ink. } isobel series

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

day i: ink. (24.) andestine obsidian - "fuck you, flynn." (23.) lemon cake - "thank you for everything." (22.) carrita nessege - "maybe i will see you again one day."

and the u n i o n is carved
from stone that is not to be halved
and the imprints of blood
call this l o v e

Chaos has no beginning and no end. It stretches out forever

and ever

and ever.

Neither does death.
I keep my eyes peeled open with the years, watch every movement of their lips, counting down the moments until death holds them still. I keep my ears open, too- they strain for their words and the silence that follows.

My breath comes in a breaking crescendo- theirs is just the opposite. They are crumbling before they even step off the podium and race headfirst into a war- they are crumbling far before the steel opens their flesh. I watch them with wide eyes and trembling hands tangled into a mess in my lap- white building up at their joints and all. Half of me cannot bear to watch, but the other half cannot bear to look away.

Everyone makes it out alive- no cannons break my ears- but I know it is not over. It is foolish to think so, for the Capitol will have the blood it desires. (It always does.) A second bloodbath almost immediately unfolds after the first- this one far more bloody, far less merciful.

They surround a group of three tributes; they are the lions, the unfortunate three are the prey. They are thieves, and blood is not all that they steal. Each and every one of them steals blood with a flicker of their blade, but it is Noelia, the girl from Ten, who swipes the first soul from the first fallen body. Souls are sewn delicately into the body- her cruel blade releases it into her open palm almost effortlessly.

Her face is one I recall, and her voice, too. The words are engraved into a page of my journal in wispy black ink-

(19.) Leticia Tibideaux - "We're gonna have to wade through it."

Her ghost is draped across every inch of her- all but the blade that strikes out to sever the soul from the body of Andestite Obsidian. Boom, and he crumbles, truly, to the ground. And nearly a split second later, another cannon fires to mark the end of the boy from District Twelve, Lemon Cake. I had giggled every time I heard his name, but it rings out in my memory much more grave now. It was Kite Tide who takes his soul, and with it, the title thief. And then they steal Carrita Nessege, too- I knew of her fate long before. I knew of her fate the moment I saw the venom swell in President Snow's eyes when he crowned the third consecutive District Eleven victor- we all knew of her fate.

(It does not make it any less unfair.)

I know this feeling- this horrible burn in my lungs, this lump in my throat. I cannot breathe, cannot think, and yet I do not shut my glassy eyes or cover my ears to block it all out- they must be remembered, every last one of them. I have cursed myself a cavern, holding their memories within me. And when I fade away, my journal will not- I make them immortal with a flick of my pen. (Being forgotten is worse than death.)

They retreat, leaving the fallen behind them in the blood they spilled.

As the light fades from their eyes like a setting sun beneath a darkening horizon, as crimson pools around them like a great flood, they open their mouths to sputter out strings of words. I write them all down with a moment of hesitation. But I do not just write them down,I engrave them into every part of me.

My hand shakes against my pounding heart.

(24.) Andestite Obsidian - "Screw you, Flynn."

(23.) Lemon Cake - "Thank you for everything."

(22.) Carrita Nessege - "Maybe I will see you again one day."

Three tears for three deaths roll down my cheeks in thick, hot rivulets, and drip onto the margins of the paper. The corner of my lips glisten with the remnants of a tear, and they tremble as I say, "I'm sorry." But apologies don't mean anything, because they do not fix anything. To say sorry is to put a bandage over the wreckage of an earthquake.

But I say it anyway, because there is nothing else to say.

I made a promise when I uncovered my eyes and watched the Games for the first time. I promised that they would never be forgotten.

I am not one to break promises.

and i join you in your walls
we realize our own f a u l t s
and as h e a r t s we go, we go
humbled, oh

. . .

lyrics: "union stone" by phildel.

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

day ii: a red sky, a warning. (21.) delta castley - "please." (20.) quadrys lexig - "go to hell. i'll be there soon."

my love, the d r u m s are calling
a red sky, a w a r n i n g
no sense in hiding from the front lines
they've been here the whole time

welcome to the real world,
where girls with flowers in their hair lie in caskets
with the fires in their hearts long extinguished.

welcome to the real world,
where killer queens wash crimson from their hands
as the voices destroy them slowly from the inside.

welcome to the real world.
welcome to the real world, isobel,
where you watch them fall on a silver screen
with ink sputtering from your pen
and running down your finger.

today is full of fire.

in the morning, it lights the whole sky
and warms your skin as it leaks through the window.
in the afternoon, it eats a girl alive-

(21.) delta castley - "please."

you write the words down with shaky hands,
wet from wiping tears from your cheeks.

it takes a boy, too,
carries him away into the gentle arms of oblivion.
he dies at the blade of a ruthless pair.
they ignite his corpse and watch it go up in flames-
they dance along his cold flesh,
eating him away, erasing him.

like he never existed.

but he does in your journal
between the lines and in black ink.

(20.) quadrys lexig - "go to hell. i'll be there soon."

but you don't believe in the hell he speaks of,
for you reside in the real hell.
you have stared it in its face,
looked dead into its eyes.

you have walked its rugged paths.

the day is full of fire.
before darkness rolls over the sky like ink,
fire consumes it again.
it breeds the scarlet, the gold, the bloody amber.

the day is full of fire,
but the night is ashen.
it is gray
and cold
and forsaken.

but it is peaceful, too,
because you do not have to hear anymore cannons.

the night is the aftermath of the destruction of the day.
sometimes, you find yourself counting down the hours
minutes
seconds
before night
so you can tuck your head beneath your covers
and pretend you don't remember the monsters.

this is a call to a r m s
will you embrace me, before it's too late, baby?
take care of all the love you spend
it's wasting to n o t h i n g
beware of wolves who hide their teeth

. . .

lyrics: "a call to arms" by laura jansen.

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

day iii: stand still. (19.) timothy feldon - "listen!"

i lean against you in calm
everything stood still and you
you sang to me so quietly
you sang to me so quietly

everything seems to fall in slow motion.
and yet you cannot stop it.
your fingers cannot catch all of the ash
falling to your feet.

yesterday you walked for miles,
kicking up coarse sand with the toe of your dirty sneaker,
staring up at the stars,
out at the sea
and the silver sheen the moon lays on its surface,

but all you saw
was oblivion.

yesterday you stayed out all night
because you don't have a home to go back to
and you can't stand being trapped within the walls
of that ghostly place
they call a house.
it reeks of death.

(of the soul, of the mind, of the heart,
and most of all, dreams.)

yesterday you cried when the television screen faded to static
and white noise filled your ears
with the ebbing echo
of the feldon boy's words.

(19.) timothy feldon - "listen!"

you did listen
you did
and all you heard was a cannon
and the call of the blind boy from four.
it would not be answered.

"ah, timothy, are you okay? timothy?"

but his hand only met a bloody stump.

you wrote down timothy's words,
you let the black bleed into your page
as your hands shook and shook with outrage.

it is a dark anger
born from pity and sadness.

"it's not fair," you'll say.
but you know all to well
that fair means nothing
in the real world.

no, you did not come home yesterday.
instead, you walked along the beach
with flowers in your hair
until the sun painted the sky gold.

that night you carved timothy's words into the sand,
and the waves would wash them away.
you would write them again and again
and so the sea swallowed them
again and again.

in the moonlight
i see you hunched over
in the moonlight
you turn to blue dusk

. . .

lyrics: "svo hjlott" by sigur ros.

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

day iv: can you feel the thunder. (18.) cecilia brontz - "ia . . . in." (17.) dane allore - "we're not alone."

wish i was there to turn the blade
to wipe his tears, to shield his bones
and let the lightning gore my soul
but nobody covers for a matador
i am merely human

when your house burned to the ground,
when the fire swallowed up every last thing you loved,
you thought
for a moment
that you were lucky.

you thought that you were lucky
because you escaped the flames.

you didn't.

they follow you everywhere your feet take you-
sometimes you swear you can feel
their terrible, caustic breath
running down the back of your neck.

it is true that you are a lion,
full of courage and might-
but you are a little lion,
isobel,
and your bones are frail
and broken.

it is true that you are the daughter of the sea,
and yet you are drowning.
ironic, isn't it?
that the very thing that created you
will be your undoing.

the flames could not consume you.
but the sea can.

no, isobel, you are not lucky.
fate let you go that day
because it had something much worse in store for you.

(17.) dane allore - "we're not alone."

but you are.

you are utterly alone;
the flames left you to drown.

his blood glistening on danny's knife
turned you chalk white.
you could feel the color,
cold and eerie,
creeping over your skin.

you didn't think a dying girl
could give death herself.

"we're not alone."

at least he had that much.

out the window you watch the storms roll over the sea,
as a storm barrels through your mind.

it was raining the day dane and cecilia died.
you couldn't tell if the rivulets hanging into your cheeks,
like dew on the leaves of flowers in the morning,
were rain or your own tears.

it isn't fair, you thought
as you scrawled the words into your paper in long, wiry cursive-

(18.) cecilia brontz - "ia . . in."

she was calling out for the boy she thought she loved.
(did she?)
you think it was an illusion
born from the fear of staring death in the face.

perhaps he was a light for her,
and she for him,
in the darkness that had overtaken them.

light.
would your eyes still recognize it?

my body covered in buttons
can you feel the thunder
when i bow and arch the veil?
the stars are dull, arching the sun
it's getting late, they've chained the moon

. . .

lyrics: "can you feel the thunder" by susanne sundfor.

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

day v: running to the sea. (16.) amerika eckhart - "GET AWAY!" (15.) insanis keeni - "what the-" (14.) basil anatola - "but i- we need you to keep fighting."

(13.) scout fray - "i didn't think it was that obvious." (12.) hettie cheyne - "no, i am just saving the best till last." (11.) eryn sconoscuito - "not enough blood for you?"

and the river flows beneath your skin
like savage horses kept within
and all is wasted in the sand
like breaking diamonds with your hand

you were seven years old
when saffron lowe was crowned victor.

you wanted to be just like her-
you wanted to be weightless,
you wanted to be air.

but there is lead in your bones-
otherwise you would not be sinking
sinking
sinking.

girl,
you may be the sister of a victor,
an orphan,
the daughter of the sea,
a little lion,
but you are overall
dust.

like the ash that fell from the sky
like snowflakes
when fire seized your home.

you are not weightless
and you are not air.

you are dust.

you were reminded of this
when you watched them fall.

(16.) amerika eckhart - "get away!"

but they wouldn't. you can only run for so long before fear- and what you're running from- catches up to you.

last year, you watched this girl's sister fall.

(12.) jequirity eckhart - "just one last song. that's all i ask."

you cried when they refused her music,
and sobbed when she made her own.

she died,
but they had to take her sister, too.

the camera flickered to a fight across the arena-
one two three f-
and the blind boy stabbed insanis keeni in the eye.

he didn't seem to know what he's done-
perhaps ignorance is truly bliss
for a gentle soul like him.

but you did see what he's done,
the mess his spear made of the keeni boy,
who does not get the chance to utter any words
before his life was snatched away from him.

the blood pooling onto the ground
from the gaping hole in insanis's face
turned you to ice.

and when scout and celia,
the two savages that made you shake with fear
and anger at how they spilled blood to carelessly,
like it meant nothing,
said their goodbyes,
you did not feel sorry for them.

"you can't reap a reaper,"
celia had said.
you hope it isn't true.

scout laid dying,
blood trickling to the ground in streams-
a mirror image of what she had done
to countless others.

but even in her final moments,
the grim reaper smiled.

(13.) scout fray - "i didn't think it was that obvious."

she tried to say something more, but she was choked out by her own blood-
she was drowning.

we are one in the same in that.

but celia wouldn't let the water take her
so she stabbed her in the heart.

perhaps it is an act of mercy.
(if celia is capable of such a thing.)

your hand hurt when the day was done-
you had written so many words
for so many deaths.
they came quickly,
in a vicious rush.

(16.) amerika eckhart - "get away!"
(15.) insanis keeni - "what the-"
(14.) basil anatola - but i- we need you to keep fighting."
(13.) scout fray - "i didn't think it was that obvious."
(12.) hettie cheyne - "no, i am just saving the best for last."

it poured blood in the arena.
the cannons called
between every crescendo
of the rain's pitter-patter.

(11.) eryn sconoscuito - "not enough blood for you?"

a single drop is too much.

i remember running to the sea
remember falling to my knees
i remember gliding off the shore
until i touched the ocean floor

. . .

lyrics: "running to the sea" by royksopp ft. susanne sundfor.