my grave will never be filled . trost

[cass]

c i l l a .

"I look inside of myself,
And try to find someone else
Someone who's willing to die,
Instead of watching you cry for help."

Cilla Rowe does not understand why Meredith Strauss volunteered for her.

In fact, it makes her angrier and angrier every single time she thinks about it. And it’s hard not to think about it. It gets thrown in her face every single day. Her parents scowl at her, constantly reminding her that their precious career daughter was upstaged by some no-name family.

Fuck. She hated Meredith Strauss. She seethed whenever she heard the name, it had become a weapon used against her every day at training. At home, it was a slap to her face as her parents retold the stories of the mockery the girl had made of their family and district. Meredith had done this, Meredith had done that. Meredith was dead, all the hopes of glory were gone. It was all her fault, why couldn’t she have just gone and died. Their eyes said those words, instead of their lips, cold and angry at the dinner table night after night.

She couldn’t escape it, she couldn’t get away from it. She was sure it was all just another tactic of her parents trying to force her to volunteer for the games, to bring honour to the Rowe name.

The only good thing that had come from the reaping was the realisation that she really didn’t want to die.

The fist collided with her stomach and her cry was cut off as all the air was forced from her lungs. Her back smacked up against the brick wall as she feebly gasped for some air, lungs burning, stomach aching. Her hands sort out the person in front of her, eyes welling with tears as she tried to articulate the words to tell them to stop. But her hands were shoved aside, a fist slamming into her cheek moments later.

“You’re a coward,” he spat, the boy beside him agreeing with a throaty growl. “What kind of fucking career lets another one volunteer for them?”

An alive one, she wanted to say, but she bit back the words as her legs slipped out from underneath her.

“Please-”

A foot hits her side and she tumbled into the gravel, palms sliding over rocks with the force of the blow. “You shoulda died in those games, Cilla, you’re pathetic.” He kneels down in front of her, fingers digging into her hair as he pulls her face up. There’s blood at the corner of her lip and she lets out a cry as her skull is set on fire from the pain.

“We should just kill you. The district would be better off for it,” He growled, slamming the back of her head into the brick. Cilla screamed, feeling the skin split open, the force making stars dance across her vision. She reached for his arm, fingers clawing at the skin, but the world was spinning and her head was pounding.

“Stop, please.”

I don’t want to die.

From the corner of her eye, there was a flash of movement, and Cilla pulled against the hand attached to her hair. Desperation filled her limbs as her lips parted, gaze focusing on a boy that had just walked into the alleyway.

"Help me-"

Her attacker switched to her throat, fingers closing around quickly and efficiently as he turned to look at the newcomer. She scrambled for air, hands gripping onto his arms, vainly trying to pull them free.

"If you know what's good for ya, you'll walk away."

elegant

[Trost]

crius.

They say, "You clean up nice
You look a dead man
Like a dead man"

Sometimes people do crazy things.

Like Orion, my brother. He defied our family by declaring he would not become a career like the rest of us. Pa didn't take that too well. Orion was subject to constant ridicule and physical assaults that, frankly, none of us could do a damn thing about. He gave my father one sliver of hope - acting "normal" outside the home. His defiance was contained. Orion hated that but he knew Pa probably wouldn't kill him. The Capitol shows no such mercy.

I don't blame him. He was small, smaller than me, and he lacked confidence. That alone will get you chewed up and spit out by the careers. We don't talk anymore. Pa broke him entirely using him as a lesson for his younger brother. I was expected to watch, he was expected to silently take. I could shed no tears but his fueled my father's anger. He married a girl and doesn't say a word to me on the rare chance we see each other in public. I never say anything to him. What could I say? I'm not sorry. It wasn't my fault. I was only doing what I was told.

I take a deep breath and push myself off the ground with one hand. I need to head into the training center soon, otherwise the day's been wasted by pointless daydreaming. I'm near the entrance. I trace fingers along the rough bricks, feeling them snag at my callouses. The gravel beneath my feet makes a satisfying crunch. I brush some loose rocks and debris that stuck to my pants, frowning at the fine layer of grey dust left.

Then I hear it.

The sound of impact. Scuffling and gruff voices. A smaller voice pleading. I can't place exactly where the voice is coming from... Inside? No, too loud and too controlled. The alley way!

The dust on my ass already forgotten, I break into a jog towards the alley way. My mind is racing with thoughts but I can't put them together now, not when I haven't even assessed the situation.

There she is. There they are.

Young Cilla Rowe, the most recent district disappointment. I'd heard the other careers talking about her. How she was cool, a career like any of us, but now she's a pitiful coward. Too scared to go into the Games so she just lets somebody else volunteer for her. She's on her knees in the gravel. Her tears catch the blood trickling down the corner of her mouth and she looks so... Weak. Pitiful. Familiar?

The two careers look repulsed but there is a giddiness in their scratchy voices. They're enjoying this. I don't see the big deal. She let somebody else volunteer for her. What they don't seem to realize is the girl who volunteered looked angry, like she had something to prove. That's destiny and you don't interfere with that.

Why does this pitiful girl look so familiar?

"We should just kill you. The district would be better off for it!

I don't think they've noticed me yet. They seem absorbed in their own world. A weaker being taunted by the stronger, one of the basics of life.

Orion.

The girl doesn't look familiar. I mean, she does, but I already know of her.

What's happening is the familiar part.

One of the boys has her pulled up by her hair. He slams the girl into the brick, which minutes ago had torn into my thick callouses. The soft skin on your head couldn't stand a chance... I'm right. Her hair suddenly looks slick and I know it's blood.

"Stop, please."

Orion. He's on the floor. Pa is standing over him, I'm in the corner, and Ma is in the doorway. He's pleading with my dad. He knows it's futile. We all know it's futile.

I'm close to them now and the girl notices me.

"Help me-"

The boy has his hands on her throat now. Her eyes are pleading as she tries to escape... But it's futile. Don't we all know it?

The boys definitely know I'm here now. "If you know what's good for ya, you'll walk away."

Maybe it was better to walk away - watch - when I was a kid. Maybe it would be better to do that now. Surely the ruckus they've caused will have attracted attention from people with much higher authority than us.

But this isn't one of Pa's lessons and I'm an aspiring Peacekeeper. We're not in the arena and she has committed no crimes - this is a flagrant disregard of justice, of the tenants of society that glue us together so we may function. Would I say I feel bad for her? No. But vigilante justice has no place here.

Does that make me a hypocrite?

"Nah, I don't think so."

My fist connects with the boy holding Cilla's neck. His nose crunches and blood begins to pour. Not my fault he had turned to look at me, giving me such square aim. I think his grip has loosened on Cilla but I don't have time to make sure - the boy I punched will stop seeing stars soon and it looks like the other one has finally processed what's happening. "What the fuck?" and he's coming for me.

There's a thud as he drops me to the ground, gravel pushing into my back and a cloud of dirt puffing up around us. I taste blood - he's punched my mouth. I feel my face flush as I gather all my strength and push the career off me. His breath is unpleasant. I regain my footing and push the boy back, hard, away from the crumpled figure on the ground.

"Want some more?"

I guess sometimes I do crazy things.

elegant

[cass]

c i l l a .

"I look inside of myself,
And try to find someone else
Someone who's willing to die,
Instead of watching you cry for help."

There’s not much left, twilight danced across her eyes as her lips turned blue. The stars were awfully pretty in the daylight and she was almost annoyed she couldn't enjoy the view, the agonising pain in her chest was far too distracting. Her lungs were on fire, starved of oxygen as her heartbeat only thumped louder and louder. It felt like it was going to burst against her ribs.

To her surprise, the other boy hadn’t run away.

Even as she fought for air she could hear the sound of his fist colliding with her attacker’s nose. The crunch of cartilage and burst of blood was all too familiar. Suddenly, the hold on her neck was released and she choked on fresh air as it spilled past her bloodied lips and pours into her lungs. The ache and promise of death were halted as her own hands found their way to her throat, fingers caressing the bruised and swollen skin. It was tender to the touch, and her hands trembled, fearful that she might break her own body if she pushed too hard.

The fight around her continued. There wasn’t any time to sit still and she staggered to her feet, an arm pressed against the brick as it dug into her skin. She was standing for only seconds before her legs failed her and she crumpled into the gravel once more. The stones cut into her knees, a hiss escaping her lips like fire on her injured throat. The trail of blood at the back of her skull demanded attention, throbbing with a sharp spike of pain at the rapid movement. Cilla bit her lip, the taste of iron filling her mouth as she sucked in another breath, willing her lungs and racing heart to calm down.

The boy that had saved her was on the ground, tumbling in the gravel with the other attacker. He doesn’t look familiar, she’s not sure she’s ever seen him before. That wasn't saying much, Cilla preferred her own company. Particularly over the last few weeks, hiding in the shadows as best as she could to stop herself from getting hurt. That plan hadn’t worked out too well today. They’d cornered her as soon as she’d left the training centre, shoving her into the alleyway and pinning her in a matter of seconds.

It had caught her by surprise, and even though Cilla was a career, she wasn’t stronger than two boys that were both larger and taller than her. She felt useless, reminded once more of her own failure and mortality. Reminded, once again, that she was everything her parents thought she was. She knew why she hated Meredith Strauss, she just wasn’t brave enough to put the words together. Carving that reality into flesh meant she couldn’t escape it and she’d have to face the feelings she was still trying to run away from.

Get up, she demanded, teeth clenched as she gathered every bit of strength she had left. She was better than this, she had to be. There was something here she needed to prove and she couldn’t let the boy she didn’t even know be the only one throwing around punches.

She pushed, using the momentum to throw herself at the boy that had almost killed her. Her fist slammed into his throat, her fingers digging into one of his eyes. She hated it, the way he gasped, the way his eye seemed to crumble under her nails. It made her feel sick, her stomach rolled with disgust. He screamed and she let go, stumbling backward until her back hit the wall.

The two boys seemed like they’d had enough. Nursing wounds that would be a constant reminder. They were just as cowardly as she was, fearing for their own lives. Cilla was panting, struggling to hold herself up as they turned, fleeing from the alleyway. She watched them go, blood dripping into the dirt, her gaze filled with anguish.

“Th-” She frowned, the words burning holes in her throat. She turned to look at the boy who had helped her. Swallowing she closed her lips, giving herself a moment before trying to push the words out. “Thank you.”

Cilla slid to the ground, body broken, aching with a dozen different wounds. She was alive and that was all that mattered.

“You saved my life,” her voice was hoarse, like stones grinding together. But the words needed to be said, so she’d fight past the pain, just like any career would.

elegant

[Trost]

crius.

They say, "You clean up nice
You look a dead man
Like a dead man"

Honestly, I'm impressed.

Before anybody can react, there she is. She's punching and tearing at her aggressor's eyes and he can only scream. I think I even hear him cry out for his mother. His friend is stepping back, nursing wounds I inflicted. I'm dripping in sweat and I think there's a cut on my brow. The pain of being thrown into the ground is starting to catch up to me but I can bear through it.

Both boys are retreating now. They leave a small trail of blood, a nasty surprise later for whoever cleans this place.  She's panting. 

"Th-" She can't get the words out. It probably hurts. I know my back is still aching, likely covered in fresh bruises. "Thank you." She slides to the ground. I'm thinking I should sit, all thoughts of training abandoned... For now. Besides, I can lift my shoddy weights at home and Pa won't even be suspicious - training is always acceptable and it's always the answer to a restless boy's woes. "You saved my life."

Did I?

She doesn't seem familiar anymore. Orion would never retaliate and I would never hear him say sorry... That not I deserve or want apologies. Thoughts of my brother are eliminated from my mind as I analyze the scene before me. We're in a precocious spot.

"You're welcome." I flex my shoulders and try to pop them. The pain radiates to my tailbone and I grit my teeth. "You know, we really shouldn't let our guard down. I don't know about you but my Pa wouldn't like me putting my life at risk for a girl tha-"

No. Without her tenacity, the boys would have taken me on. I could have given them a run for their money, probably even beaten them, but backup is always good.

She's no coward.

"That got jumped." I try to exaggerate my pain, letting out a soft groan, so my silence isn't - correctly - mistaken for contemplation. "We should move away from the scene of the crime. Maybe try to think of how to clean ourselves up?"

But I can't help slink down beside her, clutching my side. The pain is subsiding but not everywhere. I feel slightly energized, buzzing with success. I'm not going to laud her with praise, for her bravery in action in the face of evil or whatever you want to call it, but I do hope she sees that she has earned somebody's respect today.

Crius' Wilkerson's respect. It's not much but it's honest. I realize she likely has no clue who I am and while that's a travesty, it's understandable. I'll be a household name in some district one day, known for my loyalty and dedication during my tenure as Peacekeeper. "I'm Crius." My smile is pained. My throat aches for water but I didn't pack any.

Another travesty.

elegant

[cass]

c i l l a .

"I look inside of myself,
And try to find someone else
Someone who's willing to die,
Instead of watching you cry for help."

The ground feels a lot more comfortable when no one’s trying to kill you.

Cilla was almost certain that had this boy not come and intervened she’d be dead by now. The look in her attacker’s eyes had been filled with malice, fingers digging into her throat with purpose and intent that could not be shaken. But in the end, he was a coward just like she was. Fear for one’s life was enough to make anyone run away, hypocrites and all.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth, mingling with the iron of blood and salt from her sweat. To think that she could have died by the hands of someone not even willing to fall on their own sword. People were all words, their actions opposing the statements they proclaimed.

She looked up, watching as he flexed his shoulders, teeth gritted in pain. He must have fallen hard and taken a few hits from the other guy before they’d ran away. Her entire body complained about each movement, and the pounding in her skull made her worry that her head might actually explode. Her parents were used to seeing her rock up with cuts and bruises ever since the reaping. Kids were more inclined to be extra rough or cruel when they sparred during training. They’d stopped looking at her with concern quickly, eyes filled with lingering disappointment that made her cheeks burn with shame.

There’s a long pause between his words, but Cilla’s too exhausted to think much into it. “It’s my fault, you’re right,” she replied wearily.

The criticism stung as much as the cut on her lips, and she frowned at him. He was a curious boy, risking his own reputation by being seen near her. Most of her friends had disappeared like smoke once the reaping had finished. Too much of an embarrassment to be seen near her. They were unwilling to stand beside the class coward that had rejected the glory they all chased.

His next statement contradicts his actions as he slid down into the dirt beside her. Cilla sighed, wincing with regret as she went to rest her head against the brick. The deep gash on her skull pulsated, and she reached a hand upwards to gingerly touch the surface. It was a bad idea, and she hissed, biting her lip to stop herself from yelping as she dropped her hand.

“I have a first aid kit at home,” it got so much use these days that she was practically an expert at pathing herself up. “I live only a few blocks away.”

She faced him, pointing to the wound on her head, “this one will need stitches, can you do that for me?” It was a long shot, asking for another favour just after he had saved her life, but there was really no one else she could ask.

He introduced himself and Cilla blinked, turning her clouded gaze onto her blood-speckled hands.

“It’s nice to meet you, Crius,” she responded. Her mind reached for her own name, but she hesitated, for a moment wondering if he knew who she was. Almost everyone did, but what if he was one of those few who didn’t. She’d be ruining any chance she’d have at making a friend by saying her name. Her stomach twisted, and through the pain in her entire body, she could feel a blade drive itself into her heart.

She sucked in a breath, eyes glued to her hands, hoping this gamble would pay off.

“I’m Cilla.”

elegant