Omens :: Nyte {Blitz}

[pogue]

[presto][/presto]

A S U R A

At ten years old he'd wrapped his fingers around a book of ancient times, describing the Moon and the tides it pulled, describing the oceans and how they swallowed the earth. 

He'd once dreamed of seeing the waves against the shore, gears in his mind rotating against the moonlight, imagining the salt of the air in his nostrils, of removing his shoes and feeling the water rise up to his ankles, grasping at his legs. 

Childish wants and realistic needs, that dream had lasted until six chapters in.

Chapter Six: Oceanic Disasters

It spoke of death and destruction, of colossal waves, walls slammed into the beaches he dreamed of. It spoke of an abhorrent abyss, of whirlpools swallowing people whole, monsters of the deep rising up to the surface, drawn by the legs of innocent swimmers. He'd imagined the water to be like silk, draped delicately across one's skin, pulling you into it's comforts with the rays of a setting sun. 

With the slam of a book the ocean had become like glass, monsters of the shadows living in the darkness beneath the surface. Childish wants and suddenly reality had scarred him.

He'd dreamed of drowning that night. 

He'd come to Four not for the chance to bathe in the waters that oppose it, but to strike possible business deals for weapons trade between districts. 

Still, that did not stop him from breathing in the scent of destruction. It smells of salt and copper, frayed wires and exposed foundation, of soaked through clothing and drowning lungs. War, at least to him, had always been composed of two sides. Both malevolent, both misguided, both fighting for something, both human. 

But this, this was a war between man and nature.

The winner was clear. 

Sundown marked the beginning of the black market trade that had taken over the subpar relief center, shadows dancing across streetlights, bodies avoiding the wary eyes of night duty Peacekeepers. He had a meeting with a teenager just like himself, both of them ahead of themselves in weapons trade, in money making, in war. 

His arm whirs and screams at him in the moonlight, twitching slightly as he adjusts the dial beneath his shoulder. The dampness of the ocean air had managed to penetrate the waterproof sleeve over his arm and was messing with the exposed metal, corroding the metal skin that had replaced his crushed arm. With a single swipe he tears the sleeve off of it, tossing it into the alleyway as he walked by it. 

Broken moonlight and the soft glow of a streetlamp. He drapes himself in the shadows before stopping, waiting, drowning in the sound of the whirs of his arm and the waves crashing against rock. 

[presto][/presto]

[[nyte]]

tate.

There is no point denying I am taking advantage of a tragedy. Greedy hands reaping the benefits of lives lost with gold-stained palms and I feel absolutely nothing. I am not appalled, these hungry churning waves do not make death any more of a reality than it was a week ago or the week before that. Death is an old friend- an enemy whom has tried and failed to take me on more than one occasion but I am not foolish enough to believe I'm anything more than a lucky bastard. One day I will die. To mourn those who already have is pointless.

But here I lay, drenched in sweat and my own hypocrisy. Terror is bile up my throat, the throbbing of scabbed wounds on an empty stomach and every reason I am here is to save the damned. The doomed. The dying and the broken . I won't need to mourn a family lost if I am already in the ground. Rotting and peaceful. I simply want to avoid the pain of death and so I have surrounded myself with tragedy. Nameless faces and bodies wasted and broken.

I take comfort that I will not find them here; in piles of the dead and the dying. Teva. Tripp. Teddy. Nemo. These passing weeks have been excruciating, every second leaving those I love more weathered and worn and I know I'm watching them die. Watching them drift further and further away from me.

Starting with Teddy.

So I ran to District Four, wrapped the arms of the dead around my waist and began this pitiful game. A waltz with cowardice. I already miss them. My family. My everything. The pieces of me that were made up of them have been scraped away with dull knives, coated in rust and matted with blood. It sounded wonderful at first; a break from watching my youngest brother turn into nothing, tear apart at the seams and collapse in on himself. I needed to get away.

It was a matter of life or death, really.

But I don't want to die, I just want it to stop hurting so much to breath.

The moon is beautiful tonight. White and full and look up at the sky, Nemo, while I'm gone. I'll look at it too and it'll be like we were never apart.

The boy is already there, solemn and silent by the time I arrive. A statue of stardust and gold- the cosmos bend around a back turned toward the ocean's bitter breeze and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't fucking terrified. But if I'm going to save Teddy, I'll meed a shit ton of money and this- this is a start.

"Apologies if I kept you waiting." I'm not the least bit sorry. "'m Barrel and I'm guessing you have something I want- or else you're asking me out to dinner which I'll have to politely refuse."

I would smile but I really don't want to.