bloodstained | {second star / charlie} day four
Jul 21, 2018 16:45:00 GMT -5
Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Jul 21, 2018 16:45:00 GMT -5
you're casting light
making shadows in the dark
I wish you'd see it through mine
instead of using your own eyes
Split second decision— he didn't want to think about it. Had he realized saving Wynter meant letting Ike fall; had he known his attempts at being a savior would be ultimately fruitless, would it have changed anything? Would he have done it differently?
Would he have still pierced the eye of someone who just wanted to live?
The knowledge that the girl probably had family watching back home was hard to swallow. It didn’t help that he kept obsessing over the details. Maybe she had a favorite dress and they would bury her in it. Maybe they would have to close the casket at her funeral because if any of them were brave enough to look at her, the scar where her eye had once been would just remind her of how gruesome her death was. Or, maybe they would choose to burn her, spread her ashes someplace beautiful. He thought about how, should he die, Neela’s family would probably chant about justice or karma. Maybe both. Or, what if he won? He would eventually be forced to stare them in the eye on the victory tour.
She did not die peacefully. Quickly, sure, so sudden and that even Mackenzie found himself faltering backwards from the impact of it, trying not to lose himself in his thoughts, in the fact that there was almost no noise when he pulled his spear out of the girl.
He'd gone into shock later as he walked in silence, Wynter in his arms and Faline trailing behind. She might not have meant to or even realized it, but his little mouse feared him. When he looked over at her she averted her gaze, or cleared her throat, or pretended not to notice, and Mackenie knew he could not blame her. He could not blame her, or Ike’s family, or Neela’s. He was a murderer now. His family and the whole of the country knew it: He'd stopped a person's heart.
He might have done something to convince her there was still a salvageable person somewhere within him had he been able to. Between the weight of Wynter in his arms and the weight of the kill on his mind, there wasn't room for much else. He couldn't—
"I can't... carry anymore." he said, sometime deep in the night. He'd hardly noticed the miles he had walked. Even as the ground had turned from sand to dirt and lush trees towered hundreds of feet overhead. Lizards glowed blue and purple and green overhead in the treetops like makeshift nightlights; crickets chirped songs up to the stars. And his burden was simply too much. He came down on his knees and sat Wynter down, arms instantly grateful for the break.
"I can't—" he laid next to her, and he did not move until the next morning.
The buzzing was what finally woke him up. It was unlike the Capitol buzz: sounds of car engines and sirens, people chattering, music playing, life happening. This was ominous and hungry. It was the arena's daily task for he and the others to prove themselves. Mutts coming yet again with intent to kill.
"Girls!" he hissed, jolting up and saddling his things over his back. They had maybe thirty seconds maximum before the swarm was upon them, and if history of the games had told him anything, they did not want that to happen.
Faline was up almost instantly, wide-eyes bloodshot, bruises beneath them. He wondered if she'd even been asleep.
"Wynter! Up!"
Not wanting to wait, he lifted her into his arms and he ran. And he did not look back. He pushed himself until his heart scraped against his chest and his legs seared in pain, and it was no good. Faline just behind him, the insects surely not far behind her.
He burst into a clearing, happy to see Wynter finally fully awake, fully able to function, because there was no time for him to help her. Across the clearing, another tribute broke the threshold into the clearing, two of those stinging insects that had swarmed Mackenzie during the first night in the arena hot on his trail. He remembered the swelling all too well, and the panic and worry that he may have been poisoned plaguing him away from sleep, even as fatigue begged for him to close his eyes.
He hesitated, pulling his spear out and pointing it at the breathless boy for a short moment. He could've done it. Surely, killing him would've appeased the Capitol, and why not? He had already murdered once, what was another one, right?
No.
He had killed out of necessity; kill or be killed. There was a chance, if they worked together, no one had to die, so he changed target and attacked.nothing will bring you down now
how can I be reserved?
you're casting light making
shadows in the darksong: shadows in the dark
[mackenzie attacks pixie wasp #1; spear]
XojtKz8Hspear
[3130 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage]
spearXojtKz8Hspear
[3130 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage]