xiv - temperance ; d8 suite

I've thought about dying a lot these last few days. How it will feel when my muscles go stiff and my skin begins to rot, of the hollow husk of a boy that will remain after I am gone.

I'm not scared of it, I merely detest that it is my only option. Even if I were to survive this week it will wait. A predator lurking around every shadowy corner. By volunteering I have marked myself for death; it is inevitable and so very smug about it.

I'm dreaming about becoming bones when they sound the announcement. That wretched boy from seven's in my mind's eye - as is the bruise he left on my cheek. At first I think - or maybe I hope - that my nightmare is to blame for the rude awakening. A naive little thought that is unbecoming of someone like me.

I know better.

"Shit!" I sit bolt upright in bed, trying to rub sight back into my eyes. The world is this haze of bleeding ink. They've made mince-meat of my memories and all I know is I'm in grave fucking danger. There's a shadow at the other end of the suite; he's got those pretty fingers, long enough to wrap around my throat.

I want to be dead later rather than sooner.

I've not been able to glean much information on Machiavelli Hope, other than he smiles like he's too smart for his own good. But I sure as hell can't take him in a fight, so I'll have to make myself seem more useful alive than dead.

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps. All that betrays my anxiety as I call out, "We've got to go!" Bare feet stick to the floor as I sprint toward his door, in spite of the instructions to head to the training center. Not altruism but calculated risk. They're not much different if you think about it.

"I know we're not friends, but we're a hell of a lot stronger together than we are alone. Truce? Until we reach the center?"

I hope and hope and hope.

Don't find me worthless.