killer kids } syth.gaige

[Deleted]

GAIGE FULBRIGHT

looking up from underneath
fractured moonlight in the s e a
reflections still look the same to me
as before i went u n d e r

A quick walk, really, from our home to their's, masquerade masks in hand as Isaac and Benny giggle to each other about girls and I more so talk to myself about the history of the thirty second games. Simple arena, simple tributes, a career victory; it was asymmetric - existing in two realms, perfectly balanced on both sides. As simple as butterfly wings, it's exactly exact in every form of thought and- "yeah, Gaige picked his own shit mask out."

"Fuck off, Isaac,"

We chuckle before they go back talking about the party and I rub the bags under my eyes. Originally it was supposed to be a closed invitation, I think, who really cares. It ended up being more of a word of mouth thing, each person got to invite one more. One of the guys at our home got an invitation - Valentine, I think? - anyways, he invited Benny who invited my bloke, Isaac, who ripped me to come clacking boots down side path gravel roads on the way to the host's house. Her name? No idea, great thing about party's, by the end of it I shouldn't remember my own either.

"Aye, Benny, you do know the way, right?"

"Course I do, fuck head! Besides, just look for the one which all the drunk cunts."

K. I stick my left hand in my pocket with my right so dragging to carry the mask. Benny didn't really want me to come, I'm a lightweight really. He's the type of man to drink until he passes out, shows up to the gym all the time wasted. Still gets better marks with throwing weapons than me too, drunk off his ass. Meanwhile, the one time I drank before I spent the rest of the night upchucking into the host's bowls.

We walk a bit further, until Isaac decides to race Benny while I keep at a normal pace, an asymmetric pace. Each one the same size as the last, and Benny mutters something about leaving me and I mutter something that rhymes with "blink leech, aunt" and chuckle. 

I'm just a lightweight anyways.

And when we reach the house itself, music is playing through the opened arch of the front door, girls being doused in alcohol while a crowd watches and a naked guy streaking through the yard - and Benny's face is priceless. I'm talking as light up as Silas when him and I started the adventure fund. I'm pretty sure Isaac stole the money from that jar. One of the windows are smashed open by a thrown dildo, and I look at Isaac and the two of us look back at Benny. 

"I guess the masks aren't a thing anymore?"

"Hell nah, Gaige," and Benny grabs all three of ours and throws them in a bush, "fuck that." And he leaves to the crowd, handing his jacket to me as Isaac and I push cunts to get inside of the house. 

Tragic, too, the inside of the house probably would've looked beautiful if there weren't fresh spaghetti stains against the walls and a guy throwing up onto a couple mid-make out on the couch. The same naked guys pushes on Isaac to get past him and through the entrance. And I toss Benny's coat on the couple as we pass through, following Isaac upstairs - he's a cunt anyways. 

I grip the stairway handle and it immediately smells like alcohol, not like just the smell, but suffocating of it. Nauseating, and I nearly fall, Isaac muttering a "fuck," before I catch myself and a second wind. Then the asshole swigs me a glass of something from off a counter with some crackers as I sat down, and I side eye the hell out of him - "what, Gaige?"

"The fuck is this?"

"No idea! Just don't be a pussy, c'mon you never do anything."

Whatever, and I try just sipping the surface, and he nearly laughs before handing me some crackers - "you gotta chug, it's not wine dude."

"Fuck off, Sil-"

"Fine, maybe I'll save some of the night."

And I feel sick, my stomach green while I chug a part of it still sitting and I feel it like a separate part of my body swirling. "Shit," and I stand up, my head pounding from the music as a guy with a poncho chases the naked running guy and three girls grind on each other in a corner, "Silas, fuck," I meant Isaac, I swear I did and my tongue feels numb in the salt of downing the rest of the drink for some sense of self pride for once. 

God I hate myself. 

I slam the drink down on the counter, "well fuckin' go, asshole," like he can hear me and I feel a push in the bottom of that part of me between my gut and my stomach - I didn't want to come. I sat at my table writing notes about the vitalization period of the beginning of the games, muttering "mhmm, nah" when Isaac asked me to come before him and Benny argued over it. I didn't want to fucking come anyways, Silas, always so godda-

My throat burns. I hate drinking, running outside to the balcony I slip on the exit way, a girl trying to flirt with some guy drops her cigarette as I hip my face against the wooden planks, not being able to swear as I heave, acid burning my throat. 

Fucking Isaac.

and it's peaceful in the deep
c a t h e d r a l where you cannot breathe
no need to pray
no need to s p e a k

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

s y t h .

close the window, love
keep the light out

At the bottom of a bottle, there is no salvation. (Nothing can save you.) I learned that a long time ago when I tried to drown heartbreak in booze- most everyone has, and yet we drink anyway, as if it's a filler fit for the hole in our hearts, as if it will pull the knife out of our backs. There is no numbing the pain, there is only bathing in the agony of it all; there is no salvation. (Nothing can save you.)

I couldn't drown my sorrows in alcohol, but I could wrap the night around myself like a blanket and try to use it as a parachute. I am unsure if that is what I'm doing here, at a drunken teenage party at the mansion of a girl far richer and more royal than I. All I know is that I'm surrounded my drunken idiots in masks. I've had not a single drink- the manic ecstasy of the nightfall is enough to sate me, but others are not so easily satisfied, and the proof is in their veins, riddled with alcohol.

Juliet Beaumont is a fool, I think, for opening her door to not saints, but sinners, like me. She is a generous fool, but a fool nevertheless. Fools greater than her stumble through the corridors of marble and velvet and ebony wood and lounge on the couch, sipping on who knows what. The house is erupting with giggles drowned in amber and cheering, mostly aimed at the games of strip poker and spin the bottle breaking out in every damn room.

By the time midnight has washed over us in a dark wave, I am certain I am the only sober person in existence within these lavish walls. A sea of red plastic cups riddle the floors in harmony with bottles of whiskey and wine and vodka and rum and who knows what else, sucked utterly empty as voids and dry as bones.

Gaze zeroed in on the liquid fire in my cup, stature slumped and lax with the beginnings of drowsiness- this is the image I have been painted in the amber-ridden night. But my cup is full, minus a few sips, and my mind remains clear of a bitter haze. I have found that being sober at a raging party is like being omniscient- it's like you have a new pair of eyes that see things others do not.

Like the hollowness dead in their eyes.

(It matches mine.)

I am leaning against the doorway when I see him. He bursts from the hallway and onto the balcony, gripping the bars with his hands and lurching forward to spill the contents of his stomach onto the ground far, far below us.

Fucking ew.

Face still obscured by a black masquerade mask, adorned with faux raven feathers and sequence, I abandon my perch against the wall and saunter towards the boy. When I look at him, I see unspoken stories- how he ended up here, and why. No one comes to a party to drown themselves in a glass unless they are plagued by problems. And out of my own selfish wonder, I take pity on the boy, and entangled my hand in his.

"Hey," I say. But my voice is anything but soft- my voice scrapes against the air harsher than I would have liked. "Kid, you're way too drunk to be out in the open like this." Gently tugging him away from the balcony, I soften my voice and continue on with, "Come with me, before you fall over and kill yourself."

shut the curtains tight
we'll get found out

- ♥ -

lyrics: "lost here" by fauntella.
table inspired by rook.

[Deleted]

GAIGE FULBRIGHT

looking up from underneath
fractured moonlight in the s e a
reflections still look the same to me
as before i went u n d e r

Yeah, I think to myself, head pounding nearly stuffing it into a ficus, I hate drinking. A decided factor, good. Fuckin' great, glad I figured this out now that I'm upchucking ramen into a plant. Honestly feel kinda bad for the thing, but just like the rest of this house it's probably just plastic anyways. How it always is in dollhouses. 

See, I'm a little bitter - I've always known I'm a bad drinker. Piss poor, and nobody really likes to talk to a nihilistic asshole sober either so I don't have many choices when it comes to social life. Which is okay, because usually I can hide under my own spite and that was something I always saw in Silas.

At least he was a likable cunt. 

And, yeah, I'm not really one to resort to drinking either, I've always been able to just suppress bad memories. Comes along with having your best friend drown when you're twelve years old and still think paper crowns make you immortal. I try to stand up, stomach churning like the tides under a pirate ship struggling to stay above water, and it's a good three steps until I puke over the balcony. 

It's called aesthetic, fucko. 

My mouth's agap and my polka dot shirt more or so stained - shit. I can't help but smile a little, Benny would be losing his shit if he saw me fucked like this. I don't know what Isaac would do but shit, my one thought of coming was that I would just be a plastic ficus for people to throw up on, it's a dog eat dog world I guess. 

Yeah, my balance swaying under me but I feel like I'm back on pirate ships with Silas, swinging wooden swords and hero capes because we never really knew what a pirate was. He'd crack a smile when I'd fall on my ass and grab my palm to help me up - I guess balance has always been my Achilles Heel. Shit. ("Hey") I felt like throwing up again, but it's not like I have much left to give up.

A hand paler than mine takes my fingers, and I smile crooking my balance to look at her - "kid" - silver hair? Nice. I want to giggle a little, like when Silas would push me off into the lake and my skin hit water and I couldn't tell if I wanted to scream or laugh; "you're way too drunk to be out in the open like this."

"That's one opinion-" somewhere under my breath. Honestly, it was just like, one bottle? Shit. 

And I chuckle a little, gripping the balcony bars with white knuckles with one hand - "come with me-" and of course, Isaac told me if somebody tried to hit me up I should take them to Benny, but I mean shit, that would be embarrassing even if I wasn't drunk. "-before you fall over and kill yourself,"

"I'm not even that drunk," tongue too big to fit in my cotton mouth. "honesty, I'm-" and I nearly fall over except with my hand gripped on her and on the bar it's exceptionally hard to. It feels like I've never really spoken trying to talk right now, I feel clunky and I can't stop smiling because honestly of all the shit I've stirred I've never had this problem.

"I'm just a like, lightweight?" I scratch behind my ear, now just holding onto this girl with silver hair, "I don't know."

and it's peaceful in the deep
c a t h e d r a l where you cannot breathe
no need to pray
no need to s p e a k

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

s y t h .

or we'll get lost here
let's just take our time

He is so fucking drunk. I can see it in his eyes, how their whites are tinged scarlet by the floods in his veins. I can see it in the way he moves- maybe he is a natural-born klutz, but no one with just a clumsy step nearly loses their balance while standing. He rocks, back and forth, back and forth, like a sailboat upon a shifting sea.

"I'm not even that drunk," he protests, but his voice begs to differ. His words all seem to mash together and he nearly swallows his tongue when he speaks. I stifle a giggle, pushing it down with a smile that presses into my cheeks. "Honest'y, I'm-" but his words are cut short for a ridiculous grin. Maybe he would look damn adorable, if he wasn't such a cunt when he's locked in a haze and drowning himself in bottles.

(Honestly, you're drunk as hell, I want to say to complete his broken statement.)

He scratches behind his ears, as if he is trying to contemplate something- but I bet he can't conjure up one single coherent thought with the mist that must be shrouding his head. Alcohol consumes. Alcohol chokes.

"I'm just like, a lightweight?" he tries to justify himself. "I don't know."

I arch an eyebrow at him and let my gaze scrape him up and down. The scrutiny says, what the actual fuck, kid. But I am not so quick to be anywhere on the border of cruel to a drunk boy. He is soft- maybe it's just the alcohol lulling him into a strange calm, or maybe it's just his heart- and his touch is soft, too. It feels how I always imagined a cloud to feel, if I could run my hands through the sky.

When I speak, I throw swear words into the air, but my tone is not as harsh. It is soft, like the clouds, like his hands. Like him. "No, you're fucking drunk, that's what," I tell him. And without another word, I brush my hair over my shoulder and lead him down a corridor. This hallway and the rooms it leads to are tucked away from the chaos raging throughout the Beaumont mansion. The quiet speaks to me. It tells me that it is secluded here, that it is safe here.

We reach the end of the hallway, and my free hand turns the knob on one of the doors. It swings open against the push of my flattened palm, revealing a guest bedroom consumed by darkness.

My open hand slides along the wall in the darkness until I find the light switch and flip it upwards, chasing away the darkness with a soft golden light. They reveal soft, dove gray carpeting and a circular white rug and mahogany furniture and a queen size bed. The bed is neatly made, with a black comforter with dark red accents. The room is decorated simply, with a few plants and pictures scattered here and there.

I lead the drunk boy to the bed and take a seat on its side, tugging his hand to follow.

"Can you manage not to die in the pillows?" I ask. My voice is hushed, but when it brushes the air, it is in a monotone to convey sarcasm.

My eyes trace from his eyes down to his shoulders, and his arms, and his elbows, and finally, his hands. That is when I realize that mine are still interlaced with his. But I do not pull them away.

lose the whole year
let's just close our eyes

- ♥ -

lyrics: "lost here" by fauntella.
table inspired by rook.

[Deleted]

GAIGE FULBRIGHT

looking up from underneath
fractured moonlight in the s e a
reflections still look the same to me
as before i went u n d e r

I kind of see the appeal of this whole drunk off your ass thing; things are a lot simpler this way. No definitions, no lines between the threads of reality and I don't feel a pencil's point scratching the words into my cerebellum, just the point of my tongue between my two front teeth. I've never really noticed how crooked my teeth, I guess. And everything's funnier, my tongue sliding to the side of my cheek and licking at molars with arched eyebrows. Things are slowing down, and I can't stop fucking smiling.

Silver arches her eyebrows; I got no idea what the hell else to call her either, her fingers still cold and locked in mine. Lazily, I bite my lip and make eye contact - "No" - huh? What did I ask again, shit. I got no idea and I can physically feel my body want to sleep but this is fun, I guess? More so than anything else I could be doing, more so than questioning the entire premise behind my continual existence and shit.

This is why Benny doesn't take me anywhere. 

"You're fucking drunk, that's what," oh yeah. That's what I was doing. I scratch my chin and groan something, my stomach just now getting land legs and I feel like throwing up again. Shit. My breathe must smell like I'm rotting from the inside out; why is Silver still here again? She brushes her hair and shifts for a second to lead us both inside.

I feel like I'm ripped into a different timeline entirely, the hallway she leads me down a void of noise. There's still screaming teens and raging drunks through the house but they feel like ambiance to the sound of a pounding forehead and a whirling gut, the walls still unstained somehow. There's a portrait on the wall, a Victorian frame of somebody who could've seen the start of the games, somebody who's yet to see the chaos of a vodka night.

Where are we again? Fuck. 

Her hand grabs at the doorknob, my attention dormant, staring at the walls waiting for something to grab at me, hiccuping every few moments or so. 

It's a feeling I'm not used to yet. 

Despite my pounding brain, it feels quiet, less crowded by my own cluttering thoughts. Each name on the tip of my tongue flushed out with a single spiked drink; fucking Isaac. And somehow even with this pounding ass headache, I still feel lighter than I ever have when the door opens to a completely dark room.

Lights flash and it hurts my eyes for a second, culture shock I guess. It's all neutral colors - greys, whites - the type of shit you don't want near a bunch of drunk kids. This is the kind of room I'd expect a victor to have, but after a few years I just learned to stop expecting things. Shit's gonna happen, this night being one of them. I expected to get out of this night, and I expected to sit in the corner with Isaac doing nothing while Benny plays drinking games, and I expected to get ditched and sit alone until eventually walking home with the mask still in my hand. 

Never had I expected to get this fucked. Honestly.

The room is colder than the hallway, the fan turning on with the light as Silver takes my hand and pulls me to the bed like a dog by a leash. I giggle a little at this too and I don't really know why but hell, sometimes you just have to, the sheets soft as I pet them with my one free hand. 

"Can you manage not to die in the pillows?"

"Depends," my voice not as smooth as her's, not as trained or sober, "if I drown will you drown with me?" I raise our hands, still holding onto each other and I smile, the corners of my eyes wrinkling as I make eye contact. For a split second there's silence under my giggling before I realize I don't want that answer; I don't know her. We don't know each other and I don't drown easy - I don't go down with my ships. I take a sharp intake of breathe before she can respond, words dull on the tip of my tongue-

"Let's," hiccup, "uhh," my eyes squinting. 

"Let's play Never Have I Ever."

and it's peaceful in the deep
c a t h e d r a l where you cannot breathe
no need to pray
no need to s p e a k

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

s y t h .

face our worst fears
or we could get lost here

Words trickle from his lips like rivers. They rush out into the air, free of strictures or boundaries. (That's what alcohol does. It burns all the walls down.) "Depends," he replies, with a voice that sways and wavers the way the ocean does in low tide, "if I drown, will you drown with me?"

(Maybe, if I could not hold my breath for long enough.)

He takes our hands, still laced together a one, and raises them into the air. I let my arm follow his- I am too busy peering into his eyes and trailing my gaze along the curve of his smile. He is an innocent creature, pure to the core- or perhaps it is the alcohol that purifies him if he is as adulterated as I.

His eyes are like an abyss. When my gaze meets his, they pull me right in and suddenly I am falling falling falling. But when I hit the ground, my bones do not break. I do not fall with grace, and yet I land softly- or maybe that is just the gentleness of the surface.

Setting our hands back on the mattress, he says, "Let's - hic - uhh," and squints. "Let's play Never Have I Ever."

I let a laugh roll out into the air from my lungs. I would have stifled it in the presence of any other, but there is something comforting about the boy's presence, a warmth I do not often find in the hearts I have met. My own included. I would have swallowed it like it was a thorn and kept the steel in my eyes. But instead I am letting it all wash away. Perhaps it is the sun in the darkness of his eyes, bleeding right into mine.

Our hands are still entwined- casting my gaze upon them makes my heart twist and turn. His warmth reminds me of Ara's, and yet it is so profoundly different. Her warmth was not like the sun- like his. Her warmth was not summer, all comfort and softness. It was fire, passionate, wild, reckless- dark. I recoil from the memory; I recoil from his grip. A smile drags my lips up my cheek- but it does not touch my eyes- as I pull my hand away, casually, and run my fingers through the silver pouring down my shoulders.

Everything suddenly feels colder.

"If you've done whatever the other says, you have to . . ." I begin, but then I lose the rest of the words.

I would say take a shot, but the boy does need to be pushed further under the surface of the sea he has poured into his own veins.

"You have to do something, just one thing, that the other tells you to." I keep my eyes lowered to the ground as I speak. Sudden fear has taken hold of me that I will fall too far into comfort and I will forget the scars for a moment and I-

it all recedes when my eyes flicker back up to his, and I am consumed once more by wonder. (But the fear still remains, buried just a little deeper down. Undead. Never resting.) He is so strange, so difficult to decipher. But the mystery only draws me in.

(I never thought anyone so drunk could be so interesting.)

"Guess I should know the name of who I'm spilling all my secrets to. Mine's Syth."

I wonder what he hides behind his eyes, and I fear, deeply, fiercely, that he will shrink away from what I hide behind mine.

or we could get lost here
have i told you that i get lonely too?

- ♥ -

lyrics: "lost here" by fauntella.
table inspired by rook.

[Deleted]

GAIGE FULBRIGHT

looking up from underneath
fractured moonlight in the s e a
reflections still look the same to me
as before i went u n d e r

Silver laughs at me, it falls flat somewhere between us and my knee now propped on the bed. It's heavy in a world of pretenders, and yeah, honestly I could've thought of better ideas. Never have I ever, never have I ever done a lot of shit. A few parties and a couple drinks - like three, or somewhere near that - and I've never really been one for party games. 

Or parties in general. Games though, that's something I could be good at. 

And my eyes are still dilated and connected with her's, I feel like I'm asking a prostitute for a spaghetti dinner. Not a prostitute, I don't know, I feel like that's rude to say. Yeah, definitely rude I don't know, but I'm so out of my zone and we both know it, but I guess sometimes you just gotta sink or swim on the spot.

I've never been one for doing things on the spot, my entire life I've always kept myself two feet in front of the tsunami and I think that's why Silas was always the captain or the king and I'd be the one who held the sword. Maybe that's why I'm the drunk one and Silver is the one holding my hand and hiding me out - I just like seeing myself fuck up. Silver's fingers are still cold in mine. 

She has cute ears. 

At this moment, I'm only just a knight to her. A wounded warrior dragged out of the battlefield and she's a merciful queen and she takes her hand out of mine to sweep her hair back; I'm just a knight for tonight. Yet beside her, she's so much different than Silas, and different than Isaac and Benny and the loud music from a room away. 

Maybe it's the mercy thing. I guess by constantly being the last one standing that's something I haven't gotten a lot. 

Our smiles match in a way, even while my fingers are limp against the cold sheets - they feel so much more awkward without her's holding them. "
If you've done whatever the other says, you have to," her voice trailing off and I look around the room, my head still light like when I was in the hallway.

"You have to do something, just one thing, that the other tells you to."

Silver looks at the ground and I swallow the spit in my mouth. It's stark, the differences between Silas and her; a different kind of pride. I feel like if he was still around he would've taken my spot easy. Less awkward, he'd probably say shots or stripping or vandalism - all things he would've been good at given the chance. Had I been the one who drowned maybe he would've made it to district four or ten.

Fuck I'm bad at partying. 

"Guess I should know the name of who I'm spilling all my secrets to. Mine's Syth." My stomach churns, "oh, yeah, right," I furrow my eyebrows and look at my hands, awkward by themselves. "My name's," hiccup, "Gaige," and I smile with still narrowed eyes and entangle my fingers in each other. 

"You can go first."

and it's peaceful in the deep
c a t h e d r a l where you cannot breathe
no need to pray
no need to s p e a k

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

s y t h .

i get lonely too
i don't get lonely with you

Furrowed brows fold a crease into his face, and his eyes drift down to his hands- as if he is deep in thought. (Yeah, it's damn hard to think against the haze clouding his mind.) He seems to struggle against his own tongue- "My name's - hic - Gaige," and then his lips curl up into a lopsided smile. (He's got these eyes like a puppy dog- fuck, it's infuriatingly adorable.)

"You can go first."

And I smile in return- for once it actually touches my eyes and leaves them the slightest bit warm. It is a small flame, a small light, against a vast darkness- but it is something more than the barren cold. It is a small flame; it is nothing close to the magnitude or magnificence of the sun, something Ara sucked out with puckered pink lips and a pair of fangs.

With a sharp blink, I push the thought away, shouting in protest within my head. I smile again, but this time, it is forced. Even I can feel it, how cold it feels curling across my face, how it does not touch empty eyes. I hope that he cannot see it, too- perhaps I will luck out and he will be too damn drunk to notice anything but the smile itself.

In my sudden unease, I brush a lock of hair behind my left ear. My mind threatens to wage war against me, to drift back to the memory of Ara, but I silence it with thoughts of what my never have I ever will be. It prevails nevertheless, muffled, but still excruciating as ever.

("Never have I ever had a healthy relationship."

"Never have I ever been in love with someone who loves me back."

"Never have I ever felt truly happy in the last months."

"Never have I ever
Never have I ever
Never have I ever-")

To push it all away all over again, I pull the first thought that surfaces from beneath the chaos to my lips.
"Never have I ever been drunk tonight," I say, raising an eyebrow at Gaige. A smirk pulls up the corner of my lips- I know that he can't wiggle his way out of this. "And," I go on, with a giggle breaking my words, "if you have, you have to do the can-can shirtless."

And there's the light again- it buries Ara, locks her in the grave where she belongs. Emptiness is a fickle thing- it rocks back and forth and back and forth and back again, unstable in when it wishes to expand or close. There is still a hollowness in my chest, like a bullet hole that never got bandaged up, but it is less of a void and more of a scratch in this moment.

The light begins in my chest as warmth. It is just a spark of it, standing against a barren winter. But then it grows and grows and grows and then it is a wildfire- and then it grows and grows and grows more, until there is a sun within me. I wonder its beams carry to my eyes, if it warms them like it warms the rest of me.

I burst into laughter at the thought of Gaige performing the task I gave him, how he would stumble and flail, so much that I am holding my stomach, as if I might fall to pieces. By the time I gather myself, my lungs burn from being robbed of their air for so long, and the muscles in my stomach ache ever so slightly. But the pain is equivalent to that of a paper cut, and it is numbed by the euphoria rushing through my veins.

"I guess you'll be taking that off," I say, eyeing his shirt. The words are playful, teasing, like a child about to play a game of hide-and-seek and knowing that they'll win.

it's the curtain call
i can't see anything

- ♥ -

lyrics: "lost here" by fauntella.
table inspired by rook.