exit wounds {{ sowen, jb blitz

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saffle {♔} troshaldr No holes or breaks or rubble or cracks or smashed windows; the building was clean and whole so much unlike her broken home, cigarette smoke stalking in her skin before she even left it between her praying Elverum would be fine to Axton's simple existence. Some days she hoped one of the the group would get reaped, that Elverum would go off and get killed or that the other boy would take his place- or that she could leave her own skin behind, along with both the boys, but it was all radical, tears wouldn't be shed but missing them would substitute to some extent. Damn it all, peace was what she wanted, for both of them to go to sleep without words cutting into each other's skin and for her not to be the peacekeeper in all of this; for her not to be atlas forever. One day she wouldn't have to be, one day she could just reside back into the woods like some wild animal and be with that weird puppy-like man, and be in the mist she created with him piecing together the reality of it all. Yet this Justice Building held her captive, only momentarily yes, but she was here to see him, that lost soul that promised to follow her into the grave she constantly dug herself into silently; he never said that he would, but they both knew it led somewhere, so why did it lead them here. She wasn't meant to be lead, she was supposed to start the line, to have Owen shadowing her, mimicking down her annoyance in the ground like snow angels, drawing, sketching, etching, painting the shades across her face in admiration- not alone, walking along the halls with her dark puppet dancing across the tiles by themselves instead of marking across his face. Even Elverum and Axton were absent, they didn't want to be bothered coming to see him off because he didn't mean anything to them, he didn't mean anything to Saffle, so why was she here. Owen only followed her around once, they weren't accustomed, they barely knew each other, she barely remembered his name (and that sly smile that etched across his face and the way the words fit uncomfortably in his mouth, "resident watcher of younger siblings" still echoing through her mind, confused every moment since). Brown hair whisked past her, more of a blur in the mist coating her eyes, but hell if she cared who it was; Elverum's blond strands were probably already strewn across a pillow asleep and Axton's short mahogany already tickling the couch, while her's continued to wander into her eyes and behind her ears and caressing the side of her face and dressing the creases in her neck from constantly throwing her head back. Tears weren't forming in her eyes, tears weren't even on her mind, anger was seething under her skin, boiling, steaming, running her forehead hot; how the hell could Owen volunteer like that, throw his life away like that kid was worth me than him, how. Throwing his life on that stage was almost as easy as it was for Saffle to enter the room, to see him so much different from when the pair saw each other weeks ago, his face molten like he had already killed other than himself, how. It was clean and whole, no holes or breaks or rubble or cracks or smashed windows; yet she felt broken, for once she felt like her eyes were cracked across the sides by coming here, how, why did she come here. Carrying herself wasn't supposed to be this difficult, how, how did it become so, how, how did he hold himself, and that boy, and who knows who else. How, how did he become atlas; his face looked dirty by the lighting, pollute from the air (smoke, gas, smoke, combust they all felt the same) licking at her lungs like always, like the filth that licked at her life, like the grime that followed. How, how, "you bastard," how.

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owen {♔} bowers-fox I had managed to wipe the majority of the tears from my eyes after the door slammed shut. Duncan’s visit left my sprits lower than they had been before he had come, and it wasn’t a surprise that the silence that had now settled uncomfortably over the room was thick, threatening to choke me with each second that ticked by on the clock that sat high above the wooden doors. Each time the hand moved was like having a gun held to your head, only to have the trigger be pulled and the barrel click, signaling the roulette game of guessing which chamber actually held a bullet. The chamber had proved itself empty for several minutes, with each successive second my reaction becoming slightly less dramatic, large jumps turning into the slightest twitch. Eventually, I felt calm enough to sink down into the chair, and I became more aware of its comforting aura rather than the nuisance that the clock provided. I was sure that the gun couldn’t have any bullets in it, considering my streak, but for once, the click that so accustomed a passing was accompanied by the doors flinging open, with Saffle on the other side. She wasn’t here to give me condolences, no, for that was out of her range of emotions (or at least, the spectrum of which had been revealed to me). She speaks little, but what she does causes me to shrink back into the chair, mentally willing it hide me from the anger that seethed through her teeth and into the words she spoke. I’ve convinced myself if I sink back further and shut my eyes that maybe the world around me will vanish, and instead of being shouted at by Saffle I would awake to my own bed, with Duncan and Cody still sleeping soundly and Duncan’s slip of paper buried beneath the others that danced in their home of glance. But upon opening them again, she’s still standing there (although now she’s silent), and I suppose she’s expecting me to go into some lengthy answer that I simply don’t have. If I was Duncan, I would be able to compose it on the spot. If I was Cody, I would find a piece of paper and write down a formula explaining that this was the way it had to be, and for good measure I would make up a list of percentages showing my odds of coming home by statistical ranking of lives remaining. But I’m not either of them, so I sit there blankly. The urge to speak (to tell her that she won’t miss me, that she can find companionship in Cody and Duncan, that I’m not anyone worth missing) comes to mind, but I eventually settle on the words, “I had to--” followed by a slight pause and then, “He’s my brother, I couldn’t put him through that. I know it’s not an answer that she’ll be content with, but I finish my disoriented thoughts and let my head fall back against the chair and I try to forget all the things I’m leaving behind because I don’t have that privilege anymore.

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saffle {♔} troshaldr "I had to-" Lies, everything sat in one big lie down to the only clean walls in the entire district. Having to was breathing, living, existing, not throwing it all away for some little kid that looked like he could barely brush his own hair, wishing death instead of watching somebody else take his place wasn't a have to do. Silence filled her lungs in the place of Elverum's half hearted laughter or the nicotine that seemed to permanently rot inside, the slight seconds between Owen's talking stretched throughout the room for what felt like minutes coiling against her skin like the nights Axton spent shivering in his sleep but lied through his teeth about later. Lies. He's my brother, I couldn't put him through that." Lies, he could, they both knew he could, every cell of her knew he could leave Duncan on that stage instead, every molecule quietly longing that he did; the pale cheeks of her shaking against the words, a weak stare taking its hold on him in place of her retort. Confusion of when the hell did she begin to care this much of this character soaking into her pores, why did she care. She had her own brothers, Elverum by blood or bond, either or, and Axton by the smoke they shared, so why did she need this boy's existence, or his brother. Why couldn't he just let Duncan be whisked away like nature planned, the lies of Owen's line pressed against her forehead. "You're a fool, Owen Bowers-Fox," and a liar, and a shadow, and a follower, and certainly not a survivor. He wasn't meant to be thrown in there and life would show him that, volunteers volunteered for one reason, and that was to die. That Colgate man Elverum nagged on and on about was the exception, he was meant to be killed by that mop of a boy from six, and Owen wouldn't match. Volunteers that lived were a mistake, (Sierra Birdbrooke was decapitated, Hope Woodards was burnt to a crisp and Ares Pine had a sword slip so far into his neck you could see straight down for a foot) a lie to society. If they were meant to live then everybody would volunteer, so how Owen believe he had a better chance than his brother. "I have two brothers, and I wouldn't die for either." (Oh Owen, you insufferable fool.)

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owen {♔} bowers-fox Her words are needles and I can do nothing but feel them pierce through my skin, one by one. “You’re a fool, Owen Bowers-Fox.” And indeed I am, but at this point, there’s nothing to be done about it. I can’t rewind the tape of time to the point at which Duncan’s name was drawn, and even if I could, I wouldn’t change anything. I would still throw myself in front of the bullets, taking another shot for him. I would still have to deal with Cody’s fits of anger at my so called “stupidity” and “irrationality.” I would still have to face Duncan’s gut-wrenching cries. And I would still have to face the words that Saffle was handing to me on a golden platter. Because I am a fool, and there’s nothing that can change that. So when she tells me I’m a fool, I don’t argue with her, because she’s only telling me the truth. Which, honestly, doesn’t come as a surprise. Saffle Troshaldr does not speak anything but the truth, no matter how harsh it is. A fool and a realist, what a pair we would’ve made. I would have led her to the ends of the earth and she would have brought us back, and we would be balanced. But we do not have the privilege to lead each other away anymore. That was lost when my brother’s name was pulled from its home of glass; when I decided that now was the time to be a fool. It was my fault. “I have two brothers, and I wouldn’t die for either.” The tone with which she speaks is so still and cold that the sun seems to hide its heat. She is the winter snow and I am the summer sun, both destined to have their times to live, and their times to die. “That’s a shame, Saffle Troshaldr, because there are a lot of people I would die for.”