chair which you had first scoped out. You sit in it, your mind trying to summon a response that would not label the name ‘beware: loony” to your forehead. “They’ll find me. I wont be free of them. I never will be.” Your fingers play with the fabric of the chai and you tuck your legs beneath you, your eyes troubled. “Even the games wont save me from them.” Is the last thing you say before closing your eyes. I will never escape the voices.

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

I don't know what to say to that.  It's as though she's sayin' her enemies are coming with her.  I know what that's like, in a way.  Always bein' different - always havin' to pretend I'm not.

I circle the table, not sure I wanna turn my back on her, and try to think of something to say that doesn't include the word 'crazy.'  

Everybody'd call me crazy if they knew.  What else could they say, really?  I feel nothin'.  I feel hunger and thirst and pain, my heart beats and I breathe air, and I get nervous sometimes, for myself - always for myself, but other'n that... there's nothing.  I'm empty; cold.  I don't get people - those ones who say they love ya and who feel things and act normal without havin' to fake it.  

I'm always checkin' those around me to see how I should react. I know there's somethin' wrong with me, I always have, but I ain't crazy.  I'm jus' different.  I don't think that's always a bad thing - to be different.  People, they just don't understand.  I don't wanna be called a monster.

Then again, if I win - if I kill even one of those other tributes - isn't that exactly what I'd be?  Monster.

I don't like that thought, at all.  I need a distraction.  I need to talk.  I need to get that thought outta my head.  Lookin' up at her, I say the first thing that falls onto my tongue. "They will," I say. "if you die.  Nobody can hurt the dead."

Yeah, it's a morbid thought.  So what?  It's also true.

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 2 6 7

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

You keep your eyes closed for a while, listening to the sound of the silver bullet as it tore through the environment carry us away from our home and to one of the last places we will see before our tragic deaths that will leave us bleeding out in agony somewhere in an arena that will be our living nightmare. Vaguely you wandered what the aran would be like. You remember last games arena, the fire the earth the water and the air. It would have been a terrifying place- but once you think about it was a very resourceful arena. There was fire and water. Fire and water, two polar opposites and yet both still as dangerous as each other.

”They will," a frown slips onto your brow, your eyebrows knitting together tightly, ”if you die.  Nobody can hurt the dead.” His words drive you to open your eyes. For a moment everything is a bit disoriented, after all you were in an unfamiliar place going at speeds you had never experienced before, but after a moment it calms down and your vision is clear once again. His words strike you as harsh, at first, but then you realise that he hadn’t said them to cause trouble, he was just stating the cold harsh truth. Slowly the frown on your face begins to slip away, “then they win,” you whisper, more to yourself than to the boy in front of you. “Do you think it will hurt? Dying, do you think it will hurt- do you think there is something after it?” The question even strikes you as sudden, but you bite back your surprise, eager to know if the boy thinks that there is something more to death than just endless darkness.

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

“...then they win."

I almost miss her words... almost. They're barely audible over the sounds of the train, which moves more quietly than I'd assumed it would. I don't know what I expected her to say or what I expected to think about her words, but this catches me by surprise.

Yeah, that's a fair point. If I die, they win. I don't know to whom Sonja refers when she says this, though, 'cause my thoughts land specifically on my father and my older brothers. They never wanted me around, I know they didn't. They always hated me - mistreated me; always. If I die, they win. I can't let that happen, can I? Not just because the most important person in my life - me - would die, but also because they don't deserve to get what they want.

If I die, they win. They won't win. I don't know what I have to do, but I need to win. I can't give them that satisfaction.

My chest feels hot now and too full of air or blood or - I don't know. I want to break somethin' or punch somebody. I push the lump of food I'd been tryin' to chew before I started thinkin' too much down my throat, and it feels like a lump of dirt goin' down. Settin' the food I'd planned to eat afterward back on the table, I make my way to a chair across from my district partner, but I ain't lookin' at her. I'm lost in my own head. Or, I am until she speaks again, pullin' me from my hot thoughts.

“Do you think it will hurt? Dying, do you think it will hurt- do you think there is something after it?”

I can't help it. I know it sounds harsh, but I answer bluntly. "It's the Games, darlin'. Of course, it'll hurt," I tell her. They'll make sure o' that - the Gamemakers and the other Tributes. I ain't never seen a death on that screen that didn't look like it hurt. I mean, somebody drowned once and one or two died in their sleep, usually at someone else's hands, but those were boring deaths - and viewers wanted excitement.

It's the other part of her question that sticks in my brain, though, searching for someplace to land - somethin' to connect with. ...somethin' after death? I don't even know how to answer that one. "I -" I hesitate. "I never thought about that before," I answer, more truthfully than I had meant to.

I shake my head, lookin' at my hands. When I die, whenever or however I do that, these hands - this body - will be placed in a box and buried in the ground. If not, they'll just rot out in the open for everybody to see, like that man I found dead in his house when I was a kid. The bugs'll get me, eatin' me from the inside out, like they did with him.

I shudder. Ain't never bothered me before, the image of that man, but that the same thing could happen to me - and soon - I don't like it.

Thing is, well - what does she mean by 'after'? After we die? After our bodies start rottin' in the ground? I can't think of what would happen after that. Nothin'. We die.

"Nothin'," I answer, finally lookin' up at the girl across from me. "We rot wherever we land, and the world for us just - ends."

If I die, they win.  

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 5 5 8

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

"It's the Games, darlin'. Of course, it'll hurt,” his voice is void of any emotion, his words just blunt and to the point. You excepted to feel disappointed, you expected to feel let down, but you don’t. You feel nothing. If anything, you had expected this answer. You knew that your question was just a facade, something to hide the fear of death itself. Of course it was going to hurt, of course you would not be able to let go of this world in a painless flurry. Wishful thinking gets you no where, not when it came down to the capitol, to their games. No one won when the Capitol was involved.

"I - I never thought about that before,” Cystine speaks again and you remember that you had asked him a two part question. Carefully you evaluate his answer. How had he not thought about it before? Has death never really not had that much of an existence in his life? For you it was the opposite, death had always been lurking around the corner, the voices had always tried to push you over the edge. You were never free of death, never. Not yet. If you could beat the games, if you could beat the voices, then you win, right? You would be free of them and there confinements.

“Nothin'," He finally answers, his eyes coming to meet yours. He was sitting across from you now, his body folding into a chair that was identical to your own. "We rot wherever we land, and the world for us just - ends.” You meet his steady gaze with your green one. There was something about the way he said it that made your blood run old. You hug yourself tightly, refusing to believe that when you die it is just the end. That there is nothing but a rotting corpse. Their had to be something- otherwise what is the point? “No, you have to be wrong… That- that cant be right. There has to be something. If there isnt, then… then whats the point?” For the first time in years you had found your voice, you are able to speak out about how you feel instead of just sitting back an accepting it. You couldn't just accept it, accept that there was nothing after you die.

[presto][/presto]

[RIP Cystine Crystal]

I'm startin' to think I don't like this girl very much. I don't like her questions or sharin' a room with her. There's a ball of spiky wire in my chest where my heart used to be that wasn't there before she started all this talkin'. I focus on her, her eyes, which are focused on mine.

What's the point?

Well, what is the point of livin', really? To get what you want while you can, I think, and that sounds about right to me. At least, I got what I wanted most of the time. In a district where so many were poor, starvin', and addicted to somethin' or other, I ate and slept inside at night and even had a few moments of outright pleasure for my troubles.

I got the clothes I wanted, kept the hat I liked, and managed to get my hands on a weapon. Those weren't bad things, they were pleasurable; I should be applauded.

I wouldn't even be dyin' a virgin if the Games took me, like so many others my age who waited and wondered and worried before makin' any moves. I got what I wanted, when I wanted it, with whoever I wanted it with, and that wasn't too bad, if this really is the end.

I ain't gonna die, I think. I'm gonna fight - I gotta win. I gotta beat 'em.

...I gotta beat... her.

Lookin' at Sonja, again, I guess I just can't imagine... well, killin' her. I don't think it'll be that hard, really... killin' some person I never met.

I don't know why I care, if that's what this is. I don't know why I say it, but it comes outta my mouth, anyway. "Maybe, you're right."

I can't believe it. I can't imagine anythin' else after I die. It just won't fit in with my other thoughts. Just one more reason I can't die in these Games.

W O R D C O U N T ◘ 0 3 2 3

[k!ah]

[presto][/presto]

S O N J A  A R C O P E L L O

{ the  voices  inside  my  head ;

What was the point of living if there was nothing after? What was the point of the pain? Of the heart ache? of the pleasures? There was no point. If we were just made to root in the earth than there was no point to living and that is why you refused to believe that there was just ‘nothing’ out there. It made no sense, that was a lie. Cystine had been lied to. Whoever had told him that, whoever had whispered that in his ear whilst he was sleeping had been wrong. Maybe he, too, heard the voices you heard, maybe they were tell him these things, telling him that there was nothing, maybe he was caught in their trap as well. Hastily yo tilt your head to the side slightly. What if it wasn't just you? What if these voices were in the heads f everyone, some just more severe, more demanding than others.

Instantly you are on your feet, Cystine’s words nothing but whispers in the wind. You walk over to him and crouch down, each hand on each knee, your eyes staring intently into his. You wanted to know. You wanted to know if the voices were inside him too, if they were whispering things into his ears, making him do things that he didn't want to so, making him do things that hurt, that breaks his heart, breaks his soul, breaks his every begin. You reach up to him, your hand cupping his face. “Do you hear them to? Do they whisper into you ear?” You had no idea how he was going to react with your sudden contact, he had no idea how he was going to react to your sudden out bursts of questions, or if he was creeped out by your behaviour. Maybe, in the end, the doctors were right. Maybe you were losing your mind, your mind to the voices.

[presto][/presto]